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peakyswritings · 1 year

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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby X OC

PART IV

Summary: after their late-night conversation, something has changed between Nina and Tommy. Now Tommy’s slowly coming to understand that they might be more similar than they thought.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, addressing the topics of rape and murder, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is more like a passage chapter with little to no action, but it’s fundamental for the development of Tommy and Nina’s relationship. But be ready, cause there’s a storm coming!

Important information for the context: In this chapter, Nina explains the delitto d’onore (honour killing) and the matrimonio riparatore (rehabilitating marriage), two practices which were recognised by the Criminal Code and were only abolished in Italy in 1981. In Italy, r*pe went from being a crime against the moral to being a crime against the person only in 1996.

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER’S MOODBOARD

Dividers credits

Sipping lemonade at the kitchen table, with the birds chirping outside and a slight breeze coming through the open window, Nina relished the first moments of peace in weeks. With the women of the family busy with the tradition of making tons of tomato sauce to preserve for the winter at Aunt Rita’s house and the men out for business, she could finally enjoy a day all for herself. She might even go to the sea, stay there to watch the sunset.

Glancing out the window, a curious sight caught her attention. Tommy Shelby was lounging in a chair, his head leaning back, his eyes closed. He had abandoned his formal attire, he wasn’t wearing a jacket nor a tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There was something captivating in his disheveled appearance, and in the way - despite his apparently vulnerable position - he still seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. There was a clear tension in his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered, from time to time.

After their late-night conversation, it didn’t take long for Tommy and Nina to go back to their old ways. That morning, while they sat at the breakfast table, they mostly ignored each other, and the few words they exchanged during the day were mere courtesies. It was almost as if last night never happened. Almost. Because it had happened, and something had changed between them. But it was such a small change that neither of them were actually aware of it. Maybe that change was the reason Nina took pity on him and walked out to approach him.

However, as soon as his stern blue eyes rested on her, an unfamiliar nervousness took over her, and she suddenly felt stupid, regretting her impulsive decision. It wasn’t like they were close, after all. But he was there, and he was looking at her, and it was too late to go back. She had to find something to say before that situation became even more awkward.

Before she could speak, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A black fur-ball was curled up in Tommy’s lap, hidden by the shadow of the table. Nina watched in shock as Winston purred and stretched his little paws, enjoying the man’s scratches behind his ear. How the hell did he manage to touch Winston without losing a finger?

The gangster’s eyes shifted between Nina and the cat, and his lips curved into an taunting grin. “Your cat likes me. That should be a good sign.”

“Quite the contrary.” She retorted, recovering from her astonishment. “Winston’s a devil. If he likes you, there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She teased him, feeling the previous embarrassment slowly fade away.

“But he likes you.” He squinted his eyes, pointing at her.

“Yes, because I feed him.”

Something moved in the grass, causing Winston to raise his head and stare at a specific point. It took him only a few seconds to spot a lizard, and he jumped from Tommy’s lap to catch the poor animal. Traitor, she thought to herself, watching as the cat ran away with his loot.

Once Winston had disappeared, she remembered the reason why she had walked up to him in the first place. “I’m going to the sea for a while.” She said, shifting her weight from one feet to the other. “If you need something, everybody’s over there.” She nodded her head at Agnese’s house.

Tommy stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering, almost hesitating. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, which surprised Nina even more than his question. One thing that she had learned in the short time she had known him was that he never wavered. Yet, only for an instant, his firm and unmovable facade seemed to falter.

Truth was, Tommy didn’t even remember the last time he went to the beach. He was still a kid, Finn probably wasn’t even born yet. He had almost forgotten how it felt, and for the first time in a long time, he longed for a feeling that seemed to belong to another life. But Nina didn’t particularly like him, and perhaps he was overstepping by asking to go with her. Moreover, if her family found out, chances were that they would get the wrong idea.

“No.” Nina shook her head, recollecting herself. “No, I don’t mind.”

She took both Tommy and herself aback with her answer. Up until a few days earlier she would’ve said a sharp “no” without thinking about it twice, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, his company wasn’t so unpleasant anymore. Quite the contrary. And their bickering surely was a way of escaping the boredom of the small village.

So they found themselves walking down the dirt road outside the big gates of the houses, in the opposite direction from where Tommy had arrived a little over a week ago. It stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, and its left side was surrounded by nothing but trees, whereas the right side overlooked the sea below. In the silence, he could already hear the sound of the waves and breathe the salty air, and the comfort it brought him almost made up for the burning sensation of the sun on his face. He wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the Italian summer, so radically different from Birmingham’s gloomy weather.

Eventually, they approached some narrow stone stairs, which led down to a small beach.

“Careful.” Nina told him, starting to walk down the high steps with surprising ease. “It’s slippery.”

Tommy followed behind her, paying close attention both to where he placed his feet and where she placed hers. She was going a bit too fast for his liking, and although her movements were agile and graceful, he had the impression she might slip at any moment.

Little did he know, she had walked down those steps hundreds of times. It was a spot she had discovered a few years prior, hidden from prying eyes and unknown to most people. It wasn’t even a proper beach, rather a small sandy space surrounded by rocks. It was her refuge, the place that sheltered her when she needed to be alone. Sometimes she would sit on a rock and watch the hypnotising motion of the waves rolling in, other times she took off her shoes and stood at the sea’s edge, lulled by the feeling of the cold water around her feet. She could pretend that nothing existed except for her and the sea, that she was free of the suffocating weight of judgement and injustice. And she could breathe.

“Nice place.” Tommy’s hoarse voice came to her ears as she went to sit on a rock. She watched as he looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. Another thing she had learned about Tommy Shelby was that it was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. He was so good at hiding his feelings that Nina figured it must be an ability he had mastered over the years. There was nothing left of the glimpse of humanity he had revealed the previous night, and she wondered whether her mind had just made it up.

With his back to her, he stood in front of the sea, observing the slow motion of the waves. “How’s your cousin? I haven’t seen her today.”

Unlike the previous days, that day no big lunch was organised in the shared garden, and Tommy had eaten with Nina, her parents and her two brothers in their dining room. Since he had officially started the courting the day before, the family’s agitation had quieted down, and big gatherings were not necessary anymore, unless something important happened, like a proposal. But it was too soon for that. So that day everything went back to normal, just like Nina had predicted the day he had arrived.

“She’s busy. She and my cousins are helping my mum and aunt Rita.” She informed him. “Summer means conserve. They’re making tomato sauce and preserving it. It’s a tradition.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this year.”

Tommy took her short answer as a sign not to inquire further. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she was a bit of an outcast in her own family. He had seen how her aunts and cousins looked at her, how they whispered among themselves when she said or did something they considered unacceptable, how her own mother lowered her head in embarrassment on those occasions. It hadn’t taken him long to understand how things worked in Sicily: women had to be meek, agreeable and marriage-minded. It was no wonder Nina’s temperament clashed with that state of things.

“Anyway, Agnese’s happy.” She continued. “Just like everyone.” Although she was trying to keep her tone neutral, she couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“But you’re not.” He stated matter-of-factly, turning to face her.

“I’m happy that she’s happy. What I’m not happy about…” she left her sentence hanging, thinking about her next words. “Is this whole sale thing. Because you can call it whatever you want, it doesn’t change what it really is.”

There it was, the rage she tried so hard to contain. It never completely reveal itself, it only shone through cracks and fractures, like in that moment. But Tommy had seen it since the very beginning, for anger recognises anger, and he was angry too. He had been angry since he was a boy.

He sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the calm sea in front of them. “You’re right.” He nodded, knowing there was no point in denying what was in front of everyone’s eyes. “But it’s necessary. I’m selling myself too, you know. Before all of this I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

Nina glanced at him, furrowing her brows. “You never thought about marriage?”

“I did.” He admitted, his mind wandering to moments that seemed so distant yet so close at the same time. “There was a woman I wanted to marry. Grace.” He explained, having to force himself to say her name. After a whole year, that name still stung on his tongue.

“What happened with her?” She asked curiously.

“Turns out she was a spy, working for an Irish cop who was investigating on some stolen guns.” Reality crashed back on him as he said those words, the memory of how he had been played by the woman he loved hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “He thought we had them.”

“Did you?”

A smirk made its way on Tommy’s face at her innocent question. He turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, slightly leaning towards her. “How do you think a backstreet razor gang managed to take control of the city without the police intervening?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away, shaking her head with an impressed look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” he straightened his back, becoming serious again. “She ratted us all out, and then she left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

It’s in the past. Tommy had lost count of all the times he had said that to himself. Maybe if he repeated it long enough, it would eventually become true. And maybe it was happening, because that was the first time he thought about her in days. Yet, it still hurt. He thought they were the same, that he found her, and she found him. He was wrong.

After a while, Nina broke the silence that had fallen between them. “At least you’re not some old man.”

Her sudden statement caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and even though she had tried to keep a straight face, she soon followed him. Tommy realised that he had never actually heard her laugh before. A few times she had chuckled, but until then she had never let out a real laugh. It was infectious, and he found himself laughing for the first time in God knew how long.

Soon the laughter died down, and Tommy was left with question that had been burning in his mind for a while. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

There was no judgment in his voice, just plain curiosity. He didn’t find it strange, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so adamant about the matter.

She took her time to answer, as if she was ordering the words in her mind, and he couldn’t tell whether she was translating her thoughts or finding the way to address a subject that was clearly a sore point. She was so fluent in English that sometimes he forgot it wasn’t her first language. Then her accent came through, or she mispronounced a word, and he was reminded that it probably hadn’t been easy for her to master a language without living in the place it was spoken. It was quite impressive.

“Because if I got married,” she started, bringing his attention back to the topic. “I’d be completely subordinated to my husband. I couldn’t make financial or even employment decisions. If we had children, they wouldn’t really be mine, I’d have no right over them. In the eyes of the law, my husband would have absolute power over us.”

Tommy attentively listened, not daring to interrupt her, afraid that she would close herself off again.

“Best case scenario, I’d end up being a wife and a mother, nothing more, nothing less. Worst case scenario, I’d end up like one of my mother’s friends, who was killed by her husband because he thought she had cheated on him. And he got a sentence reduction. Because it was a honour killing.” She spat out, her voice full of scorn. She frowned, as she did every time she didn’t agree on something.

“Honour killing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He had heard about it, of course, but there was something grotesque in the fact that it was somehow recognised by the law.

“If a woman brings dishonour in any way to the family, and one of her family members were to kill her, they would get a sentence reduction. It’s called delitto d’onore. Honour killing.” She explained, and he could tell she was trying not to let emotions take the best of her. Her gaze rested on him, and he figured his expression let his thoughts slip through, because she nodded. “You think that’s fucked up? Wait until you hear about the rehabilitating marriage.”

“What about it?”

“If a man rapes a woman, he can escape his sentence by marrying her. It’s in the Criminal Code, just like the honour killing. And the woman must marry the man to save both her honour and her family. Otherwise she’ll be identified as a shameless woman.” Her dark eyes blazed with outrage as she stared at some point in front of her, and Tommy found himself sharing the same disdain. Maybe it was the part of him who had never tolerated injustice, a side of him he had pushed back a long time ago, but that stubbornly came to the surface whenever something unfair occurred, or maybe her rage was so strong that it was able to infect those who were close to her.

“It’s not that uncommon that a man kidnaps a woman so that she will be forced to marry him.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “It’s not right. Sometimes I sit here and it’s all I can think about. It’s not right. And no one seems to be angry about it. Most people even agree with it. It’s just how things are. It’s normal. It shouldn’t be.”

Tommy knew that feeling, the frustration that came with helplessness. It plagued him when he was a boy, when he was treated differently because of who he was, of where he came from. When his mother couldn’t afford to put on the table anything but lard. When aunt Polly’s children were taken from her. It was that feeling that pushed him to make sure people feared the Shelby name, so that no one would dare treat them like scum ever again.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to have a family of my own. But it’s not worth the risk of becoming no one. I don’t want to obliterate myself. I don’t want to depend on a man who might be cruel to me. I want something that’s mine. Because right now, I have nothing. And I know that I finished school, and that’s way more than what most boys get, let alone girls. But it’s not enough.” Her voice cracked, but there was no trace of tears on her face. “Is it so bad to want something more?”

No, Tommy wanted to say. No, it’s not. But couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he knew that there were no words that could make it better.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, pulling herself together. “I got carried away and I talked too much.”

“No.” He said quickly. “You didn’t. I asked you a question and you answered it.”

For some reason, Tommy didn’t want Nina to think that her talking bothered him, that she had to hold her tongue with him. He liked hearing her talk. She was smart, she had thoughts of her own, and she challenged him. She didn’t agree with everything he said - or pretended to - just to please him, she didn’t make herself smaller like everyone else did in his presence. That was somehow refreshing.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. They were both meditating on the words they had said and heard, and the gap between them didn’t seem so wide, now. As the sun started to set, the sky took on shades of pink and orange, and a warm light illuminated the beach.

Tommy took advantage of Nina’s distraction to look at her. The last rays of sun lit up her eyes with a golden hue, giving them a colour which resembled honey. Her tan skin seemed to gleam, and her cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he realised - she was beautiful. He had already noticed her interesting, sharp beauty, but now it felt as if it had intensified. A light gust of wind rose up, and her long raven hair tickled his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. When the scent of lavender filled his nostrils, he couldn’t restrain himself from closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Nina shifted her position, causing their hands to accidentally brush.

He didn’t flinch away this time. She didn’t either.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc

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theraggedygirl11 · 6 months

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Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud

Bojan's POV

Kris' POV: AO3 - Tumblr

SUMMARY: In a world where Heaven and Hell exist, angels and demons are constantly fighting and killing one another. What if a demon easily dominated by his emotions falls in love with a stoic and cold angel trained to kill demons?

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

WARNINGS: swearing, blood, implied violence, hurt/comfort, implied suicide, emotional rollercoaster, enemies to lovers, hint of jance in the background

WORDS COUNT: 5.094

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Hello! Welcome to my first ever BoKris fic. It all started from this post by @arctixout and that damn tag (for reference: #stoic angel!kris and demon!bojan who's slave to his emotions and then they somehow fall in love wait who said that). And what could I do? It was too juicy to not write something out of it! So here we are.

Besides, as you can see from the title, I used Bluza (Youtube video and lyrics+translation) as my inspiration (and background music while writing), and this songs plays a role in the plot too 👀 yeah, I know we all think this is a BoJere song, but in this fic it's a BoKris fic, you'll understand why

Also, thanks to my beta @anxious-witch!

Last but not the least, I did this aestethic/moodboard trying to match @arctixout gifs

“You should talk to him.”

“Why? He's a demon. He's impure, a damned soul.”

“And you love him.”

“Angels can't love. He started corrupting me.”

“Angels can love and they must love. It's not corruption.”

“How can you tell it's not his corruption, Jan?!”

“Because I fell in love with a demon too. And I accepted it. Go to him, speak to him. He’s singing for you.”

When humans think about demons, the mental image they have is that of a terrifying creature, maybe with huge bat wings, a tail with an arrowhead at the end, claws, horns, red skin, maybe even hooves instead of feet.

Well, we do have a tail, and wings, and claws, but nothing alike of what you see in those pictures, and not every demon has them. We own a human form, just like everyone on this planet, that we use to roam among mortals. We have feelings, desires, hobbies, friends and families. Our only drawback is being born a demon from demon parents. We are guardians in Hell, we just watch over the damned souls who doomed themselves to suffering.

Heaven knows this, angels too, but they deliberately chose to not see this, to hate us, and they kill us with no hesitation when they find us on Earth. They think we are impure beings that don’t deserve to live.

And this is what led me, a demon, to meet the most beautiful creature ever seen on every plane of existence. I fell in love with an angel, I don’t even know his name, but I will discover it.

He almost killed me, I was terrified for my life, but he stopped when our eyes met, the sharp point of his dagger barely touched my throat. Something exploded in my chest, my heart was beating so fast. I've never felt something similar to what I felt at that moment.

And since that night I find myself staring at the sky so often, during both daytime and nighttime. Am I a hopeless romantic that waits for his angel to come and get him? Oh yeah, you can bet on it. And I'll wait for him to appear for eternity, if necessary.

* * *

“Bojan, come on!” Shouts Nace, one of my dearest demon friends. “We are late!”

I turn my eyes in his direction. I was staring at the sky, again. As always, no signs of my angel. He will appear, I’m sure of it, but this is not that day. I sigh, then reach Nace and Jure.

“Still looking for that feathered ass?” Jure asks.

“I…yes. I’d like to meet him again.”

“It’s better if you forget him, he will try to kill you again the next time he sees you,” says Jure while looking me in the eyes.

“He’s different. I’m sure of it. He didn’t kill me.”

“No, but he was about to,” replies Nace. “You know better than us that those winged assholes can’t be reasoned with.”

I lower my eyes, aware of the truth behind Nace’s words. We lost so many of our demon friends because of angels. But maybe…maybe he’s not like the other angels. I saw something in his eyes, something different, this sparkle.

With this thought in mind, I followed Nace and Jure to our destination: there’s a concert of a human band we all like, so we decided to go. We enjoy music so much, we also joke about forming a band together and tour together on Earth, among mortals, but that would put too much attention on us. It’s too dangerous. But at least we can enjoy concerts and gigs!

I’m dancing, taken away by the rhythm of the songs, when my gaze meets familiar eyes in the crowd, two amazing blue-green seas. I completely stop, and so does he. The music and every other sound disappears along with the people around me.

We stare at each other for moments that seem to last decades, blue into brown, light into darkness, Heaven into Hell, a perfect but forbidden combination, something that should never exist.

This magic spell breaks when I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately after a tight grip. I turn and see Nace on my side, who is harshly staring at my angel. Jure appears on my other side.

I turn again towards my angel and I see two other people near him, one of them with dark and long messy hair and a beard, the other one with shorter hair but well combed and a trimmed beard. They are definitely angels. And they know we are demons.

The guy with messy hair steps in our direction, but my angel stops him, raising his hand and using it as a barrier. The dark-haired angel steps back and quickly glances at his friend. No one says a word.

“Bojči, let’s go,” Jure whispers into my ear, then grabs my arm and pulls me away.

I keep looking at my angel until I can no longer see him in the crowd.

In the next weeks Nace and Jure forbid me to go to the surface, but I sneak out. Every other demon could tell that my self-preservation instinct got fried because I want to talk to that angel, at all costs.

I keep looking at the sky, searching for him. Waiting for him to show up. And every single time nothing happens. But I’m stubborn, I won’t give up.

Tonight the sky is clear, stars are shining bright, and there's a small crescent moon. I'm lying on a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, around me only trees and mountains.

Suddenly a shadow partially covers the sky above me.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

I startle and stand up immediately, recoiling scared. When I recognise the person in front of me, I wide my eyes and open my mouth in surprise.

“Angel,” I whisper.

It’s dark, but I can sense his piercing blue eyes on me. He’s tall, taller than Jure and Nace too. His cheekbones are prominent, I can for sure cut myself while stroking them. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I want to touch them and feel them under my hands and bleed for him. He’s standing straight, rigid like a soldier, or maybe a general, I can’t tell his celestial rank.

“I repeat, since you seem to not understand my words, what are you doing here all alone?”

Shivers run down my whole body, his voice is…ok, this might sound cheeky, but yes, his voice sounds angelic, a slow caress of a lover on my back down to my waist.

“I was looking for you.”

“For me?” He’s surprised.

“Yes, for you. I wanted to talk to you, angel.”

Now he’s confused. Well, not every day a demon comes looking for an angel. I go closer to him, moving slowly.

“I’m not armed,” I show him my hands. “You can check on me. This is not a trap.”

His eyes follow every single movement I do, even more carefully when I’m in front of him. I stare at his face, stunned by his beauty. I lift a hand to touch it, but I stop mid-air. No, I can’t touch him, my dirty hands can only ruin his perfection.

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?”

“I…I want to know you, angel.”

“I beg your pardon, you want to know…me?”

“Yes,” I nod. “You are amazingly beautiful, angel,” I let slip this comment, without realising.

I notice a weird red-ish colour on his face. Did I just make him blush? I chuckle, he replies with a shy smile. Oh, he’s so wonderful! That smile almost made me melt on the spot.

“Would you like to…I don’t know, come grab a coffee or anything else to drink?”

Who said that angels and demons can’t get along well? They must have never met an angel, then.

My angel, whose name is Kris, is a pleasant company. Well, he’s still a little bit rigid, but since that night when we had a couple of drinks together in a bar he became much more open and relaxed and he smiles so much now! Oh, I adore his smile. And his laugh too!

We started going out together here and there, but every time it happens, my heart almost explodes out of joy. I can’t wait to see him again and again and again. Jure and Nace are worried for me, but I feel safe around Kris. He’s not like the other angels.

Our “dates” are pretty diverse. Sometimes we just hang out in some park or in the middle of wild places; once we sat on a cliff for hours, we talked and we observed the environment, at least Kris, I was too busy looking at him with heart eyes. Some other time we choose a city and we explore it, we can just appear anywhere in the world, a perk of being supernatural creatures!

This night though is special. Tonight I will confess my feelings to Kris. By now we have been seeing each other for some months and I’m completely sure about my love for him. Yes, I, a demon, fell in love with an angel, I’m not afraid of saying it, I want to shout it from the top of a building.

I’m putting on some makeup. I’m in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a small apartment I rented for when I’m roaming around on Earth. Jure and Nace are with me in the room, they are still worried for me.

“Are you sure of what you are about to do?” Nace asks.

“Yes, never been so sure in my long demonic life,” I reply.

“But he’s an angel, Bojči,” Jure whispers. “He’s dangerous. What if he’s playing with you?”

“He’s not, Jurček. I see how he looks at me, he…I think he’s in love with me too,” I glance at him through the mirror.

“Angels are sly creatures, you can’t trust them,” Jure adds.

“They say the same stuff about us, you know?”

I smile at my reflection. That black eyeshadow with glitter is perfect for me, my eyes are shining. “I love him, I’m going to tell him this. Tonight will be a special night, nothing can change this.”

We hear the sound of wings in the living room. He’s here.

I almost run in the room, a huge smile appears on my lips when I see him. He’s wearing beige trousers, a shirt with light colours and floral designs and a silver jacket. He’s from Heaven, no one can be mistaken. And his clothes collide with mine: I’m wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt, when we’ll go out I planned to wear a bright red leather jacket. He’s the good boy, I’m the bully, the bad boy.

“You are stunning, ljubavi .”

“You…too, Bojan.”

I notice his eyes passing over me. I turn and I see Jure and Nace.

“Oh, yeah, these are my dearest friends. This is Jure,” and I point to the blonde demon. “And this is Nace,” I move my hand towards the tattooed demon. “They are safe, they won’t hurt you. I ask you to do the same.”

“...fine,” he grants. His eyes turn back to me. I notice hesitation in him.“You put on makeup.”

“Yes, just for you. Do you like it?”

“You…look good.”

I grab his hand. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me.”

I practically pull Kris to the bathroom, where I make him sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“What are you trying to do, little demon?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” I reply while I take the palette I bought the other day. I start putting makeup on his face, I chose a wonderful golden eyeshadow for him. I admire my work.

“You are otherworldly, ljubavi . Open your eyes.”

Kris opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. I observe his reaction: I can read astonishment in his face.

“Gold is your colour. It suits you perfectly.”

“I-It does,” he whispers.

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. “We can go, then. I have other surprises for you, my angel.”

Our first stop is at a wonderful restaurant where we had already eaten so many times because it’s Kris’ favourite. I let him order whatever he wants and then pay for the whole dinner. We talk about many topics, but Kris is weirdly more silent than usual.

“Is everything ok, ljubavi ?”

“Yeah, sure, don't worry. I…had a rough day in Heaven, that's all.”

I smile fondly at him, then gently grab his hand and slowly stroke its back.

“Now it's time for you to relax, then. Enjoy this night out.”

Our eyes lock. I see him relaxing a bit, the shadow of whatever happened retreating.

Once dinner is finished, we take a long walk into the city centre. It's almost summer, the temperatures are pleasant, so many other humans are around. We blend in, looking like a proper couple, even because we are holding hands.

When we arrive at our final destination of the night, I bring Kris to the top of a building, so we can be alone and closer to the sky, his home.

“Why did you bring me here?” Kris asks.

I shake one hand in the air, around us many candles appear and some slow music starts spreading, embracing us. I turn towards my angel and offer him my hand.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kris?”

He looks at me, confused, but then takes it. I lay my other hand on his waist and smile at him. We start dancing, slowly. My angel is a bit embarrassed, but he tries to follow my lead.

“Just let the music flow over you. Hear it inside of you and allow it to take control over your body,” I whisper to him with a tender voice.

A few seconds later Kris is more relaxed and we are dancing more fluidly, following the rhythm and the melody. I can’t stop smiling while I look at my angel. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, so perfect. I can see stars reflecting into his eyes, an entire galaxy in which I could lose myself, bewitched by its beauty.

We keep dancing along with the music, but the more we dance, the more I see a shadow coming back in Kris’ eyes, until he leaves my hands and takes two steps back.

“We can’t go on doing this, Bojan.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“Because we can’t! You are a demon, and I’m an angel. We are not supposed to…mingle.”

“We are not mingling, ljubavi . This is a romantic date between two creatures who have feelings for each other.”

I grab the angel's hands and look him in the eyes.

“Kris, I'm not the monster Heaven teaches you to despise. You saw me, you got to know me.”

“You are still a demon, Bojan, no matter how you behave or what you do.”

“And so? What does it change between us?”

“I'm a freaking angel! We are supposed to fight each other, not…doing this, dancing alone like two teenagers in love!”

“Only because we are not human teenagers? Because we come from two different places? Because others tell us that we should hate each other?” I clutch his hands between mine. “You know me,” I repeat. It’s the truth, we have been seeing each other for some months now. I bring one of his hands on my chest, right over my heart. “This heart is yours, ljubavi , and no one else’s.”

“Bojan, this is wrong .”

“Kris, I love you. What's wrong with that?” I feel my heart sink into my chest. “You…don't love me?”

“No, Bojan. I don’t love you. Let’s stop pretending.”

My heart stops beating in that exact moment and I feel my head spin. The ground under my feet is crumbling. I’m falling even if I’m right in front of Kris, my angel. I struggle breathing.

“I-I’m not pretending.”

