#they’d like do that thing where they each listen impatiently to the other person and wait for them to stop talking so they can take over

[yourfavewouldlikebrittaperry]

Jonah Simms from Superstore would like Britta Perry!

[hbyrde36]

No Vacancy

Chapter 9: Weekend Retreat

WC: 4939 | R: Explicit | CH: 9/12 | AO3 | Now Complete!

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8

*EDDIE*

“Fuck!” 

Eddie shouted long and loud, the sound echoing inside the hollow interior of the van as he pounded his fist against the steering wheel over and over until his hand went numb. The lines on the road in front of him blurred as he flew down the highway with tears swimming in his eyes. 

The thing was, he’d known from the second he walked away from Steve that he was making a mistake. The entire time, as he flew up to their room, packed an overnight bag, and went back down to take off, he knew he was doing the wrong thing—but he hadn’t been able to stop. 

He was running away like he always did. At the first sign of trouble he’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion and used it as an excuse to bolt.

Not that he didn’t have a reason to be upset. They’d lied to him. 

Even Steve. 

His Steve, who knew how Eddie felt about that kind of thing, who knew how hard it was for him to trust—had lied to his face! 

And sure, he’d had a flimsy justification locked and loaded for why he’d done it, if his story of only just finding out about the room situation were to be believed.

Eddie was heartbroken. He felt tricked, cheated, and betrayed—and honestly? 

He was angry. 

Never in his life had he been as happy as he was these last few weeks. He was staying in a beautiful place where he was able to see his best friend as often as he wanted, had a job he enjoyed with a boss he actually liked, and after a lifetime of keeping his heart on ice he’d finally found someone worth thawing it out for.

Or so he’d thought.

He should have seen this coming, it had felt a little too good to be true, but it’d been easy to push those worries aside and just enjoy being with Steve. 

It wasn’t just the steady diet of sex that had lulled him into a false sense of security either, though their chemistry in the bedroom was undeniable—their insatiable desire for each other unlike anything he’d ever known before. It was all the rest of it too that had infected him with so much hope. 

Steve actually cared about him, as a person. He listened, no matter what crazy shit came out of Eddie’s mouth. Even the hard things, the stuff Eddie never thought he’d share with another human being, apart from Chrissy or his Uncle. He told Steve everything, gave himself freely, openly, and Steve had held him, validated him—was never impatient or unkind. And Steve had, or so it seemed at the time, shared himself freely with Eddie too. 

But it was all ruined now.

If not by Steve’s betrayal, then surely Eddie’s running away had finished the job. By taking off, hadn’t he simply proved Steve’s point?

He drove straight through the night, only stopping to pee or to get a coffee whenever his eyelids started to droop, and managed to make the drive to Hawkins in just over eight hours, pulling up to the trailer right as Wayne was getting home from his shift at the plant. 

Eddie shut the ignition off and stepped out of the van on shaky legs. After pulling his bag from the back, he staggered over to meet his uncle as the man was getting out of his own truck. 

“Hey, Pops.”

“You drive all night?” Wayne asked, frowning as he studied Eddie’s face. 

It wasn’t the first time, or even the fifth, that he’d shown up on his uncle’s doorstep unannounced since officially moving out so many years ago, and Wayne didn’t look all that surprised to see him. 

“Yeah.” Eddie admitted.

The older man grunted, a disapproving sound Eddie was all too familiar with, though he knew it was only because his uncle was worried. 

“You better come on inside then. We’ll have some pancakes and you can tell me what you done now.”

Eddie sat at the small two seater kitchen table, the same one that had lived in the trailer's kitchen since he was a small boy, watching as Wayne gently stirred a hefty handful of chocolate chips into the bowl of prepared Bisquick mix and began cooking off pancakes one by one, A skillet of sausages sizzled on another burner. 

“You want coffee?” Wayne asked.

“No, thanks. I think I've had enough. It’s not even perking me up anymore, it’s just making my skin vibrate.” Eddie said through a yawn, rubbing at his strained eyes. 

The drive was catching up to him, the exhaustion seeping into his bones and he knew he’d have to lay down soon or his body would decide for him where a good place to take a nap would be.

Wayne didn’t say much as he finished cooking their meal, waiting until he’d plated it all up and sat down across from Eddie to finally ask the obvious question. 

“So, what is it that’s made you drive all the way out here and leave Chrissy-girl and your beach paradise behind?”

“I’ve been… seeing someone.”

Wayne’s fork slipped from his grip and landed on his plate with a loud clatter, his mouth hanging open in utter shock for a moment before he snapped it shut. He looked down, clearing his throat as he casually picked the fork back up and cut into his stack of fluffy goodness as if it’d never happened.

“Oh?”

Eddie sighed, pushing his untouched plate away and resting his head on the old cracked formica. “I guess I should say was. I was seeing someone, but I'm pretty sure it’s over now.”

“How long was this going on?”

“Two weeks, give or take.”

Wayne let out a long whistle. “You must really like this boy.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Son, you’ve never so much as hinted at dating anyone before. So for you to go from that to a two week long relationship… and don’t think I didn’t notice how you haven't taken a single bite of those chocolate chip pancakes—-your favorite. He must be something special to have you this torn up.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. “At least I thought he was.”

“What happened?”

“I found out he lied to me about something. So I freaked out and left.”

Wayne was quiet for long enough that Eddie had to lift his head to make sure the old man was still there. He was leaned back in his chair sipping his tea, plate of food now empty,  watching Eddie with a thoughtful expression. 

“What’d he lie about?”

“Does it matter?!” Eddie snapped, pounding his fist down on the table. “How am I ever supposed to believe him again? How do I know everything else he’s ever told me hasn’t been a lie too?”

“That’s a child’s question, Eddie. Life’s a little more complicated than that. Things aren't always as black and white as we’d like them to be, and not every lie is meant to hurt you.”

Eddie shook his head. “This is exactly why I don’t date, you can’t trust anyone.”

Wayne hummed noncommittally. “I think maybe you’d better tell me the whole story.”

Barring the gory details, i.e. his sex life, Eddie told his uncle the whole saga—from showing up at the motel to find a blast-from-the-past waiting in the lobby, to becoming involuntary roommates with the guy, ultimately finding out it’d all been a ruse, and everything in-between.

“So, you see? It was all just a setup. None of it was real.” Eddie said when it was all laid out.

Wayne tilted his head, setting his empty mug down on the table. “S’a little dramatic, don't you think?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“And he’s from here, y’say?”

Eddie waved him off. “Yeah, but that doesn’t–”

“You gonna make me drag it out of you, boy? What’s his name?”

Eddie sighed. He was the injured party here, why was Wayne interrogating him. 

“It’s Steve.”

“Wait, it’s not… the Harrington boy?!”

Eddie felt his face flush and knew his cheeks had to be bright red.

Wayne cackled, laughing so hard there were tears streaming from the corners of his eyes by the time he was through. “Christ, you’ve been ass over tits for him since you were fifteen years old!”

“I have not!”

“You used to come home talking about him all the time!”

“I was complaining about him,” Eddie grumbled, slumping down in his seat as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because he was an asshole.”

“Someone takes up that much space in your head? S’not usually cause you don’t like ‘em.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Can we get back on topic please?”

“Sure.” Wayne agreed. “So, clearly the setup worked.”

“That’s not… well, yes, but—” Eddie sputtered. “Everything was fine, great even. We were happy. I opened up—I was fucking vulnerable, and then it turned out he knew it’d been a scheme. We were watching the front office for Chrissy and Robin last night, and I found some stuff proving most of the rooms were empty. I confronted him about it and he said he’d only just figured it out himself, but–”

“But you don’t believe him.”

“I- I don't know.” Eddie ran a hand through his messier than usual hair. “I want to believe him.”

Deep down, if he was truly honest with himself and searched his heart, Eddie knew Steve was telling the truth. All those times he’d kicked him out of his own bed for a hookup? If Steve had known there was another option, he’d have taken it. And if he’d done that they might never have…

“So what was his crime?” Wayne asked. “He found out after the two of you had already gotten together—and I gotta be honest it sounds like you put that boy through the fucking ringer to accomplish that miracle. You were happy, as you said yourself–”

“He should have told me.” Eddie cut him off, so sure in his conviction that he was right on at least this one point. “And Chrissy–”

“Seems to me those girls did you both a favor.”

Eddie glared.

Wayne stood, immune to the death stare his nephew was sending his way, still talking as he cleared the table and began to work on the sink full of dishes.

“It might not have been the right thing to do on paper, but their hearts were in the right place. Chrissy just wanted to see you happy, Ed, and she ain’t the only one. It’s kept me up at night, thinking about you out there in the world all by yourself. I don’t want to see you wasting your life wandering around, and winding up alone because you're scared.” 

Eddie got up automatically to stand by his side with a clean dish towel, drying and putting away each piece as it was cleaned.

“How do I know it’s not going to turn bad, like Mom and Dad?”

“I suppose you don’t, but sometimes you just gotta take a leap of faith—with both feet. Do you think Steve is anything like your dad?”

“No.” Eddie answered without hesitation. “He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.” 

Snarky? Yes. Bitchy? Occasionally, but never ever mean.

“Well, there you go,” Wayne said, as if it were that simple. He paused for a moment, rinsing the last pan and handing it off, shaking the excess water from his fingers before he turned, facing Eddie head-on, leaning a hip against the counter.

“Look, it’s never a guarantee that you're gonna find someone in this life, and that’s okay too. Look at me, I've found my home and happiness in other ways, but you—you've kept yourself so closed off. It sounds like you have three people out there who really care about you, so what are you doin’ here?”

The more they talked the less sure Eddie was about the answer to that question. 

“There’s something else too.” He found himself saying, because it wasn't only Steve who had hurt him. “Chrissy… she’s in trouble. The motel is failing. I found stacks and stacks of overdue bills, and she never said a word. Doesn’t she not know how much I love her? That I'd do anything I could to help her and Robin out?”

“Oh, Bubba.” Wayne said softly, drawing Eddie into a tight hug. “She knows, I promise you she knows.”

Eddie let himself sag in the other man’s arms for a minute. His throat was painfully tight, and it was an effort to blink back the tears that so badly wanted to fall from his eyes. He pulled back, running a hand over his face.

“I don’t understand why she wouldn't tell me.”

“That’s something you’ll have to talk to her about, but I think maybe she and Robin wanted to succeed on their own. Chrissy wants you to be proud of her, not see her as a failure.”

“Of course I'm proud of her.”

“Then that’s what you tell her, right after you apologize for snooping through her stuff.” Wayne gave him a hearty pat on the back, and a little nudge in the direction of his old room. “It’ll be alright.”

Eddie’s bedroom still looked exactly as it had since the day he left. He’d only taken what would easily fit in his van, his clothes, his guitar, a few books, and it always surprised him whenever he came for a visit that Wayne hadn’t boxed all the rest of his shit up and made better use of the space. 

It wasn’t like he couldn't sleep on the couch when he dropped by. The trailer was small, too small to give up one of its only two bedrooms for someone who didn’t even live there, but Wayne always made sure he had a soft place to land when he needed it.

He hadn’t slept without Steve since the night they’d fallen into bed together, and it felt strange and wrong now to lie between the sheets by himself, even here in a place where Steve had never been. 

Had he not been so thoroughly drained and worn-out he might have struggled to fall asleep without his human teddy bear to hold on to, but he was that tired, and though he missed Steve with a fierceness that made his chest ache, he dropped off almost the moment his head hit the pillow. 

 When Eddie woke hours later the room was bathed in late afternoon sun, the light shining in through threadbare curtains. It took a moment to remember where he was and why, and he was hit with a familiar wave of sadness—and something else. The same thing he’d been feeling for a while now, for the last year or more, as he roamed from place to place. 

Homesickness. 

He didn’t know when it had gone away exactly, but some time between arriving at the Buckingham and running away from it, he’d stopped longing for a place to call home, and started feeling like he was already there.  

He had to go back. He had to make things right with Steve, and tell Chrissy how amazing she was no matter what happened with the business. Robin too—even though they tended to butt heads, he fucking loved her just as much as the other two.

He loved Steve.

Was in love with him. Full stop. 

No almost. No falling. It was wonderful. It was terrifying. 

And it was far too soon, not that Eddie had any basis to judge such a thing, but also maybe it wasn’t? Because goddamnit Wayne was right. He had been a little obsessed with Steve for more years than was probably healthy, and in some serious denial about why. His sudden crush this summer wasn’t sudden, or new. Lying there now in his childhood bed he could admit all of that to himself. 

Now he just had to be brave and admit it to someone else. 

He jumped out of bed and quickly changed into some of the clean clothes he’d brought, needing to get back to the motel as soon as possible. He’d have to apologize to his uncle for the hit and run, though he was sure the man would understand.

Speaking of the devil, Wayne was up for the day too—sitting at the kitchen table when Eddie rushed in, sipping coffee while he flicked through the newspaper. 

Eddie dumped his bag in the other chair and began to rummage through the cabinets.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Wayne asked, not looking up from his sports section.

“That old travel thermos. Thought I'd take some coffee with me so I can get right on the road.”

Wayne set the paper down and got up with a grunt, quickly locating the exact thermos Eddie was looking for, which had been right in front of his face. 

In his defense, he was in a rush. 

Wayne chuckled, sitting back down as Eddie filled the cup. “What’s your hurry?”

Eddie screwed the lid on and set the thing down, freeing his hands to wind his disheveled curls into a bun as he explained. 

“Just anxious to clean up the mess I made, Pops. I promised myself that I’d make it up to Steve for all the shit I put him through if he gave me a chance, and I've already broken that promise. He might have lied by keeping something from me but—I’m not perfect, and I can't expect him to be either. I shouldn’t have left, and I definitely should have given him the benefit of the doubt. We could've worked this out together.”

“Eddie, I think–”

“I love him, Wayne.”  Eddie didn’t mean to interrupt, but he’d been bursting to say the words out loud since he thought them. “I don’t know exactly what I'm going to say to fix it, but I've got hours of driving time to think about it.” 

Wayne smiled broadly, trying and failing to hide the gleeful expression behind his mug. “You might need to figure it out a little quicker than that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s here, Bubba.” Wayne said quietly, using the cup in his hand to gesture towards the living room. 

Eddie whipped his head around and sure enough there Steve was, sitting quietly on the couch watching him with an unreadable expression. He gulped, stomach flipping as their eyes met.  

Wayne clapped him on the shoulder as he moved past towards the hall. “I'll leave you boys to talk. It was nice to meet you, Steve.” 

Steve stood, offering an awkward wave. “You too, sir.” 

When Wayne was gone, Steve took a few tentative steps towards the kitchen.

Eddie met him halfway, smiling sadly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve repeated back.

It was that first morning all over again. Tension palpable in the air between them.

“I'm sorry to just show up like this.” Steve blurted out, at the same time Eddie said, “So you heard all that, huh?”

They shared a nervous laugh. 

Steve looked away, running a hand through his hair.  

“What are you… how are you here?” Eddie stuttered out. “I mean, how did you know I’d be here?”

“With Wayne is where you feel the safest,” Steve shrugged. “And this is where you planned to go last time.”

Once again Steve had proven himself to be so far beyond anything Eddie thought he deserved. He was a flight risk. Steve could have made his life so much easier by just letting him go, it’s what most people would have done, but Steve had come after him—thought he was worth finding. How could he have ever considered running away from that? 

Eddie took one more step forward, close enough to reach out and take hold of Steve’s hand.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

There was a path that cut through the woods that sat on the edge of the trailer park. Eddie used to take it all the time as a kid when he was bored. It wasn’t a terribly long walk, just enough to get you lost in your thoughts before reaching Sattler’s quarry. 