“Don’t lie, Bojan. You are a demon, all demons do is lie. You know who and what I am, you saw weakness in me because I didn’t kill you that day. You are corrupting me because you want me to lose my wings!”

“I know you are an angel and nothing else! I-I don't want you to lose your wings!” There’s panic in my voice, and maybe it’s showing on my face too. “I’m not lying!”

“You want to bring me to the path of perdition! You want me to fall, just like Lucifer.”

I let Kris' hands go and recoil, stuttering. My heart is clenched, it can’t beat.

“I-I’m not, Kris. I-I don’t want to-”

“Stop lying!” He shouts and his eyes begin shining out of celestial power. “You are a filthy demon. You don’t change, you just want to destroy us.”

I recoil again, scared, I even fall on the ground. I stand up then turn and run away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes violently, they want to come out and a few seconds later they manage to do so. My makeup is for sure ruined and dripping down my face.

I feel like an idiot. I hoped that Kris would be different, but what was I thinking? He's an angel, those creatures are heartless killers when it comes to demons like me. Their hatred for us is blind, almost innate. I just got another proof.

Nace and Jure were right. Angels and demons are not meant to be together. Then why did I, a demon, fall in love with an angel? If we are supposed to be mortal enemies, then why was I destined to lose my reason for a celestial creature that would slaughter me just because I am what I am? Just why? Will I ever get an answer?

I’ve been locked in my room in a building in Hell for…who knows how much time. I don’t want to see anyone, neither Nace nor Jure. I keep crying, stopping the tears coming out of my eyes is difficult, or dare I say even impossible. My heart is shattered.

Why are demons born with such intense feelings? Why can’t we control them like angels do? Or are we cursed to be dominated by our emotions exactly because angels don’t have them?They teach us that the universe needs balance, so if angels can’t feel, someone else must feel double the time.

I wrap my body with my arms, trying to look smaller. My tail is out, wrapped around my leg. It’s a pathetic endeavour to not feel so alone and abandoned.

I wince when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see Nace sitting by my side. He’s visibly worried.

“Bojči, what happened?”

I sob. “Y-you were right about him. He-he’s a heartless angel, just like anyone else of them,” I stutter, my voice is trembling.

Nace lays on my bed, facing me, then pulls me over to hug me. I plant my face against his chest. I feel his hand running up and down my back.

“Not every angel is heartless.”

“He is, Nace!” I shout, utter despair in my voice. “He is! I showed him my love and he accused me of trying to corrupt him! I-I gave him my whole heart and he laughed at me, he stabbed it with his ice dagger and killed me-” I stop. I can still hear his words in my mind. “H-He called me a filthy demon, Nace. After all I did for him and showed him, I-I’m still a filthy demon to him.”

My friend says nothing, he just stays there and cuddles me, attempting to make me feel a little bit better.

And since that day I kind of started feeling better. Well, it’s more of a euphemism. Let’s say that I was barely surviving. I came back to my chores as a demon, but now I don’t smile anymore, or very little. I’m quiet. I prefer to stay alone than in the middle of a crowd. With me I have a small notebook in which I write my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and also lyrics. I can’t be a singer in the human world, but no one can stop me from writing what I feel, what I experience.

This is how I wrote a song about my angel and how I fell in love with him. It has a stupid name too. I can write good songs, but I’m not able to name them. I will find a better one, one day. Hopefully.

“What are you writing in that notebook?” Asks Jure while sitting next to me.

We are in the human world, more precisely in a park. We needed some fresh air and some sunlight.

“It’s nothing…” I answer.

Jure leans forward to read. “Is this about him?”

I nod. There’s no one else in my mind. I don’t like his presence, he’s haunting me, my mind is working against me.

“It’s really intense,” Jure whispers. “Do you really love him?”

I nod again. “I know I’m a stupid demon. I should move on, forget him, but I can’t. He doesn’t love me back, he said it,” I sigh. “I’m just hoping to forget him as soon as possible. Maybe writing this stuff will help me process this stupid feeling.”

“Love isn’t stupid!”

“My love is absolutely stupid. An angel, Jurček! I’m a freaking demon and I fell in love with an angel.”

“You are not the first one.”

“Yeah, and how many of them survived? Are they here to tell their love story? No, Jurček, because angels killed them. I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

Jure pushes me with his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, Bojči. There’s always time to change.”

I look at him. I don’t believe his words. Months have passed since my last moment with my angel, his shiny eyes are still impressed in my mind. He was about to kill me that night.

No, he won’t change. Kris is an angel, full stop. He’s born to despise demons like me. I just need to accept that, but it will take time.

Is this despair that is guiding my actions? Possibly. Will I regret my decisions? Almost certainly. But if I can’t be with my angel, then I’d rather be dead, maybe slaughtered by him directly. That would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? A demon executed by the angel he’s fallen in love with. There’s poetry behind all of this. Maybe demons will use me as an example to the younglings to warn them to not fall in love with angels if they want to live.

I tried to forget him, move on, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He's haunting me. And with him also the lyrics of the song I wrote for him.

I’m in the middle of an abandoned industrial area. I prepared an amplifier with a microphone and a computer. I recorded some music for my song and I will perform it for the first (and last) time here, hoping that my angel is listening to me and will come to…I don’t know, to do anything. I’m ready for whatever he will decide to do to me. Included death.

I test the volume and the music. Everything sounds good, so I play the music and I start singing, looking directly at the sky.

“ Stolicu primakni, ruku mi dotakni, noćas ti si moja muza, ja u ritmu tvoga bluza ću da plešem bez prestanka .”

Nothing. The sky is blue, there’s not a single cloud, not a single sign of feathered wings. I continue singing.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

Still nothing. But I won’t lose hope, I will keep singing for him. He will show up, eventually. I just need a sign, Kris, please, I’m begging you.

“ Samo se okreni, baci pogled prema meni. Preći će tišina sama kilometre među nama dok jednom srce otkuca .”

Now it’s again time for the refrain. Some tears started running down my face, but I continue singing, I must, even if he won’t appear. I need to take these feelings out of my heart or it will explode. Maybe it will be my heart to kill me and not my angel.

I see something in the sky, then the clear sound of wings hits me. I lower my eyes and I find Kris right in front of me. I see his three pairs of wings. A seraph, I should have guessed. Of course, I fell in love with one of the most powerful angels in the sky. When I do something, it’s always something big or I’m not happy with the result.

I kneel in front of him. Now I’ll sing the last part of my song.

“ Ne palite još svetla, još samo jedan tren da se nagledam lepote te. Ne palite još svetla. Ne prizivajte dan. Spasite me, smislite neki plan. Ako svane sunce, ostaću sam .”

The music stops. I’m looking at my angel, finally here for me. I’m breathing deeply, my heart is racing in my chest. My hand that’s holding the microphone is shaking. I’m afraid of what might happen, but at the same time I’m relieved.

“You came,” I whisper.

“You called.”

Silence falls again between us. Kris slowly approaches, his facial expression is cold, hiding every emotion. I have pure angelic power in front of me, a deadly machine trained to kill my kind, and I’m looking at him in adoration.

“You know I should kill you right now because you are on Earth and not in Hell, right?”

“Then do it. I won’t fight, I won’t run away. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be dead.”

Kris averts his eyes and presses his lips together, then talks.

“You are an idiot, Bojan.”

“Yeah, I know, ljubavi . Love made me lose my mind in a way I didn’t think possible.”

“You said that in the song.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it’s just one of the many flaws that make us demons so imperfect in front of you angels. I was so unlucky to fall in love with you, but I don’t consider myself unlucky. I had the best moments of my life with you, I don’t want to change this for anything else in this world, not even a place in Heaven, if this means that I will lose my ability to love so strongly.”

I let the microphone fall on the ground and grab Kris’ sword, he has it in his hand, then I lay his sharp point right on my heart.

“You are here for this, no? Killing another impure soul that doesn’t follow the rules.”

Kris looks at me, finally. I smile, those eyes are so cold and so beautiful at the same time.

“Don’t make me do this, Bojan.”

“It’s ok, ljubavi . It’s ok. It’s…it’s your nature, you have been trained to do this your whole life.”

My voice trembles with emotions. Tears keep running down my face. No, I realise I’m not ready to die. I want to live, to be with him, but I know I can’t. It’s not allowed.

I feel the point of his sword pressed against my chest. In a few seconds it will reach my heart, and it will stop beating. I close my eyes.

But nothing happens. I’m still here, alive, breathing. I hear a metal sound against the ground, then two hands cup my face and I feel warm and soft lips pressed on mine.I open wide my eyes. Kris is kneeling on the ground in front of me and he’s kissing me.

I close my eyes again. I kiss him back, desperate to feel him, to make him feel my love through that act. I gently grab his wrists.

When we interrupt the kiss, I touch Kris’ forehead with mine. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.

“Please, let it be real,” I whisper, without even realising it. “Please, please, let it be real.”

Kris chuckles. “It’s real, Bojan.”

I open my eyes and part a bit from him, just to look him in the eyes. “Real-real kind of way or…real-I’m-in-some-sort-of-Heaven-for-demons-because-I’m-dead kind of way?” I ask.

My angel gently strokes my cheeks, then leans forward to kiss me again.

“This kind of way, my little demon,” he whispers against my lips. I shiver thanks to that lovely nickname. I hate being called little because it reminds me of my lack of height, but I’d let Kris call me whatever he wants, just to hear his voice again and again.

“I’m your little demon, then?”

Kris nods while looking me in the eyes. He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. His touch is so gentle, shivers run down my spine again.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Your song. I had feelings for you, they developed pretty early, but I…wasn’t acknowledging their existence because I never had the chance to fall in love with someone.”

I jump on Kris to hug him, sending us both falling to the ground, so I end up on top of him. I burst out laughing.

“Well, now you have someone right here.”

My tail appears behind me and shakes in the air, showing my happiness. I kiss him on the cheek, then giggle when I see him blushing. A couple of tears run down my face, but this time they are out of pure and simple joy.

* * *

I've been a demon my whole life. I grew up fearing angels, but nothing could have prepared me for what fate had planned for me. I fell in love with Kris, an angel, a seraph. Our relationship began with the worst scenario possible, with him trying to kill me. And yeah, I might be dumb, because I fell in love with him in that moment, but now we are happy together. And I wouldn’t change a thing about us.

Heaven and Hell finally united thanks to the love between an angel and a demon.

#bojan's pov #bokris #bojan cvjetićanin #kris guštin #annies writes #my writing #joker out #joker out fanfic #baš ja koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud #love's the death of peace of mind

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k-vanity · 3 months

Text

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire; I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon’s sphere.

Fairy from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 2, scene 1, lines 2-7

Welcome, strangers, though I hope we can call each other friends by night's end. As you find your course through the fantastical veil, be cautious. What lurks may be either friend or foe. Safe travels.

Choose any prompt(s) and create a tale or graphic to celebrate the summer.

Prompts

Themes:

Reincarnation

Mistaken identities

Transformations

Fae

Strangers to Lovers

Hybrids

Summer solstice

Love Affairs

Weddings

Royalty

Scenarios:

A stranger gives you a love potion, but it affects everyone you come in contact with, either making them fall madly in love or despise you.

Your dreams start to come true.

A fae Prince is looking for his soulmate, he stumbles upon your home, injured and desperate to make you remember who he is.

They knew hearing music in the woods was a bad sign, but why was it so pretty?

A late night walk along the beach with a stranger that’s actually your soulmate?

Dialogue:

“I’ve been alive for seven hundred years, and you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not asking for your good graces. I’m asking for your throne.”

“You have everyone else in this family fooled, but not me.”

“I know it’s impossible to believe, but I think I might actually have feelings for you.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“This has been a wonderful date, but I think we should never, under any circumstances, ever see each other again.”

“If I told you, you’d hate me forever.”

“Why? Are you falling for me?”

“Oh, you sweet, sweet fool… If only you had seen what had already been right in front of you.”

“How did you not realize you were getting tricked by her/him?!”

“I think you should go outside for a bit. Take a walk, maybe hug a tree…”

“For someone who got raised by fae, you are exceptionally bad at recognizing when one wants to murder you.”

Rules

Must be a member of the net

Writers - must be at least 500 words

Visual artists - can be moodboards, gfx, gifs, icons, etc.

Include prompt(s) in some part of your work

Tag #kdream and #kvanity

Net rules and regulations apply to the event

Event Timeline

June 20th-August 31st

M.list posted September 7th

#kvn event #kdream

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late-to-the-party-81 · 2 years

Text

(Love is) Lemon muffins and chamomile tea

AN: This is my entry for @jadedvibes falling in love challenge. This story can be read as a standalone, or a prequel to my other Bruce/Hulk x Reader stories (I guess it’s a series now, oops). My chosen dialogue prompt can be found in bold in the text.

Dividers by @fireflygraphics and moodboard by me

Beta’d by @yarnforbrains

Please check out my main masterlist here and the series masterlist here

Pairing: Bruce Banner/Hulk x Reader

CW: Fluff/Meet cute, Falling in love, mild peril and threats of violence, Hulk being a sweetheart, one kiss.

Word count: 2.7k

It had started simply, as these things do. You were working your job at the independent coffee shop, making up flat whites, americanos and skinny mocha-lattes with extra foam and shots of non-sugar syrup. You saw lots of people every day, but after a while you began to recognise your regulars: baldy business suit (macchiato), working mom (hazelnut latte, sometimes with whipped cream), gaggle of college girls (who flip flop between seasonal flavoured hot chocolates, seasonal frappes and double espressos), and construction workers (a mix of americano’s and flat whites).

Then there was him. Not overly tall or broad, but with a riot of curly salt and pepper hair and kind, dark eyes partially hidden by glasses. He always seemed preoccupied, reading a book in the wait line, and then at a table if he chose to have his drink in. You’d peeked at his books several times and having seen they were all to do with physics, math, and computing, you’d concluded he was either a university professor or a scientist.

What made him stand out though was his order. He rarely had coffee, normally opting for a tea. Usually he chose mint, the green of it almost glowing in the cup, but you’d started noticing a pattern – if he seemed stressed, agitated, he always asked for chamomile. And he nearly always drank this inside, as if he needed the time to decompress and compose himself - to escape whatever was frustrating him.

The third thing that struck you was that he didn’t seem to have a regular time of day to attend. Sometimes he was outside the doors at opening, sometimes you were politely shoo-ing him out at closing. It made you think that maybe he worked close by and kept odd hours, popping in and out of your little shop whenever he needed a break. It was one of those late night incidents in the middle of summer that you learned his name.

You’d been dutifully cleaning down all the equipment, filling and setting the dishwasher to run overnight, and wiping the tables, watching ‘The Professor’ as you’d dubbed him from the corner of your eye. It had been a chamomile evening, apparently, and scattered in front of him were pieces of paper covered in his spidery scrawl, and two, thick books about some kind of brain draining topic. He’d read a bit, make a note, curse low under his breath, and then read a bit more, sometimes flipping back and forth through the pages. It felt mean to disturb him, but you’d turned the open/close sign 15 mins ago, switched all the lights off out back, and there wasn’t a lot else you could do. Also, your feet hurt and you just wanted to get home.

You walked up to him, coming round the side in hope he would see you, but he still jumped slightly when you greeted him.

“Umm, hi there.”

You almost swore his skin took on a green tinge as he swivelled on his stool, but when you looked again he appeared totally normal. You did need some rest!

“Sorry to disturb you, but we’re, umm, closed now.”

The Professor blinked at you slowly, as if trying to process what you were saying, before tilting his head to look at the clock on the wall. He looked down at his watch with furrowed brow, as though he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Damn! I’m so sorry.” He pulled off his glasses, folding them and putting them in his breast pocket. Turning back to the table, he started to shuffle his papers together, stuffing them and his books into his leather messenger bag. “You should have told me earlier. I didn’t mean to hold you up. I just, umm, get in the zone sometimes and don’t notice the march of time.”

You smiled back, finding his slightly flustered state endearing. “It’s no problem. It was sort of nice to have someone else in here while I was shutting up.”

Walking over to the door with him, you held it open for him to leave. He walked through, took one step along the sidewalk before suddenly stopping, spinning on his heel and looking at you from under his dark lashes, a broad hand pushing through his hair.

“Err, I’m Bruce by the way.”

You grinned. He really was rather cute.

“Nice to meet you, Bruce. See you again sometime.”

He let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah, the next time I need a cup of tea, a lemon muffin, and, umm, some of the best scenery in New York.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggle at the cheesiness of his line.

“Smooth, Bruce, smooth…”

He shot you a smile, before turning away and heading off into the warm evening.

Summer made way for autumn, the heat tapering off, the nights creeping in and the leaves doing their annual costume change. You saw Bruce more often than before, striking up a friendship with him due to his frequent visits to the shop. Whenever he spotted you behind the counter, he’d shyly wave hello. It got to the point where he never had to line up any more, just situated himself at his favourite table, spreading out his books and notes, knowing that as soon as you got a moment you’d appear with his tea and a muffin. You’d begun to read his moods, and it wasn’t difficult for you to work out which tea he was in the mood for.

During quiet moments you’d come over and sit with him, either letting him ramble at you about his work - despite the fact that if you understood one word in three you were doing well - or distracting him from whatever equation was frustrating him by telling him about your day. He’d often stay for a few hours, going through cup after cup of tea, and if he appeared when you were on a closing shift you knew he would be there until you ushered him out of the door.

It was the beginning of November now. Halloween had passed in a flurry of bat shaped cookies and pumpkin spice muffins, although the warm apple cider and pumpkin spice lattes were staying for a while. You smiled at the memory of when you gave Bruce one of the ciders instead of his normal tea. He’d sipped it absent-mindedly, and you’d seen the moment his taste buds had woken up. His eyes went wide as he smacked his lips together before he threw you a smile that you’d never admit made you go slightly weak at the knees.

There was something between the two of you; some unspoken undercurrent. There were times, especially when it was only the pair of you left in the shop, that you felt yourself a hair's breadth away from reaching out to him, wanting so much to run your fingers through his tousled locks, take his glasses off, sit yourself on his lap and… but he was your customer. You never saw each other in any other setting, so you had to maintain your professionalism, but you itched for more, wondering if you should bite the bullet and ask him out.

There’s always tomorrow, you thought.

Then, everything changed.

The wind whipped around you, causing swirls of leaves around your feet as you pulled the shop door shut, using the light from the streetlamp to see what you were doing as you locked it.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright getting home on your own?”

Bruce stood next to you, wrapped up in a chunky scarf over his wool coat, his heavy messenger bag slung across his chest. He was shifting from foot to foot, looking a bit agitated, eyes darting all around as though looking out for any danger that may be lurking. With your back still turned to him, you rolled your eyes, before spinning to look at him, a soft smile now on your face as you pulled on your gloves.

“I’ll be fine, Bruce. I walk this route nearly every day. It’s only three blocks.”

“But there are some weirdos out there.”

“I know that, but I promise to stay in the well-lit areas, and I’ve got my pepper spray.” You pulled your keychain from your pocket, showing the small spray can attached.

“I could walk you home…”

Your heart did that little ‘pitter-patter’ again at his sweet offer. Your lips turned up further.

“Go home, Bruce. I absolutely promise I’ll be okay. I’m on the mid-shift tomorrow, so see you around lunch time? Maybe I’ll take my break after I bring you your food? Regale you with the boring story of this walk home.”

He looked at you, just letting out a resigned hum at your stubborn independence.

“Okay. I just worry, you know. Pretty girl like you, walking home in the dark.”

While your heart did somersaults, you tried to maintain your cool.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bruce.”

You could feel him watching you as you walked away down the sidewalk, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that he cared so much meant that he cared.

You kept your promise as you walked home,sticking to the middle of the sidewalk, not too close to the alleys and doorways, and also not too close to the road edge. That was until a man coming in the other direction crashed into you sending you staggering towards the side of a building. You bounced against the hard bricks, winded for a second, and then a hand closed around your wrist, yanking you into the dark alleyway. You let out a screech and pulled back, but the hand held you fast, pulling you further away from the lights and any other pedestrians. You fumbled in your pocket for your keys, your small can of pepper spray, but a firmer tug caused you to stumble, and they fell from your gloved hand onto the ground with a clatter.

“Let me go!”

The man, tall and filthy, leered at you through missing teeth, running his gaze up and down your body in hunger, despite how much you were covered with your duffle coat. You lashed out with your free arm, and your feet, panic rising within you.

“Do as the lady says…”

A voice from the mouth of the alley stopped both you and your attacker in your trackers, both your heads whipping round.

“Bruce!”

He took a step forward, pulling off his bag and scarf, dropping them to the ground, then started to undo the buttons on his coat.

“Fuck off!” Your assailant yelled at Bruce and followed it up with a gob of spit that landed at Bruce’s feet.

“Come on, man, you don’t want to do this.” There was a strange look on Bruce’s face, like he was resigned to a course of action he didn’t want to take. He shrugged off his coat and lay it over a dumpster, seemingly calm.

Suddenly there was a gun in play, in the hand of the filthy attacker, pointing directly at Bruce. Fear spiked within you.

“No, no, no!”

Your struggles began anew, as you desperately tried to pull him off balance, but he flung you to the side, sending you careening into another dumpster as you fell, your head bouncing harshly off the metal with a dull clang. You slumped to the floor, dizzy and you saw Bruce, through your blurred vision, take a couple of steps towards you.

“Aa-aah. You don’t wanna be a hero. Just go away and you won’t get hurt.”

Bruce smirked, an expression that you’d never witnessed before.

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

He took another step forward.

Everything happened in slow motion.

The gun fired, the shot loud, almost deafening to your ears, the bullet zipping through the air towards Bruce.

Who was no longer Bruce.

As fast as the shot had been fired, Bruce changed - transformed. All at once his skin turned green, and he grew in bulk and size, his shirt shredding itself.

You screamed.

The Hulk snorted, grinned at your attacker and spat out a mangled bullet.

“Just go away. You won’t get hurt.”

Hulk walked forward with a grin, plucking the gun away and squashing it in his giant fist, and your assailant ran away on jelly legs, tripping and bouncing off the walls in his haste. He hadn’t even disappeared fully before the giant, green creature turned his attention to you. He moved forward and in your disorientated and pained state, you tried to back up, unable to actually go anywhere because of the dumpster behind you.

“Please don’t hurt me!”

Hulk’s eyes went wide, and he sat down with a thud, the dumpster behind you juddering. He started to reach out towards you, but you shrank into yourself and he stopped.

“Hulk not hurt Pretty Girl. Pretty Girl Banner’s friend.”

“Banner? What’s going on? Where’s Bruce?”

Hulk tapped the side of his head with a thick finger.

“Bruce in here. He let Hulk out to help.” His face took on a slightly downcast expression. “But he says I have to go back in now.”

He looked thoroughly dejected.

“All anyone want Hulk to do is smash. Hulk would like to make friends too.”

Your fear melted away. You shuffled closer and placed a hand on one of his meaty forearms.

“Thank you for helping me. I can be your friend, if you want?”

His face split into a wild smile.

“Hulk would like to have Pretty Girl as a friend.”

“Well there you go, Big guy. I’ll organise something with Bruce, okay?”

“Okay!” He raised his free hand again and, more gently than you thought possible, ran the back of his hand over your cheek. “Bye-bye, Pretty Girl.”

He closed his eyes and with a small shudder began to shrink down, the green of his skin receding until it was pale again and Bruce was looking at you. His shirt lay in tatters across his shoulders and he immediately got up to retrieve his coat, shoving his arms into it at speed.

“I… ummm… well… Secret's out now, I guess. I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’m not sorry I helped you. See you around.”

He picked up his bag and scarf and walked towards the mouth of the alley. You scrabbled to your feet, arm outstretched in front of you.

“Bruce, wait!” He turned, looking at you warily. “There’s something I wanna ask you. And don’t think it’s because of what just happened. Well it sort of is, but only in a ‘you gotta go for what you want before it’s too late’ kinda way, and… shit, I’m rambling.” You clamped your mouth shut and drew in a deep breath through your nose. Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought.

“I like you, Bruce. In fact, I can’t think straight with you around. You’re sweet and kind, and clever and handsome. And…and… I don’t think it would take much to fall in love with you. And I wondered, if you’d like to maybe… go for a drink tomorrow when I finish my shift?”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, twisting your hands in the sleeves of your coat, aware that you had just asked him out in a dingy, smelly and downright filthy alley, just after he’d rescued you from goodness knows what kind of a fate, but you couldn’t be sorry about it. Okay, maybe you would be sorry about it if he didn’t say something and…

You didn’t even notice him moving, but suddenly he was there, in front of you, the buttons of his coat almost touching the zipper of yours, the twin ‘huffs’ of air from both your mouths merging together in the coolness of the night. Then his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks before his lips fell to yours, kissing you sweetly. You fisted his coat, well, as best you could with your woollen gloves on, until you separated from each other, eyes locked and staring. Bruce broke the silence first.

“In case you didn’t realise from that, I like you too. And maybe I’m likely to fall in love with you as well. You’re so smart, so beautiful. And you make an awesome apple cider.”

You giggled, your head falling to lean against his chest.

“Walk me home, Bruce?”

“Of course, Pretty Girl. Whatever you want.”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @sidepartskinnyjeans @tuiccim @doasyoudesireandlive @talia-rumlow @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky

#bruce banner x you #hulk x you #meet cute #fluff #bruce banner fluff #hulk fluff #Series: You me and the other guy #YMatOG #bruce banner x female reader #hulk x female reader

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edgeofmyniall · 2 years

Text

okay so I am TERRIBLE at math so the flashback dates maybe wrong I will make a post putting them in order lol

The Arrival: Part One

Poppy Horan knew two things: one, life sucks in the manner of doing taxes and avoiding death at all costs, and two, she would rather stick a dull, rusty spoon in her eye than to get out of the car.

Poppy sits in her car as the white crystals fade down on the steaming metal. Even though the heat is set on high, she still feels the biting wind through her car. In reality, Poppy knows her heating system works perfectly fine, but it is the anxiety that makes her bones shiver under the many layers of clothes that she’s bundled in. She had packed light- she never truly intended to stay long, but the fur coat barely keeps her trembling at bay. The steering wheel seems to almost freeze under her gloved hand as she grips it tighter. With her elbow propped on the middle console, her other gloved hand taps her temple rhythmically as she awaits for the dreaded moment to appear. Something she wished never happened. Losing a friend is terrible, but the parts that precede and follow the mourning was something Poppy wished she could resign from. She couldn’t help but feel that her skin was ice- transparent and breakable.