Eddie sat them down on a log a few feet from the cliff’s edge when they arrived, the irony not lost on him. It was a beautiful view, especially this close to sunset ,as the changing color of the sky was reflected in the dark water below. They hadn’t spoken on the way there, and Eddie took that time to enjoy the feel of Steve’s palm in his, so comfortable and familiar, and think about everything he wanted to say.

Birds chirped, clouds drifted by, and Eddie let the quiet settle around them for a few more minutes as he willed his racing heart to calm, taking a few deep breaths before he began. 

“I have been so scared my entire life, and maybe I learned the lesson a little too intensely to guard my heart and make sure I didn’t wind up like the people around me—that was a good thing for a while, it kept me safe and sane but at a certain point it just left me… alone. It wasn’t just romance I avoided, I was too afraid to make any close connections. I had Chrissy and Wayne and that was enough. Two people with the ability to break me was about all I could handle.” Eddie smiled, letting out a wry huff of laughter. “But then you came along.” 

He stared down at his feet, tracing patterns in the dirt with the heel of his boot.

“I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry I assumed the worst. And I’m sorry that I hurt you again after begging you to give me a chance. I thought I was all in, but i guess I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Steve's hand found its way to Eddie's knee, stilling his leg which had started to shake up and down with his nerves. He covered Steve's hand with his own, and finally looked up to meet his eyes for the first time since they’d arrived. 

“I’m sorry too,” Steve said, giving his knee a squeeze. “This isn’t all on you. You have every right to be upset. I should have told you as soon as I realized.”

“You were afraid I'd freak out, and you weren’t wrong.” Eddie admitted.

“Still.” 

“Steve, I-I don’t know how to be anything else, but I know I don’t want to be who I’ve been.”

Eddie shook his head, sure that he wasn’t making any sense but he pressed on anyway. Steve had a special talent for deciphering even his most nonsensical ramblings. “I can’t be that guy anymore because he will keep running away—that version of myself won’t let me have this. I’m sure it will take time, and maybe it’s too late, but I want to learn a better way to be.”

“It's not too late,'' Steve murmured, turning his hand over where it rested beneath Eddie’s and lacing their fingers together. “You said you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I think… I think I was doing the same, and maybe I don’t show it the same way, but I’m scared too. I should have trusted you enough to tell you, and maybe it wouldn’t have come to all this.”

“So, what I'm hearing is, we could both do better.” Eddie grinned, releasing a breathy laugh. Which Steve returned as they both leaned in for a moment, brushing shoulders.

Eddie quieted, blowing out a long breath as he looked down at their joined hands, and felt so lucky. He was ready to let go of all the shit he’d allowed to hold him back for so long. He was ready to be happy. 

“Did you mean it? What you said back there to your uncle about me?” Steve asked.

Eddie nodded, fighting the urge to hide his face or look away.

Steve bit his lip. “Will you say it again—to me?”

Eddie smiled, nearly choking as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat—so overcome with it all, but in the best way—and found himself tearing up.

“I love you,” he said, voice cracking a little over the words he never thought he’d say to someone in quite this way.

Steve's answering smile lit his whole face up, his eyes beginning to glisten as well. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over Eddie’s as he replied.

“I love you too.”

Steve had barely finished the phrase before they crashed into each other, mouths working in desperate tandem, tongues sliding together like a well rehearsed dance. They kissed like they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of hours, as if any separation was unbearable. Eddie moaned, a high and wonton sound in his throat as Steve guided him over to straddle his lap. 

It was risky to be like this out here in the open. Things might have been a little better on the coast for the gay community in recent years, but that acceptance hadn’t yet made its way to rural Indiana, and the wrong person could easily stumble upon them out here.

Though it went against every base instinct he had, Eddie forced them to slow down, breaking the kiss with an apologetic smile, one hand held gently against Steve’s chest to stop him from chasing after. 

“It’s not safe out here, baby,” he said, sliding himself out of Steve's lap and adjusting himself in his pants. “We could be seen.”

Steve tried to pull him back down anyway. “I don’t care. You’re out, I could be out too. Let them see.”

Eddie groaned, the problem in his jeans getting worse by the second as Steve ran hands up and down his thighs. He wasn’t making it easy to be good. 

“It’s dangerous,” Eddie said, cupping Steve’s cheek. “And I’d hate for our happy reunion to be disrupted by a hate crime.”

It was dusk when they finally left the quarry, and dark by the time they got back to the trailer. Steve's lack of sleep was starting to show, he’d only managed a few hours before giving up, getting in his car, and making the trip to Hawkins.

They had discussed going to stay at Steve’s house for the night where they could be alone, maybe finish what they started without having to worry about a parental figure being in the next room, but Steve insisted he’d rather stay and spend a little time getting to know Wayne while they were here. 

Eddie knew he meant it, but he was sure it was for his own benefit too—so he could spend time with his uncle who he didn't visit nearly enough. 

They’d be heading back to the Buckingham in the morning. Steve could get away with calling out for two days but he was due back on the beach for the 4th, as was Eddie at the bar. Independence Day was a big deal for the town, which went all out every year with a huge fireworks display over the ocean set off from a local fishing boat. 

Wayne cooked up a half dozen burgers on the grill and the three men spent the evening sitting on the front porch shooting the shit and drinking beer until Steve couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. 

They said their goodnights and goodbyes before turning in, knowing Wayne would likely be asleep when they got up to go in the morning. 

The full size bed in Eddie’s room was a tight squeeze for two full grown men, or it would have been if either of them had any sense of personal space, but they more than happily clung to each other.

Tired or not, it was inevitable that a few well-meaning goodnight kisses would turn into more, and soon they were feeding at each other’s mouths like starving men, until their lips were bitten red, swollen and sore. Eddie slid his hands up under Steve’s shirt, deeply resenting the amount of fabric between them. They didn’t usually bother with clothes at night but out of respect for Wayne, and in an effort to restrain themselves, they’d both worn pajamas to bed—to Eddie’s lament.

He slid his leg between Steve’s, swallowing back a moan at the feel of him long and hard against his thigh.

“Can I at least blow you?” Eddie whined.

Steve gasped, bucking his hips once in a desperate bid for friction before forcing himself to stop.

“Not with your uncle on the other side of this wall.”

Eddie licked a wet line up the column of Steve’s throat. “Come on, baby. You can be quiet.”

“I think you know by now that I can’t.” Steve sucked in another sharp breath as Eddie nibbled on his ear lobe. “It’s that fucking mouth of yours.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

Eddie pulled back, threading his hands through Steve's hair as he gazed down at him with a heart so full he could hardly breath. He was so in love, and by some miracle, despite his numerous fuck ups, the beautiful man in his arms loved him right back.

He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, brushed them over each cheek, and finally kissed his mouth one last time before turning over, to sleep pulling Steve's arms around himself. Steve tightened his grip, bringing their bodies impossibly closer as he buried his face in the back of Eddie’s neck with a contented sigh. 

It wasn’t often Eddie played the little spoon to Steve’s big, but tonight he wanted to be held.

Chapter 10

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

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[anthrofreshtodeath]

Whoops

I meant to do some mindless smut prompts (still might!) but then accidentally came up with this instead. Apparently the dialogue/character study for the Bones crossover is bubbling up ahead of schedule, so here's some of that. We are still a long, long way off from a story, but We Shall See.

___

“These Amherst guys really dropped the ball,” Jane’s voice carries from the dense thicket of trees to the small clearing where Maura currently stands. Well, bends, really, crouching so that the leather of her boots touches the fabric of the skirt on her thighs, while the fog around her seeps into her skin even under her blazer. 

For a moment, because of the tenor of that voice, deep and rich and extra liquid, Maura forgets that Doctor Brennan is crouching right next to her. “Bony nodules fusing with the upper symphyseal face…” Brennan drones, peering into the very visible pubic skeleton of the victim’s remains, using a brush to displace some of the dark soil around them. 

“About twenty years old,” Maura murmurs, because Jane is emerging and though she should be concentrating on what Brennan is saying. It is good that they have the understanding, the shorthand that they’ve developed over the last two months, because Maura can compartmentalize analysis of remains to the way, way back of her brain. And she needs to, with the way that Jane looks when she approaches the body.

“Listen, y’know, I’ve seen it a thousand times, these little departments - they don’t talk to each other. They putz around trying to figure out their one murder, and when they hear there’re more close by just like it, they bury their heads in the sand,” Booth, the one federal collaborator that has actually looked like a companion next to Jane, says when he takes his place beside her, index cards in hand. 

Maura is far too focused on Jane to more than glance at the way he studies Doctor Brennan. 

Since Booth and Brennan’s arrival in late February, Jane, of course, has resisted Booth’s federal authority at every turn. Her disdain for the FBI has burned as hot as ever, even though he has wielded that authority with grace, if not a little impatience at the local authorities who had no idea they’d been seeing identical killings at clustered dumping sites in the reservoirs for six months, because they don’t communicate. Jane had flown past impatience and into anger when Maura and Korsak had convinced her to help out, again at the behest of those silly local authorities. 

On the condition, of course, that she and Agent Booth collaborate. And then, a strange thing started to happen. They are similar in so many ways, truly: they both take their coffee black, two sugar. They live for sport and they speak with many of the same colloquialisms that confound both Maura and Brennan - Maura had been glad to realize she wasn’t the only one. They harbor the same thirst for justice, though Booth’s appears very tied up in the law and service to his country, while Jane’s nestles somewhere in her heart, independent of law though it sometimes coincides with it. 

In short, given the things that they have in common, they began to bond. Sort of. Booth, a morning person by military experience, rises early, and Jane loathes to be last to a crime scene, to an autopsy, to a bone examination, so she rises early now, too. Maura actually gets to see her for more than four minutes every morning before she has to clock in and start the day. Not that she had wanted to see Jane for more than four minutes every morning, but that was before Booth arrived and the peculiar changes had begun. Now, Maura considers it scientific inquisitiveness more than anything else. Despite living in two separate apartments, Booth and Jane arrive at headquarters at the same time. Booth holds the door for her, and she swipes the both of them in, a symbiosis that baffles Maura to this day. Booth used to walk in with his own coffee from the cart across the street, but ever since Jane had shown him the artisan beans Maura had bought for her, he follows her up to third floor homicide and they brew a pot together. Jane had even bought him a Steelers mug to drink his in when she found out about his love for them, and she bought herself a Patriots one to match. Booth stands and likes to hold an object like a ball or a hockey puck when he thinks, while Jane sits in her chair, long legs perched up on the desk, but they both narrow their brows and draw their mouths into hard lines when they do it. 

None of these things is why Maura stares. They’re not why Maura has started staring for the past month now. No - one day, when they all had made the drive to Amherst to check out a newly discovered body in a conservation area, shots had rung out while they examined the remains. Jane had ushered Maura and Brennan to the Medical Examiner’s van they’d arrived in, gun drawn, and Booth had pulled one from his side to defend them.

That was hot in and of itself, Maura couldn’t deny. The protectiveness honeyed up her insides, even though the shooter had been a resident that thought the four of them were trespassers on the land. But, as soon as they were alone at the scene, Booth and Brennan on a call with experts at the Medico-Legal lab of the Jeffersonian Institute, Jane had grumbled an apology about not being prepared enough to save Maura. Maura had rolled her eyes, because the hero complex was part of what caused their divorce in the first place, but then Jane had shown up at BPD the next morning with a double shoulder holster under her blazer.

One nearly identical to Booth’s. 

Maura feels more unmoored now than she did the first time she saw it poking out from under black fabric, because, in late April, it’s warm enough to forego the blazer and Jane wears two firearms in a russet brown leather holster completely exposed to the outer air. Booth hasn’t influenced her long black slacks or her worn-in leather boots with the chunky heel, or the way she tucks in her ironed white shirt, leaving just the two top buttons undone to show her undershirt. No, he’d just - indirectly - given her the perfect accent for it all.

“Hey Maura. Doc,” says Jane, greeting the two, angling her left hand in front of her hips, slotted downward so that her fingertips hang inches from Maura’s face while she pulls on a purple nitrile glove.

Maura flinches when the material snaps into place on Jane’s wrist. When she looks up at Jane’s face, Jane smirks, like she knows. Like she knows the entire trace of Maura’s thoughts from when she arrived with Agent Booth until now. Maura looks back down, lightly touching the bones in front of her. “Detective. Agent Booth,” she greets cooly, proud of herself. 

“Sorry for the uh, delay, Bones. Not sure how ya run into traffic in the middle of nowhere, but we did,” Booth’s proximity to Brennan is much less charged than Jane’s proximity to Maura, like he’s just arrived home after a long day, even though it’s morning. His body relaxes, his face softens. Brennan’s doesn’t change.

“It’s Mass. We run into traffic in our sleep,” Jane quips.

“We should have all ridden together. Doctor Isles’ GPS system is very advanced,” Brennan says, and when both of them stand, she turns to Maura. “I’m not surprised. He insists the routes he takes are the best way, even if he’s never been to a location before. He ends up adding minutes to the drive.” She purses her lips in a serious little tease, and Maura realizes they’ve had effects on each other, too. Brennan has pushed Maura’s dedication to objectivity, Maura has given Brennan a few more social hazing techniques, even if they are only to get under the skin of the law enforcement partner with which they work. 

Maura smirks, then looks right at Jane. “He does, does he? Sounds familiar,” she says. Jane shakes her head, and stands close, peering over Maura’s shoulder at the shallow grave in which the victim was found. Maura knows a challenge when she sees one, and she doesn’t back down. She can smell lavender, gun oil, leather, and strong coffee. She thinks about crossing her legs, and then abandons the thought - she lets the arousal, the attraction happen, exactly as Jane intends. She will let Jane deal with the fallout. Like, for example, the tiny tug she places on Jane’s belt as she pretends to use the leverage to climb up from uneven terrain around the grave. What will Jane do with it?

“He does,” confirms Brennan. “I much prefer riding with empiricists.”

“Oh come on, I don’t do that. Do I do that?” Booth puts his arms out in defense of himself, a pen in one hand and stack of fluorescent-colored cards in the other. His tie hangs narrow and long like an arrow right to his hips. His is more pronounced, but his shoulder-to-hip ratio reminds Maura of Jane’s.

In the background, Brennan says something along the lines of you *absolutely* do, but it is Jane’s whisper that Maura hears more clearly. “You like ridin’ empiricists, too?” growls Jane, now too close to even pretend this is a professional interaction. 

Well, Maura had tossed a tater, and Jane just walloped it over the fence. Maura taps an index finger against Jane’s sharp jawline, much like a pitcher who doesn’t watch the home run of the guy who just took him to the moon. “I like riding whoever can keep up with me,” she says, low and sweet in the way Jane has always liked. 

Jane blushes, but keeps her stony gaze ahead. “Hmm,” the hum rumbles in her throat. “You sayin’ I can’t keep up with you anymore?”

“I think, even after everything that we’ve been through, you’re still the only one that can keep up with me,” Maura tells her. 

“So you don’t like ridin’ empiricists,” Jane teases, “you shoulda just said that.”

“We’ll get back to Boston around lunch time, if all goes well. Meet me at home,” Maura orders. She doesn’t elaborate.

Judging by the way Jane widens her stance, crossing her wrists in front of her hips, Maura doesn’t need to elaborate. “I think Booth and I are gonna work right through lunch,” she says.

Maura looks down at those crossed wrists - if Jane meant it as a homing beacon, Maura won’t deny her. “I could, too, but then we’d have to meet in my office. Right next to the autopsy suite, where the esteemed Doctor Brennan will be working. Do you really want an audience?”

At that, Jane drops the facade. “Hell no,” she grumbles. “Beacon Hill, noon.”