She looks out the window when a pair of headlights pulls onto the snow covered street and without realization, her heart skips. The lump in her throat grows suddenly and her body freezes. She can’t move, but only to watch the approaching car slowly passing her own and that sudden fleeting moment of hope or despair, Poppy didn’t know, went as quickly as it came.

It isn’t often that Poppy is able to sit and enjoy the weather, but as she reflects on her life, everything that has led up to this very moment and the what ifs that follow, and tries to convince herself to go inside where her friends are waiting for the rest of the party to join, she can’t help but to hate the position she’s in now.

A position she never saw herself being in. A position she promised herself from a young age that she would never experience. A promise all too easily broken.

Because if she got an invite, so did he.

That’s what happens when you marry inside the friend group. You get invited to places and events together even if the two parties are, in fact, divorced.

To give her friend’s the benefit of the doubt, Poppy knows that none of them have the slightest clue about the divorce. There were merely rumors and claims floating around news articles and social media. None of them know about the constant fighting and the arguing that ensued all hours of the night when Niall would come home late smelling of perfume that Poppy would never dare wear. The yelling turned into crying which turned into silent treatments that remained until they both signed their names on the piece of paper that quoted irreconcilable differences as the reason why the two should no longer be together.

Irreconcilable differences was only a code phrase for infidelity. An nonchalant word that only covers the icing on the cake when it came to the downfall of their marriage. She tried, at first, to keep the marriage together, but after getting the same excuse and blame constantly, Poppy knew that it would be only a matter of time before she was served. Niall had moved on from her like a bad habit he was quitting. She wanted to work things out: she suggested therapy, time away, anything that would get them to talk, but Niall only wanted to put up a wall, and when the barrier came down, it was nothing but screaming and blaming the other for how miserable their lives had become. As if she was the reason for the loss.

She looks at the text message again, reading it over and over. His name is still the same in her phone minus the red heart next to it, but there in plain English was their invitation to speak at Justin’s funeral. Poppy declined, naturally, as she was only friends with the deceased through Niall, but Justin had helped her through some of the toughest times, even when Niall was nowhere to be found. She would rather stick behind the articles of her interior design magazine than to speak in front of strangers. But were they really strangers? The people inside were the same people she grew with. From the early twenties to now, those people grew together, celebrated together, cried together, and now are grieving together. Even thinking of Justin led to thoughts of Niall and their life together crumbled and spiraled out of control.

Would Niall bring her? The woman he left Poppy for? He couldn’t be that naïve to bring the absolute chaos to Justin’s wake, but it would be like Niall to pop the surprise on every one at a time that they least expected it. It would break the contract that Niall’s lawyer insisted that the two parties sign. She didn’t know the repercussions that would ensue if the contract was breached, but she didn’t want to find out either. Poppy had thought about calling the closest hotel to book a room, but what if Niall had done the same thing? Would he bring the bottle of wine that made Poppy first question the health of their relationship?

Her finger taps on the window trigger, debating if she should at least step out for a quick smoke. She hated the thought of the musky smell lingering where his cologne still hung to the leather almost as if she was ruining the memory of Niall. The Niall that once loved her. She can still see him sitting in the passenger seat singing along to whatever song played on the radio as they traveled across the country. It was her car that they had spent many moments of unwavering love in. Poppy sighs before shutting down the engine and steps out into the winter morning. The quiet suburban street watches Poppy as her car chirps at her, the familiar neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen that she watched herself grow from a young college student to now the editor and designer of her own interior design magazine and company. She leans her back on her passenger door and lights up a cigarette, breathing in the nicotine. Her body falls into an ease, letting the tense aches of her muscles relax and her hand finds the two silver rings that hang around her neck. She keeps them on a low chain, a secret that only she knows about, not daring to let the world know of her failure and shame that she couldn’t make a love like the romance novels work. They had been picture perfect in almost every way before she gave up the fight. As her fingers play with the cool metal, her mind wanders into a place that is dangerous:

The past.

Five Years Ago

“And do you, Niall James Horan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The priest looks over to Niall who stands proud in his tuxedo as he looks his bride in the eyes before he answers the easiest question with a smile.

“Yes.”

“And do you, Penelope Jane Myers, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest turns to Penelope who is glowing from happiness as she looks at the man of her dreams. The world stops turning as she takes in this moment: the way the one curl of Niall’s hair won’t stay in place no matter the amount of gel he uses, the way his blue eyes are shining at her, the small croak of his voice when he read his vows of the crumpled, folded paper- a sure sign that he had rewritten everything he was trying to say. They had spent months planning the wedding: getting the invitations right, the seating charts, the ordering of decorations. Niall insisted that Poppy make the whole idea of the wedding a big deal, but over and over again she told Niall, “I could care less about what it looks like as long as I’m with you. Forever. That’s all that matters.”

In hindsight, she should have known better. She looked at Niall for the last time as a single man before saying, “I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Niall cupped Poppy’s cheeks and pulled her in swiftly for a kiss that would seal the promise they both made before the crowd and God. Niall, in his soul, felt that he could die in Poppy’s kiss now as his wife for everlasting life. It couldn’t get any better than this.

Niall had carried Poppy from the altar to the small room upstairs after walking out of the chapel, and when they were alone, they breathed a sigh of relief. They were both nervous to start their lives as a married couple even though for them nothing changed except for the legal matters. Niall never asked Poppy to sign a prenup. She had helped Niall start his business so he felt that she should get at least half of everything that he had because without her support and encouragement, they would not be where they are today.

The dust of the Big Bend desert had traveled with them. Poppy gently knocks off the clay dirt as she looks her husband over. They had been married in the middle of nowhere, and their future was any possibility that they wanted. Niall unbuttons his jacket, sliding it off his arms, and carefully placing it in the chair behind him, hoping the dry desert air cools him down.

“I’ll call Sam in the morning to get everything set up at the office. You just need to come by whenever to sign the papers,” Niall whispered as his hands rested on the crook of Poppy’s hips. “After we come back from Hawaii, of course.” Her heart fluttered as Niall caressed the falling blonde tendril out of her face. His forehead rested on hers, breathing in this moment. Soon, they would be celebrating a lifetime of happiness with their closest friends and family. Poppy was surprised at how well her parents had gotten along on her big day. It was the first day of twenty years that she had witnessed the miracle.

“I don’t need any of that. Just you is all I want,” Poppy breathed, her breath hitched as Niall kisses her fully, his tongue tasting of mint. It was something special, sharing a private moment after being hidden away all day. She only wanted to get her hands on her husband and into bed, but this moment, she was completely satisfied with her husband. They had made it. After all the doubts, they had made it to the point in their lives that forever was at their finger tips.

“I love you times infinity, my darling. Forever.”

Forever came sooner than intended. On the breath of an everlasting promise, the word forever suffocated and shattered all over the hands that tried to keep a marriage from falling apart.

“Jesus, Penelope, you’re still going at it with those things?” A sudden familiar voice pulls Penelope out of the dream she was reliving. Her hand clutches the rings as she throws out the half lit cigarette, her heart racing. “You’ll end up killing yourself with those.”

Niall stood in the snow just a few feet from her in a gray trench coat with snowflakes that had caught in his hair from the short distance he walked from across the street. The week old scruff and dark circles under his eyes were a given sign of no sleep. Stocks had fallen and the business hadn’t been doing so well in the past couple of months. There had been frantic emails that Poppy was still receiving about emergency meetings from the decline of sales. The board of directors, including Poppy, were called to meet in person to discuss options. Niall had always poured his heart and soul into his work so much so that two had become one, and now as he stands in front of his ex-wife, she witnesses the perfect example of an ill fated work marriage. His body seems to want to lunge forward, to wrap his arms around his once best friend, but he stops himself and looks at the woman with the permanent sad face. “How are you?”

“Been better,” Poppy, still clutching the rings in her hand, turns to her ex-husband. His hands were stuffed into the silk pockets of his overcoat as the cloud of breath left his body. He looked irritated at best, like coming to one of his best friend’s wake was an inconvenience to him, but that was no longer Poppy’s worry. “You look like shit.”

It was a lie- a completely false statement that she said aloud to convince herself to stop looking at him in the way she once did. His dark hair was now specked with grey hairs throughout, but his eyes still shined blue and held so much wisdom. He had kept up with his workout regime. It was evident that nothing really changed in his life, except who he came home to. He looks just as good as the day he left her. He looks just as good as the day she met him.

Seven Years Ago

Poppy trudged against the rain, hoping to make it to her professor’s office on time. She had been running late due to the fact that she overslept after pulling an all-nighter to finish the essay that was due only a few minutes from now. Pen and paper, the professor had said, he would not accept anything less than pen and paper. She had only five minutes to cross the muddy lawn and run up three flights of stairs to hand in the paper in person to either her professor or the aide. Her heart racing, she ran as fast as she could across the slippery grass that would only stain her sneakers that she had gotten from her mom on her past birthday. She hated running across the grime, but it was the fastest route to get to the gray stone building that lurked over her, awaiting for her to fail.

Stepping inside the building, Poppy nearly slipped on the mat that was wrinkled on the newly polished floor. Her shoes squeaked as she began the trek upstairs taking one last look at the elevator in hopes that someone had fixed it after all the days it had been broken. The faded paper sign was still hanging on the metal doors as Poppy’s heart lurched forward. Two minutes left and the biggest grade she needed was about to be late.

A group of freshmen descended down the stairs in a form that could only be the walk of shame. They didn’t move over to let Poppy pass so she let them push past her. Her back arching into the railing as she watched the clock tick forward. It was as if time stood still in the final seconds of her deadline. Finally free, she ran as fast as she could, pushing past students and professors, unbeknownst to her she nearly pushed over her own, and left wet puddles on the floor when she reached the darkened office of her professor.

Closing her eyes, she sighed as she slid down the wall facing the office. Bringing her knees to her chest, she dropped her head in the sanctuary of herself and began to cry softly. She hadn’t made it on time and surely now, she would fail the class she needed the most to graduate.

A small whistle came from around the corner. Poppy peered over her arms with blurry eyes to see the aide coming back to the office. He hadn’t noticed one of his students on the ground when he turned the key. As he turned the lights on in his small office, he quickly grabbed his jacket that he had come back for. It was when he was leaving that he saw the tear stained face of one Penelope Myers.

“Penelope, what are you doing here?” Niall squatted down in front of Poppy and offered a hand to help her up. His touch was gentle as Poppy stood and wiped her tears. “I’m too late, aren’t I? Now I’ll never graduate on time and I’ll have to repeat the class again and hope to God I’ll never oversleep again which is a big, fat lie to you, me and God himself.” Niall cupped Poppy’s arm and gently squeezed.

“Late?”

“The paper. The one that’s worth half my grade? I’m late.”

“Do you have it?” Niall asked as he looked Poppy in her reddened eyes.

“Why does it matter? It’s late. Professor Lawrence won’t approve of it. First rule of his stupid syllabus.”

“Do you have it?” Niall asked again. His blue eyes seemed to flicker as a smile crept onto his face. Now was not the time to laugh at Poppy’s failure.

“Yes, but it’s probably wet from the stupid fucking rain.”

“Let me see it,” Niall smiled. Poppy’s brow furrowed in confusion, but bent down to retrieve the paper anyways. Only the corners seemed to have gotten wet and as she gave her essay to the man who comforted her, her heart raced. He had always been attractive- his dark hair and light blue eyes. Poppy was taken aback by him the first day of class as he sat in front of class playing the drums on the desk with the dry erase markers. He had flashed Poppy a toothy smile as she sat near the back, but that was the extent of their relationship. They hardly spoke to one another, but he was there every day with a smile waiting for her.

Tapping his watch with his finger, Niall says, “By the looks of my watch, it says you’re right on time.” He winked and turned to place Poppy’s essay in the mix of the other essays that had been turned in on time.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Poppy didn’t realize what she was doing until she had done it. She wrapped her arms around Niall and buried her face inside the crook of his neck, taking in the deep musk of his cologne. “You are a lifesaver Niall. I owe you big time.” Poppy pulled away suddenly and straightened her clothes as Niall’s gentle grasp lingered. She hadn’t wanted to let go.

“You can treat me to some drinks later on. My friends and I are going down to the Landing Mark. It’s a local pub near downtown-”

“I know where it’s at,” Poppy smiles, knowing that whatever makeup she had on was now dripping down her face in a dark mess.

“And you buy me a round and we’ll call it even.” Niall extended his hand so Poppy could shake on their business agreement. A smile, wide and eager, spread across his face. Niall bent down to pick up her bookbag, and when she let go of his hand, he wanted nothing more than to grasp it again and never let go.

“The name’s Poppy, by the way,” she said after shaking her newfound friend, pushing her backpack on her shoulder. She pushed her wet, tangled hair out of her face as they begin walking down the hallway. She looked up at him, a smile growing on her face. A thought of what his lips taste like lingered in her brain. “Only my grandma calls me Penelope. It’s too old for me.”

Niall turns to open the door leading to the stairway and smiled, “Old or not, I like it.”

“You might want to put those on,” Niall nods to Poppy’s closed hand. “Still gives the façade.” Poppy swallows the last bit of pride that she has left and nods. Her hands shake, not from the cold, but from the fact that it’s been over a year since she last saw Niall. It was when he had the movers box all of his stuff and take it away in the moving truck that she saw him. He had gotten a tan from his vacation down in Cabo and he had thought Poppy wouldn’t be home.

“Thought you were gone to Amelia’s so I was going to leave this instead.” Niall handed her the wrinkled note and walked to his car without another word. It was when he was pulling out of their driveway that she read the scratchy handwriting.

Poppy entered the house alone and was left with all of their belongings staring at her broken heart. She could hear them laughing at her failure and every vase, picture, and wall decoration dug deep into her soul watching her as she slid down the bare white wall of their living room as she cried with rage filling her body. She never wanted these things, but Niall gave them to her anyways. He always wanted her to have the nice things in life, but Niall had been so consumed with the warped accusations and thoughts that Poppy only loved Niall for the things he gave her that he overlooked the value of their friendship and relationship. Poppy grabbed the blue and yellow vase that Niall gave her for their first year anniversary after their wedding, the one they made in a pottery class in New Orleans, and threw it as hard as she could against the wall that held their wedding picture. The one where he cradled Poppy’s face so delicately that one would assume she was made of glass while he looked at her with life and love, all consuming and enduring, like she was the only person in the world.

It was never the same.

“Can you help me? I can’t seem to get it.” Poppy’s fingers tremble against the cold as the clasp falls out of her grasp.

Niall sighs and walks over to his ex-wife, snow crunching under each step. He could hear his heart roaring against its cage. He had locked his heart away when it came to Penelope, tortured it for still feeling the way he does for her- for her shallow love. “Always something with you.”

“Weather’s supposed to get bad. Heard on the news it might be a storm later on,” Poppy’s voice cracked under the slender touch of Niall’s, ignoring his latest comment. He’s trying to steady his breathing, to keep himself under control, but the smooth skin on the nape of Poppy’s neck brings back too many memories he thought he washed down with alcohol. “But we should miss it after the funeral.”

“Since when do you watch the news, Penelope?” he quips, a small smile growing on his face. She’s trying to make an impression that she’s grown from the divorce- that she is independent, but Niall sees through the façade. She’s always been independent in her own way, and that was one of the many things that Niall loves about Poppy. Loved. He reminded himself. He loved her. He now loves Shelby. “The meteorologists are almost always wrong.”

“It was on the radio, meathead. I hope you know that people can change, Niall. They do it all the time.” The way his name hangs on her lips burns her- the taste of yesterday drowning in today. He unclasps the necklace when the front door of the blue townhome opens, letting the roaring laughter and music flood into the quiet snowy street.

“There’s the two love birds. Thought we might have missed you. Come inside before you both freeze,” the olive skinned woman that they both knew as Amelia shouted. The dark curly hair poked out into the white weather. Her shawl was wrapped around her body to hold off the harsh cold wind for the few moments her head had poked through the door. Niall’s smile vanishes as quickly as it came before Poppy turns to look at the dismal face of her ex-husband.

“Put them on quick. And put on a happy face; we’re the love birds, after all,” Niall growls as he picks up his luggage, the leather duffel bag that Poppy bought him for one Christmas- the same duffel bag he used to spend many nights away from his wife and under someone else. Poppy pops the trunk open and Niall quickly takes a hold of her bag, pushing it up on his shoulder. They walk up the front stairs in silence and before pushing the red front door that was left ajar, Niall places his hand on the crook of Poppy’s back and she swears that Niall’s eyes flickered with natural joy when she looked at him. Swallowing hard, Poppy feels as if this weekend is about to be an endless cycle of boxing matches with the odds stacked against her, and with no one in her corner, she is about to step into the hardest round of her life.

Three Years Ago

“Where were you?” Poppy stands at the top of the stairs. Her robe was pulled tight against her body as she looks down onto her husband, darkened eyes sunk in as his hand straddles the white railing. It was three in the morning, and Niall’s head was pounding. “You should have been home hours ago. I called you multiple times. I thought-”

“I went out for a few drinks, Pop. ‘S not a big deal,” Niall takes a step up, but the room is spinning, and he doesn’t remember driving home or how he wound up at the base of the stairs being scolded by his wife, but he remembers her. Her ruby red lips, the perfect pout, as his name fell between them. He could remember her honey brown eyes and black raven hair. He remembered her.

The way her body moved closer to his as the alcohol loosened their guards. He shouldn’t let her get so close, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t toeing a line; it was full on trampling the boundary that he never intended to cross. There’s a thin line between love and lust, Niall knows, but her doe eyes pulled him in faster than he could think.

He thought he had pushed her off. He had a speech ready, and maybe he had said it in his mind and that was supposed to tell her without saying any actual words, but weeks and months of her teasing and wearing tighter clothes, he was in agony.

“A few?” Poppy crosses her arms against her chest, anger bubbling inside her. “You could have gotten hurt or…worse, Niall. Did you drive home?” Poppy starts to take a step down, but she stops herself. She could smell the heavy liquor and cheap perfume. It was like all of the air had been knocked out of her lungs and the filter that is instilled in every person caught flames. “You reek of booze and drug store perfume, Niall. Who the fuck were you drinking with?”

“You ask too many questions at once woman. I- I can’t think straight when there’s three of you,” Niall puts a foot on a step, heavy and with intention. He only wanted to lie down in bed, dreaming away any hangover that would be there in the morning. Niall winces when he hears his wife raise her voice.

“WHO WERE YOU DRINKING WITH NIALL?” Poppy felt the words come out like vile as she projected her anger at her husband. For hours, there wasn’t an answer from him between texts and calls. His location was still at work, and then it was at a bar on the other side of town that Poppy didn’t recognize. She almost drove over there, almost made a scene at Niall’s embarrassment, but she stopped herself. He would show back up...eventually.

“No one,” Niall closed his eyes, the room was swimming. “I just wanted a drink after work. Jesus, do you need to know my every move?” Niall began to make the perilous trek up the stairs. The white carpet reminded him of clouds and he would rather be anywhere but here in his home. He stood in front of his wife, her face red with anger and he noticed the small details of her furrowed brow. He smiles softly and laughs to himself. “You worry too much, darling. No woman will ever take me away from you.”

She thought he would kiss her on the cheek, but he only shuffles toward their bedroom down the hall. He had laughed at her. He didn’t need to answer her questions for Poppy to know the full story. She saw the evidence. A perfect tracing of red lips on the inside of his white shirt collar.

####

@niallsguitarsthings @theresnooneheretosave @niallerlover @niallsguiness @beautyispayno @therealniallgrande @lovelywordsblog @kare38

#Niall Horan fic #niall Horan fan fiction #niall 1d #Niall Horan #niall james horan #niall Horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan angst #1dff #1d

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purpleyin · 5 years

Photo

DCTV moodboards: Multiamory March 2020 - Elongwestallen

#the flash #multiamory march #elongwestallen #barry x iris x ralph #ralph dibny #barry allen #iris west #polyam shipping #i don't know how this hadn't occurred to me before #dctv moodboards #moodboard #purpleyin: moodboards #flash graphics #purpleyin: graphics #multiamory march 2020 #I accidentally spent £2 on this moodboard because it's late and I wasn't paying enough attention to a template paid element left offscreen #maybe this is a sign i should not moodboard late at night #purpleyin #my polyam

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stiliskishit · 3 years

Text

Prompt fill: "How do you spell it?"

Hellhound!Stiles

(in my head he has a friends with benefits thing barely dating with Jackson, even though Jackson doesn't want to come out and keeps repeating that they are just casual encounters)

Stiles prompt #004 that I will probably never write

moodboard

Stiles run his hand over his face and sighs when he stops on the sign. Damn, he knows he should've talked with the pack years ago, he should have told to them how he knows the supernatural secrets, why the nogitsune possessed him especially, but well, it is too late now and he is simply ashamed that he has hidden this secret for so long.

But now he is just riled up, never in all this years he was kicked out of the pack meeting night because they thought stiles was too weak to handle it.

He's not weak, they should know after all they've been through together, but with the peace in the town the wolves are becoming more strong, devolving their full shift and they don't seem to believe that stiles will be safe around them when they are in the wolf form.

He thinks this is a fucking lie. He's around them in the beta shift all the time and okay, he knows the difference between the full and the beta shift, but they know him for years, they shouldn't be afraid of hurting him! They're friends! They're pack.

Sighing again when the green light turns on, stiles decides to go somewhere he can drink. Preferably the Jungle where they have known him for some time.

Fuck them. Stiles think bitterly. He can have fun by himself, maybe find someone who he could sleep with and spend some of the energy generated by the full moon.

the time when stiles had trouble finding whoever wanted to spend the night with him is gone, now he needs to be careful because derek isn't anymore the only guy the troubles Beacon Hills attracts seek to deceive. Sometimes Stiles likes to show off as the fragile link, just to see how many big bads are waiting for an opportunity, most of the time Scott or some of the betas end up interfering, even if they know stiles isn't fragile anymore, not after Void.

But tonight stiles is free, unaccompanied and single, so he waves to Ginger and the others and he walks to where the crowd is dancing, trying to distract himself a little.

It doesn't take long for someone to put their hands on his waist and ask him if he wants a drink.

Stiles accepts, feeling no malice coming from the stranger. The guy is handsome, he's big but not muscular like Derek, just a head taller than stiles and with a lean but clearly toned body.

Of course when the guy asks if stiles wants to come with him to the room where he's staying, stiles accepts.

Well, it wasn't a good idea. After waking up the next day with a tired body, he soon realizes that he is not in the soft bed where he slept, but tied to a hard chair in the middle of the room.

The guy he slept with is sitting calmly across from him, poring over his documents with a grimace on his pretty face.

“This isn't what you said your name was. How do you spell it?”

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #writing prompt #moodboard #hellhound stiles stilinski #the sex was completely consensual and stiles was sober #but obviously he wasn't thinking straight and the guy took advantage of him #my au #stiles prompt #stackson #Jackson withermore

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lavendersuh · 4 years

Text

what a feeling

johnny x fem!reader | badboy!au, too much fluff | 2.4k words

warnings: mentions of nicotine addition, alcohol

based off of this moodboard and au idea created by @neo-cult-ure!! thank you luv for allowing me to play around with this au idea! I originally wrote this bc i loved the idea and just wanted to self indulge in some writing a few nights ago. I probably could’ve fleshed this out more, but i’m in the middle of exams so i probably shouldn’t even be writing fic rn haha (fair warning tho there is so much fluff help) hope u enjoy!!

~~~

“I need your help.”

Haechan looks up to see an unexpected face peering over him. It wasn’t every day that resident bad boy Johnny Suh was asking a drama student for something. While the two of them ran around in slightly similar circles due to their mutual acquaintances, Haechan can’t remember the last time he spoke one-on-one with Johnny.

“What do you need my help with?” he asks curiously, as he shuts his locker.

“There’s this girl.” Johnny says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “She’s different, Haechan, I need your help.”

Johnny has always been the most confident person Haechan knows. He always admired him for that, but now it appears that the tall boy has a rosy tiny covering his cheeks, along with a sheepish smile.

“My help? I can’t imagine being much help compared to Jaehyun… isn’t he your wing man?” Haechan responds.

He begins walking away, heading for his next class. He didn’t hate Johnny, nothing even close to that, but he was a bit suspicious of why he was coming to a self-proclaimed nerdy, drama student for help.

“This is different…” Johnny mumbles as he catches up with Haechan, “Do you know that diner a few blocks from here? The Neo Zone?”

Haechan looks over at him, “That neon, throwback place? Yeah, the theater kids go there after practice sometimes.”

“There’s a waitress there.” The older boy says, “She’s pretty, her laugh is like a song, Haechan, she’s perfect.”

“The problem, then?” Haechan asks. Johnny didn’t seem like the kind of person to have trouble with the ladies.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Haechan can’t help the laugh he lets out, “Did your usual flirting not work out for you?”

Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy, in fact, he could be very respectful (despite the cheesy pick-up lines sometimes), with a nice sense of humor and friendly smile to go along with it. But he had some bad habits. He refused to buy a helmet for his precious motorcycle. He smoked more than he should. He wasn’t always present during school hours. But underneath the leather jacket and torn up jeans, the boy wasn’t all that bad. He loved to flirt and fool around, but he never took things farther than someone wanted.

Johnny frowns at Haechan’s laughter, “I was hoping you could help me. She’s interested in 80s films, and I know you’re into stuff like that. You have a huge collection, don’t you? Could I borrow The Breakfast Club? Sixteen Candles?”

“Yeah, I can lend you some of them this weekend.” Haechan stops in front of the door to his next class, turning around to look back at Johnny, who’s grinning with appreciation.

“But Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna take more than just flirting and watching her favorite movies. You gotta get to know her.”

Johnny throws him a classic smirk, his confidence returning to his face, “Will do, Haechan.”

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn around without Johnny seeing the roll of your eyes. After his shameless flirting last weekend you knew he would probably be back.

His flirting wasn’t creepy; it was actually a little bit flattering. You couldn’t count on your hand the number of men that had spoken their fair share of sleezy comments to you. Johnny’s flirting was refreshing (but maybe that was just because he seemed to be your age instead of thirty years your senior). He asked about your favorite movies when you had mentioned liking 80s films. He complimented the sneakers you painted yourself.

But alas, he was also a walking stereotype, with the leather jackets and motorcycle parked just out front. When you waited on his table last time, you nearly coughed over the smell of nicotine that followed him around.

“Hi, Johnny,” you say, leading him to a booth in the corner, laying out the menu on the table.

“I watched some of the movies you told me about,” he says, smiling brightly at you, “Got any more recommendations?”

You can’t help but feel a bit flustered at the fact that he watched some of the stuff you recommended. He was paying you a lot more attention than you had previously thought.

While you take his order and bring out his food, Johnny flirts and makes jokes. You can’t help but smile at some of the things he says, despite yourself. By the end of his meal, you bring out his receipt, showing him the list of movies you wrote on the back in black pen.

“Thanks! Maybe I could take you out and we could talk about them sometime?” he asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re gonna have to do more than just watch my favorite movies for me to change my mind about you.”

“Am I really that bad?”

“You aren’t bad, Johnny. I just feel like I deserve more than just someone who smokes and rides a motorcycle without protection.” You say, walking off to ring up his order and get his change.

He huffs as you walk off. What was he to do?