Maura doesn’t reply, she simply turns toward the group of crime scene techs behind them. “Remains go to the Chief Medical Examiner’s office. Doctor Brennan will advise on how best to transport them. Split your team; I want them back in Boston as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Doctor Isles,” a few young people call out to her, just before she makes her way back to the cluster of vehicles parked along the narrow road to their left.

___

“Hey, hey, c’mere!” Jane has screeched her unmarked to a stop on the street right in front of Maura’s courtyard, and she is whispering harshly. Maura has just arrived a few seconds before her, and is walking briskly toward the front door.

Maura makes it just before she is turned around by the wrist and puts her forearms on Jane’s chest for balance. They brush against the leather straps of Jane’s holster and she bites her bottom lip. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m the one who invited you.”

Jane holds onto Maura’s waist with one arm, and uses her other hand to swipe the small of Maura’s back through her dress, like she always had before. It’s muscle memory, it’s habit. She looks toward the walkway that leads to the guest house around the corner. “Ma home?”

“I saw her at the cafe. So no,” Maura answers honestly. The pleasant slickness between her legs has morphed into an uncomfortable coating, hot and wet, and Jane’s automated affection is not helping. 

She hasn’t had sex in two months and she tires of her hand. 

“What’re we doin’, huh?” Jane asks, like she’s regretting the choice to come, and yet, she steps closer. Embraces Maura more completely. Knocks their foreheads together. “You made it pretty clear when the divorce went through that you don’t wanna be with me anymore.”

Jane’s two guns press against Maura when they wrap around each other, one at her breast, one in her side. She whimpers right into the kiss that she chooses to silence Jane. She has an entire repertoire of them, some soft and comforting, some merely for greeting, others to convey gratitude or trust. 

This variety, however, is to impart an immeasurable amount of lust. 

She moves her hands to slide up Jane’s starched white shirt at the biceps, squeezing and feeling as she makes her way to Jane’s shoulders, fingers pressing into brown leather just before they slip under it to knead the tense muscle there. All of that merely accompanies her lips, her tongue, all melding with Jane’s as they row together in a dance they haven’t danced in long weeks. 

And Jane can hardly bear it. She drops her whole body against Maura’s, pushing her into the closed door, separating Maura’s legs with one of her own. Maura clutches at Jane’s hip, pushing her closer, starting a slow grind. Jane breaks their kiss, drops her lips down to Maura’s neck, and sucks just strongly enough to avoid marking her. Her right hand presses into Maura’s breast, pushing it up, rubbing against the lace just under Maura’s blouse while Maura breathes heavy breaths, panting upward when her head leans back into her door.

In the shade, the April air is just cool enough to require some bundling, but Maura is so warm under Jane that she wants all of her clothes off. “Let’s go inside. Now,” she orders. Jane steps back, fishing through Maura’s bag for her keys until she retrieves them. When Maura stares at her, Jane turns Maura around by the hips so that they are both facing the door, but Jane is unlocking it while pushing up against Maura’s backside.

“Had to give my key back, remember?” She says in Maura’s ear just before she licks the shell of it. “So now I gotta use yours.”

The door opens at her behest; Maura fixates on the vascularity in Jane’s hand reaching forward and twisting the knob. Swollen rivers of blood under smooth olive skin, and then, a flash of memory of her own tongue on them, tasting herself after Jane had pulled out of her. Naked, fingers in her mouth, body to body, silk sheets on her overheated flesh, on Jane. 

Maura pushes through all the way, reaching back to slip her hand into the front of Jane’s pants, just far enough to tug her forward into the house. “Upstairs?” she asks, but Jane has picked her up, and put her on the dining room table.

“Can’t wait that long,” says Jane, kissing Maura again, pushing her blazer away and then fumbling with the zipper of her skirt.

“Good, me either,” Maura says. She undoes Jane’s belt, phone and badge still affixed to it, and then pops open the button on Jane’s slacks. That’s followed by the zipper, and then Jane’s pants droop until they pool around the halfway point of her thighs: just enough to expose the black boxer briefs tight on each leg. The waistband sits neat and snug around Jane’s very trim, very sexy midsection, and Maura cannot resist. She puts her hand under it while Jane is still trying very hard to do away with her skirt. “You’re as wet as I am,” Maura puffs into their union.

Jane catches it in her mouth and swallows it. Then she scoffs. Maura feels the hitch of Jane’s voice back in her own throat, the downturn of Jane’s lips against her own. “Who could tell? It’s like tryin’ to get to the holy grail, here,” she groans.

Maura laughs while she rubs against Jane’s sex, not slipping in yet, but wanting to. “Let me help you,” she says, and when she lifts her hips, Jane finally lets the skirt drop to the floor. Maura kicks her boots off, and moans when Jane weaves her fingers into the elastic of her thong. “I want to be naked,” she tells Jane. “I miss being naked.”

Jane nods seriously. “Should we go up to bed then?” she asks, looking down at her own clothes. “I got a lot to take off.”

Maura shakes her head. “No, I want you to keep all that on,” she says. Indeed, the image of Jane now, double holster on with her sleeves rolled up to the forearm, pants undone and sagging just under Jane’s starched shirt tails and underwear? Just as sexy as Jane with no clothes on and swimming with Maura under the covers. 

Jane’s brow goes up, just as she tugs Maura’s panties down. She brings her long fingers back to touch Maura, and now they are both playing with each other. “The hardware, too, huh?” asks Jane, though her smirk says she knows the answer already. 

“Y- oh. Yes,” Maura gets out of her blouse, out of her bra, when Jane slips inside her. Jane pulls her close with the other hand, imprinting on her side like a Florentine sculpture, holding her close while she stretches in the hedonistic pursuit of her own pleasure, head thrown back, eyes closed, hands cradling Jane’s head close to her chest while she arches her back. 

Jane nods, and Maura remembers that they had been having a discussion. “You can take it,” she says, with a naughty grin that draws Maura forward. Her lips kiss mostly teeth, but Jane moves inside of her slowly and she wants to open herself up to more. 

She lays down on the table, head just supported by its lip, the curve in her spine exaggerated when she gets exactly what she wants: more Jane, deeper Jane. “I can take it,” she purrs, looking up to find Jane’s gaze, to see Jane’s reaction to her suggestive retort. 

Jane blinks her reply before adding another finger, before kissing up Maura’s ribs to her sternum, before rubbing the apex of Maura’s sex with an expert thumbpad and unraveling her into screams that echo throughout the brownstone. 

They’ll have to think of ways to explain their long absence after Maura decides she is not done, and needs to see Jane naked after all. Needs to have Jane come apart in her arms. In her bed. 

Divorce be damned.

[absolutepokemontrash]

Hi! So, I absolutely love your series where the MC is the kid of Lucifer, and I was wondering if I could request that with Diavolo and Barbatos? •v•

:0 you definitely can! Right now I’m just doing Diavolo, but Barb’s will be up sometime soon!

MC is Half Demon and Oh Shit They’re Diavolo’s Kid-

Diavolo wasn’t exactly what one would expect of the prince of Hell, I mean, he was suppressing the urge to bounce in his seat from pure excitement. I mean, his exchange program was starting! Humans, demons, and angels, all together, his dream was coming true.

All that was left was for the student to arrive, the portal opened, and the human fell flat on their back. Oof, maybe Diavolo should have set up some kind of landing zone filled with pillows. No matter! The human was-

…

What peculiar eyes this human had…

Oh… oh dear…

Dad-volo

The MC was his child, no question about it. This was… very unexpected. Well, the entire assembly hall was completely quiet, and the kid looked like they were getting impatient.

“HEY! Mind telling me what the hell is going on?!”

After that, Diavolo launches into his explanation, also the explanation that he’s definitely this kid’s dad. Kid was not impressed, they tried to square up with Diavolo and Lucifer had never been more confused as to what to do.

Well, the moment MC sprouted wings and launched themselves at Diavolo, Dia caught them with one hand and continued speaking like nothing happened.

MC, please calm down… Diavolo didn’t know they existed, let him make it up to them! They’re going to stay at the Demon Lord’s Castle! Dia’s going to be a good dad!

“This feels like the plot to the world’s most messed up fairytale.” MC jammed their hands into their pockets and grumbled. “I get sucked into hell and find out I’m royalty there. Great.”

Diavolo managed to smile and awkwardly reach out to give them a pat on the head, then retracted his hand after the kid shot him a glare. “Well, it’s not a very traditional fairytale, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time here.”

“Mm, sure.” MC mumbled.

Okay, so his child wasn’t that enthusiastic about the exchange program, but Diavolo was sure they’d come around.

Dia tried everything he could possibly think of to get his kid to both like him and enjoy their time as an exchange student. A lot of things had… mixed results.

Also, legally recognizing MC as his child and legitimizing them caused a big stink amongst the nobles who were opposed to the exchange program to begin with. So MC then had to deal with a few assassins. Wonderful. Fantastic. Show stopping. Dia, be a good dad and comfort your angsty murder target- I MEAN preteen.

They do manage to build a good relationship fairly quickly despite their less than stellar first impressions, and Diavolo made them a promise that he knew he wouldn’t ever break: he would let them live as normal a childhood as possible.

This means that MC gets to do all the normal kid stuff that Diavolo wasn’t allowed to do. It honestly works out great for everyone. MC gets to live their life, Diavolo gets the satisfaction of knowing that his kid’s having fun, and Barbatos doesn’t need to worry about MC causing chaos in the castle.

Man… does this kid’s magic potential scare the shit out of everyone though…

Tired Uncle Lucifer

No. This has to be a violation of his worker rights. It cannot be legal for him to be this stressed.

He knew this exchange program was a bad idea. LUCIFER FUCKING KNEW IT. This kid was judging him. Why did he suddenly feel self conscious about every single one of his features? This child was picking him apart and they hadn’t even said anything!

He confiscated Asmo’s phone immediately, this was a matter of national security! Satan’s too! Beel as- oh shit Lucifer may have to give Beel the heimlich maneuver, then take his phone.

When all the brothers eventually got back to the HOL, they were greeted with Mammon getting shaken down by Levi.

“Lucifer! Ya won’t believe this! Levi- what’s wrong with you?” “The exchange student is Diavolo’s child.” “What..?” “*pops the cork off a bottle of Demonus* the exchange student’s Diavolo’s child.”

The worst part about this kid was that they took to the privileges of being royalty like a fish to water. MC went out and did whatever the fuck they wanted, and Lucifer needed to make sure a state of national emergency wasn’t called just because MC picked a fight at RAD.

It didn’t help that MC was just so unimpressed with Lucifer. Anytime Lucifer would tell them not to do something they would just raise their eyebrows and challenge his authority without saying a word.

What the fuck.jpg

The things he does for his prince boyfriend…

Cool Uncle Mammon

Huh, so this little pipsqueak is Lord Diavolo‘s kid? Hm, do ya think they’d let him into the royal treasury? No? Okay… lame.

Mammon then decides this kid would be just perfect for scamming people! Who is going to say no to the Crown Prince’s kid? A suicidal person, that’s who!

And the kid is… up for it? Wow, Mammon didn’t even have to grovel! Awesome!

It’s such a shame that Lucifer came in and promptly removed MC from Mammon’s presence. Tsk, killjoy…

Mammon and MC do get along swimmingly after MC stops angsting. Whenever they hang out it’s pure chaos.

And they would have gotten away with it too- wait, they do get away with it. Because who’s going to question the Crown Prince’s kid? >:)

Reclusive Uncle Leviathan

Levi was in the middle of throttling Mammon for his money back when Lucifer burst through the door looking like he had spent over 1000 Grimm on a gacha game only to not get the card he wanted.

And where was that human he said would be staying with them? Huh? The human’s HUH????!!!!

… wack. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped out on that Student Council Meeting…

Either way, ew, new person he needed to talk to. NO THANKS. Well, no thanks until MC started to visit the HOL to hang out with Mammon. Of course those two normies decided to bug him. OF COURSE.

Levi finally snapped when MC loudly proclaimed that they could totally beat Levi in Mario Kart. Haha, NO. Levi challenged the little runt to a 1 v 1 race on Rainbow Road.

Kid lost. Obviously. Rainbow Road is rigged.

Honestly, kid’s alright. Still a total normie, but not completely terrible.

Cat Uncle Satan

Huh, a half human child of the soon to be demon king, how very interesting.

Oh, and just look at Lucifer’s face. :D priceless. Satan wished he was fast enough to get his DDD out to snap a picture, but he wasn’t able to…

But back to MC, oh how very intriguing. How much power do they have in comparison to Diavolo? Will using that power rip their fragile little body apart? Would they learn to control it? Satan was just dying to find out.

His feelings on the child themselves were mixed at best. They were clearly unhappy with the situation and Satan could sympathize, being thrust into a completely new world and then being told you can’t leave and are also royalty? That has to be hard. But this kid was still being an unreasonable little shit.

Satan continued to try and study MC from afar until the kid themselves walked right up to him and half demanded half pleaded for his help in studying for a test.

Not being one to avoid an opportunity to flex how smart he is, Satan agreed to help out. (Nerrrrd)

And honestly, it went well. When the kid wasn’t being a little shit, they were actually quite pleasant to be around.

Overly Affectionate Uncle Asmo

…wut

Listen, when Asmo asked Lucifer to pick a cute human, he didn’t mean cute as in CHILD.

This kid was DIAVOLO’S?! What lucky human had gotten to have the experience of [Jesus Fucking Christ, Asmo I’m not writing what he said for the sake of the nation]

Anyhoo~ little MC just made his heart go “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE SO CUTE!” They were so cute Asmo could just eat them up!

But they were so mean! That scowl they always had on was going to give them wrinkles and ruin their perfectly cute face!

Sigh, oh well. He can’t manually rearrange people’s expressions. What he can do is take this child shopping. Poor Diavolo was constantly in his RAD uniform, this poor innocent baby shouldn’t have to suffer the same fate.

The kid continued to scowl at everything, but at the same time, their little quips were very entertaining. This little kid spitting verbal venom at anyone who displeased them reminded Asmo of someone… he just couldn’t place who, but they definitely had amazing hair and a cute face :3

Hungry Uncle Beel

Where’s the takeout- I mean human? What’s happening? …are all humans this small? Dang, that’s barely enough for a snack.

So the human’s not going to live with us because they’re not fully human and Diavolo’s kid? Huh. Wild. Anyway, what’s for dinner?

Beel’s not too invested in this drama, he misses Belphie too much to be that interested…

The kid’s weirdly interested in how cool and strong Beel is though. MC tails him to the gym pretty often.

Diavolo and Beel already being gym buddies send tweet-

Since this benevolent little shit likes Beel so much, they decided to take it upon themselves to help with the family drama.

Beel finds that very sweet 🥺

Murder sleepy Uncle Belphie

Oh man… if you thought Belphie was being unfair to L!MC due to their parentage… hoo boy…

When this kid waltzed up the attic steps like they ran the place, Belphie needed to hold himself back from trying to break down the door and throttle this kid.

Pff, of course Diavolo would have a half human kid. Of course.

…kid beat the shit out of him when he tried to kill them. We stan this MC.

After all is said and done, Belphie still isn’t overly fond of MC. They’re brash and rude and only funny 40% of the time. They don’t even like napping 😒

But Beel likes the little runt, so Belphie and MC put up with each other.

Bonus! Your Angelic Uncle Simeon’s Chihuahua

:0 friend!

MC: *speaks*

>:0 not friend! Begone! *throws crucifix*

[mercy-burning]

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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[heyyyharry]

Deja Vu (part 2 of 'Drivers License')

(inspired by deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

Read part 1 here

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“What the fuck is this?”

Harry flinched as his girlfriend shoved the phone at him. He’d just got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary that she would start a fight first thing in the morning.

He sighed and gently pushed her phone away from his face. “Baby, if it’s another rumour about me cheating on you...I was with you this whole week!”

“No.” She lifted the phone up to his face again. “That girl just released another song about you.”

Even though Harry didn’t let it show, whenever he heard about Y/N, his heart would always skip a beat. He couldn’t remember exactly when the last time they’d spoken was, but he knew in his last message to her, he’d congratulated her on that new song about him. She’d never replied, and he’d taken it as the answer — they could never go back to the way it was.

It had broken his heart to listen to ‘drivers license’. Y/N had never been the kind of person to be vocal about her feelings. Or maybe she’d expressed it through actions instead of words, and he had been too nonchalant to see? He hadn’t meant to break her heart and leave her in the dust. After all, she used to be his best friend.

“Y/N’s a songwriter. She writes about her own experience the same way I do. Maybe that song is not even about me, babe,” he calmly told his girlfriend, who was standing in front of him with fresh tears in her eyes. He hated to see her cry, and he hated that this wasn’t the first time she’d done it because of him. He tried to reach for her but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Listen to the song.”

“Baby.”

“Listen to the song,” his girlfriend repeated without looking at him. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not.”

“Then listen to it and tell me it’s not about you, and that she’s not throwing shades at me. I’m so tired of this girl telling the world about how horrible we are as if you had even dated her in the first place—”

“Fine,” Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes pinched shut. He hated that when his girlfriend got mad, she would get so mean for no reason, and the last thing he wanted to hear right now was her insulting Y/N. He knew Y/N. She had always been respectful to his new relationship. However, he wasn’t in the position to tell his girlfriend how to feel about this situation. He knew it was all his fault, so he stayed quiet, took the phone from his girlfriend and sat down on the edge of the bed. His girlfriend stood with her back against the wall facing him, waiting for him to play the song so she could see his reaction to it.

“Go on,” she told him, her voice emotionless.

Harry looked at the song on Spotify. It was titled deja vu. He took a deep breath and one last look at his girlfriend before finding enough courage to press play.

Y/N’s previous song about him had been blasted in every shop he’d visited, all the time when he was filming, every time he was in the car, and now, the moment he heard her voice again, it really did feel like deja vu.

Car rides down Malibu

Strawberry ice cream

One spoon for two…

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“Are we there yet?”

“No, stop being so impatient! Just keep on driving!” Y/N said and looked out of the window on the passenger side. The sun was going down, and the horizon was gradually turning the colour of an egg yolk. It was their last day in Miami. They had been filming for every day that week, and this was the only day they could spend just for themselves.

Harry stole a glance at Y/N and saw that she’d finished half the strawberry ice cream while bobbing her head to the song Uptown Girl on the radio. He frowned, making her laugh when she noticed.

“Open your mouth,” she said and fed him a spoon of ice cream.

“Ahh, brain freeze!”

“But it’s good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” Harry licked his lips. The face he made got Y/N laughing harder.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a secluded beach. Y/N had found this place when she traveled to this city alone two summers ago and almost got lost.

Together, she and Harry carried their picnic things through a palm forest, and by the time they saw the ocean, the moon had made a fading presence on the pink Miami sky.

Y/N picked up her shoes and ran towards the waves, letting it chase her back into Harry’s arms and nearly knocking him over. Their laughter echoed in the wind as their shadows stretched out long and lanky on the empty beach. In that very moment, it felt to Harry as if they were the only people in this world, and he had a sense of peace that he might never be able to experience again.

“You don’t get to see this in the city,” Y/N said dreamily as she pulled Harry’s jacket tighter around herself. It was dark now, and the sky above them was full of stars. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a picnic blanket, listening to the whispers of the ocean and the wind. Harry used Y/N’s jacket as a blanket because it was too small for him to put on. They’d laughed for five minutes straight when she told him he looked like that monkey from Aladdin and took plenty of photos just to prove the point.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” he said, still looking at the sky.

“Me neither,” Y/N sighed, her shoulder brushing his. There was a pause, and he could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and saw her looking. “When I get home,” she said with a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, “I’ll learn to drive, and when we come to Miami next time, I can drive you to this beach.”

“I’d love that,�� Harry said, then made her pink-promise him.

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“They went to Miami last week.”

Y/N blinked. The beach and starry sky disappeared in a second, and she found herself once again standing in the fitting room with her stylist and best friend.

“What?” her best friend marched over to where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Her stylist was holding the phone up to show her the article. “Here. Harry took that actress to Miami last week.”

“Don’t show her these!” Y/N’s best friend grabbed the phone and put it on the vanity desk as she gestured to the stylist. “You do your work. Enough chit-chatting.”

“I took him there,” Y/N said. She didn’t even recognise her own voice at first because she was too in shock. She didn’t think Harry would do something like that. But let’s be honest -- how much did she really know about him?

It had been a few months since his last text to her, which she had ignored, and now her song had been overplayed, and nobody cared about the drama anymore. The whole world had moved on, and she had, too. Or so she’d thought. Now, seeing these pictures of him and his girlfriend on that Miami beach made Y/N feel betrayed.

“Asshole,” her best friend said and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry baby. You’re prettier.”

Y/N worked up a smile and opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then she heard someone call her name and turn around. They weren’t calling for her. Just a name similar to hers that had become an inside joke between her and her friends.

The moment she locked eyes with Harry’s girlfriend, her heart seemed to stop as she held her breath, her lips thinned as if to hold back a scream. She didn’t know the girl personally and had never run into her before today. How unfortunate that they had to be in the same room after Y/N had seen those Miami pics.

“What is she doing here?” Y/N’s best friend asked the stylist the question Y/N was too afraid to ask.

“Fitting for an event, I guess,” the stylist said.

Y/N told them to just ignore the others and mind their own business. The sooner they got the measurements, the faster she could leave. Or she could leave right now and come back another day, but that would make it look like the other girl’s presence was bothering her. They were both actresses, and so they would have to run into each other at some point. She must be professional about it. This was normal. Just act normal.

“He’s so unique,” Harry’s girlfriend said while laughing with her team. Y/N didn’t mean to overhear the conversation, but apparently, the girl was making sure that Y/N heard her loud and clear. “We were watching reruns of Glee last night, and he even sang to me and told me he loved me inbetween the chorus and the verse. Don’t touch the jacket! It’s Harry’s and it’s Gucci. We exchange jackets sometimes. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Show off,” Y/N’s best friend scoffed while shaking her head.

Y/N didn’t say anything. In her mind, she agreed with her best friend for a second and immediately felt that she was being petty so she forced herself to just be nonchalant about it.

She could not. She could not ignore the fact that she’d been replaced as if she didn’t matter. Harry was doing all the things he used to do with her with his new girl. Even taken her to that Miami beach. Their place.

Y/N bit her lip and tried to hold back the half-formed tears in her eyes as the stylist went on talking about the fabric. She chose a random one just to get this over with.

“I hope that fucker gets deja vu.”

“What?” Y/N blinked at her best friend, who gave a mean shrug as she glared at the girl.

“He’s probably thinking of you while doing all that shit with her.”

Y/N pondered over it. Over and over. Even after the girlfriend’s laughter had faded down the hallway, and Y/N was also packing up to leave the studio. Her best friend’s words stayed with her as she got into the car and watched the street of London pass by her window.

That night, when she was alone in her living room with her piano. She sat down and started playing a few experimental chords. Then, she cried. Her tears blurred the handwritten lyrics on her notebook as she tried again.

“I have this idea,” she told her manager on the phone before sending the recording. It was three in the morning.

“Oh my god,” her manager exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic than he had when picking up her call. “This song...is so gonna win a Grammy!”

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Y/N’s song had won a Grammy.

They had talked about it for so long. Harry had encouraged her to pursue a singing career, because she’d started out as an actress but was blessed with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Now he was sitting at the front row and looking up at her as she received the award from an artist she looked up to, for the song written about him. She smiled at the crowd as the light shone on her and everyone was cheering because she deserved this. She said her thanks and expressed her gratitude to her family, her teams and her fans. She didn’t say his name. He hadn’t hoped that she would, because he knew there was no way his name would come with a positive message. So he was kind of glad she hadn’t mentioned him.

His girlfriend squeezed his arm as if she knew what he was thinking of. He smiled at his girlfriend. A smile of reassurance. They had put it behind them and promised to try again after all the fights about the song they were playing right now. Nothing would change after tonight. Because there was nothing Harry could change.

He caught Y/N’s eyes for one brief moment as she ascended the stage. Although he was sure he loved his girlfriend, there was something about that look that made him sad. Would he be happier to come here with Y/N tonight instead of his girlfriend? He wouldn’t know, because that would never happen. He didn’t even know if she still resented him, or if she was still the same person he remembered. A lot could change in a day let alone many months. And it was scary to think someone you used to know so much had become a complete stranger. The opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference. And Harry felt it deeply as Y/N never paid him a second glance.

At the after-party, he worked up the courage to approach her when he found her standing alone texting on her phone.

“Hi. How are you?” he said.

Y/N looked at him as if she couldn’t understand English. If she ignored him and walked away, this would be the most humiliating moment of his life.

But no. She pressed her lips into a gentle smile and said, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded, wanting to shake her hand, but his fingers stayed glued together behind his back. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the glass of wine on the table beside them, and Harry knew he’d lost his chance of shaking her hand tonight. “Did you like the song?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with her. There was something new about her that unsettled him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking out about it.”

“Oh.” Y/N showed no emotion as she shrugged. “It’s alright. I only said the truth. The song was fictional, and I don’t want anyone to get hate for it.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, and he couldn’t tell her that his girlfriend had almost broken up with him for it. Even if he had told her that, he didn’t think Y/N would care. She didn’t look like the Y/N he knew anymore. Suddenly, he recalled that night on the beach, when she was still looking at him with feelings.

“Look, Y/N, I—”

Before he got a chance to form a proper thought for what he was going to say, his girlfriend, who was obviously drunk, shouted from somewhere behind him. “Babe, Jeff’s wearing a tiny jacket! He looks more like the monkey than you!”

Harry looked at Y/N. She held his gaze. The corners of her red lips quirked as she raised her glass. “Deja vu?”

Just like that, she left him standing there all by himself.

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Two

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: Once again I am showing off how I have zero self control when it comes to creating stable fic uploads! I simply write another chapter and then upload it immediately. I’m so sorry when this will eventually start to die down, but for now let’s enjoy the start of the story, I guess? I’m astounded at the immense love this got! Thank you all so much!

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4k

Chapter Two

Inej returned with three glasses of whiskey. Kaz was sat opposite you at his desk, crow-headed cane secured in one of his leather gloved hands. Inej put the glasses on the desk, before picking up and handing one to you.

“Thank you,” You said politely. Despite the few weeks you’d had to acquaint yourself with the types of people that Ketterdam housed, Inej seemed different. She was a fighter, you could see that clearly, but she also seemed... soulful. Like she had a heart, bursting to the brim with kindness and care, despite the Wraith she had to become living in a place such as the Barrel.

“So, what, the Darkling took you in?” Kaz asked, impatience all over his voice. He grabbed his glass sternly, tapping the sides with his covered fingers.

“This is only the beginning of this story,” You replied.

“Well, get to it,” He said quickly.

“I told you it was a long story, Mr. Brekker. It’ll probably take us most of the night. Can your business wait that long?” You raised a brow at him knowingly. There were men such as Kaz in the Little Palace—impatient, to the point, needing answers immediately.

“Listen, Kaz,” Inej spoke up. “I have a feeling we’ve only skimmed the tip of the iceberg,”

You regarded Inej, taking in her petite frame, the glint of the knives on her body; you counted them quickly, efficiently, until you’d added up fourteen in total. Knives for days, and you’d wager a bet that she knew how to use each one to its full advantage, as if they were an extension of her body.

Kaz breathed out shallowly, shooting Inej a stare. She accepted it gracefully, not even flinching from the obvious tension that had begun to float between them.

“Your sister,” Kaz spoke, his eyes still on Inej, until he finally turned to you once more. He nodded once, sternly and quickly, but you got the message loud and clear—I’m sorry. You swallowed uncomfortably, thankful for the small comfort the tumbler of whiskey gave you as you gripped it in your hands.

“Right, where were we?”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Ago

You woke in a bright room, unrecognisable from where you’d been before—in the snow, the ice, shrouded in a darkness that the Darkling seemed to gravitate towards himself involuntarily. You looked at your hands as they shook; dirt was under your nails, dotted with dried and muddied blood—your sister was still on your very skin.

That’s when you shot up, your heartrate exploding suddenly. She wasn’t here, her body wasn’t on the floor at your feet, nor in the bed next to you. You were trapped inside four walls of creams and golds, with décor that you’d only dreamed of ever seeing.

It was unmistakable—you were in the Little Palace, the one place you’d begged the Darkling not to take you to. He’d done it anyway, after you passed out from your extreme exhaustion.

Now you started to panic, as you looked out of the grand windows of the room. A courtyard was down below, empty of people and carriages. It was still early morning by the sun placement; the palace was quiet. The Grisha lay sleeping in their rooms, the General was in his own—

You were alone.

And saints, you weren’t going to stick around. Not with your sister’s body still lying in the Fjerdan snow, waiting for wolves to find her.

You jumped out of bed, ignoring the way your muscles were screaming at you to return to the pristine sheets. Your feet were bare, and one glance at the floor showed you your shoes had been taken. What for, you didn’t know. Maybe they thought that would be enough to prevent you running.

You almost laughed, imagining the spoilt Grisha deciding to remove your boots—She won’t run with bare feet. She won’t. Little did they know, you’d run with bare feet before. And you’d easily do it again.

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, making as little noise as possible. At the last second, before your fingers curled around the handle, you decided to drop to the floor. You lay on your stomach, shoving your skull to the floor and shutting one eye—there were two feet shaped shadows under the door.

One guard, stood on watch.

This complicated things just a tad, but you were already hatching a plan by the time you stood up again. You gave yourself a few moments to stretch your poor limbs, feeling the adrenaline course through your blood and spur you forward. Without hesitation, you curled your fingers around the handle to your room, and yanked it open—

The guard whipped his hatted head around to you immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to get into a defensive stance. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him aggressively into your room, before you twisted him round and placed him in a headlock.

The two of you flopped to the floor, but that allowed you to secure his body to the ground with your legs, wrapping them around his torso so he couldn’t wind his way out of your grip. That’s when you tugged—hard against his windpipe.

He struggled and flailed like a freshly caught fish, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out and went jelloid. You kept your grip on him tightly, keeping him glued to the ground and his neck secure between your chest and forearm, being pulled taut by your other arm.

Eventually, he stopped fighting. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, his body slipped into a state of sleep.

You left him on the bedroom floor then, opting not to take his uniform in case he woke up while you did, and left the room. You clicked the door shut behind you, before beginning a tiptoed journey through the winding corridors of the Little Palace.

Saints, if you had the time, I’m sure you’d have appreciated the décor. It was splendid; all bright whites and creams with accents of shining gold. There were golden curls on blank white walls, intricate designs of Grisha imprinted in the wallpaper and grandiose windows that let the light flood inside.

You felt that, perhaps, the décor made up for the fact this was effectively an army base. The Grisha brought here were trained non-stop. They couldn’t leave, they didn’t have a choice. You’d heard horror stories of this place, back when you used to be safe in Novyi Zem.

“Zowa adawe,” Your neighbour had said. She was an old woman, living a quiet life on her farm. You called her Nana.

She was stern, but often times soft spoken, with her glorious Zemeni skin and gorgeous personality. When you’d found asylum after an unfortunate incident in Kerch, you and your sister had settled in her barn; parentless. She was kind, she ran the farm and let out the barn next door.