~~~

‘This is stupid,’ Johnny thinks to himself as he pulls up to the diner, a week and a half later. He was driving Haechan’s car, but that wasn’t the only thing he had borrowed.

When Johnny had reconvened with the boy, Haechan told him he needed to change up his act in order to impress you.

And somehow this is how Johnny ended up walking into the diner with a dorky sweater and his hair neatly combed on a Friday evening. The neon sign of the diner glowed into the car, casting shadows on the funny pattern of the sweater.

He felt so stupid, but he was also kind of desperate. It was Haechan that had come up with the plan after suggesting he dress a bit nicer.

“I don’t know if I have any ‘nice’ clothes, Haechan,” Johnny had told the other boy.

“Then you can borrow some of mine!” Haechan looked up at how tall his friend was, “Or maybe my brother’s…”

Johnny knows he went overboard but he also really wants to see your smile again. He supposes it’s worth it.

“Welcome in,” you say, but as you turn around, you pause, “...Johnny?”

He smiles, reminding himself that he can be confident without the bad boy clothes and aesthetic. “Does your shift end soon? Could I take you out for ice cream?”

Somehow you can’t help but find the outfit change endearing, so you find yourself nodding. The boy was clearly trying to impress you, so you should at least give him a chance. And ice cream sounded excellent after a long shift. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

~~~

It ended up being quite nice, actually.

Johnny took you to an ice cream shop on the edge of town, leading you to a picnic bench after getting two cones of ice cream. As the sun fully slipped away and the stars started to come out along the purple sky, you both discussed movies, the future, your favorite foods, everything.

He was a good listener, holding eye contact and asking questions, full of attention. He told lovely stories when he wanted to, as well. You couldn’t help but find yourself to be a bit drawn to him when you finally gave him the time of day. His humor, his soft smiles, his contagious laugh. It was clear to see it would be easy to fall for someone like him.

It was hard though, knowing the reputation he held. He did risky things, a cigarette in one hand, his motorcycle keys in the other. From his stories, you knew he cut class. He never wore a helmet, either.

Just because he wore a nice sweater and borrowed a friend’s car didn’t change these things.

“I hope we can do this again, sometime.”

Johnny lightly holds your hand as he stands outside of your front door while dropping you off.

You looked up at him, his face soft under your front porch light. There was so much hope in his eyes, hope for the idea that you would give him more of your time, more of your smiles.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, slowly, “This is really sweet, but this isn’t you.”

He looks confused for a moment, protesting, “Of course, this is me. I just cleaned up my act, like you said.”

You frown, “Sure, I did say that, but you changed all the outside pieces of yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks.

“What? Johnny, no, of course not!” you exclaim, “I don’t care if you have this ‘bad boy’ act, and drink, and ride motorcycles. I just hate that you are so careless with yourself. You smelled like smoke every time I saw you. You never wear a helmet. You refuse to go to class sometimes. It hurts me seeing someone so bright, someone I’m enjoying getting to know, do nothing but hurt themselves.”

You squeeze his hand, hoping to offer some form of comfort while you speak your truths. “Just cause you changed your clothes doesn’t mean you are changed for the better.”

“What are you saying?”

“I like you, Johnny. You.” you say, taking his hand in yours, “Not this dressed up, masked version of you. I just want you to care about yourself. So I can care about you, too.”

Things are quiet for a moment, as Johnny stares at the ground. Finally, he looks up at you, an unknown flicker in his eyes.

You let go of his hand, “You have some stuff to work through. You’re sweet, Johnny, and I’m happy that we’ve gotten to know each other. Please call me when you figure things out.”

You go inside, leaving him frozen in place.

~~~

“Has Johnny come in lately?”

You are startled out of wiping down tables at the diner when you hear someone speak to you. You look up to see a honey-haired boy, who you recognize as Haechan, one of the drama club kids from school.

“You know him?” you ask, your eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Haechan rubs the back of his neck, “We’ve become friends recently. He told me he liked you. Asked to borrow some movies and stuff.”

Realization dawns on you that Johnny had probably gone to Haechan to get some guidance. The thought makes your heart squeeze. You’d been curious about where Johnny was getting the knowledge from. You recall Haechan being in the after school film club as well.

“He stopped coming in a while ago,” you say, “I gave him my number after we went out once, but I didn’t hear from him.”

You try to keep the feeling of sadness from washing over you, but you’re surprised at how affected you are by Johnny’s absence in the past few weeks. While his flirting could be a bit relentless sometimes, there was no doubt that he respected you through all of his charming antics.

“Hm..” Haechan seems to be deep in thought at your words.

You ask him if he wants to order anything, but he declines, thanking you for the offer before leaving nearly as soon as he had entered.

~~~

“Hey.”

You look up on your way out of the diner after your shift, startled by a voice. Johnny stands in the parking lot, next to his motorcycle, a soft smile across his face. He has his leather jacket back on, but surprisingly, you notice he has a helmet tucked under his arm, too.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, walking up to him, “You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Thought I’d come stop by,” he grins. “I heard you missed me.”

You look down shyly at the pavement, “I never said that… but yeah, I guess.”

It was a surprising feeling as you confessed that small truth to Johnny. It was boring around the diner without his conversations and flirting words. It felt nice to let those words out.

Johnny leans behind him, grabbing another, smaller helmet, “Wanna take a ride? I wanna take you out for another date. I even bought you a helmet. Hope you’re not scared to go a little fast.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off of your face. It was nice hearing Johnny’s bluntness again. He seemed more relaxed, more comfortable with himself.

You run over to your car quickly, shoving your bag into the backseat before walking back over to Johnny. You climb on to the bike behind him, feeling him place the extra helmet on your head. While he adjusts it, his fingers brush across your face, sending chills down your spine.

Once he’s back in position, you boldly wrap your arms around his torso, letting your head rest across his jacket. You take a deep breath, expecting to smell the nicotine that follows him around, but his leather jacket smells fresh.

“Did you quit smoking?” you ask, as he turns on the motorcycle.

“Yeah, I quit after our date,” he explains, “I was kinda unbearable for a while there… That's why I didn’t come into the diner. After a while, I figured you woulda forgot about me.”

You let out a laugh as he pulls out of the parking lot, “How could I ever?”

You both ride along in silence, aside from your nervous laughs as the motorcycle speeds through traffic. You notice the elevation getting higher as he rides outside of the city.

Finally, he pulls off next to a scenic outlook overlooking the metropolis. The sun is starting to set, casting shadows along the buildings, along Johnny’s face. You can’t tell which you find more beautiful.

“I want to thank you.” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to look at him.

“For what?”

“For caring about me. I didn’t even care about me.” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

You smile up at him, his soft words making you bold. You lean in, kissing his lips in response. After you pull back, Johnny wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the warmest hug of your life.

It seemed simple, really. As the sun set with an orange glow, marking the end of a day, it also marked a new beginning. It left you both with a warm feeling. And what a feeling it was.

#nct-writers #neothestars #neo-constellations #johnny x reader #johnny x you #nct x reader #nct x you #johnny scenarios #badboy au #johnny #nct #johnny suh #my writing

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blissfulparker · 5 years

Text

Tattooed heart—T.H

parings: tattoo Artist!Tom x innocent!reader

warnings: sexual themes, fluff, tension

summary: you wanna prove to your friends that the innocent girl can be bad too. so what not a better way to get a tattoo, especially one in a more promiscuous place? what better way to do it by then the cute badboy tattoo artist who loves to flirt?

A/N: I do not plan on making a part two but I am willing to do blurbs about tattoo artist!tom or maybe a different fic like this one but about meeting the parents or whatnot or the reader getting a tattoo without tom knowing. let me know what you guys think!!!! also thank you to my best friend @thollandss for this amazing moodboard!!!

“It only pinches.”

“Mine took like two seconds!”

“It would look cute!”

All words said by your friends about their own tattoos and how you should get one. You never really thought about them until you watched your friends get some, you skipped the matching tattoo idea and just watched. Even though the tattoo artist was cute and tried really hard for you to get one.

So you started to look, look for ideas. In your head, tattoos were meaningful. Tattoos were supposed to be something that would mean something in the long run like a family name or a symbol of something that brought you happiness. And that’s what you wanted, something sweet and meaningful.

The other thing you had to think of was your parents, they were somewhat strict even if you were reaching your twenties. Tattoos were always forbidden along with drinking, smoking, not going to college, and plenty of other rules to keep you the ‘perfect child’. So if you were going to get a tattoo it was to keep it hidden.

After weeks of hunting and thinking, you found one. A small heart right under the girls boob. It looked painful, but it was cute and something you could hide—unlike your friends who had theirs on their wrists or somewhere visible.

You worried maybe it was too much, a stupid idea to get a heart. Maybe you should think it over some more and get something better, something more meaningful. But a heart was innocent, very simple and innocent.

The neon sign lights up nearly half of the street. It was stupid to do this on your own, maybe you should’ve gone with a friend but you also wanted it to be a surprise. Proving the innocent girl could be bad sometimes too.

“You’re back!” The British voice comes closer to the front. You’re nervous, how could you not be? it’s your first tattoo and the last time you were poked with a needle was for a flu shot.

“I guess I am.” You put your hands in your pockets out of nerves. Scared of the buzzing in the other rooms.

“Where’s Maggie?” He asked for your friend, the girl that knew him in the first place and dragged you all here. She worked for tom for about a year before quitting and going somewhere else.

“I-Uh no maggie, just me if that’s okay?” You ask fully willing to leave if he wanted you to.

“Just you?” He looks at you confused and you nod. Then he notices how nervous you are and grows a smirk. A soft sly smirk that was powerful.

“Yup.” You swallow hard. “I saw this,” you fumble with your phone and open the photos to show him the heart. “And I wanted to get it.” You didn’t know how to properly ask for a tattoo, were you supposed to print it? Were you supposed to email it? Make an appointment?

He holds the phone closer to his face and sees the heart. His mouth drops a little when he sees where it’s located.

“Same location and everything?” It’s not meant sexually, he’s dealt with piercing nipples, but you were a little different to him.

“Yes.” You bite down on your lip nervous. He nods as he writes down your name and gets you ready.

“Never took you as the girl to get a tattoo.” He says as he pulls a contract out. “I just need you to sign.” He pushes it over and you give a confused look. “To prove to me you’re not drunk doing this.”

You sigh away willingly knowing everything it says because of last time. You swallow hard once again as you follow tom into one of the back rooms to get set up.

“You want music or no?” He asks and you nod. He turns up the radio and gets his gloves on and starts to set things up. You lay on the bench and get yourself comfortable, or at least try to.

“Does it hurt?” You ask the most basic question and tom laughs.

“Depends sweet pea, you hate needles?” He asks back and you shrug. “Then a little. But tell me when to stop and I’ll kiss it away.” He plays off with a wink as he teases.

Tom was a flirt, the biggest one you knew. He was just that type of person but you didn’t take it personally ever. But something was different about him tonight, his personality was different.

“Go ahead and lift up your shirt.” He moves to get ink ready and when he turns back your shirt is all the way off, you’re left in a black bra and an innocent look. “Y-You didn’t have to take it off all the way.” He clears his throat. “But it always helps.” He gains back his confidence and gets the needle out. He sees you tense up and he places a hand on your arm.

“Hey,” he looks at you sincerely. “Relax, tell me if it’s too much, we can take a break okay?” He reminds you and you nodded.

“Can I hold onto you?” You ask him. Normally the answer would be no, he didn’t know his Patients that well and plus it could hurt more if you tensed. But he wanted you to hold onto him.

“Of course.” He turns on the gun after he’s got the picture on you. Your grip gets tighter as he places the first mark on you.

You flinch a little, but soon you start to accept the pain. Realizing you can trust tom with what he’s doing.

“Do we need a break?” He asks and you shake your head wanting the pain to just be completely done.

“No,” you tell him still holding on. “Did you do your own tattoos?” You ask him seeing all the different ones he had. He apparently had more on his chest but those were just Maggie’s words.

“Only the ones I could reach.” He focused. “But other than that no, I’ve had them done by other people.” He doesn’t realize he places his hand on your boob to move it up slightly, push the breast out of his way but feel it in his hands. “Sorry.” He speaks as he still focuses.

“Did Maggie ever…” you ask about your friend who spent late nights here with tom all the time, so you let your mind wander—and almost get jealous—of all the things done here.

“Have sex with me? No.” He states bluntly and you heat up. he’s nearly finished, the tattoo was small and simple without much detail.

“I meant give you a tattoo…” you bite your lip and he looks up this time red.

“Sorry, sorry!” He feels like an idiot for what he just said about probably one of your best friends. “Yes, Once, it’s one on my leg. It was just for practice though. I got it removed almost a year ago because I didn’t really like it.” He says. “Sorry about that by the way, it’s just Maggie…”

“Likes to spread rumors I know. She told me she was drunk and you two hooked up but that’s none of my business.” You feel a form of anger in your stomach, maybe jealousy? You didn’t know.

“It’s not true, I’m not really into girls like Maggie.” He admits. Girls who were wild, outrageous, liked tattoos and parties he was not into? That confused you.

“Are you almost done?” You ask realizing how tight your grip is and how red the skin is.

“Why babydoll we need a break?” He looks up concerned and you shake your head ‘no’. “We’re almost finished, hang in there.”

“Why do you like tattoos a lot?” You asked trying to get to know him outside of the party life he showed himself. You’ve only met him in those ways, parties, tattoos, never really knew his other interests.

“I kinda just like art, my mother passed away when I was young and so my first tattoo was dedicated to her. Then I just went from there.” He tells and you give him a sad look.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologize and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be, its not your fault.” He didn’t mind talking about it, he was just sick of people being sorry. “And….done.” He removes the gun. You realize it wasn’t that long, maybe only 30 minutes that felt like eternity.

He helps you up and helps you over to the mirror. You look at the small heart and realize how pretty it is, how it’s perfect. He smiles at his work and then smiles looking at you.

“Do you like it?” He asks and you nod biting your lip.

“I love it! Thank you so much tom.” You turn around to him with an excited look. You wanna hug him but you know that would be awkward.

“No need for me to kiss away the pain?” He teases once again and you feel yourself heat up. Maybe the tattoo was giving you confidence, maybe it was making you rebel in your head.

“I mean it still kind of hurts.” You watch him smirk a little as he grabs a few more things to patch it up.

He comes closer to you again and watches you lift up your breast again so he can patch it up. He’s close, dangerously close. His body almost press against yours and maybe you want to take the step to kiss him but that would be wrong.

“Does mommy and daddy know you got this?” He teases a little remembering last time how you were here saying you couldn’t get a tattoo because your parents will kill you.

“No.” You feel small again. He’s making himself feel bigger and you feel smaller and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

“Hmph.” He hums as he patches it up. “Naughty girl.” He teases some more and then is done.

He makes sure it’s nice and secured before looking at you with dark eyes. “Still need me to kiss away that pain princess?” He says more seriously and he can’t move or speak. It’s like he’s got you in a trap and you’re stuck.

He doesn’t say anything else, just moves back from you and hands you your sweater.

You’re quiet as he walks you out, almost no words spoke but the tension was so loud. He got you to the front and you got out your wallet.

“65.07.” He tells you and you hand him your card. It’s quiet as he does he exchange and then hands it back to you with your Receipt.

The receipt has a number scribbled on the bottom, his number for you to call. You don’t even know what you’d say but you wanted to text him for sure. Definitely wanted to see him for sure even if it’d shock your friends and make your parents mad. Something about him excited you.

He hands you a care book knowing you’d probably read it very carefully so he didn’t take the time to explain it. He gave you one more look before he you were ready to go.

“Thank you again, Goodnight tom.” You wave as you leave.

“Goodnight peach.” He watches you leave.

As you get out back into your car you sigh in relief. You can still see the inside of shop and how he’s going to the back once again. You pull out your phone and type in the number hesitating if you should text so soon. You don’t even know what you’d say if he answered.

So, will the next time we meet be over tattoos again?

You send with a feeling of nerves throughout your body. You throw your phone in the seat next to you and pull out of the driveway.

Only if you want that peach, I was thinking more a beer but I’m not sure if you’re into that

You see the notification and feel yourself heat up knowing that wasn’t the last time you’d see Tom. And maybe that wouldn't be the last time his hands were on your body.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tattoo!tom #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #imagine tom holland #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fic #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n

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hs-devote · 4 years

Text

ii. láthi: the touch

Moodboard * Content * Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

chapter i. láthi: the myth

ii. the touch

Selene came home not long after their sexual intercourse. The sex mind-blowing, for sure. Their sex always blowing Harry's mind, they know how to please each other at the most. And it always boosts his ego when he makes his partner come many times.

Later that night, around ten when the sky is very dark with stars and the full moon shining brightly, the God decides to visit the ocean. Well, he wants to meet something there. To ask for a little insight into his mission. Because until now, he hasn't been able to find someone he's looking for. He can't even feel the missing Goddess' presence, and he's a little pissed off about it. Well, it seems as if something has been distracting his mind, and Harry is well aware. Who, and why.

The beach is obviously clear from the visitor. There’s nothing as far as his eyes can see except the rocks and endless expanse of ocean. He slowly walks closer, letting the calm water wet his feet. His legs continue to take him deeper into the water until reaches his waist. Then, he closes his eyes, focused on who he is and calls out the one he wants to meet.

His adrenaline is getting higher when he feels the waves getting wilder and the ocean breeze slapping his face and body. He inhales and exhales. Repeatedly. He feels surrounded by stars bow to him, and the moon exactly right in front of him. He feels his power, he regains his power more and more.

She's here...

She’s close

Don’t worry, Your Majesty. You will have children

Your lover will bear the children

Sooner or later

Your children to the throne

But, only if you didn’t do anything wrong

Or, the mistake will carry your children away

He doesn’t even flinch when the wild waves hitting his whole body, swallow his relaxed body without dragging him from the shore. It happens several times when he’s communicating with the ocean, which became one of the gates to Centauri. The ocean that blessed by Centauri’s Gods and Goddesses in the previous centuries, and he’s here to find the vision.

But, which he doesn’t know, Y/N has been looking at him from the distance. She saw him when she had just come home from work and intends to go home along the beach. However, her steps stopped when she saw someone seemed just standing in the water with eyes closing. At first, she thought the stranger wanted to kill himself. Yet, after he got closer, she recognised that man.

Harry.

She feels odd when seeing the ocean looks like bowing to him. The way he doesn't seem to care when the waves hit his body making her wonder. What does he do? He can't possibly want to kill himself, can he?

She’s more and more worried when he doesn’t move from there while the wind is getting stronger like a storm is about to break. Then it hits her. Waves as high as three meters crashing into his body and making the man disappear immediately caused her to scream. Her body trembling violently when the ocean returns to calm without Harry’s presence in his standing place earlier.

Where is he?

Did the waves wash him away?

She just saw he commit suicide.

But why?

She can't think straightly. She feels guilty because she knows she could stop him.

Turning her body around, she screams again to see him standing right before her. His body and clothes aren't soaked at all, dry as if he hadn't been exposed to water. He looks at her with a confused look. She blinks repeatedly, making sure she's not seeing wrong.

“Y/N?” Harry arches his eyebrow, “What are you doing here?”

“Harry?”

How come he’s here? A fraction of a second earlier she had seen the man being swallow by the waves. There was no way he needed only a few seconds to run over here.

“I saw.. saw you there!” she stammers while pointing the ocean, “You were swallowed up by the waves! And.. and you disappeared. How.. how come?”

"What do you mean? I don't understand." he lies, scrunching his face. In the bottom of his heart, he doesn't deny it. For an obvious reason, he can't say yes. If he says it, he swears the girl in front of him will pass out.

“You were suicide commit earlier!” she cried out, “And now you’re here.”

Harry just let out a humorous laugh, shaking his head to her confession. Y/N staring at him like a confused toddler, her brain digests what she just said. There's nothing wrong with what she said, right?

"It's almost midnight, Y/N. I think you were just sleepy so you were hallucinating." he argues, "Have you eaten yet?"

“Just lunch today.” she squeaks, telling him the truth. Today customers were awfully much, making her come home late and didn’t have time to eat properly. Maybe it’s true what Harry just said, she’s already sleepy and hungry, she planned to cook something for her dinner after she got home.

“Then, I’ll treat you dinner.” he offers, “I think there are still restaurant open at this hour.”

"Uh, I'm fine, H.” she refused politely, “It's okay. Besides, I believe my granny is waiting for me at home."

"I don't want you to go home with a grumbling stomach, Y/N. You can call your grandmother and tell her you to go to eat first, I think she will understand."

“C’mon. The sooner we go, the sooner you go home.” Harry insists when Y/N says nothing. He has to make her think what she saw was only her hallucinations, and on the other hand he knows she hasn’t eaten because he can feel it.

“If only we split the bill,” she bids, “I can’t let you keep paying my food.”

“Fine then.” he relents, then offering his hand for her to take, “Let’s go.”

And of course, Y/N shyly grabs his hand.

Harry takes her to the trattoria down the street, which the only one dining that’s still open. The place isn’t too crowded making it easier for them to talk. While he has made his meal choice, Y/N looks confused while looking at the menu book. She isn’t confused, no. It’s just that the food is quite pricey even though it’s only a trattoria, and she doesn’t want to spend her money just for a dinner.

“I'll have spaghetti aglio e olio, I guess.” she shrugs, choosing the least priced meal.

“That’s all?”

“Yup. And mineral water for the drink,” she confirms, “What would you have?”

"Err, I will go with the salads." then, he adds "I'm a pescatarian so I'm pretty picky about what I eat."

“How does it feel?” she enquires after the Harry called the waiter for taking their order, “Being pescatarian and all. I once thought about going vegan but I haven’t gotten started yet.”

“I feel like it makes my body better, plus I can’t bear to eat.. animals because I love them.” he begins, “I still eat seafood but I think I’ll reduce it.”

“How wise of you.”

“I know,” he smirks, “Have you told your grandmother that you’ll be home late?”

“I have. I just texted her that I’ll be home late.”

“So, Y/N. Is that correct that you only live with your grandmother?”

Harry remembers the day when Y/N told him she just lives with her grandmother in Syracuse and somehow it makes him curious. There was a spark of wonder that tickled him to know more about her. They're friends now, there's nothing wrong if he wants to know, right?

“Yes,” she exhales, “Granny asked me to move to Italy from England after the death of my parents. She didn’t want me to be sad if I stay in London and remember the incident that.. killed them.”

"How did they.. gone?" he says quietly, "It's okay if you don't answer that. I just curious because the last time you told me, you were eight back then. You were still quite young when they died."

"It's okay," she mumbles, "They were killed in a car accident after dinner, their car was badly damaged and they couldn't be saved. What makes me sad sometimes is that the crash site is only ten minutes from our home. Yet, they didn't go home. Instead, they went home to heaven. I didn't believe their goodbye that night was their last goodbye for me."

Seeing the woman in front of him looking sad, Harry cannot do anything except taking her hands to his and caress them as a sign of comfort. He knows Y/N forced herself to tell him about that and he felt grateful that she trusted him enough for being open with her life.

“Even I’m not her granddaughter by blood, I’m very lucky to have her in my life. And I love her dearly.”

Harry raises his eyebrow, doesn't think she would speak far enough. He just found out that her grandmother isn't her real grandmother. But, he chooses to remain silent to respect her. He won’t ask any further unless if she’s the one who starts it.

“My granny adopted my father when he was ten since she didn’t have any children. She loved him so much and never treated him as if he wasn’t her own flesh and blood. Then, she got happier when my father met my mother, then they got married and had me. She said we’re a blessing from the universe.”

“She sounded like a very kind and wise woman.”

“Very much.”

He just nods, with his hands still stroking her hands. They don't utter a word until a few minutes later, busy with their own thought. Harry immediately let go of their joining hands when the waiter come with their food, and it makes Y/N a little sad. Somehow Harry was able to make her feel better and put a smile on her face, and it seems she has started to depend on it.

Who isn't attracted to him?

He’s more than handsome to describe.

He’s more than charming to tell.

“I think I would like to meet your grandmother one day,” he says out of nowhere, “I’m curious about someone as extraordinary as her.”

"Oh, you're going to love her!" she gushes, "And I think she will love you. I mean, she loves a handsome man."

“Well, you’re thinking I’m handsome, huh?”

Y/N's face flushed with embarrassment, cursing her stupidity for saying that. She quickly shakes it off, playing it cool but still embarrassed by the man in front of her.

She speaks confidently, “Of course. Why should I deny it?”

“It makes the second compliment you said to me, you know?” he laughs, “But, thank you.”

"Take it as a compliment," she shrugs, then starts eating her food, "What about you?"

“Me?”

“Mhm. I’ve been honest with you as a friend. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Harry clears his throat, sipping his drink before answering her. "As I've told you, I'm here for work and I love.. history. My parents also died several years ago from old age. I have no siblings, though."

He isn’t lying.

His parents indeed passed away from old age, just before he took the throne. He did have no siblings, it always himself alone in the family line, except his parents, until one day Selene became a part of the royal family.

“Where were you before coming here?”

Well, he doesn’t expect that kind of question.

“Err, England.” he lies uncomfortably. He feels bad because her eyes sparkling, looking excited when she heard the man in front of him also came from England.

“You didn’t tell me before.” she beams, “Which part of England?”

And Harry doesn’t know, his lie tonight will lead into another lie.

. . . .

Harry is increasingly coming to visit Y/N at her work, whether to buy the flowers or just to meet her, and it seems to be his undoubted routine activities. He knows this sounds cliché and pathetic, yet he can't just go one day without seeing her. The woman has a charm of her own that makes him think about her all the time. It feels like she has a magnet that keeps him from getting away from her. He always has a reason when Y/N or her co-worker questions his visit, especially when he doesn't want to shop. Even he blatantly flirts at Y/N, which he had never done before as a God. Not even with Selene.

How did Y/N react?

As someone who has never dated and got such attention from a male, she doesn't deny the feelings of flattery and shy. No man ever openly shows interest in her – or someone perhaps but she was insensitive. She's overwhelmed with the attention, fluttering hearts and many more. Too much indescribable feelings.

“Thank you for waiting for me until my shift is finished. You didn't have to do that.” Y/N shares a smile when Harry picking her up from work after he spent three hours waiting for her to finish her shift. She doesn't know Harry will wait until she's done because he usually stopped by for a moment.

"It's okay, Y/N. I don't have any work right now so I have free time for a while." Harry shrugs, looking at the girl who walks next to him. It's obvious that he offers a ride home to her, which often he does when the opportunity arose.

“And that's mean I owe you a lot, you know? You gave me a few treats and drove me home but I haven't repaid your kindness, yet.” she chuckles, shaking her head. “How about, you're coming home with me so I can cook something for you? I know it will be different than those fancy restaurant but if you don't mind– ”

“I would love to.”

"Yeah?" she grins, the way her eyes flickering an excitement makes Harry's heart throbbing. In fact, this small gesture makes this girl look so happy. He just smiles in return, patting her head affectionately before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, guides her to walk a little bit faster.

“C'mon then. I'm quite hungry right now.”

She just giggles, letting he drags him to where he parked his car. Yet, she furrows her eyebrow when she doesn't see his car there. She could quickly recognise Harry's car because it was vintage, and this time her eyes don't see any vintage cars there.

“I know what you're thinking but I don't drive the vintage one today.” he says, walking to a black Maserati and opens the door for her, “That beauty needs her routine check-ups.”

“Thank you.” mumbles her while examining the expensive car, “This is fancy.”

“Mhm.” he agrees, “Get in, love. Watch your head.”

Love...

The first pet name he says to her. Well, he's being kind and friendly, isn't he?

"Ah, yes. I'm sorry." she shakes her head and climbs into the car, "I don't know your job can afford this kind of car."

"Been saving for years." he answers after he sits on the driver seat, "Saving allows me to get two cars for now."

"I bet your vintage car costs a fortune too?"

“Much likely.”

He lies. Absolutely lies. Being a God, let alone a ruler of a realm means to be surrounded with a lot of wealth and definitely rich. He only needed to bring golds to sell and make money here since gold is like currency for Centauri. Centauri's gold is undoubtful and very valuable. Of course, he has to be careful when selling gold.

Both of them arrive at Y/N's house after fifteen minutes drive. Her house isn't big, more modern than Harry's cottage. The combination of white paint on the walls and wooden materials create a homey and modest atmosphere. In front of the terrace, there are many pots filled with beautiful blooming flowers.

"Welcome to my home," Y/N speaks softly and opening the door for both of them to enter, "My granny probably still outside. Make yourself comfortable, H."

He slightly nods, carefully to steps forward while looking at his surrounding. Unlike his cottage, her house interior is mostly covered by wallpaper with a small area of the painted wall. According to Y/N, this house has two bedrooms with two bathrooms, a living room, kitchen and dining room, and a function room to do the laundry and small garden for her granny to plant a few flowers since their pots in the terrace no longer fits anymore. But then, his eyes catching a few pictures on the hallway.

“I like it here.” he mumbles, eyes raking through the frame hanging on the wall. Most of them are pictures of little Y/N, her parents, or the family portrait. It always the three of them; the father, the mother, and her. Where's her grandmother?

"My granny always took the pictures, so there's no picture of four of us. Plus, my granny doesn't like being photographed." she laughs, joining him who still staring the family pictures. The small family looks so happy and radiant, smiling widely to the camera.

“What's your grandmother name?”

“Her name is Ilitia.”

“You look so cute in here,” he points at the picture where little Y/N was standing on her feet and being held with her mother, “I bet this was your first step?”

“Supposed to be.” she nods, “Anyway, what kind of food do you want? Do you want Italian? Or maybe English cuisine?”

“Anything is fine for me.”

“Unless it's meat..”

“Unless it's meat, yes.”

“Okay. I'll be in the kitchen for another few minutes. Just call me if you need something, and if you want a drink just open the fridge, okay?”

Harry nods as she disappears to the kitchen, starting to make whatever she wanted. He doesn't care if its Italian or even English dish she makes, the only thing he cares about the time they spend together.

Twenty minutes passed, Y/N still in the kitchen and Harry begin to curious. He waited patiently while watching the television that had been turned on by her previously. Yet, he grows impatient as he smells the food aroma that tickles his nose, making him almost drool over its delicious smell, and he decides to walk to the kitchen.

"Smells delicious." he praises, looking at the still cooking food from Y/N's shoulder. Good thing she acknowledges his presence and doesn't flinch when he speaks from behind. She just shrugs while her hand still on the pan.

“Thank you.” she hums, “Go sit down, this will be ready in ten minutes.”

Harry just obeys, moving to a chair in the dining room. His hand supported his chin while his eyes watching Y/N turn off the stove and ready to serve him. During his godly life, it was always servant who made food for him, except his mother if she wasn't busy while she was still alive, but when he lives with Selene, his wife never made him a meal or let her hands do such paltry work – like this.

“Here you go.”

He closes his eyes, letting the delicious scent of food in front of him fill his sense of smell. The delicious of freshly cooked food reminds him of the smell of bread that his mother had just taken out of the woodfire when he was kid, instantly making him miss his late mother. Meanwhile, Y/N take a seat next to him to make her little easier to study his face expression. He looks cute while closing his eyes, smiling so fondly until his dimples are full force.

"Go give them a try."

She bites her lips as Harry opens his eyes, and taking a full bite of the food. She squints her eyes while he chews, letting his tongue digest the rich flavour of the Italian simple dishes. Y/N just hope Harry to like it, and if he likes it, she probably makes some more for him someday.

"The aroma doesn't lie," he speaks with a mouth full, "... è delizioso. Mi piace molto.”

“Felice di sentirlo. puoi portarne un po 'a casa se vuoi.”

“Mia cara?”

She gasps when hearing her granny's voice as the door opened softly, happy that the old lady comes in perfect time. Excusing herself from Harry, she walks out to find the woman who raised her until now. The only family she has. Not long after, she returns with someone whose Harry assumes is Ilitia, her beloved grandmother. Yet, he's quite surprised that Ilitia doesn't look like a sixty or seventy years old, she looks so much younger. With her golden hair, sharp yet friendly eyes, she gives him small smile.

“Hello, I'm Harry. Nice to meet you, ma'am.” he politely shakes her hand after getting up from the chair, making the best impression for Y/N's family.

“Hi, Harry. I'm Ilitia.” she nods, “I don't know my granddaughter has a company today?” then she averts her gaze to Y/N.

“I promised to cook something for Harry and he happened to stop by,” she answers, “I made Mushroom Bruschetta!”

Harry grins, “Trust me your granddaughter is a great cook. I just ate one when you came, and it's phenomenal.”

“Of course she is! She's just like her mother who loves and great at cook.” Ilitia beams, “Do you spare one for this old lady, Mia Cara?”

“I made a lot, don't worry.” Y/N laughs, “I'm sure Harry can also take it home if he wants.”

Being the gentleman he is, Harry pulls the chair for Ilitia to sit before he returns to his chair. Sometimes he glances at Ilitia and Y/N who are now sitting next to each other and staring at the two women. If he didn't know Ilitia is her grandmother, he would think Ilitia is her mother or even her sister. Even Ilitia isn't Y/N grandmother by blood, the two of them is still look alike.

“How did you two know each other?” Ilitia asks them both, a bit glaring towards Harry. Her sharp yet warm glare makes him a little uncomfortable but he tries to shake the feeling away. He doesn't know, but there's something about the grandmother that he can't put a finger on it.

"I met her in her work and I'm her regular customer if you can say." he shortly answers, "And we became friends."

"He always comes every day to buy flowers." Y/N giggles, "Literally every day!"

Ilitia raises her eyebrow, "Oh, I've never known a man who likes flower very much."

“I am,” Harry laughs.

"You're truly a different kind then, young man."

The rest of the night they spend talking while Harry is more of a listener to Y/N and Ilitia. He also gets to know Y/N even more when her grandmother told him about her childhood. He finally decides to go home since it's getting late, feeling uncomfortable if he stays any longer and he's sure they both need rest, especially Ilitia.

"Thank you for stopping by, H." Y/N thanks him while escorting him to his car, "I can tell my granny likes you."

“Is that so?”

She nods, “If she doesn't like you, she won't probably want to talk to you.”

"Good then. She's a nice woman." he grins, "And again, thank you for the Bruschetta and thank you for packing some for me to take home."

Y/N peeking at the small box on his hand, “No problem, H.”

Giving her his signature smile, Harry takes a step closer and landing a soft peck on her cheek. Letting the reddish shy blossoming and heated her skin, only for him finding her too cute for blushing.

“Good night, love.”

"... good night, H." she whispers after a moment while her eyes trailing where his car disappears from her sight. She can't believe it. Harry just kissed her, on the cheek. That was not his first time to make a move on her. He once put his arms around her, held her hand, but this time.. it makes her heart bursting with happiness. A different kind of happiness that she's not sure what it is. Slowly, her palm creeps into the skin where the man had just kissed. Like an idiot, she smiles as she rubs her cheek. Not wanting her neighbour sees her being an idiot, she rushed inside.

“You're blushing.” Ilitia teases her when Y/N closes the door, “You really like him, aren't you?”

“Is that obvious, granny?” she mumbles, sitting next to Ilitia who's watching television.

Ilitia rolls her eyes playfully, "Even my old eyes can see that crystal clear, mia cara..”

“He's very nice, granny. He's very sweet, funny..” she trails off, “And.. beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

“Handsome isn't enough for him. His ethereal beauty is unmatched.”

Ilitia just laughs, shaking her head while looking at her granddaughter who's still stunned with whatever happened between them earlier.

“This old lady doesn't know anything about love, mia cara. But, just be careful. I don't want you to get upset and heartbroken.”

. . . .

A kiss on the other night leads Harry to venture into more physical contact with Y/N. He dared to embrace her, holding her hand, and steal the opportunity to give her a little kiss or quick peck on the cheek – and it's been going on for a quite a while. Y/N doesn't know where they stand, Harry has never spoken about their relationship, yet he admits he likes her a lot but doesn't officially say they're a boyfriend-girlfriend thing.

Does she care?

Not really.

What she cares about is, her feeling isn't one-sided.

“Harry, Harry, please!”

Both of them are in his cottage, spending the weekend together with baking and cooking as they planned before. They're now covered with flour, thanks to Harry who first threw the powder at her playfully and ended up spending a sack wasted.