She became a grandmother figure immediately, up until the day she died.

Zowa adawe—Grisha fight. Grisha had to fight if they were sent to the Little Palace. There was no getting out it. Nana had said that your powers were beautiful, but she’d always said it with a hint of distain on her lips, as if you were running out of time.

You turned corridor after corridor, praying that no one would see you creeping around this early in the morning. All you had to do was get outside, and then you’d be able to run—run like Hell. Not stopping to look back or even worry if General Kirigan was on your tail. You’d outrun him, even if it killed you.

When you heard voices and footsteps, you flushed yourself against the corridor wall. You didn’t know where they were coming from, or who they were, but with the rags you were wearing the mud dotted over your skin, they’d know you weren’t supposed to be wandering around.

You held your breath, praying that they’d leave, that you’d get out of this fortress unscathed; and then you started moving again. The next corner you turned welcomed you into a large landing. A spiral staircase was before you to your left, only a few metres ahead of you. You lunged quickly, ducking down as not to be seen through the large windows out to the acres of land that surrounded the palace.

“You,” You stopped, swivelling round as your eyes laid upon two Grisha—one in a purple Kefta and one in white. The lady in white had yelled, but neither got into a defensive stance as you faltered backwards, constantly creeping back to the staircase as your heart threatened to bombard out of your chest. The lady in white shot her gaze down the staircase quickly, while the man in purple next to her all but looked confused.

That’s when her gaze tracked back to you once more, her jaw clenched. “Kirigan!” She boomed. You raised your hands quickly.

“Please—just—,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“Kirigan!” She yelled once more, and as the bash of doors sounded from down the stairs, you knew he’d heard loud and clear. The smack of boots ascended the spiral staircase, until the fresh face of General Kirigan hit your own. He slowed on the stairs, overseeing the commotion, before his expression softened.

He raised his hands calmly, widening his eyes in some kind of silent language, meant just for you.

“Now, just calm down,” He said calmly. You shot your gaze from the two Grisha at the end of the corridor, back to the General, before taking in your surroundings. You were blocked in from both ways; there were no doorways on your side of the grand landing.

But, there was an empty corridor, dotted with closed doors, and at the end—

A window.

It was as if Kirigan could sense the cogs in your brain whirring. As soon as your eyes lay on the window at the end of the free corridor, he began bounding up the steps. “No!” He yelled, reaching out for the flowing fabric of your blouse, but you were already running.

You pumped your arms and moved your legs as quickly as you could, storming towards the window at full pelt. Your heart was in your throat, your limbs screaming for relief, but all you could think of was your sister—alone, cold, left in the snow in a land that had never been kind to her.

That’s when you jumped, flying with all of the momentum you’d charged up from the run up, crashing straight through the window with all of your force. You ignored the sting of shattered glass as it ripped through your clothes and skin, the pain of the wood panelling breaking apart as your body slammed through the window—

And then you were falling, falling, falling—but you never hit the ground.

You brought your hands together with your eyes clamped shut, mustering your remaining energy into creating a cushion of wind to land on. It circled beneath you, spiralling around your body and stopping your free fall comfortably, until you balled your fists and the winds dissipated.

You landed in a large courtyard outside, shaking shards of glass out of your hair as you stood. You dared to look back at the mess you’d made, staring up at the broken window—

Kirigan stood above you, gazing down at you eerily.

You thought he’d be more frantic at the fact you’d just smashed through a window and were still standing. You thought he’d be rushing to get you back inside, but he wasn’t. He was calm and collected, looking at you as if he’d already worked you out completely. And that was the scariest part of this entire ordeal.

You broke into a run, not looking back as you pumped forward. You could feel his stare on your back the entire time, but you chose to ignore it—even if it all felt too easy.

Before you could make it to the tree line, you started to wane. Your limbs felt like lead, your heart felt like a bowling ball in your chest, and all of a sudden it was far too difficult to suck air into your lungs.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest as you glanced around the clearing. Before your vision began to blur, the unmistakable colour of red hit you. Red and black, with hands dancing before them. A Grisha—a Heartrender.

You struggled against the obvious magic that he was using upon you to slow your heartrate, to stop your muscles working properly. That’s when a blob of black strolled up beside the Grisha, placing his arm upon his Heartrender.

“Enough, Ivan,” Kirigan said, but you could hardly hear him.

“Heartrender...” You stuttered out, as Kirigan began to approach you slowly. “Playing dirty,” You said, as the rest of you collapsed to the floor. The sky above you circled sickeningly, your vision seeing double. Kirigan stepped above you, his face distorted as you fought against the power of Ivan.

“You’ll soon learn that I’m not the enemy here,” He said softly, as he descended to one knee. He slipped his arms beneath you, before rising. You were cradled in his arms, to incapacitated to fight against him.

“Darkling,” You muttered. You would have added more, but even talking was too much to handle.

General Kirigan carried you back inside, as the doors of the palace were bolted shut by his Heartrender. There was nothing you could do—you were powerless, and you were stuck.  

You didn’t fall asleep, but everything felt like a dream. The walk back inside, being carried to a room that wasn’t the one you awoke in, feeling the strength of Kirigan’s arms holding you up without as much as a grunt of exertion.

Kirigan gently dropped you into a large armchair, letting your head fall back against plush leather. He straightened himself, going to sit in a chair opposite you. He picked up a small bell from the table between you, ringing it once, before putting it back down and leaning back in his own chair.

You blinked away the double vision, trying to gain back your composure.

“It’ll ease. Ivan slowed your heart into a death state,” Kirigan said calmly. You were getting annoyed at the way his voice filled the air around you, floated into your ears smoothly. You didn’t want to listen. “That was quite a show,”

You think you scoffed, or maybe you tried too, because the corners of Kirigan’s mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“I told you not to bring me here,” Your words were slurred, almost as if you were drunk. You fought against the want to drift into a sleep, but he was right—it was easing with every passing minute.

“You never told me why,” He replied. You forced yourself to look at him, as your eyes adjusted. There weren’t two of him anymore; just one man. One man who’d dragged you here against your will, leaving your sister alone on Fjerdan soil.

“You left my sister there to rot,” You said, stronger this time. “How could you think I’d stay here when you left her?” Kirigan’s expression didn’t change, but he did look around when someone entered the room, carrying a pot of tea with two cups and saucers. The tray was placed on the table silently, before the attendant left immediately, clicking the door shut.

Kirigan poured two cups of tea, pushing one set towards you and taking one for himself. He didn’t take a sip yet.

“What do you have against the Little Palace?” He asked. You couldn’t help your scowl from devouring your entire face.

“The King hoards Grisha here like he owns them, like they owe him something. It’s a prison disguised as a lavish life. It’s no worse than the whore houses in Ketterdam,” You replied bluntly.

“Yet you were trying to get to Ravka, weren’t you?” Kirigan was quick to the mark, leaving nothing unturned.

“For my sister,” You said, clenching your jaw. “She’d be safe with the First Army,”

“And you?”

You finally looked in his eyes. They were dark, piercing your very skin, but the way they reflected the light gave them the illusion of warmth. You didn’t want to ever admit that the Darkling was a warm individual, not from the stories of his bloodline that you were taught from a young age.

“I was going to lie and stay with her. My abilities have never offered me much,” You said honestly, but you didn’t know why you were being truthful with this man. You swallowed uncomfortably, telling yourself to stop being so open.

“You killed those druskelle. You protected yourself,” He said. He was right, but you felt sick to your stomach. You saved yourself, but you couldn’t save her. You didn’t. “Your power is unrefined, unpredictable, but strong. I’ve never seen a Squaller summon a storm such as what we saw from the Ravkan border. It’s what lead us to you,”

The General finally took a sip of his tea, daintily rising the cup to his lips, before setting it down slowly on the saucer. You glanced at your own cup, wanting to take a sip too, but you couldn’t make yourself reach for it; not yet.

“We train Grisha here for the King, you’re right,” He continued, when you kept your mouth clamped shut. “But we also allow them to refine their abilities and hone their craft. This is a safe place for Grisha, when there are many out there who would try and take advantage of such power,”

“I never asked for this power,” You said quickly.

“No. But you can control it,” He replied, stronger this time. He had a smile on his face, leaning slightly forward, as if he truly wanted you to know why the Little Palace was good. “Wouldn’t you feel better? If you could truly harness your power? Bend it to your exact will?”

You swallowed once, frowning as you looked in his eyes. You wanted to say that you didn’t trust him—and never would. You wanted to splash scolding tea across his treacherous face, but you did neither.

“I’d feel better if I’d buried my sister, before you gave me a life sentence,”

Kirigan stood then, turning his back to you to stand before the window behind him. His hands were together behind his back, his chin high and shoulders broad. He wore all black, but you’d expect nothing different from a man who went by the Darkling.

He thought in depth, calmly, quietly, while you debated having some of your tea. It was steaming and warm and calling out to you. You knew it wasn’t poisoned because he’d already taken a sip, but you were still wary.

“How about a proposal?” He said then, turning back to look at you. You scoffed.

“I’d rather marry a horse than you,” You let out. It was an obvious joke, but you hadn’t expected the words to spill from your lips. Kirigan raised his brows, almost boyishly, taking you by surprise.

“We have fine horses here, I’m sure we could find you a great husband,” He hit back with. Saints forbid, he’d joked back. You hated to admit it, but your shoulders relaxed then, as a small giggle burst from within your gut. He came to sit opposite you once more, taking another sip of tea.

This time, you mimicked him. You picked up your own cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping heartily. Warm tea cascaded down your throat, bringing more strength back to your muscles.

“You train here,” Kirigan began. “You train here and learn to fully control your powerful Squaller abilities, with the help of myself,” You frowned slightly as he mentioned himself, but nevertheless let him continue. “And then, when you’re ready, I’ll... let you slip out undetected,”

That’s when you choked on your tea. You placed the cup back down on the saucer messily, spilling tea on his table.

“You’d let me out?” You stuttered. “No. No fucking way would you let that happen. I know the stories, General. The stoic man, damaged by his bloodline and his image,” As you spoke, Kirigan’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t let a Grisha slip out of your ranks,”

He cleared his throat slightly, straightening his shoulders. “I will, if it means you’ll let me train you first,”

You furrowed your brows at him, the cogs in your brain whirring. “Why are you so interested in my abilities? I’m no Sun Summoner, General. I can’t destroy the Fold—,”

“This isn’t about the Fold,” He interrupted you. “This is about you,” He said it with such surety that it almost took your breath away. You were silent, pondering what to say from your rapidly firing thoughts. “Squallers are never as powerful as you have proven to be,” He leaned forward on the dark wood table, coming in close to you. You were too frozen in place to move, too stubborn to back away from him. “I want to see what else you can do, with the right training,”

You stood abruptly, after he’d finished talking. You ignored the disastrous way you looked, with shards of glass still in your hair and small scratches all over your bare skin. Your feet were bad; you could tell just from the way your soles felt; but you pushed through.

“This is a deal,” You said strongly. “A proper deal—a vow,”

Kirigan stood then, too, strolling round until he was face to face with you.

“I’m a man of my word,” He said plainly, before he stuck out a strong hand. You stared at his wrist, his fingers, before slipping your own hand into his. You both shook on it, cementing the deal that he’d offered. If you felt he was lying at any moment, you wouldn’t hesitate to break out of the Little Palace and slip through his fingers.

“Fine,” You said, pulling your hand from his grasp. He looked down at you with an air of knowledge, but his eyes showed you something else; a softness, excitement, sadness. It was so intense that you simply had to look away.

“Your sister,” He said then, causing you to flinch as you scowled back at him. “Men have already been sent to the border to collect her,” He said it so plainly that you were sure he was making it up, but your heart panged as he kept talking. “They’ll bring her here in two days’ time. She will have a proper burial,”

You could have cried, if your body wasn’t on fire. You would have screamed and sobbed if you weren’t stood in front of someone such as General Kirigan. In this world, crying was always a weakness. Emotions were meant to be felt in private. Pain was only to be felt behind closed doors. You wouldn’t give up that ingrained way of life so quickly, as much as you wanted to collapse on the floor when you thought of your sister.

You tried to find the words to say something in response to General Kirigan, but nothing came out. All you could muster was a curt nod, to which he reciprocated with his own.

“Rest. Eat. Drink. You have today to recuperate,” He said sternly.

“Before the Grisha here eat me alive,” You whispered. Kirigan let out the smallest huff.

“Show them your power, and they’ll leave you be,” He said, before his hand curled around your forearm tightly. You gasped at his touch, expecting it to be cold, dark, hostile—but he was just a man. He was just... a fucking man.

With eyes and a nose and a mouth. With shining hair and stubble and broad shoulders. With hips that dipped to his thighs and knees that met his calves.

It was scary, to say the least. You knew what this man was capable of. You knew what he could do, but instead he promised you freedom. He promised to train you, to bury your sister, to keep you safe here while he could.

But that didn’t mean you trusted him. That didn’t mean you weren’t wary—

If only you’d stayed this on edge, this untrusting. Maybe things would have been different.

Tag list: @callitdreamland @bxnnywxtts @elleatrixlestrange @stargirl76 @tartiflvtte @musicconversedance @eprilin @luminous-99 @brynthebulldozer @katedrexel @blackbirddaredevil23 @auggie2000 @not-so-quite-human @notawritergettingtherethough @thinkingth0ts @gabbien @tarkanelima-blog​ @astrosmayhem

I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I don’t know why they do that sometimes!

[sunlight-moonrise]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much. 

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog​ and @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt​ for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins​.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness. 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name. 

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major,  I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit. 

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top. 

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.  

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.  

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag. 

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him. 

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears. 

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door. 

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed. 

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face. 

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us. 

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony. 

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead. 

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?” 

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus. 

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door. 

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work. 

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do? 

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped. 

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D? 

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel. 

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist. 

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions. 

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.  

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.  

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me. 

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man. 

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.” 

Fine, have it your way, Sir. 

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion. 

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.  

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point. 

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?” 

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy. 

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner. 

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added. 

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

[delldarling]

bearberry bargain | pyre

male arctic fox shifter x gender/body neutral reader 10,261 words lemon | older shifter, knotting, oral, penetrative sex, no choking but there is throat touching, tricks and bargains, getting lost note: this was the Story of the Month for December 2020 over on my Patreon! It is loosely tied into the same world as my dragon fellow Arroven, but reading Arroven’s story first is most definitely not required. 

————-　🦊　————-

The tundra is a gorgeous, but unforgiving landscape. You can hear the words on repeat in your head, clear as a twice damned bell. Worse than that, you can see Bristle, the orc woman that had served as your guide out here, in your mind's eye saying the words as she gestured to the fog drenched terrain. And The Mirrored Teeth are a little more dangerous than most. In the rain, or like now, in the fog, the stone spires gleam. They are beautiful, and all too easy to mistake for a far off porch light, or street lamp—but that isn’t what’s truly dangerous out here.

Bristle’s partner, a curly haired satyr by name of Rhim, with coins jingling in his carefully coiffed beard, had then stepped up to speak. Unfortunately, The Mirrored Teeth weren’t named for the teeth-like spires alone. The mirroring, or in this case, echoing, is the real danger. Voices carry strangely out here when the fog is thick, and if someone is lost? Our first instinct is to travel towards a light, or someone shouting. Whether the voices are our own, bouncing back to us from the spires or the mountains, or they’re the product of a still-living magical area?

They’d both spoken in unison then, smiling at each other with the ease of familiarity: Don’t follow the voices.