"Our Croissants will never be finished!" she shouts, shielding her face away with both hands. Harry who's standing feet away from her, just laughing at her who had given up.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, love.” he giggles, “Here, let me help you.”

Y/N pouts as Harry put the sack on the counter, then helps her to brush her hair from the sprinkling flour. Luckily it's not overcovered her hair fully.

“I have to take a shower to get rid this off of me,” she mumbles, sweeping the flour from her shirt.

“No, you don't.” he denies, “You still look beautiful if you wanna know.”

She snorts, pinching his arm jokingly to cover her now hot and pinkish cheeks. While the man in front of him still brushing the white particles off of her, Y/N has her eyes stuck on him – studying every inch of his perfect face. She brings her hand dancing on his porcelain skin, feeling her fingertips pulsating in every layer of her skin.

“Now, why are you staring at me?” Harry hums, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.

“You're so pretty.”

He squinted, “Am I?”

“Yes.” she breathes as he's now staring deeply at her. The pair don't exchange a word, just enjoying looking at each other with thousand meaning behind their gaze. Slowly, and very carefully, Harry leans in and cradles her jaw with his large palm.

And for the next millisecond, their lips joined together, dancing in the same rhythm. Y/N was shocked at first, then she closes her eyes feeling the softness of his plump lips on her. She never kissed someone nor being kissed. She just hopes she doesn't disappoint him for being the first time. This is her first time being intimate with someone after all.

She moans as the pleasure hits her, feeling the goosebumps tingles her skin. The way his hot lips ghosting down her throat, leaving wet kisses all around her skin and some bite marks blossoming into reddish.

They both pull back as their gaping for breath, but Harry quickly feels her lips on him in a second. He likes the way her lips tastes like honey and soft like the winter snowflake, yet his fingers travelling around her side, squeezing her hips only to makes her moans louder.

He smirks as he feels her hands fumbling with his shirt's button, he shushes her as he held her wandering hands, breaking their linked mouth for a moment.

“So eager,” he pants, touching their foreheads together.

“You're the one who initiated it first.” she huffs, placing her hands on his chest.

Their swollen lips meet each other again for the umpteenth time. Both of them smiling into the kiss then turns into a steamy make-out session when Harry begins undoing her jeans button. Effortless, he makes her jump and latching her legs around his hips, then brings her into his bedroom.

They didn't break the kiss until they got to Harry's room. He softly drops her body into his mattress, hovering her with his strong body as they stare at each other. He notices how flushed she is, with red-swollen lips, and few bites mark spreading around her jaw and neck. He wastes no time to kiss her as his hand unzipped her blouse and tossing it away. Then, he finished unbuttoning her jeans. Leaving the girl only on her bra and knicker.

"Beautiful." he whispers while his eyes wandering up and down her delicate body, "How pretty," he adds while kissing her now bare stomach.

Y/N sighed as he licks her hips, blowing a deep breath into her belly button. Suddenly, she becomes nervous. She has never done this before, and if she's going to do this for the first time, with Harry, she doesn't want to upset him. She has to be honest with him and she knows he really appreciates whatever she's going to say.

“Harry..”

“What is it, love?” he lifts his head after nicking her skin, “Tell me if this is too much.”

He frowns when the girl beneath him doesn't say anything, “Or, you don't want to do this? We can stop it now if you're not sure.”

“No, no. It's not like that. I.. I do want this. It's just...”

Does she really need to do this?

“I want this, H. I really do. But, I've never done this before.” she timidly says, “I'm afraid–”

"Hey, hey. None of that." he cuts her off, "I don't care if you haven't done this if you have done this. I don't care if you're virgin or not. What all I care about is your feelings, concern, certainty."

"I'm one hundred percent sure, H." she confirms, "I'm sure to want to do this with you."

“No second thoughts? We still have much time if you want to– ”

“Harry...” she whines, “Please, I need you.”

That's it.

It was his sign to continue whatever they have on mind. He breathes in relief before kissing her again and letting her hands help him take off his clothes. Once they discarded clothes joining each other's, Harry waste no time to fuck her no mercy until the only words leaving her lips are his name in moaning pleasure.

that was.. fast. what do ya think?

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #god harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #romance #fanfcition

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alicedopey · 4 years

Text

Mine - Part I

Moodboard created by @naaladareia

Fandom: Vikings

Genre: AU, smut, romance, angst

Pairing: Ivar x Plus Size reader

Warnings: smut ahead people

Words: 2282

Summary: She was just some part of a plan and he was not supposed to fall for her but he did. Hard.

A/N: This is written for @geekandbooknerd 1K Challenge and I’m awfully late. I had chosen the sentence “Stay for me”. This is also the first part of a new story. Enjoy !

The night club was crowded and loud. So loud. You did not remember it being like that when you went there with your friends. Maybe you really were getting old. You winced again as the awfully loud music invaded your ears and you tried to numb the pain with some alcoholic beverage. It was the sixth glass of a nice and flashy cocktail. You were feeling light-headed but at least a little bit less annoyed.

There was one thing for certain though, you should not have come here. Problem was you had absolutely wanted to please your new coworkers and prove you were not a stuck-up bitch, the lap dog of the boss. Being the new right arm of one of the greatest CEOs in Copenhagen was a huge offer and you could not refuse it, especially after what had happened back home.

No. You shook your head and fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. You would not think about that bastard tonight…even if your night was already ruined. You finished your glass in one big gulp and paid the bartender. Letting out a sigh, you got down from the bar stool.

“Can I buy you a drink?” You froze on your spot and looked at the owner of the voice.

He looked young – younger than you, with a very beautiful face, shining dark hair and wide magnificent blue eyes. He was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt, as if he had just got there after leaving his office. He was the definition of handsome and out of your league.

You looked behind you to check if there was some beautiful girl but found none looking his way. You slowly set back your eyes on him. A smirk had appeared on his face.

“Yes, you are the one I’m talking to.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for the offer but I was just about to leave.” You stuttered and cursed yourself for doing so.

“Stay for me. I can assure you that you won’t regret it.”

Now you were intrigued…and amused. “Oh really? What makes you say that?”

“Stay and you will find out.” He winked at you and offered you a bright shining smile.

The offer was extremely tempting but your brain was on high alert. Out of the corner of your eye, you checked the crowded room to spot some friends of his eagerly waiting for you to fall for his lie and become the victim of a truth or dare. You saw none. There were a few jealous glares from other women but no sign of overexcited and smirking young men.

Relaxing a bit, you smiled at him and sat back down on the stool. The young man’s smile widened.

“Good girl. So, about that drink?”

You simply nodded and he made a sign to the bartender who set a new sex on the beach in front of you. That made you smile even more. This mysterious young man had apparently been watching you for some time.

“I’m Ivar, by the way.” He extended a hand that you took. Warm but firm, you liked that. “Y/N.”

The conversation was pleasant afterwards. Ivar was witty, snarky and cultivated a lot. He was working with his brothers in a small family business, definitely not like the huge company you worked for. He seemed to be reasonable and down-to-earth for a twentish-year-old boy. It was a first and you had to admit even more tempting. He had a dazzling smile and eyes you could easily lose yourself into. Too easy for your liking as a matter of fact. As tempting as he was, everything in him was screaming ‘danger’ for many reasons you could not pinpoint yet.

You spent a wonderful moment with him though. A drink turned into two, three, four…it was easy to talk and listen to him. An alarm in your brain was warning you again to stay cautious and reasonable because charming or not, Ivar was still a stranger you just met. The rest of your brain could not help being seduced by his voice, his looks, his inner charm. It was as if a tiny voice was telling you to leave but your body refused to obey, refusing to leave that man.

“What do you say we take this to my place?”

You watched him through squinted eyes, as if such a thing could help your dizzy alcohol enhanced brain understand better what he was saying. Ivar looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Okay.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think about it.

Ivar nodded approvingly and hailed the bartender to pay for your drinks while you said your goodbyes to your colleagues. You staggered back to Ivar, your heels were killing you and the alcohol was not helping. Your partner sensed your state and took your hand, gently guiding you towards the exit. This is the moment when you noticed he was leaning on a crutch to walk. How come you had not noticed it before? His steps were assured though and he did not even stumble once.

Once outside, the fresh air of the night brought back some of your senses and you wondered for one tiny second if you were not making a mistake. Before you could think about it any further, you found yourself sitting in the back seat of a luxurious and very comfortable car with Ivar at your side.

He said a few Danish words to his driver that your foggy brain was not able to get and the car started. The ride to his place was quiet and smooth. It could have lulled you to sleep if the seducing man next to you was not holding your hand. He was stroking your skin with his thumb, the simple gesture making you shiver with anticipation.

It did not take long for you to arrive. The driver stopped in front of a very nice building where a doorman opened the door, silently greeting Ivar. The latter led you to the elevator, he pressed the top button and the doors closed.

Once again, the ride was silent. He looked at you, you looked at him. None of you was willing to break eye contact, too entranced by the other. The ding of the elevator made you both wake up from your trance.

The doors opened and you penetrated into what seemed to be a huge flat. Everything was in the dark, the only light being set by the moon. Ivar found his way inside easily, leading you through the rooms until he finally came to a stop. He let go of your hand. You heard some rustle, he was probably taking off his suit jacket. Indeed, when he came back in front of you, he was only wearing his shirt and suit pants. His eyes bore into yours.

“Do you want something to drink”? He asked politely.

You shook your head. You wished you could quench your thirst, but it was not for water.

Ivar took a few steps towards you and your breath quickened. There was still an opportunity to leave.

You forgot it the moment his lips crashed upon yours. His hand grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. A sigh of content left your lips as your curves met his hard body. Your tongues danced with each other wildly. The man was drinking from you.

Starting to get dizzy, you broke the kiss. Ivar’s lips followed a trail down your face to your neck that he nipped and sucked feverishly.

Your head fell backwards as you let out a gasp of pleasure. Your hands found their way to his toned chest that you scratched gently though his shirt. Ivar groaned, his attacks on your neck intensified. His right hand left your face to rest on your wide hip, his left hand holding his crutch to support himself.

You wondered for a moment if the position was uncomfortable for him. “Ivar…”

He looked up at you, his eyes were dilated with pleasure. You were both breathless., your pants echoing in the silent room.

“Maybe” you gulped nervously. “You could show me your bed.”

You could not believe the words that came out of your mouth. In your thirty years or so of existence, you had never been so bold with a man.

Ivar was not shocked though and he gave you a simple nod.

“Good idea. But first…”

He pulled on your blouse with his free hand. You let him take it off while your pulled down the zipper of your skirt. It fell down your legs, your panties followed the same path.

Ivar seemed eager to unclasp your bra. He did it quickly, pulling the strap down your arms. The moment he set eyes on your breasts, he attacked them. Circling your hips with one strong arm, he licked, nipped and your chest like a starving child.

Your lower belly clenched, you felt yourself getting wet and clenched your thick thighs together, trying to ease the tension pulsating between your legs.

“Ivar…” You whimpered. “The bed…”

Reluctantly, his lips left your skin and he stepped back. He laid his eyes on your body and smirked. Surely, he had let some marks on your body. Suddenly, you approached him and helped him getting rid of his clothes. You unbuttoned his shirt, taking the time to touch his soft and muscular skin. He unfastened his belt, took off his pants and boxers, then stood up before you. Your mouth water at the sight of his body. Feeling bold, you stretched a hand towards his sex. Ivar let your stroke him for a while before stopping your ministrations.

“To the bed.” His eyes were glassy now, his voice husky as he made you lie on the bed. Your back collided with the soft sheets, probably satin.

Ivar let his crutch fall on the floor and lay above you. He kissed before attacking your breasts again. He sucked one nipple while his hand played with the other. His other hand being free this time, he let it slide down your body until he reached your core. He slipped one finger inside and your body instantly swallowed it. He pulled it out to put it inside again, again and again…

Your hands gripped the sheets in despair. Several moans were leaving your mouth while Ivar was feasting on your body. You longed to touch him the sensations he was making you feel were new to you. It was the first time a man worshipped your body this way. You’d better enjoy it while it lasted.

Ivar suddenly retrieved his finger and ceased his ministrations on your body. You whimpered at the loss.

“I know, sweet thing.” He kissed your neck, sensing your frustration. “I wish I could enjoy your body a bit more but I can’t wait any longer. I need to take you.”

His words made your insides clench. Ivar hooked your leg on his waist. He fisted himself before plunging into you. Your eyes rolled on the back of your head at the exquisite sensation.

His hips snapped into yours, eliciting a groan from his lips. You looked at him to see him staring back at you. Your reached out a hand to pull his head towards yours. You kissed his lips, talking the lead this time. You were making love to his mouth the same way he was making love to you; sensually yet with some despair and a certain thirst for lust. Neither of you would be long tonight.

Your insides clenched again just as his hips snapped more furiously against yours. Your mouths still attached, you encircled him with your arms, wanting to feel him against your body. You raised your hips to meet each of his thrusts, the motion creating a friction ever so satisfying between your legs.

Your orgasm crashed upon you like a massive wave of pleasure. Ivar came as well, groaning into your mouth.

The need to breathe was strong now so your mouths broke apart. Ivar buried his nose on your neck, peppering it with kisses. You caressed his hair, feeling like you were floating in a bubble of pleasure and satisfaction. Your eyes were heavy and before you could react, you fell asleep with Ivar still inside you.

The bright light of the sun woke you up. You had to squint your eyes not to get blinded. Everything was so…white here. You realized you were not at home and tried to gather your thoughts but the pounding in your head was making it quite difficult. There was a lot of alcohol involved, a club, your coworkers, a boy, no a man…Ivar.

Your eyes widened and you abruptly sat up, clenching the black and red sheets against your naked body. Satin. You remembered their softness when your body fell them last night.

You turned your head to look on the side. There he was; lying on his back like an angel with devilishly handsome features.

Panic rose in your chest. You had to leave before he woke up and realized the mistake he had made by taking you to his bed. After what you had to endure at home, you would not get through another humiliation.

You managed to get out of the bed without waking him up. You gathered your clothes and put them on quickly. Your heels in hand, you threw one last glance to Ivar who was sleeping soundly and pushed the elevator button. The doors slid open, you rushed inside. When they closed in front of you, you let out a breath you did not realize you were holding.

Tagging (tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia @tephi101 @therealcalicali @gearhead66 @geekandbooknerd @flowers-in-your-hayr @maggiescarborough @ivarswickedqueen @lisinfleur @mblaqgi @captstefanbrandt @ivaraddict @elenarogersbarnes13 @peaceisadirtyword @lol-haha-joke

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Drown Myself in Someone Like You

Harry and Catalina have known each other for decades. But he’s never know her like this, set into the world that she comes from before. And along the way, Catalina serves to remind Harry that there’s good even in the bad.

AfroLatina OC!-Vampire!Harry, Demon!OC 13k+ words about 28 pages long. Reader be warned.

CW: Mature content (smut so only 18+ and up), Gore, Graphic Depictions of violence. Title is taken from Impossible by Nothing But Thieves.

Moodboard made by the wonderful @notinthesameguey (Happy Early Birthday!!!!!)

Enjoy my masterlist

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It shouldn’t shock him. It shouldn’t make Harry stop in his tracks, seeing her leaning against the brick building, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She never brings it up to her lips. It’s her signature; a sign of her coming and a sign of her going too-- the smoke trailing from the butt of a burning piece of paper around the tobacco. That paper is never lifted to her lips. It’s always a trail of smoke from her fingers. It’s all too fitting, all too ironic for anyone that knew Catalina. Like really knew her, like besides the permanent red lipstick that she loved to wear, and really knew the reason for the bruises that were on her knuckles. They’d know that the puff of smoke was a warning--always a sign to anyone that cared to read it.

Harry always read it. He always turned his head to the smell of a cigarette just to see who was holding it, if they were puffing it. He looks for her--more than he really should look for her. Catalina has to disappear sometimes. She has to go back, has to recharge. Harry can’t tell what makes it hurt, what makes him always sad that she leaves. He knows she comes back. Maybe it was because they were always at a distance. They got time together; they had their fun, but it was always with the sinking feeling that eventually, it would have to come to an end. That’s what made it bittersweet, knowing that inevitably it wouldn’t last as long as Harry wanted it too.

Still paused in the sidewalk, Harry’s aware of all the bodies passing him by. And there she is. Leaning against the brick of the building, a cigarette dangling between fingers. He knows it’s her. Even in the dark of the night and the distance, there’s no way to miss her forever painted red lips--sometimes they are glossy, sometimes they are matte. And even though she’s dressed in a black overcoat thanks to fall’s incoming chill, Harry knows that Catalina.

It’s one foot that carries him and then the other and then he’s at her side. “Huh? Seems like you look a little familiar,” Harry teases, his accent smooth and the timbre of his voice deep.

“Oh?” Catalina returns, barely turning her head to look at Harry. “Seems like I don’t know a mug like that one.” She grins though, her glossy red lips splitting to reveal a wide smile.

He laughs, gently settling one hand on her waist. “You say that now.” She turns into him, careful of the burning paper and wraps him into a one armed hug. “But you won’t be saying that later,” Harry adds on, whispering into her ear.

Catalina hums. “Like the sound of that.”

As they pull out of the hug, Harry nods up ahead, the downtown area is alive, even in the chilling night. “You hungry? I think that chili place you like is still open.” Her lips turn up and Harry knows the answer. “Or we get cupcakes.”

“Now you’re talking my language,” she laughs, arm winding around Harry’s waist. His jacket is black too, but feels like it can do decently to keep a person warm. Not that it matters completely to him. The cigarette drops from her fingers and she takes the pointed toes of her boots to stamp out any live embers. She’s always had a sweet tooth, as long as Harry’s known her. And he gives into it. Though he knows the sugar doesn’t mix well with his particular diet, he always has at least one taste.

“C’mon then. Car’s just up ahead,” Harry grins.

They walk up the block, her arm locked around his waist, his arm draped over her shoulder. More couples shuffle around them, edging to the side as they stride over the asphalt. The heels of both their boots clicking with their steps. Truth be told, they notice the glances, the way people duck out of the way. The stares never went away, not over the decades, or even the centuries. How long had it been? How long had they been playing this game?

It wasn’t even truthfully a game. It felt like routine, felt like their normal. Catalina would come up from the depths in a human form--it changed in the beginning but she settled quickly on the dark skin and wide nose, paired perfectly with big eyes and pouty lips. And she’d find Harry; or Harry would find her. And then they would spend the days, the weeks, the months, however long Catalina could withstand the human form; however long she’d been assigned to come up together. It was late night drives and hanging out in bars and racking up noise complaints from neighbors in hotel rooms or apartment complexes.

Harry is always up here, above the surface. He thought about when he first ran into Catalina that his soul had been damned forever and there was no use. What good could he ever do in a world where he’s cursed to be stuck like this? What good could he ever do cursed to always be hidden in the shadows? But Catalina never saw it like that. She took any day as an opportunity and though more often than not, she wound up with bloody knuckles or standing with cops questioning her, she never backed down from anything that she felt was wrong.

Harry liked to have a low profile but not Catalina. Maybe it was because she never needed to be worried about maintaining a life above ground for too long. She could always disappear back to Hell and no one would ever be the wiser, no one could care. Besides Harry of course. He always cared. Maybe a little too much.

“So what ruckus have you been up to?” Catalina asks, tucking her arm around Harry’s. Her elbows tucks in close to his ribs.

“You’d be shocked to know that you’re the one that causes trouble out of the two of us.”

“Me? Trouble? Siempre,” Catalina laughs. The night is cold and she can feel it mostly on her nose, and maybe it’s being close to Harry again that makes her spine shiver. But she embraces it. There’s not much time for them on this round. Her orders are pretty strict but Catalina knows she can squeeze in just enough time. Just enough to take those memories with her and tide her over until the next time.

Harry laughs, squeezes at the crook of her elbow. “Always,” he whispers. Harry leans them off the sidewalk into the crosswalk to head towards the parking garage. The lights are bright inside the structure, unlike the lights of the sidewalk. Harry holds open the door to the passenger side for Catalina and is quick to shuffle around to the driver side. As the car rumbles to life beneath them, Harry turns to Catalina. “So cupcakes for dinner? What does that leave us for desert then?”

She stretches across the console, her nails sharp but gentle as she drags them down the stubble of his chin. “You know exactly what I like.” Her teeth graze the shell of his ear. “Don’t have a lot of time unfortunately.”

Harry shudders at the feeling, her breath ghosting over his skin. “How much time?”

“Three weeks.”

Not a lot of time at all, but they can make the most of it. He’ll make sure of it. “That’s plenty of time,” he counters, turning his head now. They share a breath. This close he can smell the candy she’s had early and the nicotine still clinging to her clothes and skin even if she never took a drag.

“But not our usual,” she purrs, a twinge of sadness pulling down her voice. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

“Good.” Their lips brush, not quite a kiss, but definitely not innocent either. “Because I want every second I can get.” They linger there, not quite kissing, but still sharing breathes. Harry almost suggests skipping the poor excuse of cupcakes from the 24-hour grocery store. It’s not the greatest, but she loves them even if the frosting always makes Harry think there’s no way one person can enjoy that much sugar.

He pulls back though. But not before gently brushing her nose with his and inhaling one last deep breath of her candy and nicotine. “Cupcakes coming up,” he whispers. His voice almost doesn’t work, like in their silence Catalina was attempting to steal it from him but didn’t quite finish the job.

Harry keeps his attention on the road, but one hand slinks it way from the gear shift, though the car is an automatic, to Catalina’s thigh. Her plaid pants are soft against his fingertips but he knows the feeling of her skin too--how warm and pliable it is, how her flesh always gave into the squeeze of his fingers. “Where are you headed this time?” Harry asks, needing to know if they’ll spend the weeks traveling or stationary.

“I’m local this time. So I understand if you can always come out for the late night escapades.”

“You say that like I can’t go somewhere else after the hell you unleash.”

Catalina shrugs. “Wasn’t sure if you had gotten too settled here or not. You know I’m not exactly known for my caution or discretion.”

“Only when you need to be, are you. But no, don’t worry about that, Catalina. I’ll be okay.”

The night wraps around them as they step out of the car, staring up at the harshly lit sign and store. The place is small, a local shop. But they’re baked goods section is always well stocked. Catalina leads the way, heels of her boots clicking. The black jacket covers her from shoulders to ankles. Harry knows his attire matches. His jacket black too and hitting him at his knees rather than her’s going down basically to the floor. And while her wide legged pants are more formal in comparison to his jeans, anyone watching them would think immediately that they were taking cues from decades past. However, the worry doesn’t settle too deeply. Harry would rather be different and know it than worry.

The air of the grocery store is a tad warmer than the night though it rings more as both of them click against the laminate of the flooring. Catalina makes a beeline for the baked goods and Harry takes a quick survey. There are a few people lingering about. One woman looks positively frazzled, bouncing a baby on her hip as she walks to a register with diapers in hand.

He takes a pause at the front display of chips and watches for a moment as the mother approaches one the cashiers. “Can one of you unlock the formula display for me? I’m sorry to bother you,” she pleads, barely able to keep a whine that creeps up from the baby at minimum.

The young man nods, his bored expression never changing as he finds the keys and walks ahead of her back down the aisle. “When the hell did they start locking up baby formula?” Catalina asks behind Harry.

“Not sure. But I heard about a woman being arrested for stealing diapers a month ago.”

“They really arrested a mother trying to provide for her baby?”

“Shit’s hit the fan since you’ve been gone. No one to scare the daylights out of ‘em,” Harry teases, grabbing a bag of chips so they don’t look too suspicious. “You all good?”

“Siempre.”

The two of them head into the only line open and with minimal conversation check out. Harry pays before Catalina can even reach for the cash in her pocket. He can feel the glare but takes the bag and receipt with a smile from the cashier. As they reach the automatic doors, Catalina can hear the beep of the scanner followed by, “I’m sorry, I don’t--can you take the diapers off?”

Catalina spins on her heel and doesn’t need to tell Harry what she’s doing. She heads back to the register she just left. “How much is it for the diapers and the formula?”

The woman turns to the sound of Catalina’s voice. “What?”

“How much is the total with everything?” she repeats again, throwing a glance at the card terminal to try and get a look.

“24.75,” the cashier replies.

Catalina pulls out some cash, two twenties, and hands it over to the cashier. She then turns to the young mom. “Keep the change, for the next time.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t--”

“For your baby. It’s fucked up that the system is choosing between two essential things. Your baby needs diapers and formula and I’m going to make sure they get that.”

“I-I can’t thank you enough,” the mother replies, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

“Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.” Catalina smiles before turning back to the door.

Harry’s outside the automatic doors and rubbing his finger clear of chip dust. “Going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

“Would I ever be me if I didn’t?”

Harry laughs, but shakes his head. “Follow me first.” They head back to the car and from the trunk Harry pulls out a black sweatshirt with a hood. Catalina slips it on over her long sleeved top and throws the long overcoat back on. Her pants will give her away, but it’s not in Catalina’s nature to always think things through.

She spies some spray paint cans. “When did you get into graffiti?” She picks the black one, knowing that if she stains her clothes it won’t be obvious though her heart wants to tag the store in red.

“I’m not. I have it from a project. Just never took them out of my trunk I guess.”

Catalina shakes the can before slipping it into her pocket and thankfully it’s deep and wide enough.

“Just don’t make too much of a mess,” Harry pleads.

“It’s bullshit, Harry. Mierda. They’ve already made the mess.”

He can’t disagree. “Front or back?”

“Front.”

“Playing with fire?”

“Siempre,” she returns, throwing the hood up over her head. Back inside the store, Catalina cuts through the wine aisle, casually stopping here and there to check out a bottle but making sure that she never lifts her head too high. At the end of the aisle, Catalina makes a beeline for the baby aisle. Right at the end of the row before the encap, is the locked up formula. Though the glass is tall, Catalina thanks to high heavens her boots give her an extra few inches. There’s a tiny banner across the top that proudly labels the section as formula.

The hiss of the can is loud but Catalina doesn’t stop. She keeps her hand moving. Her shoulder starts to hurt just a little by the time she’s done. Shockingly the hiss of the spray paint doesn’t alert either of the employees. However, her time of secrecy is up by the time she takes a step back and manages to drive the heel of her boot through the glass. One panel shatters and clatters to the ground. The second wobbles but doesn’t give way until she takes her elbow into the glass once then twice to make sure all the glass rests on the floor.

“Hey!” The young man shouts, hands thrown up into the air. Catalina turns, crunching the glass under her feet as she ducks back behind the wine aisle. “What the fuck? Seriously?”

The young man doesn’t even bother chasing after her, only stares at the mess on the floor of glass in the aisle and as he gets closer he can see written in black across the name Los padres no deberían tener barreras. “Fucking hell, that’s not going to come out easy.”

Catalina continues to the door. More people are shouting after her. She assumes it’s the manager on duty. They’ll review tapes. They’ll call the police. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the message, what does matter is that people shouldn’t be constantly battling just to meet basic needs. Harry pulls up to the front just as Catalina’s heels click against the asphalt. She slips inside and he floors it, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street with hardly a glance at the traffic.

“Your best bet is to get rid of this car,” Catalina says, finally pulling the hoodie down.

“You don’t say,” Harry laughs, ducking into an alleyway once he feels they’re a safe distance away. “You’re getting an early start on that three weeks.”

“Trying not to waste a moment,” Catalina returns with a grin. “Blame me?”

“Not in a million years.”

They can’t sit for too long. It’s a sure fire way to get caught. Not that either one of them would be too worried about getting caught, though Harry does worry for Catalina more now than ever before. Just because she could get out of the mess doesn’t mean Harry necessarily wants her to get into the trouble in the first place. There’s too much happening right now-- it’s all over the news.

“We’ve gotta go far,” Harry states. He’s got a place pretty far out from the town, up in the cut of a dirt road. Normally, he would offer his apartment. But it’s too far into the city that they will get caught. Besides, the house farther away is nice. He likes the seclusion. He can come out at night and no neighbors ask him about it, the strange habits--out more at night than the day or why he never really has much in the way of grocery. It’s much easier not to answer than it is to lie. After a few more minutes, and the wail of sirens die down, Harry pulls back out onto the streets.

“Don’t want to live on the edge?”

“Never afraid of that-- for myself.”

“But me, you’re afraid for me?” Catalina’s been doing this a long time--sometimes Harry wonders how long. And even in all that, Catalina seeing all the hatred, death, and violence, she still continues on with a reckless abandon. At first, it was exciting, hearing her talk about all the trouble she narrowly escaped. Now, Harry worries and he knows he doesn’t need to. However, it creeps in, it settles into the deepest part of his brain sometimes. And he just does worry. He can’t help it.

Harry hears the slight confusion, the almost amused edge to her question. “Sometimes the edge gets a little too dangerous. Sometimes I just want to enjoy my time.”

“A little ironic won’t you say? You got all the time in the world.”

“Time doesn’t really mean much except when I’m with you.”

Catalina shouldn’t smile, shouldn’t be as charmed. But the sentiment is coupled with Harry squeezing her knee before slowly dragging it up her thigh.The material of the pants are thin and his hands are cool but somewhere warmer than the last time she remembers. And if she’s honest, she can’t really remember the last time she was on Earth. Had it been that long that she couldn’t remember anymore? Or was she just doing this too long?

“What were you saying about time early?”

Harry laughs. “I wasn’t the one that brought up time.” His fingers squeeze, pressing into the flesh of her inner thigh. “However, I do have a question about time.”

“Which is?”

“How much time in those three weeks for me?”

Catalina traps his hand between her legs before pushing up, leaning over the console. Harry knows the feelings, knows how her lips will feel against the shell of his ear. “¿Para ti?” she whispers. “As much as you want.”

The whine builds in the back of his throat and Harry knows she still has work to do. She still has a job to do. But knowing that he can have as much time with her as he can is all the more exciting. “You don’t want to tell me that,” he whispers.

“Oh, but I do,” she laughs quietly. She kisses down his cheek. “When’s the last time you fed?”

“Yes-yesterday,” Harry returns a shiver running down his beck at the graze of her teeth over the shell of his ears.

“Good.”

Harry presses down on the gas a little harder. The car accelerates, pushing Catalina back, but she counters the force just so she can trace the contours of Harry’s neck with the tip of her tongue. “I am driving,” he whispers, voice tight and caught in this throat.

“I’m playing on the edge again, aren’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Want me to stop?”

With toes curling into his shoes, and readjusting his grip on the steering well, Harry exhales one simple word, “No.”

“Bueno.”

It’s an exhale when Harry cuts the car off in front of the house. The trees are dense around them and the moon’s light is cutting through the foliage just enough to guide him across the console to cup her cheek. In the dark, there’s a slight shine to her skin thanks to the moon but Harry’s eyes for a moment think he is cupping a tangible nothingness before her eyes come into his focus.

Before any breath can carry a word over her lips, Harry kisses her and Catalina grins into the kiss. She holds Harry’s head in her hands, not because she knows he’ll back away too soon and she wants to keep him there. It’s because she’s nearly forgotten what he’s felt like. How his skin is so much cooler than hers but still makes her feel like she’s been set on fire--but in the best way possible, without the smell of burning flesh and burnt hair.