Each person in the tour group had been given a small token after their list of safety precautions, to serve as a tracker in case someone was separated. One person had asked if it was likely to get lost, and Bristle had snorted before she’d adopted her tour guide voice again. To come out here in the first place, everyone had been asked to sign a waiver because, inevitably, someone did end up wandering away. They followed voices that sounded like loved ones from past or present. They followed voices that sounded like themselves, calling out warnings. It was generally why people ended up taking the tour in the first place, listening eagerly for a voice they’d long since thought lost, or some kind of warning from their future self, so compelling and entrancing that they must be the product of magic. Most, though not all, of the people were generally found. Overtired and aching from sleeping on the ground out in the cold, but otherwise unharmed. Whatever caused the voices, magic or not, didn’t seem to hurt people, only leave them confused.

A few of the others currently with the group had come out for more academic reasons. Art and science in most cases, but otherwise those going on the tour were magic chasers, looking to record the fog voice phenomena for further study.

You might not have come out here with a recorder, but you can’t exactly deny that magic chaser applies to you as well. Claims of The Mirrored Teeth holding tangible residual magic are terribly rampant. You’ve wanted to witness it for yourself, to hear the voices, or feel the soft ache of magical energy on your skin, just the once. You’ve wanted… Well, it’s hard sometimes, not to want to feel the call of magic.

“And look where it’s led you,” you mutter, searching your pockets for the hundredth time. You know you won’t find the token, that you must have lost it when you slipped on some slick moss about an hour ago, but you can’t stop yourself now. It’s like trying to leave a loose thread alone once nervous fingers have found it. You keep reaching for the token, keep trying to find it, even though you know nothing you do will help any longer. You don’t recognize any of the surrounding terrain.

When you’d started out with the tour group, there hadn’t been anything but fog and the scrubby ground, hardened by a hidden layer of permafrost. You’d seen pictures of the teeth-like spires, but hadn’t been able to spot any when you first arrived. Now, every time you turn around it feels like you’re surrounded by the damned things. They radiate a soft glow, magnified further by the heavy mist and from far off? They look just like the teeth they’re named for. “Done in by moss,” you add, straining your eyes to see further through the fog. ”Not even by the voices!” Which, frankly, was disappointing. Not that you wanted to be lost in the first place, but hearing some of the voices the Mirrored Teeth are known for would have at least given you a better reason. An expected reason to be lost or wandering away from the group. Instead you’d simply slipped, brushed off a handful of withered greenery and pebbles, and had gotten back to your feet to find yourself alone.

You’d shouted yourself hoarse after the first half hour, calling out for Bristle and Rhim, staying in the same place, or assuming you’d stayed in the same place. You’d bent to find the token again, but even that had apparently been too much movement. Every time you lifted your head to look away from the ground, there was a different bit of flora springing up in front of you—and then you’d nearly smacked yourself head first into one of the spires, none of which are clearly marked on the map you have of the surrounding area. There’s always too much mist to plot them.

“Bristle! Rhim?” You call out again, cupping your hands around your mouth, not knowing if you should even hope for some kind of answer. What if they don’t answer because of the echoes? What if that’s the reason they’ve yet to answer in the first place?

The soft crack of a branch makes you whirl, throat growing tight when you spot the shadow of three figures through the fog. They straighten up, huffing, and the fog slowly spins away, shadows coalescing and revealing an older man shouldering a pack that he’s clearly just dug up from the ground. For a moment, he’s silent, staring, hand clenching tight at his pack as his eyes rove over your face. His gaze dips to your feet and lifts quickly back to your face before he wipes the surprise from his expression. “I hoped I was mistaken,” he grouses in a soft voice, tossing his head to get his ragged mane of salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. “But ‘lo, a human. Those tours are getting earlier and earlier every year, aren’t they?” He sighs, not asking like he expects an answer, but more like he’s just making an unpleasant statement. For half a second you have a retort on your lips, but the longer you stare, the more words vanish from your vocabulary.

The man has clearly tried to tame his ragged hair, weaving it into a messy, short braid that’s just long enough to hang over his right shoulder. There are earrings hanging from his right earlobe, dangly things that clink softly while he brushes impatiently at the dirt on his knees. His jacket, once a lovely heather gray, and obviously a match to a long lost suit, is patched and worn in multiple places. His jeans are nothing to write home about either, with frayed hems and patched knees. He has silvery stubble on his cheeks, and crows feet at the corners of his copper eyes, and—and a long tail, like a bottlebrush, fur standing on end. Until he sees that you’re watching. The tail vanishes behind his legs and your eyes zero in on his sharp nailed fingers, the backs of his knuckles covered with pale, soft looking hair. He grimaces, baring razor edged teeth, and promptly makes to stride past you, not even bothering to wait for you to get out of the way. He draws a rough breath as soon as he bumps into you, flinching away from actually knocking you to the ground, but it’s near enough to set your temper stoking.

Frankly? His manners are atrocious. But you’re also lost somewhere out in the tundra, and even if he doesn’t know where your tour is, he knows of them. You wrestle your temper into staying silent and rush after him.

“Wait! Hey, wait up,” you ask, ignoring the thrill that runs through you when you snag hold of his jacket sleeve and his tail bristles again. He’s not just hiding a tail either. His feet look more like great canine paws, which means—

The man whirls, and you spot two furred ears hidden under his uneven hair before he yanks his arm away from you, breathing far too fast. “Surely you know better than to grab at a shifter?” He hisses, leaning in close to your face. For half a second, he’s close enough for you to feel warmth radiating off of his body, but then his nostrils flare and his voice grows quiet. “Or are you from one of those backwater humans only villages in the East?”

“I’m—I’m sorry for grabbing you,” you blurt, mildly startled by his proximity to your face. “And while yes, that wasn’t a smart idea, I’m lost out here. Would it have been smarter of me to let you leave me in the dust before I asked for directions?” You take a slow step back, though you don’t let your eyes drop from his. You’re not going to take your eyes off of him for even a second if it means the fog is going to swallow him up and leave you all on your lonesome again.

The shifter narrows his copper eyes, highlighting the faint wrinkles in his brown skin. “Lost, you said?” He straightens, and keeps staring, eerily still. His frown only grows more pronounced when you nod your head. “You’re three days out from where the tours start. How long have you been lost?”

“Three days,” you repeat, uncomprehending. For another few seconds, the words don’t make any kind of sense. You’ve been separated from your group, according to your watch, for just over an hour. When you glance at the timepiece, only another handful of minutes have passed, but not enough time to even come close to explaining three days worth of travel. Your pulse is already racing, but it’s beginning to grow past the point of discomfort and into painful territory with how hard your heart is working. How the hell are you supposed to get back? “That’s not possible,” you breathe.

He doesn’t soften, but for a few moments he doesn’t look quite so irritated. “If you heard anything at all on that tour, then I’m sure you know it is possible. Residual magic, yes? It can do quite a bit more than just throw voices like a puppeteer.” He shifts his weight, like he’s ready to leave the moment you give him a chance.

“I’ve been lost for an hour,” you say, hoping that will spell out exactly how ridiculous you find his claims. “And I did my best to stay in one place. I’ve barely even begun to walk anywhere, and I didn’t—didn’t feel anything magical.”

“Isn’t it terribly rare to feel anything magical?” He asks, only gently mocking. “So few people even notice when something magical has happened to them. Now, it sounds as if the fog leapfrogged you through space,” he adds, wrinkling his nose. “Or did those green guides of yours not mention that something like this might happen?” He waits, but when you don’t immediately answer, the shifter sighs again, shakes his head and pivots, heading back into the still-swirling fog, ready to leave you behind.

You make another desperate grab for his sleeve, thankful that he only grimaces when he turns back to face you again. “In fact, yes, they did forget to mention! If you happen to have a satellite phone, or maybe-”

The shifter laughs and your grip on his sleeve grows slack. He’s rather handsome when he smiles, and looks like some kind of down-on-his-luck musician, dreaming of his glory days. You hastily let go of his sleeve, before he decides to yank himself away a second time. “Me? Ol’ Pyre, wandering about the tundra with a satellite phone?” He lifts his bag, clumps of dirt still falling from it. “I’m coming out this way to spend the winter in my other skin, and generally? Foxes have no use for phones.” He lifts his chin, scenting the air, and then nods his head in the direction behind you. “Head that way and the fog is likely to lead you right back.”

“Likely or certain?” You press, scowling. “Because there’s a rather large difference between those two options, and I’m not going to risk myself on likely.”

Pyre huffs out a sharp edged: “Which do you think?” before he registers the way your hands are starting to shake with nerves. His mouth opens, and then snaps shut. For a long moment he’s quiet, gritting his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not prepared for more than an evening trek through the tundra, are you? Enough food for a snack and dinner round a campfire before they herd you back?”

A small wave of relief loosens your shoulders. If he’s asking, then surely he’s not going to turn tail and leave you all by your lonesome? You start to smile, ready and willing to ask for further help, but Pyre turns away with a quiet curse.

“Pitiful idiots,” he says, glancing up at the sky, even though he can’t see anything but the vague hint of daylight through the thick fog. “Three days. And leaving would be akin to murder.” He bares his teeth, still looking up for a few seconds longer before he turns a sharp look your way, fingers curling and uncurling at his side. “I’ll lead you as far as the Slavering river. If you stick to that and keep yourself from wandering off into the fog again, you’ll certainly make it close enough for those idiot guides to find you.”

Slavering, the river is called, Bristle’s voice picks up in your head again, because they once thought the tundra a hungry thing, with teeth besides. She’d gestured to the West, though none of the group had been able to spot or hear the roar of the water yet. It had just been another wall of fog over hard earth and low growing shrubs. We’ll end our hike there.

You offer Pyre your hand, still worried about the trek, still ill at ease with what the fog has done, but feeling decidedly less panicked. Residual magic my ass. As soon as I’m back, the guides are going to expand that little safety speech of theirs.

“Thank you, really. I appreciate it. If I hadn’t—”

“Save your breath for the walk,” Pyre mutters and fully ignores your outstretched hand, skirting around you in a wide arch so he won’t risk touching you accidentally. He doesn’t get more than a few paces away though before he’s turning to look at you over his shoulder. “And keep up. If the fog decides to deposit you somewhere else, there aren’t many other helpful shifters wandering about the area.” He saunters off ahead, trusting you to make your own way, but the fur on his tail doesn’t lay flat until you’re jogging to catch up with him.

“Are there dangerous shifters then?” You risk asking, thankful for your heavy coat and the weight of your own pack. Bristle and Rhim hadn’t mentioned any shifters in the area at all, but then they also hadn’t told any of you that the residual magic might move you without your knowledge. Perhaps they would have, if you’d been allowed to stick around, but it feels like a glaring oversight, now that you’re all the way out here. Maybe this is why they make everyone sign the waiver. Not because of some idiotic, siren-like voices, but because of magical fog.

Pyre’s ears twitch, visible for only a split second through his hair. “Don’t wander off,” is all he chooses to add before he falls silent, doing his best to stay several steps ahead of you to discourage speech.

“That’s encouraging,” you mutter, and his ears twitch again, but he doesn’t respond. The walk to the Slavering is going to feel like a very long one from the looks of it, and it isn’t just because everything looks much the same no matter which way you turn. You shove your hands deep in your coat pockets, watching the middle of Pyre’s back, and do your best not to unconsciously search for the lost token. You already know your pockets are still empty.

————-　🦊　————-

Despite Pyre’s desire for absolute silence, he mutters about things without thinking. He comments quietly on a hare speeding away when a noise startles you. He grabs up handfuls of wild berries off of the scrubby bushes you pass, promptly dropping any that are too spoiled to be edible. He flicks some of them away with soft, but mocking farewells until he recalls that you’re not far behind him, listening to everything he says. Pyre’s threadbare shoulders always rise with embarrassment, but after the third time it happens and he remembers you’re there, he sighs, shaking off his chagrin. He pauses just long enough to grab your arm and slap some of the berries into your open palm, doing his best not to meet your eyes.

When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on your fingers, touch careful and tense. “Eat those if you’re feeling peckish, or save them for this evening and you can boil them down into tea. Don’t dive into any of your stores if you can until sometime tomorrow.”

“What about you?” You ask, noticing that he’s barely kept any at all for himself. A berry or two slips away, rolling off of your hand and dropping to the ground.

Pyre arches a brow, closing your hand around the berries so no more can fall before he takes a step back. “I’ll be hunting as soon as I leave you by the river. I’m more than well equipped to look after myself out here. A few berries won’t make much of a difference.”

“Is this a regular thing for you then? Coming out here to the tundra once a month for shifting?”

“For the winter,” Pyre corrects in a sour tone, and then turns back to his chosen path again. “Coming out to the tundra isn’t a regular thing for you though, is it? Or was it just the magic that left you so frightened?”

The berries he’s given you are small and gleaming red, and you don’t much care for his continued irritable attitude. You pop three into your mouth while you ignore him, expecting it to be, at the worst, bitter. Instead it’s dry. You make a noise of distaste, which makes Pyre glance back again. He stops, confused for all of two seconds before his eyes widen and he chokes on his laugh. The sour twist of your mouth is clue enough. “Definitely not a regular traveling spot,” he states. “Unfamiliar with bearberries?”

“I hope that isn’t what they taste like when they’re boiled,” you mumble, doing your best to refrain from scrubbing at your tongue. “And no, the tundra isn’t really a prime vacation spot for me or most anyone else. The draw of lingering, tangible magic is a little too much for some people to ignore though. Maybe not everyone, but some of us.”

Pyre hums, tail raising when he hops over a strange looking crack in the earth. “Feeling a call?” He asks, voice far too even to be pleasant.

That’s a personal question in most places, and Pyre has already quietly mocked your interest in magic once. He does seem the type to poke at uncomfortable topics though, to try and get a rise out of someone. His tail is still bristled out as well, quietly hinting that he’s not in a pleasant mood. “Is that why you come out here during the winter? I don’t hear much about other shifters vanishing for an entire season, fox or not.”

“The only call I’ll ever feel is the one to shift,” he grumps, but he does smack his lips and slow down for a moment, letting you keep pace. “I make bad decisions,” Pyre finally adds, as if that clarifies anything at all.

“All the time? Or-”

“Smartass.”

“That wasn’t even hard, are you really going to fault me for that one?” You wait, patiently, but no answer is forthcoming, and then he rushes forward a few steps ahead. “I’ll take that as a yes?” You call out, but Pyre just keeps walking, like he’s reached the end of his tolerance for speaking politely with another living being. “Well, that was nice while it lasted,” you mumble, frowning when you spot his shaking shoulders. He’s—he’s laughing. Maybe he isn’t suffering from lack of manners entirely, but instead has been too long out of practice.

“Not all the time,” Pyre calls back when he trusts his rasp of a voice not to betray his amusement. “Just a fourth of it.”

For the season, he’d said. You snort and don’t even try to hold back a smile when Pyre tilts his head to look at you. His head immediately snaps forward and he shakes it, as if to ward off an unhappy thought. He’s grumpy because... he’s awkward and shy? The last of your fear, still borne aloft by the way he’s spoken thus far, by his quiet mutter of akin to murder eases immeasurably. You follow after him now in less strained silence, a bit more confident now that you’ll make it back to the tour group in one piece.

————-　🦊　————-

Your confidence lasts until early evening, when visibility is becoming a huge issue for you. No matter how well you might see in the dark, the fog feels like it’s pressing in on you from all sides. Pyre hasn’t slowed by much, but then you see the pale, rapid swish of his tail, moving so fast it looks for a moment like he has more and then you recall that he’s a shifter. His eyesight, as well as his sense of smell, are by far better than your own. He might be able to keep going well into the night, but—You grunt, catching your toe on a white rock the height of your ankle. Before you can fall, or do much more than exclaim in quiet pain, Pyre has his hands on your shoulders, keeping you up and steady.

“It’s dark,” he says quietly, by way of apology. “We’ll stop for the night just up ahead. Can you make it?”

“Without tripping over rocks or falling on my face, you mean?” You breathe in, and promptly swallow. He smells a bit like fresh campfire smoke and the faint citrusy scent of the bearberries and he’s entirely too close. You don’t necessarily want him to move away though, not with the darkness growing thick around you. “Probably not,” you admit quietly.

Pyre hums, breathing in slowly, and the sound is terribly intimate. “...you need a hand?”

“Unless you’d rather I trip and skin my knees and palms in the dark? Yes.”

“Humans,” Pyre says, amused, and clucks his tongue as he takes hold of your wrist, turning away to continue on and pull you after him. He only pauses when you try to tug your hand away.

“You can hold my hand instead of towing me along like a kid at the fair. I don’t even have sticky fingers.” You turn your hand, thankful when he lets you adjust his hold. His fingernails, thicker due to his shifting nature, dig a little too hard into the side of your hand before he reflexes his grip.

He pauses, tense, even though his palm is a soothing warmth against yours. “Not sticky,” he finally agrees. Pyre hesitates, like he wants to say more, but a low, strange voice calls out something from far off. As soon as you hear it, the voice has it’s hooks in you. Your entire body grows tense, hair prickling, listening as hard as you can to try to make out the words. “No,” Pyre says in a low growl, trying to interrupt your concentration. He’s only barely louder than the voice. “Don’t listen. It’s all too easy to-”

“That sounds like—”

“It sounds like nothing that matters. Even if you know the voice, it doesn’t matter.” Pyre grunts when you turn your head, trying to follow the fading voice with your ear alone. He rips his hand out of yours so he can take hold of your face, pulling you close until you’re nearly nose to nose with him, thumbs on your cheekbones, fingernails scratching gently behind your ears. “Right now, the only thing that matters is making camp for the night. We’re heading this way and you are not going to go looking for that voice in the dark.”

You suck down a fierce breath, closing your eyes as the last of the echoing voice fades away. As soon as it’s gone, your shoulders start to slump, and you feel strangely hollow. “That is why they make us sign that waiver?” You ask, opening your eyes to find Pyre still terribly close, his hands still cradling your face.

For a moment, he lingers, breath warm against your lips, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening the longer he stares at you up close. The bright copper of his eyes is muted in the darkness, but the white in his hair, in his eyebrows, stands out brilliantly, and you think there might be more of it now than there was earlier this afternoon. “I knew you’d be a bad decision,” he whispers, and inexplicably, you think he might be about to kiss you. Your heart begins to gallop around your chest, your hands lifting to grasp at his wrists, his own still on your face—and then Pyre pulls away, dragging his nails over your skin. He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you quietly through the dark.

You’re not sure whether you should ask about his other bad decisions again… But you desperately want to.

Putting together the camp is a chilly affair at best. The shelter you help Pyre fumble through in the dark, though of course he has no trouble navigating the process, is little more than a heavy tarp tied securely between two of the tall, white teeth. There isn’t much wind, but now the mist is heavy enough to dot your eyelashes and bead along your sleeves. You don’t quite believe Pyre when he says he can get a fire going, forcing you to sit next to the small ring of stones he’s gathered. “There’s a copse of trees not far from here,” he explains, tilting his head to your right, though you can’t see anything through the fog, and especially not in the dark. “And I’ll be able to scrounge up enough for a fire.”

You want to ask him if he’ll be able to find his way back to you. If he thinks you’ll be safe sitting here on your own, especially after the voice from earlier. Voicing your concerns feels a bit too much like an invitation for bad luck though, and you still don't know Pyre very well. He might be helping you out of the goodness of his heart, but he's already dubbed you a bad decision. You're not sure you want to push things. “Won’t the wood be wet?” You ask instead, chafing your hands together to stir up a little bit of heat.

“No fear of shifters,” Pyre scoffs, straightening up and pulling his bag off of his back. “No screaming at strangers when you're lost in the foggy tundra, but you're worried about damp firewood?" You scowl, knowing full well he can see your expression. That surprises a rough sounding laugh out of him. "I may choose to spend my winter as a fox, but that doesn't mean I don't turn back into a man when spring comes." Pyre brandishes a small box, a tin filled with what sounds like matches. He rattles them about for emphasis. “Charmed matches are a necessity out here, not optional. Even if the wood is damp, they’ll catch well enough to last us the night.”

Charmed matches aren’t exactly common. A package of them, when used only in dire situations, should last someone a score of years at least, and as the spells to make them are some of the few guarantees of still working magic… They cost a pretty penny. “...should you be wasting them on me when I’m supposed to find the tour guides tomorrow?”

Pyre shakes the box at you, silently insisting you take it from his hand. When you take it from him, there’s more hair, more fur on his fingers than there was earlier in the day. You wonder if it’s a conscious change to help stave off the chill, or if it’s simply too close to when he shifts. “We need some way to boil a bit of water for bearberry tea, don’t we? Unless you’d rather eat them plain.” He sounds like he’s smiling, but the dark is getting more oppressive and you can’t see it. Pyre’s tone turns a little more serious, a little more apologetic as he continues: “And using them seems to keep away the voices, so yes. As I’ve taken responsibility for your safety—”

“Responsibility,” you murmur, arching a brow, but you can’t exactly disagree.

“—I’ll do exactly as I said. You’ll get to the Slavering, and I’ll even give you a match as a gift. You can make a torch as you head back and the voices should leave you be.”

You don’t shake the tin of them, knowing that they’re valuable, but you stroke your finger over the top, following the raised patterns of letters. “Will they work, even if they’re unlit?”

Pyre waits, and you don’t know whether he’s reluctant to give you an answer or he doesn’t actually know. “Are you worried about me going to grab the firewood?”

Well, it was kind of ridiculous, trying to hide your nervousness from him anyway. You’re lost in the tundra with someone you don’t know. No matter how resilient you are, it’s going to be nerve wracking. “I’ve never felt quite as strange as when I heard that voice, even with you pulling me back from it…” You stop, a frown growing on your lips. “But the voice didn’t do anything to you. You had no problem telling me not to listen to it.”

Pyre crouches, his knees popping, and groans quietly, rubbing at the patch just under his left kneecap. You can see his hands, pale fur the only spot of brightness in the night. “They don’t much affect shifters. We’re…. We’re already rather full of magic ourselves, even if it isn’t the kind one can use by uttering spells or mixing ingredients in a pot. Whatever the reason, the voices don’t seem to like magic. So a box of those matches?” He reaches out to tap on the tin with one long nail. “It should keep you from falling prey for the few moments it will take me to gather wood. I still wouldn’t get up though, then you might risk dropping it.”

You don’t know everything about the tundra, even with what research you did before you came on the trip, and the talk of magic here? It’s still something people want to study. One of the ones that came with a recorder would probably be thrilled to hear this much about the place from… Pyre might not be a year-round local, but he knows quite a bit. If he can hold off his shifting, maybe you’ll ask him to talk to one of them. “I’ll be safe,” you say, extrapolating, “as long as I stay sitting here. You’ll be able to find me again?”

“...I’ll be able to follow your scent, yes,” he admits, like he expects you to be irritated with the thought. Far, far away, another voice echoes, much fainter than the one you’d heard before. It doesn’t sound pained or panicked though, it sounds a bit like—Pyre takes your fingers, almost crushing them around the tin box in your hands. The voice vanishes. “You’ll be safe,” Pyre repeats, and a breeze whisks through the area, catching at his wild grey and white hair.

“Then get the wood,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “I’ll wait.” Pyre’s hand, still curled tightly around your fingers, eases. He brushes his thumb over the valleys between your knuckles and then pulls away.

“A few moments only. I promise,” he whispers, and then his canine-like feet are scuffing through the hard dirt and lichen covered rocks.

As soon as he’s gone, you soothe yourself by running your fingers over the tin of matches, trying to figure out what words are written along the top in fine, curling letters. There are too many loops though and when you do your best to try and focus on it, bringing it up close to your face, all you can see is that places on the tin have been worn down. Whatever it might say, the color on the tin won’t help you figure it out. It feels like only seconds, but another noise echoes in the darkness, your heart jumping back into overdrive. You clutch at the matchbox, but then Pyre is stepping out of the heavy fog, dropping a heaving armful of twisted branches and thick tangles of what looks like weeds.

“Moments, I thought you said! What was that, 30 seconds?” You ask, trying to calm your racing heart.

Pyre laughs. “I think you were just lost in thought, hm? It’s easy to lose track of time in the dark.” He kneels at the ring of rocks, cursing, even though you can’t hear any popping in his limbs this time. “Now, give me the matches and let’s get things a bit warmer, hm?”

You hand them over, and then get to work. You feel more than see Pyre’s surprise when you start picking up the branches and weeds. “I may be human, but I can help do a bit of work. It’s the last I can do after you helping me like this, what with your shifting getting close.”

“Noticed that, did you?” He asks, tin creaking as he opens and closes the lid. You glance over, but other than his pale fur, you can’t make out what he’s actually doing. A second later and he’s striking one of the charmed matches over a rough rock, and then it blazes merrily in a bit of fire smaller than a penny. “I won’t be a danger. I’m old enough to keep my wits. My… I should warn you, my breed of shifting isn’t always so pretty as others though.”

“Is that why you come out here?”

“One of many reasons,” Pyre mutters and holds the match to the wood in the fire pit. The match doesn’t burn down immediately though, or even catch the weeds when he touches it to them. Pyre deposits it carefully in the exact middle of arrangement, planting it almost like a seedling in the wood and weeds. Only after he removes his hand does the match start to spark, and then fire twists open like a blooming flower. It’s gorgeous. You lift your eyes to Pyre, awe clear in your gaze, and then you have to blink. He’s still the older man you saw this afternoon. He still has a mostly human face, but his arms look longer now, and his copper eyes flash strangely in the firelight. He glances at you, and you see that his mouth has grown wider, the edges either curling back towards his cheekbones or… Or his jaws are elongating. “Frightened?” He asks, and then you realize that you’ve been staring.

“Mildly startled,” you correct, refusing to look away. Whether he’s a pretty kind of shifter or not, you can still see him in his eyes and the way he holds himself.

He chuffs, and the noise warms something deep in your chest. “Smartass,” he says, sounding very fond. “I’ll make some of that tea now then, if you’d like it.”

“Bearberry tea,” you muse, reaching in your pocket for the rest of the berries he’d given you. Pyre unearths a small cooking pot from his bag, as well as an earthenware mug, glazed some kind of deep green. He hands you the mug and then holds out the pot, nodding his head when you lift your berry filled hand over it. It takes longer than you would like. Pyre has to mash the berries down and then he surprises you by standing and tugging at the tarp edge of your shelter. Water, mist really, beaded so heavily along the taut plastic that there’s enough to fill the pot near to overflowing. It’s much more than you would have thought, but Pyre seems unsurprised, even though you’ve both been relatively dry since he started building the fire.

“Alright,” you finally say, watching Pyre stir the faintly pink water with a metal spoon from his bag. “You mentioned bad decisions, and I’m not wise enough to leave it well alone. What are all these ‘bad decisions’ that drive you out into the tundra for an entire season? And, I can’t not clarify, were they flings?”

Pyre stares at you, eyes gleaming in the firelight, his too wide jaw falling open due to your blunt questions. When he laughs this time, it’s a sharp bark and more fox-like than human. “Oh, you are one of them. Much more perceptive than many of the others.” He licks his lips, still human-smooth, but his ears have grown longer. They’re peeking out from the sides of his head, poking through his hair now. “Some of them were flings. Some of them were just… A way to stave off loneliness, even if they were unpleasant.”

“And where am I falling on that scale?”

Pyre arches a thicker brow, baring his sharp teeth in a slightly eerie smile. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a fling with someone like you, but your companionship is more than enough if that’s all you want to give.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Then how, exactly, am I a ‘bad decision’? Making friends isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

Pyre’s smile wavers. “No, no it isn’t.” He looks away, into the middle of the fire, where the charmed match is still blazing like a seed of flame. “The bad decision is that my loneliness drives me to go looking in the first place.”

You let a few moments pass in relative silence, puzzling over his words. It sounds more than strange, but you can’t put your finger on why. “What does that mean?” You finally ask, noting the way he’s digging his nails into his thighs.

He looks back at you. “Anyone who wanders out here is an offering, of sorts. To help bear the brunt of winter. The tours… They’re more like a ritual than those guides of yours realize.”

Your head feels strangely empty. Ritual, he’d said. Slowly, you think back to the myths linked to the tundra, to the Mirrored Teeth, to the folktales attached to cities and Serpent Towers. There had been something about bearing the brunt of winter, holding it back from sweeping over the land…

“Your time here will be no more than the three days I promised. You will be taken back to the Slavering, with only this time gone from the memories of others, and I will do nothing but what I promise: to lead you back, if that is all you desire.” Pyre creeps closer, long arms and long fingers bracing himself on the dirt. All it takes is a single stretch and he’s by your side, towering over you in his half shifted form. “The bad decision was that I was given the right to choose without any warning. That I could only claim those I charmed away.”

“You charmed me?” You whisper.

“You heard my voice,” Pyre explains and your heart beats painfully in your chest. He is why people vanish from the tours and come back tired and dirty but… But most of them come back unharmed.

“What happens to those that don’t make it back?” You ask, trying to quell your panic.

Pyre’s shoulders hunch. “Sometimes people react poorly, and they run. Running in the fog is never wise.”

“How am I… How am I supposed to help you keep winter from swallowing the world?”

Pyre barks out another laugh, though he’s grimacing. “Those years I don’t have a companion, winter escapes my hold. It’s much easier to keep in check with help.”

“Helping how?” You ask, voice going brittle.

“Companionship. You’re already bound to the three days,” he says quietly, nodding his head to the pot of slow boiling bearberries on the fire. “You ate three of them. If…. If you choose to help, to spend the winter with me, then you can drink. You’ll be with me through the entire season—”

“Out in the middle of the tundra, with nothing but a tarp and an evening's supply of food?” You ask, getting to your feet. You take a step away from the fire, nervous energy making you move, and then freeze when you hear a far off voice again. You glance down at Pyre, angry and convinced it must be him, but then you recognize it. The voice, low and soft as it echoes strangely through the fog, is you.

“The voices are possibilities only,” Pyre says, talking over the needy sounding moan. It vanishes, like nothing more than smoke on a fast moving breeze. “And I would take you back to my home, I wouldn’t make you wander out here and sleep on the freezing ground!” Pyre starts to get to his feet and then thinks better of it. He stays where he is, looking up at you, holding out a hand. “If you drink, all I require is companionship. Loneliness lets the ice creep further out, but friendship, or, or anger or passion keeps it at bay. With your help I can bind the overflow of ice in the teeth. But if three days is all you’ll allow, then I’ll find another, I promise. You’ll be free of this, and you’ll forget this ever happened.”

You’re out in the middle of the tundra, wreathed in magical fog and standing before a shifter, a… a spirit? A deity? That keeps winter at bay. You did want magic, didn’t you? You ask yourself. You look down to his open hand, brown palm calloused, nails long and sharp, white fox fur growing longer along his arm.

“No one will even notice I’ve been gone?”

“You’ll be lost in the fog for three days, according to them. What life you’ve missed will feel like a blink, but no. They won’t realize you’ll have been gone for the entire winter.” Pyre’s mouth closes, stubbled throat working as he swallows.

Slowly, you sit back down, picking up the glazed green mug and holding it out for Pyre to fill. “The winter then. If we end up hating one another? You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Pyre doesn’t answer, but he watches like a predator after he fills the mug with bearberry tea, copper eyes caught on your lips. You finish half the cup, and what chill lingered in your bones slowly fades away. Carefully, Pyre takes the cup back and downs the rest, long tongue licking stray droplets off of his lips.