Now all there is is Harry and the soft brush of his hair as it falls in front of his face against the bridge of her nose. There are soft giggled exhales and the light smack of lips meeting and pulling apart. All Catalina can do is drink in the smell, the feel, the taste of him--the last few crumbs of salt from the chips he must’ve been munching on while she tagged in the inside of the grocery store.

As her fingers trace down his jaw, around his neck and curl up into the nape of his neck, Harry groans into her mouth--unabashedly and without a care at the way his weight falls into her just a little. She takes it in stride and presses up against the door and window. Harry curls his fingers into the thick layers of coat, sweatshirt and sweater. “Have I told you just how dangerous you are?”

“Not yet on this visit.”

“C’mon,” his breathing is laboured, and his voice is soft as his lips brush over hers in his speech. “More space inside the house.”

“Getting old on me?”

His grin reveals all his teeth and Harry shakes his head. “Never. Just want to treat you right.”

“When have you ever treated me wrong? Nunca me has tratado mal.”

“And I’m not about to start either. C’mon.” He seals the plea with another kiss and finally pulls away from her. Harry parked in the back of the house, as to keep them under cover for a little bit longer before he could find a way to change the plates or get a new cart. So he waits at the bottom of the porch for her to catch up before guiding them to the front door.

The second Harry unlocks the door and flicks on the lights, he’s reminded of the fact that it’s been a while since he’s come this far out of the city. Everything is well kept. He pays a maid to come by every couple of weeks to keep it up. But it reminds Harry of when he first ran into Catalina, though he thinks it was less fate and more Catalina’s doing the more he looks back on it.

He brought her here, to this house. She had gotten into a bad fight and was sitting on the side of the road. While her being was influenced to be more human like, it was clear when she was injured that she wasn’t fully human. The normal red blood had started to turn into a thick black ooze and it would slow in time. But there was no way she could hang out just on the streets like that. Harry noticed her, on the curb, and while he smelled the blood of the others she had fought, he locked in the slow thudding of her heart. So slow, Harry thought maybe for a moment she might’ve been dying but when she screwed the top to her lip gloss back close, and stood without a grimace or groan. Harry figured then he had been wrong.

Harry takes in the soft grey couch and suddenly wishes it was another color. And though his mind wanders to a few interior decoration changes, it’s the warm hand of Catalina running around his back, over his side and nestling snug against his stomach that makes me forget all about those. He feels it, the slow thudding over her heart--or what should be a heart, even though she is full of heart, full of gasoline waiting for the lit match.

She kisses at his shoulder, even with the coat in the way and Harry gives into the way her fingers trace the opening of his coat and up over his chest and soon her palms flesh against his throat. His head is tilted back, resting almost onto her shoulder. There are a couple inches that differentiate them. But Harry can still give into her, drop his head back on his shoulders and flutter his eyes close to the feeling of her palm resting against his throat.

“Letting me in so soon?” Catalina chuckles, fingers pressing in just a little.

“Never let you go, really.”

His throat is released and soon his jacket falls to the floor. He takes the moment to spin and push her coat off her arms too before hooking his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. They’re lips are like magnets, finding each other and impossible to resist the pull.

Slowly, he tugs at the hem of the sweatshirt. It does not go alone--her sweater comes off with it. Before Harry can truly drink in the sight of her, she’s making quick work of the t-shirt he’s dawned in, kissing down his chest. Her mouth is warm, tongue lapping at his nipples and Harry knows he’s a goner. He knew it when he noticed her on the sidewalk. But now there is nothing to do but succumb. As she works on the button at his pants, Harry exhales heavily.

“Please,” he pants, “wait on that.”

And she does, standing back to her full height and kisses him. “So what do you want?”

Harry’s laughter falls in a tuft, one hands cupping her through her pants. “It’s not hard to guess.”

“Always a gentleman.” He winks at her before they walk further into the house, leaving what outerwear and shirts have already been discarded to the care of the floor.

Her books make a soft thunk as Harry drops them to the floor. He kisses over her ankles, pushing the wide bootleg cut up to expose her skin. Sure they do this all the time but it never gets old. Harry can never get enough of the way her body quivers under his touch. He can never get enough of the way she shakes, and moans beneath him. There is nothing quite like it.

The air’s cool to Catalina as her pants are removed. However, it’s chased by the feeling of Harry kissing down her thighs, dragging right to the edge of her underwear but not fully giving into her yet. And she knows, she knows what he’s doing, however, it still winds up her gut. Catalina takes a fistful of Harry’s hair and tugs, “Mírame,” she commands. Harry slowly lifts his gaze. “Do not play with me.” It’s desperate as it leaves her lips. But there’s a bit of a snarl, that leaves her mouth too.

“What happens if I do play with my meal just a little?” Harry breathes heavily over her clothed sex and smirks as he watches the flutter of her eyes. Her hold in his hair slackens.

“Fuck,” Catalina murmurs.

That’s all Harry needs, the crack in her voice that tells him all he needs to know. He’s quick as he removes her panties and at the first drop of her, he groans. It’s been so long, too long. For a fleeting moment, Harry thinks about how much he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want her to have to go back. But the thought escapes him completely when she whimpers, fingers tightening in his hair.

Catalina wants to squeeze her thighs close. She wants to trap him between her legs forever, but her muscles are quaking. She’s going to come undone and she knows it. But all she can do is give into the lap of Harry’s tongue and the push of his fingers. Her own voice, her own high pitched pants are almost foreign to her own ears. However the warmth in her stomach is all too familiar, it’s all too craved.

“Oh, fuck,” she cries, heels digging into the mattress and hips attempting to push up but Harry’s hands keep her pinned down and spread open. His tongue dances over her, teasing at her clit, slipping inside of her just a little. There’s a lew slurp, lips wrapping around her clit. Stars--that’s what she sees right before her mouth falls open and his name crawls over her throat.

Harry doesn’t slow, not until she gives a hiss and begs him to stop. Only then does he kiss across her inner thighs, up her stomach, between the valley of her breasts and then teases her nipple with the tip of her tongue. Harry can feel just beneath the flesh, the way her heart pumps rapidly. It reminds him, more than it should, of the times when his own heart still pumped blood.

That’s what Harry focuses on, the way her heart thumps in her chest, even through her back when she’s pressed up against his chest. His hips never falter than his eyes flutter shut as he inhales the scent of her, brushing his nose along Catalina’s neck. Harry trails his fingers up from her waist to her throat and just feelings, the way her body sweats beneath him, the way she pants against him. “Fuck,” Harry whispers, a groan slipping over his lips.

Catalina hums, reaching back to grab onto Harry’s shoulder--anything really. The bed’s a steady rhythm against the wall thanks to the pace of Harry’s hips. Catalina finds the buzz, the way her body warms even at the cool touch and sinks into it. She sinks into the squeeze at her throat and laughs. “Harder,” she breathes. When his hand tightens, she hums and can only feel the growing heat in her belly.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Harry starts, kissing at her shoulder. “When you beg for more, when you whine--makes my knees weak.”

At the confession, Catalina grins though the only thing she can vocalize is just the pleasure she finds herself falling into, she can only hum at the way Harry holds her neck firmly in his palm. She crumbles first, a hitch in her breath alerting Harry just how close to the edge she is, how she’s sure to come around his cock in mere moments. “Don’t hold back on me,” he coaxes, relieving some of the pressure from her throat. “I want to hear it all.”

Catalina feels her jaw going slack and the way her body tightens, coils ready for the pop of relief. She comes with a grunt, a string of curses and his name tumbling from her lips. Harry grins, turning her head to silence the sounds with a kiss. He swallows down the whimpers and when she melts, muscles caving in, he guides her face down, keeping her hips up. Everything radiates up. When Harry keeps a firm grasps on her hips, he knows his time is running up too. His time to succumb to the pleasure will be arriving shortly.

“You know you want to,” Catalina teases from below, pushing herself up to her hands, back arched still. “You know you can’t hold out forever. Not with me.”

It’s true. He can’t. There’d be no point. She’d always find a way, know exactly what to say, know exactly how to touch him to get a rise out of him. There’s no point in fighting Catalina ever. It would only serve to his detriment, so Harry chases down his own release, holding Catalina firmly in place with the echo of skin slapping against skin. The echoes are occasionally broken by a groan, from him or her and before Harry has any mind, the tension finally bursts.

“God, fuck,” he huffs, his body going lax, falling into Catalina. She doesn’t budge against his weight, just sinks into the mattress, laughing. The vibrations shake Harry’s chest and he winds his arms around her torso.

“Told you so.”

Harry kisses along her neck, shifting more of his weight off her and settling in behind her. “Never a reason to deny myself you, so you can save the sarcasm.”

Catalina turns, pushing up and shuffling to face Harry. “You’ll never escape it.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t want to.” The thought leaves him in a whisper and he stretches out for a kiss, sliding his hand down to cup her ass and pull her into him. Catalina hitches a leg, hands cradling his face. It happens again, in her stomach, the way his touch causes the butterflies and the heat to flutter.

Harry listens again, feels the slight thudding of her heart in her ribs. She’s alive again, even if it’s only for three weeks. That’s all he has to remind himself off.

After another round to satiate their desires, Catalina starts plotting where she has to go. She made Harry her first stop but with the time crunch she knows she’s got to get across state lines within the next two days or else the whole time will be spent chasing. Harry offers that they make the plan during the rest of the night and figure out car logistics in the morning and make a move then.

“You’re coming with me?” Catalina asks.

She sits at the desk, bed sheet wrapped around her shoulders, munching on the cupcakes that Harry went back to the car to get for her. The pen scratches over the map before moving across the page of her notebook--really it’s Harry’s old lyric notebook, but he transferred the pages to a folder and left the remaining pages for whatever random things he’d need them for and not it appears it was for Catalina. She licks the icing from her fingers.

“My car’s kinda toast. So if I stay here with it, cops might press me for me answers if they know that car’s connected.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, assessing Harry. “You wouldn’t rat me out.”

“No, but I am one less loose thread. Besides, you’re not around for super long this time.”

“You don’t want to be a part of this. This isn’t the kind of stuff you do. You do good in the world.”

“I won’t be a part of whatever you have to do. I’ll be the willfully ignorant ride along, who buys snacks and patches you up, joking that I don’t even want to know.”

“That makes you an accomplice, you know.”

“A dumb one,” Harry counters, pushing up from the bed. He showered and put on a clean pair of boxers but hasn’t put on anything else. Whereas she’s dressed in a t-shirt and only a t-shirt, even though she’s draped into the sheet.

“Still an accomplice.”

“Please,” he asks, kneeling in front of her, hands clasped in front of his chest. The lower lip rolls out and Catalina sighs. She can’t say no to that. Harry keeps the puppy-eyed look, waiting for the inevitable confirmation.

“Fine,” she huffs. “But snacks--that’s your only job. No navigation.”

“Patch jobs? I’ve been told I’ve got a magical touch.” Harry pairs the sentiment with a smirk and his hands grazing along her thighs.

Catalina pushes into his torso with her foot, putting just an inch or so between him and her. “No. Snacks and snacks only. I don’t think I’ll be needing patch jobs on this one.”

“But if you do? I could take care of it.” His hands have continued to hitch higher on her flesh.

“Oh you’re impossible. Go pack a bag. We’ve got only a few more hours before needing to get out of here.”

His lips brush up her shin and over her knee. He’s quick as his fingers graze over her exposed core. She shivers, despite rearing her foot back. It lands square into his chest. Harry only laughs as he lets his body give to the weight falling back onto his butt just a little. She didn’t push hard, but enough force to warn Harry. He knows she could go harder. He winks at her before pushing off the floor. “Packing a bag. How long for?”

“Week and a half, max.”

When the morning light starts to just settle into the sky, Catalina’s quick to toss some of the spray cans into a black trash bag including the receipt to the grocery store. She’s grateful in the moment that Harry used cash. Maybe he suspected. Maybe he knew that after telling her about the formula being locked up was sign enough that Harry had to be careful just in case things went south.

Had they been around each other that long that he just knew? What had it been, eighty years of this song and dance? Did he just know the next line because of time? Had they practiced this over and over that Harry just knew instinctively? Whatever the case be, Catalina is glad. She needed someone, especially now, that just got her. That didn’t think too much about the way she didn’t think too much.

Crumpling the receipt, she tosses it too into the bag and takes a scan. There’s nothing else that can be linked so she ties it up and tosses to the floor of the passenger side. When they get back to some main roads, possibly on the backside of a shopping center, she can dump it there. But they need to get on the road soon. The morning is their cover for the time being and she managed to get a deal on a trade in on the car.

Harry tosses her the keys as soon as he steps out of the door. He carries a duffle bag and backpack. “Lead the way.”

It’s not too hard to toss the trash once they get into the city north of them. And it’s not much longer before Carl steps out from the house turned office, taking in the car that Catalina and Harry step out off. “The only thing on it is heat?” he asks, another set of keys dangling around his finger.

“Only thing on it is heat,” Catalina replies.

“Normally don’t do just straight trade ins. But this is a nice ass car. All I’d have to do is give it a new coat of paint and some new tags and no one would be the wiser.”

“Carl, I would never make your job harder,” she smiles and walks up to him keys just about to fall over the manicured black nails.

Carl drops the new keys into her hand and catches the other set. “Ain’t go through no tolls?”

“Cars just don’t disappear, you know?” she teases.

“Not without a little help.”

“No tolls. Stopped once to get rid of something. Parked in the back. If anything is captured, it’s not much.”

Carl can work with that. Not perfect, but more ideal than the car getting seen in a toll--that has a direction, more specific area of such. Harry is silent during the whole exchange and follows behind Catalina as she walks towards the black 4 door sedan. Though he should be more upset that his car is being traded in for god knows what, he is not worried about that. Harry finds a small bit of relief, one less thing for them to worry about.

He drops the bags into the backseat and quickly climbs into the passenger seat. “Since I’m in charge of snacks, I get control over the radio and breaks from driving?”

“If that makes you happy, fine by me.” Catalina doesn’t waste a moment more before throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. The clink of gravel hitting in the spin of the tires is evident. But Harry searches through the radio stations instead of worrying about that. Instead he thinks about how long they should drive before he insists on Catalina to find a gas station nearby. Harry focuses instead on the way the wind comes in through the open windows. He focuses instead on listening to Catalina sing softly to the music coming through the speakers.

“Driving through the night?” Harry asks. The evening has settled. The clock on the radio alerting them to the time of night. Nothing crazy, only 8.

“Driving through the night,” Catalina replies. “Let me know if I’m not obeying any snack breaks.”

“Where are we going?”

“Ah, that’s a question of navigation. And I’m afraid my dear, that’s not something I can tell you.”

He did ask to be the ignorant ride along. Just not this ignorant, but he nods a hum falling over his lips. “I’ll let you know.”

“We do need to get there fast. Within a day and a half.” While Harry didn’t anticipate needing to get there that quickly, he doesn’t make a huge fuss. Neither one of them needs sleep and he should be fine for at least another day or two before needing to feed again.

Harry watches the night pass, the stars become brighter the farther from the city they go and at the speed they’re rolling they look like streaks of white paint on a black canvas. “We should paint,” Harry says, still glancing out of the window.

“Paint?”

He finally turns to her, watching the way she keeps a recline in the driver seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting outside the rolled down window. He hadn’t felt the breeze, but he should’ve heard it. Harry continues on, “I’m sure you miss it, when you have to go back. If we have time, I want you to paint again. With me. Just for fun.”

“If we have time, sure.”

The right of the night passes without much, besides the two stops to fill up on gas. The radio plays and they sing--Harry much better than Catalina, which she never fails to pout about. However, it’s all good natured. Even when Harry asks, knowing that she won’t answer, where they’re headed and if she’s sure he can’t play doctor. “You’ve got one more time to ask me that and I swear I’m throwing out of this car.”

The morning skies are perfectly blue. No clouds in the sky either. Catalina knows she should stop soon. She needs to gas up and they need to lay low until the sun starts to set. “Long rest?” Catalina suggests, looking for the next exit to pull off with a motel nearby.

“If you’d like,” Harry shrugs, “Don’t have much else to do.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It takes another hour before they pull off the highway. Catalina fills up the tank, arms crossed as the pump is locked and pours out gas. Harry steps outside of the car, leaning onto the hood. “Snacks?”

“Not really hungry.”

“We’ll come back out later then. Unless you need to make an errand then.”

“Evening? Errand can happen after.”

Harry nods, taking in the cars passing by. He pulls down the sleeves on his shirt. Possibly while she’s out doing her errand, Harry can go hunt. Normally feeding would last him longer but not around Catalina--he always uses too much energy around her. But it’s always worth it. Harry wonders if her constant leaving is always tied to her own recharge or does she know too--does she know that maybe they’re bad for each other? Not bad as in they bring out the worst in each other. Harry keeps her out of so much trouble and Catalina brings a little spice to Harry’s life that’s not normally there.

However, there’s always some sort of take. Catalina gets time to come up. She gets time with him. But it’s never a permanent deal--she never gets long enough. And Harry maybe gives a little too much. He pushes himself more than normally would. Though the gaps-- the times she has to return to Hell-- are hard, they might be saving them, keeping them from burning each other out. It was probably too simple to think that eventually they’d even out. But that didn’t stop Harry from daydreaming about it sometimes.

They find a motel close by and dump bags onto the single bed. “Make sure you behave when we share this bed now,” Harry teases, sending a wink her way as she steps into the bathroom.

“I am the last person you need to tell that too.”

“Oh contrary to popular belief, you are the first one I need to tell that too.”

“Maybe I’ll give you that one.” Catalina’s quick in the bathroom, coming back out to immediately rummage through a bag. Harry packed the clothes but she asked for hers to be left out and Harry’s not really sure what else she needed. However, when she unearths a phone, one Harry’s never seen her with before. He knows he shouldn’t ask questions. But the curiosity itches.

“I’ll be back in an hour max.” Harry can only watch as the door closes behind her. Maybe being the dumb compain wasn’t his most brilliant idea.

It doesn’t feel like an hour before she returns. The only thing new in her hand is a cup from a Burger King. “I’m going to assume you lock me in here just to get a breakfast.”

“Cased a place. What are you reading?” Catalina crosses the room, sliding out of her shoes and laying on the bed next to Harry. On her stomach, head held up on her hands as her elbows pressed down into the mattress.

“Nothing special.”

“Read it to me?”

Opening up his arms, Harry waves for her to get closer. She climbs the rest of the way up the bed and rests her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his left hip. Harry picks up where he was, not providing any sort of explanation about what’s happened prior to this moment. Though it’s still early in the novel, so there’s not much to catch up on plotwise. For the moment, he feels normal. Like he might be going on some road trip with his girl and they checked into some motel just for a day or two while they still head for their destination. And he’s just reading to her, as they take a break from the road.

It’s all too clear though when Catalina loses her patience for the book. Her nails trace over his stomach, she angles her head up, pressing light kisses along his jaw. They don’t even hardly make full connections but just enough for Harry to feel, just enough for Harry to know. Catalina kisses a little harder and Harry’s thought trail off in the middle of the sentence. “We haven’t gotten to a kissing scene yet.”

“Hmm, I skipped a few chapters ahead,” Catalina returns. Her kisses press a little firmer to his skin and Harry’s chest constricts. Her fingers trails at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose a thin band of his skin. That’s all she needs, just enough skin to tease before Harry drops the book to the floor and lifts Catalina firmly into his lap. Their lips meet firmly and he exhales, knowing he can’t not give into her. Not when she’s rocking her lips over his like this and the friction is just so deliciously enticing.Catalina sighs into his mouth as he brings a hand to her breast cupping it over the shirt pinching right where her nipple is beneath the cup of the bra.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Harry coaxes, pulling the her shirt up and off of her body. He kisses down her chest, and over the swell of her breast in the bra. Catalina clings to him, wrapping his head in her arms and sinking into the brush of his lips, into the graze of his teeth along her skin. The small pricks of his sharp incisors cause a chill to crawl down her spine and she keeps her hips a steady grind against Harry’s crotch, needing nothing more than him.

“It’s ironic,” Harry hums, tracing the lines in Catalina’s palm. They make her real. Realer than him and realer to him.

“What’s ironic?” she asks, cheek smushed into the pillow.

“I know you, have known you for so long. But I still don’t know you like that. Like I do know vaguely what you do. But if it weren’t for the time we’ve spent together I would be sure I was a ghost instead of a what I am. And I would be sure that you were one too. But yet, here we are. As real as ever. Being alive as long as I have been alive, things never are coincidences. I found you that night. I found you on the side of the road, bloody and I’m thinking holy shit, this person is halfway dead. And I don’t know. It’s the most full of life I’ve ever felt.”

“You’ve always been full of life. I’m not full of anything.”

It’s an age old debate. Harry can never call himself a monster, but she can call herself one. “If you’re not full of anything, then I feel bad for my soul.”

“You’re not damned, Harry. You never could be.” She squeezes at his head, fingers threading through.

“You don’t know what I was doing before.” Harry looks past their joined hands, the vibrant contrast of Harry’s olive skin and Catalina rich dark brown skin to his legs, halfway uncovered by the sheets. The scars always seem to stick out more, even if Harry doesn’t want them too.

“I do know.”

“No you don’t,” he retorts. “How could you know?”

Catalina sits up, staring down at Harry. “Because I found, walking back in the night. Three hunters were stalking you. They had followed you the whole night and you were young--young into this body. They were just looking for a reason.”

“Three? How would they have been following me without me knowing?”

“Just like you thought I was halfway dead. They weren’t human. Human hunters are too easy to notice.”

“So why’d you save me?”

“I wasn’t saving you. One of the hunters had gone rogue on their previous assignments and lost the trails of others sent after them. I was sent up to eliminate that guy and by that proxy I also had to kill his other two goons.”

“If that’s all you were meant to do is just kill them, then why’d you stay out on the side of the road? Why’d you let me see you?”

“We caught wind that this rogue hunter was going after more non-human creatures. I was told if you were a threat to eliminate you as well. So I watched them, watched you. I watched you cornering people in alleyways. I watched you want to give in, and I watched you succumb to it sometimes. I know every thought you��ve probably had, watching the cute girl passing you by from the bar and the blood is thumping in her veins after dancing her heart out and knowing all you had to do was turn on the charm, offer to walk her home and wait for the right time to get close. All you ever had to do was get close. I know about the men you left dead behind buildings after they hurt people. I watched for weeks.”

His throat seizes. The thoughts never leave him. For moments there he wondered why he had been turned. He wanted to curse himself for getting too close. Gabriella found him one day at the bar. He was drinking after a particularly bad day, his tire had blown on his way too work, he was late for a meeting because of it. His girl at the time was constantly down his neck about every little thing. He had found, after returning home, someone else in his bed with his girl. And that was just the icing on the cake. He told himself he’d just drink himself under the table, through the floor and into the depths of the Earth.

It was at that bar, after the day he had, not even a drink into the night because he was too busy trying to keep the tears at bay but failing miserably that Gabriella found him. She sat across from while he poured his heart out. She listened. She coo’ed, shook her head. She told him that a handsome man like himself didn’t deserve to be crying in some bar. He deserved to fall into bed with someone else. And it was so stupid. Gabriella was a stranger. He hadn’t known her longer than two hours, but he went home with her.

He got too close and that’s all Gabriella needed from him. It wasn’t until he regained consciousness in a dumpster and stumbled home that he realized something was way wrong. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The sun was twenty times warmer against his skin and brighter than before. When he opened the door to his apartment, it slammed open though Harry was sure he hadn’t opened the door with anymore force than he normally would have. If the day and night and previously had been the worst of his existence, the morning after all but shot Harry into an alternate reality one that he hadn’t and probably never would be able to any sense of it.

So Harry went into hiding. He soon had to resurface. He knew he couldn’t hide forever. So he did his best to reintegrate. It wasn’t easy. The smell of blood was always just too strong and though Harry had managed to survive mostly on animal blood, nothing quite satisfied the urge like human blood. He reserved that-- he tried not to give in on just any whim. If he was going to feed on human blood he wanted it to be good but it doesn’t matter if the person he sank his teeth into was morally questionable or not the screams all sounded the same.

“So-so you were sent after me to kill me? Potentially? If you thought I was enough of a threat?”

“Yes,” it falls with a little hesitation. However, ultimately, Catalina knows it’s true. That’s what she was told to do.

“And watched all that--watched me do that and didn’t see me as a threat.”

“I saw you as young and scared. But never as a threat.”

“I was killing people,” he retorts, springing up the bed as if someone flipped the switch on him. It’s the first time he’s ever phrased it like that out loud. “I was a threat, Cat. I was a threat.”

“Ay dios mío! When’s the last time you killed, Harry? When’s the last time you got your fucking rocks of killing someone?”

“I-I never enjoyed it.” His voice cracks as he speaks. It’s why he worked so hard not to give into those urges. It wasn’t easy and after Catalina showed up, after she would tell him he wasn’t a monster, it felt like maybe he could prove it to himself, that he could fight against them. “It’s been decades. After I met you, I stopped. It felt so wrong and I was sick of giving in. I was angry with who I was. But I figured-I figured if I was going to be damned forever, I might as well be damned for something.”

“¿Cómo pudiste decir eso? You’re not damned, Harry. You could never be damned.”

His chest--something aches and he’s not sure what it is, but the tears are slipping down his cheek. “Is that why? Did you know how much I hated it? Did you spare me to prove some point?”

“Would you have rathered me kill you? I could always do my job, Harry. I could always end this for you. But I didn’t kill you then because killing you would’ve done nothing productive. What would you have accomplished if you were dead? Wouldn’t have made it in music. Wouldn’t have gotten those degrees. Wouldn’t have founded that hospital. And look at it now, oh my goodness. Have you gone by that hospital lately? They’re on the cutting edge of new therapies for children with cancer. Tell me what the fuck would me have killing you done eighty years ago.”

“You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Harry, I would do a lot of things for you. But I made the call that you weren’t a threat because I saw you were scared-I always saw the hesitation, the way you were pleading with yourself not to give in. I saw that you just needed someone that understood you so that you could understand yourself. And if you’re telling me I made the wrong call, then know all I’d need in the word to make the right one.” Her nostrils are flared but she stands firmly in front him. Her eyes blink back the tears. “But I know I made the right call. I’ve done a lot of other things--killed people, taken their souls, been the middle man in a lot of fucked up shit, but I have never made the wrong call.”

All Harry can do is tug at her wrist and arm and pull her into his lap. He hides his face into her shoulder, knowing that the tears are rolling down her shoulder. How did she know all that? How could she have seen all the fear and pain? Harry’s not one to tell it all. He tells bits and pieces. He gives what he wants. But she was hearing it all, she was hearing what was unspoken. He was crying out for a second chance in life. He was trying to figure out what the silver linings of this eternal curse could be and Catalina had answered them.

“You made the right call,” Harry states.

What Catalina remains silent, brushing her fingers along his scalp, feeling him repeat, “You made the right call” into the flesh of her collarbone What she doesn’t let cross her lips is that he’s the only right call she’s made, the only one that felt like the right call even after the fact. The rest of them--they’re all the right calls in the moment but not always the right call in longevity. Harry’s been her only call that had longevity, that had a real reason not to call it and it was for good. Not for some assignment, not for someone else. It was her call and her call alone.

Truth be told, Harry might be the only call she gets to make that spares a soul, that keeps someone away from the gates of Hell. And she knows Harry’s never been able to fully accept what he is now, that he’ll always be hiding in the shadows as a vampire at least some of the time. But the thing Catalina’s always wanted to prove to Harry is that he’s always been good. Even when he thought he had been cursed, there was always good in that.

Just as the evening settles in, Harry pushes away from the desk. He settled in at the desk to do some more reading and some journaling. Though Catalina draped herself over his back until Harry allowed her to settle onto his lap. “While you’re gone tonight I’m going to go out for a little bit. You’ll take the room keys and everything and if I need to get in before you’re back, I’ll just go to the front desk,” Harry states.

“What about your trip for snacks before we head out for the night?”

“Do you want snacks?”

“Possibly.”

“Then we should go now. Besides I need a little less light before I can leave.”

“Hunting?” The only reason why Harry would want more of the night is to help cover his tracks. He’ll no doubt have to go a little far to catch any animal big enough to feed on. But it’s a lot easier to not hunt at night when the number of humans does drastically drop off.

“Have to stay strong with you around,” Harry teases.

“You’re not easy to keep up with either. But I like the challenge,” Catalina teases, before pushing off his lap and finding her spare phone and keys to the room. Harry pulls back on the jeans and slips into the sneakers. He takes the driving lead to the gas station, it’s only a couple minutes down the street.

“I’ll try to be back before you. Just in case you do need me to play doc.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Catalina returns pushing up her door. The display immediately in front of the door holds chips and sunflower seeds. Depending on how much of a fight it is night, cupcakes and honeybuns may not cut it. So Catalina grabs a bag off chips off the metal rack and takes in the setup. Towards the back is a display of refrigerated foods--mostly sandwiches but it’ll do.

It shouldn’t be this hard to pick out a sandwich but Catalina looks over the options and ponders if she’d be in a mood for ham or turkey. Harry spies her pause in browsing and walks over. “What’s on the menu?” he teases, sliping one arm around her waist.

“Don’t know. Should I go turkey?”

“I mean you can’t go wrong with--”

“Alright!” a voice booms. Harry and Catalina turn to the sound. The masks aren’t the most concerning thing. Both are visibly armed. In all that Harry anticipated, this would not have made the cut. They don’t seem initially aware of the people in the store. However, one woman, closer to the door than Harry or Catalina lets out a small whimper, the glass bottle in her hand smashing against the floor. It’s that moment that alerts the second guy to spin around, shouting at her to look at the ground and not move a muscle.

“Mierda,” Catalina says under her breath. Her instinct is to rush. But that’s risky, she doesn’t know if any of them is a good shot and if she rushes, Harry’s going to follow--thus exposing both of them.

“C’mon,” Harry exhales. He moves slowly from her waist and when his hand is firmly around her wrist.

“Backdoor?” Catalina questions.

“What?” It’s in his brief glance down that Harry can spy the wheels turning in her head already. “We always walk out the front.”

Catalina doesn’t miss the inclusion of ‘we’-- she couldn’t have missed it even if she wanted too. “We?”

Harry’s already glancing back to the store. One is focused on the teller and the other is still shouting at the poor woman that dropped the glass bottle. Harry steps in front of Catalina and guides her to head towards the rack of sweets and gum. “Rack,” is all he says before releasing her wrist. He turns back to the sandwich display case and Catalina nearly curses the heels on her boots.

If she can get behind the cover and make a ruckus on the opposite end of the store, she can at least split them up. Neither one of them wants a shot to be fired--if she takes it, her whole plan to get work done tonight is over and if Harry takes the bullet, it’ll look suspicious that it won’t do much damage. Catalina does her best to keep her heels from striking too hard and when she’s behind the cover of the gum, she notices a separate piece to the rack, holding up cotton candy and other hanging bags of candy. The rack is hooked to the main structure when catalina first pushes it as a test. But she spends a moment, steading herself and finding the spot it’s hooked into before pushing it up.

Once it releases, Catalina looks over to Harry. He’s not looking at her, instead now holding his hands up facing towards the door. She knows he can still hear. “Ready,” she whispers. She catches the small twitch of his index fingers before hoisting the bags and rack across the store.

The ruckus turns the second man’s attention to her. “Don’t look at me! Or I swear I’ll blow your brains out.”

Catalina can hear the start of a tussle, the grunts and exclamations of pain. She closes in, grabbing the barrel of the gun in her left hand. She ducks her upperbody off center and swipes at the guys wrist with her right hand. The guy yelps, releasing the gun. He ducks as Catalina pops back up. The gun’s aimed at him now and he huffs, holding his hands up. Her finger nearly settles onto the trigger, she nearly fires one round into his foot. It’d be so easy and it would for sure slow down him and his friend down if they tried to flee.

“Don’t.” Only one word from Harry--she hears it over her own labored breathing. “You gotta go.” Why would Harry tell her to leave but not include himself? Catalina starts to lower the gun, thumb just about to click the magazine to drop.

“Oh the bitch is on a leash,” the man teases though his hands are still raised in defense.

All it takes are about three pounds of pressure, not much more than the curl of her finger around the trigger to release a round. It echoes and is interrupted by the holler of the man falling to the ground, holding onto his shin.

Catalina swivels again and squeeze off around round. That one hits the man focused on Harry in the left shoulder. He drops the weapon and Harry takes the moment to kick it towards the back of the store. “You don’t listen too good,” he huffs, taking the weapon from her and dropping the magazine. It clatters to the ground and he racks it to release the one bullet in the chamber.

“I don’t kindly to being insulted. Pinche basura,” Catalina spits but steps over the howling man about his shin and finds the woman who’s curled in on herself. “Hey, hey, come with me.”

The tears tracks are obvious but the woman nods, shakily grabbing her purse from the floor. Catalina walks her to her car. “You did good back there. I know it’s scary,” Catalina starts, attempting to soothe her. Once the woman’s settled, Catalina waits, seeing Harry talk to the cashier. She knows Harry’s going to be pissed. But in her defense, the guy was a fucking asshole and deserved it.

It’s as Harry walks out of the station, tossing her the keys as he does so, that she notices a plastic bag in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Helped them out for the mess we made.”

“Technically, I made it.”

“I was going to give you a break.” Harry hands over the bag. “It’s a sandwich for after. In case you need it. Drop me off about two minutes up the road from here, but past the motel.”

Thankfully, Harry parked on the side of the station, not too far from the dumpster. But even if this car was caught on video, Harry’s deal with the cashier will make sure that the video won’t be seen. Catalina does as instructed, driving up past the motel and continuing on for another minute or two before Harry calls for her to stop. “How long?” he asks leaning against the door.

“Praying for no more than two hours. I gotta get there first. If they see me walk in, the thing’s blown. Bank for three.”

“More than enough time. Be safe.” Harry pats on the inside of the door before pushing away and zipping into the thick of the trees.

“Igualmente!” Catalina whispers, knowing he’s probably already too far away to hear. She turns around having to drive up into a random dirt path before peeling back down past the gas station and heading towards the casino she staked out for just a little bit this morning. Sure it’s ironic that her work would take her to a place like that, but she wasn’t going to be headed in for a regular. No, Catalina was headed in for the boss. Some debts can’t be consolidated or refinanced.

Parking across the street, Catalina cuts across the still lively street and stares up at the bright red neon sign. It blinks for a moment at her and then continues to hold steady. Catalina leaves her coat by the door, hung up by one of attendants. She’s going to be in here for a while. She cashes in her allotment for coins and chips. Her first perch of the night are the slot machines. There are only a few bouts of luck but Catalina never pushes them, instead keeping a sweeping eye over the floor.

He won’t be making an appearance just out of the blue. But the commotion, the sea of people that will move when the boss moves is all Catalina needs. She moves to a Black Jack table and thought that’s a dangerous move because it requires more attention, she knows she can’t linger on the outskirts all night. She throws a couple rounds but more than makes up for the losses.

She moves to the drinks table-only ordering a Sprite. It takes a few more rounds, going to different slot machines and playing one round of poker before she catches what she needs. The guards at the door are now more fidgety, glancing around the room more, talking into coms more frequently. Catalina pulls the lever on the machine, not even watching it for the images it lands on but instead sees the flock moving towards the stairs.

She leaves the winnings, bucket, and drink behind to start towards the bathroom. A little far from the stairs but a lot easier to work from than the middle of the casino floor. Ducking into the recessed area for the bathrooms, Catalina waits for a beat, hearing a voice echo, “Okay. Moving back up.”

Catalina slips from the door, just in enough time to see the huddle moving up the stairs and the others walking to the casino floor. She slips into step behind the mass moving upwards. She could get caught here, she knows but it really won’t matter. She’s close enough anyway. As the whole group lands on the second floor, Catalina keeps up against the wall, using the shadows for just a little bit longer.

“We haven’t seen any strange movement, sir.” A soft voice reports. “Everyone’s on alert just like you asked for.”

“I can feel her,” comes the reply.

Catalina almost laughs. But she knows that feeling the way the whole stomach feels like leads, the way you almost wish you could actually puke because everything is churning. “I’d say your gut’s still in good health then,” Catalina cuts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of her.

The whole room turns in unison to face her and she grins, letting the tearing sensation burn through her skin. The way her teeth elongate and hands shift into claws. There’s the heat too, the way her whole body warms. It’s the transformation that does most of the work. The fear of seeing some random human body expand into the terrifying stature of a hunter.

“Dominic, your time has come,” Catalina growls. Her voice is a snarl and though she’s not overly exceeding in stature over any one. Her demonic state on Earth can only really reach about seven feet tall--it’s still not a pretty sight. The way things ooze.

A couple of brave guards rush forward. It only takes a heavy swat to send them flying. They clatter into the walls and glass, the sound of it shattering and hitting the floor sounds like rain almost. Catalina pushes forward, shoving more guards out of the way. They don’t go quietly, a few firing off shots. In this state, she’s a bit more protected but still not fully going to escape the realm of suffering injury.

It doesn’t slow her stalk. Dominic pushes more and more guards between them but they too are swiftly pushed out of the way. “You knew your time was up long ago,” Catalina teases. “You can run. But you can never hide.”

“I don’t deserve this!” is the outcry.

With a quick outstretch, Catalina swipes at Dominic’s back on his attempt to run away. He falls, a loud shriek leaving his throat. Catalina steps over him and hooks her fist into the back of his shirt lifting him up. His feet dangle above the ground. “Pathetic,” Catalina scoffs. “You do know your brother gave up everything for you.”

The heat of Catalina’s touch is searing his skin and Dominic whimpers in pain. But he doesn’t respond to the taunt. “You hear me?” she growls. “Your brother gave up everything for you!” She tosses him across the room and he falls into and through the door of some room. The thud of her feet echo as Catalina continues across. “And you don’t even hold up your end of the deal. Chance after chance you fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” Dominic cries. “Just give me one more chance.” The blood is evident, scrapes along his arm and face.

“Chances have run out.” Hauling him up by the collar of his shirt, Catalina pauses for a moment. Her lips move, barely exhaling out the chant as the floor beneath starts to glow. It opens and both of them fall and fall. And even though Catalina’s done this a thousand times over, she’s still not quite used to it.

At the feet of the throne, Catalina allows herself to fully assume, the skin blistering a bit and growing taller. Her claws become more prominent and the flames licking at her skin start to recess in pain. She knows soon her own skin will jump with flames, her own body will start to mimic the world she’s in. Dominic screams at her feet, slapping at his own skin to quell the pain. “Oh, none of that,” she laughs. “You could always try some ice.”

Two guards approach her, shackles already clinking in their grasp. She holds up a hand to stop them. Hear and now in her true form, Catalina’s able to grab Dominic like a child grabs a doll right around the torso. The sound of skin searing is clear. “I’d say you’d finally get to show your brother the pathetic man you’ve become--but even if he were still with us, I don’t think he deserves that. Selling on the back end of your establishment, knowingly selling to mothers to be, running folks out of their rooms for gambling debts. It’s one thing to do that on your first try--it’s one thing to fuck up the then. But you knew, you knew the time was ticking on you and your brother beat you to Hell’s Gates. Do you know how he sounded begging for your mercy? Do you know the pleas?” She gives pause for an answer, one she knows Dominic can’t give but he was made aware of by the scrolls because she hand delivered them. “You don’t get to beg.”

With a single digit, Catalina presses it to Dominic’s mouth. The heat causes blisters and even though he screams, punches and kicks at her, Catalina holds for a moment longer before dropping him. His body hits hard and the guards finally step. She watches them take Dominic away, no doubt taking him to the holding chambers. And she lets herself stand a moment longer in the flames. Dominic won’t be dealt with for another week and though she should’ve taken more time, Catalina knows she must report back in.

“Impressive. I would’ve easily thought you’d play with him a little longer. Really sell the fear.”

It’s Lucifer behind her. “I need to keep my full three weeks on Earth.”

“Your jobs done, what do you need that time for?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? The longer you keep me up there the more I can get done.”

“It’s that Harry fella isn’t it? I’ve been watching you.”

Catalina scoffs. “When haven’t you?”

“I still think you should’ve pulled his plug when you had that chance. Vampires are soulless creatures.”

“So what the hell does that make you?”

Lucifer laughs, patting her on the back. “Always good with the comebacks. Fine, fine, have your fun. I don’t really care.”

“But you care enough to watch me and know his name.”

“You say it’s the right call on him. I’m just making sure that assessment stays current--is all. Besides, it’s fun to have that over you. I know what makes you tick.”

Catalina knew the moment she decided to spare Harry it would be the thing that could always be loomed over her. He’ll always be the thing that makes her tick. Turning now, she faces Lucifer. “And you’ve seen me explode too.”

There’s a beat. A moment where Catalina stares at Lucifer and Lucifer stares at Catalina. He has seen her explode and it’s no pretty sight. And it’s not a threat, Lucifer knows that. He knows that Catalina doesn’t say a word she doesn’t mean. Exploding is a promise. Exploding is the sure fire way to Lucifer potentially staring back at his own head. He holds up his hands. “Look, it’s just making sure there are no threats. If they get exposed, all the other shit that goes bump in the night gets exposed. Enjoy the rest of your time.”

“Thank you.” Catalina continues on to the ports, finds a portal and lets herself go, climbs up and climbs and lets the bone fuse back together and shrink. It feels tight when she stands up. The skin feels tighter, her body feels heavier and she leans against the wall of the Burger King, grateful that the night is cool. Once she regains her balance, Catalina finds the car. She left the trunk unlocked and pops it open. She feels until she finds the small internal compartment and tugs. A spare set of keys sits inside just like she asked Carl to do. Spare keys in hand, she closes the trunk door, opens the driver side door and slips inside.

It takes another half hour just to feel like she could drive back to the motel. The transition back is always the hardest. Leaving Earth to go to Hell takes less energy than going from Hell back to Earth. She can’t hang out too much longer in this parking lot. So Catalina takes a breathe and starts the car.

Harry hears the knock on the door and places his book face down on the bed. Catalina had the key, not him. However, peering through the door he can see her, sans her jacket. “The hell happened to you?” he questions, holding her up by her waist.

“Went to Hell, came back and didn’t properly give myself time to adjust. I would’ve used the key,” she states, holding it up. She dropped that into the cup holder of the car before heading into the casino. “But it just took too much energy.”

“Didn’t eat the sandwich either?”

“What part of too much energy, did you not understand?”

“You’re impossible.”

“No, tú.” Harry laughs at the childish response but settles her onto the bed before, pulling her out of her shoes and taking the keys. “Stay there. Don’t move a muscle.”

The room door closes but a few moments later, it opens again and Harry rummages through the plastic bag she dropped into the passenger seat. "How much time do you think we have before we need to leave?”

“Safer to move now but a few hours tops.”

“And am I privy to know where we go next?”

Catalina shrugs. “Depends. You want to drive or not?”

“All your errands done?”

“All of them,” she returns, taking a small piece of the sandwich he extends out to her.

“Just us two for the next two weeks and some change?”

“Yeah. Just the two of us.”

There’s a bit of excitement that courses through Harry. It’s never really just been the two of them. Might this be the chance he’s wanted with her. Could this prove that they weren’t bad for each other? Harry hands her another piece of the sandwich, finding that she’s slowly coming back to her usual self. “But I got you into some terrible messes so I understand if you’re worried.”

“Everything here I have here I can sign over to myself and start new anywhere else. That doesn’t matter. Besides, it’s a little exhilarating to head into the action instead of watching from afar. We spend a week or so on the road, come back. Whatever mess is still happening we’ll sort out then. I know some people. I’m sure you know some people. Nothing to worry about.”

“You make it sound easier than it is,” Catalina replies. Harry can’t just go missing for a week and then turn up expecting everything to be fixed in a blink of the eye.

“You made it sound harder than it is,” Harry retorts, holding out the small pouch of fruit juice.

“Me llamaste imposible, pero tú eres imposible.” The rest of the mutter is cut off but the slurp of her drink but Harry catches onto the general gist of it--her general displeasure at his optimism. “Wherever you wanna go, for a week and then we come back and sort any mess out.”

Harry hands over the last bite of the snack he got and starts packing their bags. “We check out first thing in the morning. Only about four hours from now. You get the rest you need and we can plan where we want to go. Sounds like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

tagging @5-secondsofcolor

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #h writes #harry styles x black OC #harry styles x black reader #harry styles filth #vampire!harry #demon!oc #alternate universe #harry styles AU

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matildashoney · 4 years

Text

Watermelon and Some Sugar

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @detroitkiwis, @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin

talk to me about it!

there’s no excuse for this. watermelon sugar came out. i saw this picture. i had an idea. it’s all smut. have fun.

Malibu is too windy to be wearing a bikini under a half-sorted umbrella, yet Amelie is there, knees propped, toes in the hot sand, sunglasses perched on her nose and she sketches the shoreline of the beach near their home. Harry wanted to film in golden hour when the sun was setting, and the waves were crashing. Having a break from murals and exhibitions for a few days, Harry wore Amelie down, many heated kisses measured carefully between begging until she was falling apart in his hands and agreeing to anything that came out (or onto) his mouth.

“Puis-je les emprunter? Merci,” Harry smirks, nodding towards Amelie’s glasses perched on her nose and leaning down to take the heart-shaped sunglasses from her. “Bisous, s’il vous plait.”

Amelie squints at Harry, trying to gauge why his actions are so sweet and asking for the kisses. Usually, he would walk right up to her and take her sunglasses, kiss her lips without warning, and continue about with what he was doing. “Harry, a quel point cette vidéo est-elle érotique?”

“’s not that erotic,” Harry shrugs, gently brushing sand over Amelie’s toes and nudging her calf. “Offer is still there for you to be in it. Harry brought an extra suit for y’a.”

Her head tilts towards her chest, her eyes blinking at the man hovering over her, his body crouching down and setting his hands on her knees. “Are you fucking insane?” Her lips purse in a straight line as his hands gently pry her thighs apart, kissing the inside of her legs lightly. “Harry, this is your warning.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest, his lips pecking her knee before squeezing her thigh and standing. “Offer is there. Thank you for the sunnies. Je t’aime.”

“Go on. Go make the entire globe horny. Go,” Amelie smiles, her heart warm as Harry turns around to chastely kiss her lips. “Go, baby.”

And Harry goes, and the music video is much more than Amelie thought it would be. Not that she gets jealous often, or jealous ever, really, but there is something about seeing Harry with beautiful women (and men) falling over him, feeding him watermelon, his fingertip tracing the outline, juice dripping down his chin, that makes her stomach twist in an unsettling way. Amelie knows that Harry would never do anything, there’s a reason that there’s a ring on her finger and her initial on his skin, but there is something about the sight that makes her skin crawl.

Maybe it’s because Harry didn’t have time to satisfy her that morning, rushing out of the house for meetings and the final gathering of all the costumes and outfits for the evening, making it their third or fourth day (not that she was counting) without properly tasting each other. Having sex in the shower before a meeting or Harry’s fingers between her thighs while watching a movie doesn’t necessarily feel the same as really immersing in her heat – tongue first, nose second.

Going on five years in a relationship, Amelie halfway expected Harry to get bored with their sex, and yet every time they’re together – whether that be in bed, in the car, in the kitchen, in the shower, in the pool, in the dressing room backstage – there is something about the way his lips burn on her skin and his fingers trail between her thighs to simply get a taste, that would tell her differently.

On the days that Harry will be out of the house until late at night, his fingers inch into her panties in the morning and drag between her thighs, his middle and third fingers circling her heat and barely inching into her warmth to have a ‘proper taste’ because the arousal that sits between her lips isn’t enough. On the days that Harry is especially needy, his throat will wake up dry, thirsty, begging for his one craving to fulfil his desire. On those days, he gently inches her panties down her thighs, slinking his head under the duvet and prying her legs as far apart as they’ll go, his nose nudging the bundle of nerves and his tongue dipping into her, a moan leaving their lips all at once.

Harry was slinking beneath the covers and onto his knees, happily, whenever she mentioned so. His eyes widened like he was being gifted a royal purchase, his favourite meal, his most loved sweet. He very much so got off on the idea of pleasuring her, especially since Amelie’s confidence inspired her moans to echo around the walls of their bedroom and her fingers to find space in his hair. He was addicted to it – to the taste, to the sound, to the feeling.

Amelie only heard “Watermelon Sugar” before the release on Saturday Night Live because Harry needed to listen to the final cut in the car and she happened to be with him. Her excitement geared towards waiting until the single or album was out. That’s what she did with Harry Styles, anyways. And as soon as “Watermelon Sugar” started playing, her jaw dropped, all the innuendos and implications that only she would understand. Her strawberry chapstick in the centre console, the night in June where they went to the beach late at night and Harry ate her out with watermelon juice stuck to his chin. Her memory traces back to the moment Harry wiped his mouth on his hand, kissing the flower on her hip and the moon on her sternum, his lips hovering over hers as he whispered, Don’t I could ever go without that. Amelie laughed at him, playfully nudging his cheek to turn away from her, only for Harry’s face to slink back between her thighs and taste, again.

And since then, Harry’s been innuendo after innuendo, teasing that if Amelie wasn’t nice, they would insert her moans in the track of a song. Hearing “Watermelon Sugar” for the first time, she was surprised that Harry hadn’t done that, merely saying that it had a better beat or sounded smoother than what he could recreate.

Amelie, unlike Harry, never experienced the twinge of jealousy. Occasionally, there was the one or two women that would approach Harry when she stepped away and would try to talk to him, but there was always the comfort that their hands would never be on him, lips never touching his skin. On this beach in Malibu, however, is a completely new territory.

Harry frolicked around the beach with the lovely women and men, their skin shining and their bikinis and shorts tight to their bodies in the fading sunlight. His lips doused in watermelon and juice and strawberries. Kisses on his cheeks and his curls tugged to attention as the song plays over and over. His ripped jeans are sitting perfectly beneath his tummy, the ferns that she has left one too many love bites on display. Her eyes travel alongst his body, his muscular back tensing and loosening beneath the touches that are given, his figure laying on their legs, tossed around in their arms.

Amelie’s stares at him between pencil strokes and light shading, the scenery on the sketch replicating the beach they know so well. Her lips pull into a straight line, an unfamiliar twinge in her belly, a want to go and grab his cheeks and kiss him in a way only she can, to slip her hand in his shorts and feel him harden in her grasp and squeeze a moan out of his throat as she lightly kisses his chin sitting uneasily on her chest. Amelie wants to say that her thighs are aching to have him between, to have him stretching her, to have him tasting her, to attribute her want to publicly bite his lips and mark his skin to that, but it isn’t Amelie is jealous.

Quite jealous.

Her thoughts are swirling in her head as Harry walks towards her, holding a new slice of watermelon and tossing a peace sign towards her, his lips quirked in a smirk as her eyes visibly trail across his exposed skin. “Like what you see?”

“Eh,” Amelie shrugs, taking a picture on the polaroid camera tucked away in her bag, rolling her eyes as Harry makes a point to stand directly in front of the sun beaming down on her. “I’m trying to tan.”

“Tu vas me laisser te baiser pendant que nous déjeunons?” Harry wonders hopefully, his dimple indenting his cheek as he smirks, the sunglasses perched in his hair as he ducks his head under the umbrella. “S’il vous plait.”

“No, you cannot fuck me while everyone eats lunch.” Amelie rolls her eyes at Harry, knowing that his reasoning for asking in another language is simply to persuade her easier. “You had your chance, this morning, but left before I could even wake up.”

“Doll,” he whines, laying his hands on her knees and his chin on his forearms, his knees laying on the fringe of the blanket on the sand, “‘m so hard.”

“Maybe you should go rub one out before you have to finish, then,” she smirks, her belly swirling with butterflies as his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pursed for a kiss, only to have her trail across his groin and squeeze his thigh. “Have work to get done.”

“Hey, that was mean,” Harry breathes, his hands inching down her thighs and his thumbs rubbing lightly over her heat through the clothing. “Think two can play at your game, here, love.”

Amelie sucks in a shaky breath, her teeth biting her cheek as Harry’s fingers nearly sink into the sides of her bikini bottoms. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm, sure you don’t, angel. You’ll pay for that later,” he hums, kissing her knee and snapping the material on her thighs, her chest panting with his touch and his shorts noticeably more comfortable around his groin and thighs. “Love you.”

And Amelie swears that a music video has never taken longer to shoot. Near the end of the shoot, Harry Lambert tells her that there are a few shots that they have to take of Harry alone, and they’ll be a bit longer. Nodding understandingly, she tells him that she’s going to go home and grab dinner – because five years later and she still barely cooks a normal meal without him home – for when they’re finished.

Harry kisses Amelie goodbye, smirking as she gathers all of their belongings and tucks it away into their car, making a show with how slowly she unties the bikini beneath her shirt and her chest breathes beneath the fabric. He wants nothing more than to walk to her and wrap his lips around her nipple and suck, bite the flesh and leave indigo marks on her skin to see tomorrow.

All Harry wanted was to devour her, and Amelie was surely not going to make it that easy for him.

Nearly two hours later, Harry tosses his keys into the metal bowl next to the door, toeing his shoes onto the mat and locking the door for the night. He can hear the music playing on the stereo outside, a smirk tugging on his lips as he slips his shirt over his head, his feet carrying him up the stairs to grab two items, coasting down the stairs and his elbow nudging the garden door open. He can see Amelie’s reflection in the pool, the cabana curtain wide open and her towel slung on the table to the side of the makeshift bed. He walks outside, loosening the ties around his shorts and unbuttoning the buttons on the yellow blouse clinging to his torso.

Harry steps through the open curtain of the cabana, his thumbs gently prying her thighs apart and coasting along her skin, the smirk playing at the corner of his lips telling her everything that he was thinking as she meets his stare. “You didn’t wait for me to get in the pool. Now, you’re all dry,” Harry murmurs against her knee, his mouth sponging wet kisses along her skin, his teeth nipping at her inner thigh. “Most of you is dry, I mean.” His fingertips swiftly dipping beneath the waistband of her suit and dragging it down her thighs, the knitted top strung somewhere behind her. “Oh, baby, you shaved,” he smirks, his fingers inching closer to where she wanted him the most. “Gon’a be soft fo’ me.”

“And you think I’m just going to let you go down on me,” Amelie mutters, taking his hands and setting them at his side, ignoring the fact that her calves are held together by a swimsuit.

“Oh, that makes sense, now,” Harry nods, pursing his lips together and gently moving her ankles to let the suit fall to the concrete by his feet, his knees settling between her legs that are held open by his hands.

“Oh, what?”

“You’re jealous,” Harry teases, his hand grabbing her wrist and kissing her hand, her knuckles, bringing her thumb to his lip and gently suckling on her skin. “Can’t be mad at me. ‘s jus’ work. ‘ve never gotten mad when you’ve done the nude shoots and sketches.”

“Harry, that’s bullshit, and you know it,” she says, her eyes rolling as she recalls the conversations that surrounded him being jealous of the nudist paintings she has done. “Explain ‘Cherry’ if you don’t get jealous.”

“Okay, maybe.” His eyes travel to the watermelon cut on the table near them, his eyes lighting up and his lips wrapping around a bite, the juice trickling down his chin. “Made you jealous and I haven’t tasted you all week. ‘m a horrible fiancé. ‘m gon’a make it up to you, baby,” Harry says, his sticky lips beginning to inch along her thighs, his hands holding her thighs away from his head, his fingertips surely bruising her skin with his touch. Harry knows that Amelie loves his grip, the feeling of his weight on her. “Could smell you at the beach, y’know. Know you wanted to fuck me, there, even though you wouldn’t.”

“’s because tu es à moi, and ‘s not m’thing to have anyone else knowing what we do,” she says, her eyes meeting his as he grins, nodding as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, his hands reaching to the ground where he sets two cameras on the mattress beside her. “Tell me what you brought those for.”

“I am yours,” Harry says, turning on the camera and the polaroid and setting the film to be taken. His hands set the polaroid on her tummy, her chin tucked to her chest, her breathing slightly erratic as his lips return to their home on her knees, inchingly closer to where she’s wanted him for days. “Even though it’s me more than you, sometimes you get jealous, and now you’re going to have photos and videos to remind you like you made me.”

Amelie’s breathing is shaky as Harry’s arms sling her thighs over his shoulders, “Can’t have your hair in my hands if I’m taking pictures.”

“On the nose, Ames.” His lips are wet and sticky against her inner thighs, his mouth travelling along every inch of skin he can reach without ever touching her heat. “Can’t be a brat and expect to have my face between your legs and your hands in my hair. Kinda greedy, if you ask me.” His lips hover over her core, his hands splayed flat on her hips. “Good girls take their pictures. Maybe I’ll let you hold my hair, after. Oh, and don’t disturb the neighbours with your moans. Those are for me, only.”

Harry’s tongue licks along her slit, her thighs spread to him, his cheek nudged in the crook where her thigh meets her core, his fingertip dragging around the warmth of her entrance. His fingers thrust into her, her velvet walls squeezing around him, his middle and ring fingers reaching his knuckle as his fingertips sponge against her sweetest spot. His lips suckle around her clit, solely focused on the way her arousal douses his hands and his skin, the smell of her invading his senses. His mouth quirks into a smile as the flash of the camera sounds around their cabana, her heavy breaths and moans echoing into a pillow.

“Cheating,” Harry breathes, his fingers continuing to thrust into her warmth, her heels digging into his shoulders, “Can’t see you if you have a pillow in front of your face.”

“Harry, you’re asking me to give you the worst case of blue balls you’ve ever had in your life,” Amelie whimpers, knocking her head against the pillow beneath her neck when Harry swats her hand away from his sunglasses on his nose, his eyes tinted maroon beneath the cherry heart glasses. “Baby.”

“Can you take a picture while you orgasm? Think you can do that for me, baby.” Harry moans as a third finger slowly inches into her warmth, her thighs open and his hand holding her hips where her back arches. His tongue circles around her bundle of nerves, her clit sensitive and her thighs shaking beneath his touch as her orgasm begins to wash over her, her stomach tightening and her warm walls squeezing his fingers as he sponges over the spot that makes her writhe with moans. “Good girl, take the picture o’ me.” Amelie’s third picture falls to the mattress, her chest heaving with breaths as her thighs shake beneath Harry’s hands, his thumbs massaging the tattoos caressing her skin. His tongue gently traces over her core, humming delectably as her climax drips onto his face.

“Made m’knees hurt,” Harry says, taking the camera and set the timer on the makeshift table in the corner, his body lying on the mattress next to her. His hands wrap around her waist, coaxing her to straddle his hips, his thumb dragging along her inner thigh and lightly tracing over her slit as goosebumps prickle her skin. “Come sit on m’face.”

“Harry,” Amelie whines, moaning into his neck as her arousal wets his thighs. “Harry, you’re going to tease me, and ‘m sensitive. ‘m sorry fo’ being mean, you don’t have to tease me.”

“Missed your taste. Can’t ever go that long without it, again,” Harry breathes into her, a smirk plastered on his lips as her thighs straddling his shoulders, her warmth overwhelming him. “Grab m’hair, baby. Good girl.”

His mouth is wet and sticky on her core, her fingers tugging on his curls as his hands grip her waist. His tongue gently tastes her, slow and steady with her grinds and the movements of her hips, the sensitivity of her orgasm lingering in her nerves. His thumb rubs her clit achingly slow, his tongue rhythmically thrusting into her warmth and taking her to a new orgasm. Her thighs clench around his head and her fingers squeeze his curls, tugging at the root and whimpers a melody to his ears.

Harry is gentle as Amelie lays on the mattress next to him, wiping his mouth messily on the back of his hand, the light scruff on his chin glistening under the fading sun. He leans onto his side, his fingertips dragging along her naked chest and her bare hips. “Do you think you one more in there for me, mon ange? Only for me.” His lips touch her shoulder, slowly inching his way towards her neck and shifting his body, his knee set between her open thighs. “I love you.”

“Love fucking me,” Amelie says, shaking her head and hiding her face in her hands. Her lips are quirked into a smile, her orgasmic bliss beginning to feel overwhelmed by the thought of his shaft between her thighs. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

His fingertips shove his shorts down his thighs, kicking the material onto the concrete and his blouse following quickly behind. His lips slant against hers, a moan echoing on his tongue as his hand slowly inches her thigh around his waist. “I love you,” Harry stresses, his lips pressing a kiss hard into her cheek, his weight supported on his knee and his forearm, his hand pumping his cock between her thighs and thumbing her arousal and orgasm over his skin. “Love you so much that I want to spend m’whole life with you.” His cock slowly sinks into her warmth, squeezing around him and her teeth biting the skin of his shoulder lightly as his hips rock against hers, her nerves sensitive to the touch and her emotions on fire with his words. “Love your eyes and your heart and your smile.” His thrusts are hard and fast, the frame squeaking, her whimpers and quiet moans sounding so loudly in his ears. His lips are sloppily kissing hers and muttering, “Loving that I get to fuck you and make love to you whenever we want.”

Amelie’s fingers wrap around his arm, her nails inching into his skin, her thighs tight around his hips and drawing his thrusts heavy against her sensitive hips. Her thoughts are clouded in Harry and their love and the tinge of jealousy that made this, and her hand reaches for the polaroid camera forgotten beside her. “Fuck,” she moans, warmth squeezing him deeper, his cock bottoming to her hilt and grinding against her sweetest spot to bring her to her third orgasm. “Smile, baby.”

Harry smirks, his curls falling in front of his eyes as Amelie takes a photograph. Her jaw drops as he pulls all the way out, taking the camera from her and focusing on her face as he thrusts into her, her eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm overwhelms her and her core is clenching around him. His orgasm chases hers, milking all that he has inside her. Her hands reach for the pictures, her eyes going wide with how filthy the images actually are.

“Holy shit, angel,” Harry murmurs, his eyes travelling to where their orgasms are slowly leaking out of her. “Got so much that you’re dripping.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” Amelie reaches for her bathing suit top, tying the knots around her neck and her back. Her hand reaches for a slice of watermelon, her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as Harry holds his hand to her.

“Have a few left in this roll of film,” he says, yanking his shorts onto his hips and stepping outside the cabana, peering through the lens for the perfect angle. “Le’ me take a picture of you, angel.”

Amelie shakes her head, knowing that Harry means that the picture will be her without her bathing suit bottoms. “Harry, we have neighbours and that’s filthy.”

“Got fucked three times out here with the cabana curtains open,” Harry laughs, holding his arms out and nodding towards the uncut hedges, the sun nearly set and their privacy more acknowledged than ever by silence, “and the hedges are taller than me. Find another reason.”

“Can’t make this your background,” she says warningly, holding the watermelon unsurely and standing in front of him. “It’s dirty.”

“Can’t promise you that one,” Harry says, adjusting her pose and the watermelon and the depth, making sure that every part of his idea would be coming to life.

“Baby.”

Harry takes the picture and grins, holding the polaroid to his chest with a blushing smirk. “Don’t worry, angel. I want this one all for me.”

196 notes · View notes

buckstaposition · 4 years

Text

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin." And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.' The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

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Chapter 3

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Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

#narcos (tv)#javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#multipart #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 2 #like gloss tag

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