————-　🦊　————-

You travel with Pyre for three days before you reach the banks of the Slavering, only when you do, the tour guides aren’t waiting for you. This is where the Slavering begins, the thick snowmelt coming off of the high mountaintops and rolling down through the craggy rocks to make a river. There’s a cave entrance not far from the rapids, covered over with weeds and just large enough for Pyre to stoop over and fit into. You stop at the entrance, with him close behind you, and stare into the far off dark.

“It’s not like a dungeon in there, is it?”

Pyre grumbles, somewhere between indignation and a laugh. “You always know just what to say. No, it’s not like a dungeon. There’s plenty of modern day amenities inside. I’m a shifter, not a beast.”

Cautiously, still not entirely trusting him, you head inside. It’s dark at first, and earthy smelling, just like a cave, but then Pyre strikes another one of his charmed matches and pulls you to the side so he can lead. There’s a lamp up ahead, the frosted glass globe just big enough for Pyre to reach in and set the match. Heat and light seem to roll through the entire area, a locked, wooden door revealing itself to the side of the lamp. The cave floor, still cold and a bit damp, is actually stones, pieced together into what looks like a strange little map. You frown down at the stones, eyes tracing the edges of a single, deep blue vein, wondering why the chips of pale rock surrounding it strike you as strange.

“The Teeth,” you murmur suddenly. “You have a map of the teeth in front of your door?” Some of the spots are much smaller than others, more like a pinprick of pale stone as opposed to some of the hefty chips. If you unfocus your eyes, the map looks like a reflection of the stars.

“Magic,” Pyre explains, though he doesn’t sound pleased with his own answer. “There’s plenty to talk about when it comes to the Teeth, and the voices, just… Let’s go inside. It’s going to start snowing soon.”

When he opens the door, all the lamps inside are lit. Much like Pyre himself, his decor is frayed and worn down. There are heavy furs on the walls, and tapestries too, both simple and grand, but fragile looking. There are furs on some of the furniture as well. There’s a large stone fireplace, with hooks over the mantle made of horn and a set of stone stairs that curve out of sight. There’s no sign of things like phones or televisions, but you feel like you should have expected that. Companionship through a screen probably didn't fulfill the parameters of his… his curse?

That’s something you decide to ask about later. After all, you have the rest of the winter to spend with him, and he explained plenty over the three day trip to the mountain. The teeth are made of contained winter. The larger the teeth are, the more someone helped Pyre through that season. Through friendship, or anger, or passion, they melted the ice and snow. Pyre would take the melt and bind it in magic-made spires, but he couldn’t build on only one. Each spire was the product of a different person, each fling or friend made or fight had melted the snow at different rates. If your help has already begun, then you know some of the snow must have melted already due to your anger over the past few days, but it’s not something you think you can hold onto. Pyre tricked you into the three days, gave you the bearberries and bid you eat if you were hungry. You’d eaten three of them. The rest of the winter though? That you chose yourself. At least for a while, you’re ready to try and enjoy a little bit of the magic, keeping back winter or no.

“It’s not quite past midday,” Pyre says quietly, voice a strange melding of fox and man. “If you’d like food, I will make it for you. If you’d like a rest, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” You ask, only sounding mildly sarcastic.

Pyre narrows those coppery eyes of his. “Sometimes I think you say these things on purpose. Yes. Your room.” He heads for the staircase, his toenails clicking on the stone floor before he reaches the layers of rugs, the soft padding of his feet on them makes you smile. “I would hardly complain if you decided to join me in mine, but even so, you will have your own space.” He tosses his head, earrings catching in his hair and then vanishes up the stairs.

You move at a much more sedate pace, still examining your surroundings. There’s a very old looking table, covered with the remnants of a puzzle that looks to be from forty years ago at least. There’s a rack of old bottles, some of them look like wine, but others are clearly beer, and still others look like glass bottles of soda, the liquid half evaporated. Pyre’s house is going to be a treasure trove of history, of things left behind by others. The winter is going to be very long, you’re certain, but it won’t be forever. All of the people that left these things behind have obviously left and returned to their homes. You turn on your heel, slip your bag off of your shoulders and leave it at the foot of the stairs. You can come back for it later.

The lamps, all seemingly lit from that single charmed match, spiral up the staircase. There aren’t any doors that open up off the sides, only a hallway at the very top and three open doors leading to the far end. The first one you pass is a bathroom, with a large tub carved out of the stone of the mountain. There are elderly looking cupboards in there, and what looks like a wood burning stove, though it’s empty. The toilet, you assume, is behind the drawscreen, and when you peek your head farther in, there’s also a shining, copper mirror hanging on the wall. The second room is where Pyre is, hands fussing over the thick curtains around the bed. There’s a fireplace against the wall, and a nightstand next to the bed, and more furs draped over a chair made of wood and horn in the corner. There’s a worn desk, obviously hand-made by someone unskilled, but a beautiful bookcase next to it, filled with books in various states of wear. Some of the spines are cracked, but others still are pristine. To the right of the bed, there’s a single paned window. Snow is coating the sill outside, thick flurries weighing down the weeds that are growing in the cracked stone.

Despite the magic, despite the voices and his promise, it still hadn’t felt quite so real, wandering through the tundra with him. He’d said the snow would be coming down soon though.

“It’s lovely,” you answer, honestly, even if not everything is to your taste. It almost makes you want to laugh though, because it definitely looks like it’s somewhere removed from the normal world, some kind of strange mish-mash of time periods all pressed into a two story place. You wonder, without Pyre, would anyone ever find this place?

“Parts of it,” Pyre says, strange looking hands pausing in their tying of the curtains. He’s looking at the headboard, you realize. There’s a faint gouge in the dark wood, but it doesn’t look like it was from Pyre. It looks like a very human scratch. Warmth crawls over the back of your neck, though you’re not sure whether it’s embarrassment or eagerness. You’d been feeling a healthy dose of attraction with Pyre before he told you about everything, and it had taken a bit to sort through your feelings on the matter, even with you making the final choice to come here. You still don’t know how things will continue, but for now…

“Let me see what I can do to help make a few more lovely memories then,” you say suddenly. Heat is pulsing through you now, warming your cheeks and the tips of your ears and zinging down along your spine. Pyre’s head snaps to the side to find your hands working slowly at your clothes. He doesn’t move any further, doesn’t even tip back his head, just stares at you over the crest of his shoulder, pupils swallowing down the copper of his irises.

“If—you don’t have to do anything,” he insists, and his tail swishes, slowly, just the once. It doesn’t bristle out as it had when you’d first spotted him.

Your coat drops to the floor, and his eyes follow it. “I know. We were flirting though, before you told me about all of this, and I still…” You glance away, only for your eyes to snap back to Pyre as he drags his patched suit jacket off of his shoulders.

He slows when he realizes you’re watching, but doesn’t stop. A slow grin pulls at the corners of his wide mouth. “You still want to feel magic?” He taunts, and laughs when you roll your eyes. He stops laughing when the rest of your clothes hit the floor, the hint of a whine escaping him when you take a step closer, shivering when you feel the temperature of the stone on your bare feet. “My room,” Pyre says roughly, though you can’t tear your eyes away from him. He’s still a wonderfully strange mix of man and fox. His face is still humanoid, with lips and stubbled cheeks, and so is the shape of his shoulders through his holey t-shirt. There’s soft curls of hair peeking out of the stretched neck of his shirt, but along the backs of his arms it looks more like fur and his feet are still wholly canine. His tails, tails plural, are starting to grow longer too, and you recall the way he’d seemed to coalesce into one person when the fog had rolled back.

Pyre crosses the room, hesitating before he places his hands on your shoulders, thumbnails scratching gently at your bare skin. The chill of the room had been seeping into you, but at his touch, warmth chases it all away. When you slide your hands up his chest, Pyre’s eyes fall closed, gray lashes bright against his skin. “M’ room,” he repeats again, but pulls you into a kiss as he tows you out the door. There’s no more time for examining the hallway or the knick-knacks he might be keeping in his own space. There’s his lips and his stubble scratching at your skin and his hands splayed over the back of your neck and the base of your spine. He coaxes you into his room with deep, slow kisses that leave your head spinning, whispering things that make your pulse speed. “Want, want the smell of you on my sheets,” he says against your neck, dragging sharp teeth carefully over your throat. He growls when your hands dip to undo his trousers, your thumb following the trail of hair that vanishes beneath his underwear. “If this is, if it’s—”

“I agreed to the winter,” you remind him and then he’s turning you and letting you fall back onto his bed. You have a moment to register soft fur, and crocheted blankets, and comforters too, before Pyre is pulling his shirt off and tossing it across the room. He wrestles with the rest of his clothes, leaving you another moment to admire him. The hair on his chest and trailing down his abdomen looks human, much coarser than the fur on his arms and below his knees. Between his legs is a thick cock, hard and beginning to leak, with a small bulge near the base of him, and then your gaze is drawn back up as he crawls onto the bed, moving much slower than he had in the hall. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush, just leans his body over yours to kiss you again, careful with his teeth. He groans when you reach up and tug at his braid, pulling the rough tie away and tossing it to the side. You comb your fingers through his hair, tangling your fingers in it to keep him kissing you and tense when his cock slides over your thigh, hot and hard and enough to make you buck up, already seeking friction. Pyre kisses you until you’re breathless, leaving you sucking at your own lips and trying to calm yourself as he urges you further up the bed, back to a veritable nest of pillows.

He isn’t slow when he settles himself between your legs, hands curling around your thighs and pushing them carefully back towards your chest. He isn’t slow when he drags his tongue over you, hot and slick and slightly rough. He’s careful as he can be with his teeth, but there are a few pinches that make you gasp and tremble. He laves his tongue over them, soothing the sting, but his nails are pressing hard into your skin and you’re fairly certain you’re going to bruise, simply from the continued pressure. Pyre is noisy too, whining and groaning as he tastes you, as you do your best to rock yourself against his tongue, hand tugging at his hair while he sucks and eats. The ache of orgasm, painful-but-sweet, is starting to build, starting to make you tense everytime he opens his jaw, teeth dragging over tender skin, leaving you wet and shuddering. He huffs when you whimper, and pulls away before you can come, copper eyes as bright as flame when he moves to sit back against his headboard. The loss of him feels sudden, and the cold is sharp without his warmth against you.

“That was on purpose,” you murmur. Pyre arches a brow, trying to keep from smiling when you scowl at his crooking finger. You still get up, on shaking knees and gasp when he tugs you over and onto his lap, your back against his chest, cock slick and sticky against your ass.

“I want to feel everything when you shake apart,” he murmurs, hand splaying over your sternum as he helps you arrange your legs. By the time you’re straddling his thighs, his fingertips are dipping into the hollow of your throat and his cock is rutting against your thigh and every part of you is on edge, desperate for more. You’d been so close. Pyre licks at the side of your throat, pressing his hand harder against your chest to keep your back still. “Lift your hips,” he urges, and takes his cock in hand, dragging the head over you as you do your best to listen. Like fitting a key into a lock, Pyre finds the correct angle, breathing raggedly as you press yourself down. As soon as you’ve taken enough of him, he lets go of himself and then presses on the top of your thighs, making you gasp out his name as you take him in deeper. He eases off after a moment, letting you adjust, letting you wriggle and groans out your name roughly as you do your best to ride him.

You think for a moment about saying something, about teasing him or trying to rile him up, but it’s all you can do to keep up what rhythm you have, heart beating terribly fast against the hand he has on your chest. He lets you move, lets you reach back and clutch at the messy locks of his hair, his breath warm against your throat and the top of your shoulder and then Pyre pushes roughly against your thigh again, thrusting up until his knot is grinding against you. “Fuck, fuck, Pyre, that—”

“Too much?” He asks, waiting while you shake, trying to steady your breath. You’re probably going to ache later, probably won’t want to do much but doze or take a bath in that massive stone tub, but right now? Right now you want to be greedy.

“More,” you get out and Pyre laughs, that eerie, fox-like noise echoing in your ear as he teases you with the knot, pressing you down and then pulling back his hips. Pillows cascade off the edges of the bed, spilling over the floor. You start squeezing, doing your best to drive him over the edge, so sensitive it almost hurts. “Please,” you whisper and then you’re too busy for speech. His knot stretches you and his hand dips between your thighs, stroking and his fingers press into the base of your throat. He’s not choking you, but he’s starting to squeeze and then you’re coming. Pleasure washes over you in a fierce, pulsing ache that shoots down to your toes and fountains back up your body. You shout out his name and shake in his arms, eyes falling closed as his knot expands, locking you in place. Your eyes flutter open and closed and drift to a steamed up window, much like the one in your own room. Weeds are still poking up through the cracks, but now it’s not snowing outside, it’s raining.

Pyre turns his nose to the space behind your ear, breathing deep, his own limbs growing loose. “The winter might well be softer this year,” Pyre mumbles, voice raspy, his hand smoothing down your sternum and over your hips. “And I have you to thank for that.”

“We still have the rest of the winter ahead of us,” you remind him, but you’re too sleepy to argue with him any further. Whether you end up enjoying the rest of your time here, you do know one thing: Passion will definitely be a huge part of fulfilling your bargain for the winter.

————-　🦊　————-

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Hey hey I saw your Armin like erens S/o and that made have feels😡😡 so now please...give more angst- Like Eren finding out Armin likes reader and decide s to talk please 😩😩✌️

You asked for angst so...i went the whole way there.

I think this can technically count as my first Eren x reader fic but i don't think I'll list it as an Eren's fic. He still ain't getting his own subcategory.

You're dating Eren, he finds out Armin likes you.

{ Armin x reader, Eren x reader | tw:cheating accusation, tw:arguments, tw:unhealthy-frienships, tw:lowkey-toxic, tw:bad relationship, tw:angst without comfort | heavy angst, no comfort, drama | modern }

{ "Calais Pier" 1801 by Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851 }

Laying on the couch, Eren was scrolling through his phone while occasionally taking bites of the chips he digged out of Armin's kitchen. His finger stopped just as he reached a certain post from Historia

"Ymir's birthday is this Wednesday?" He said, glancing to where Armin was sitting on the Armchair.

Still typing on his laptop "yeah" Armin said, eyes focused on the screen.

"Huh...didn't take her for a birthday party kind of person" turning off his phone, Eren headed towards the nearby kitchen.

"Historia's the one planning it." Looking at the half full bag of chips Eren left, he frowned, "aren't you going? Also why do you keep eating my chips when you don't like the taste."

"Already went to Mikasa's birthday 4 days ago, and because I forget how bad they taste each time." Closing the fridge, Eren went to look through the cupboards instead. "Why do you have so much fruits in your fridge?"

The sound of typing slowed down, "that's the thing about birthdays Eren, each person gets their own day." Soon the typing stopped as he began proof reading his email, "my grandpa sends them to me."

Coming back to the living room empty handed, Eren sat back on his spot. "Either way, I have a date with y/n on that day"

"Oh" Looking away, Armin couldn't focus on the words on his screen anymore. "I hope you two have fun."

"We will." Eren said, staring at him for a second before looking away too.

Finally finishing his work, Armin set the laptop aside. "i just think it'd be nice to hang out more."

"hang out?"

"yeah like we don't see each other as much as we used to, a birthday is a nice excuse to hang out."

Staring directly at him, Eren crossed his arms. "uh huh, and just hang out?

Scratching the back of his neck, Armin met his gaze. "...well what else is there?"

The silence lasted seconds too long, an uncomfortable feeling growing slowly between them. It was Eren who broke it first "nothing, just... nevermind."

Not satisfied with the asnwer, Armin moved to sit next to his bestfriend on the couch, attempting a form of comfort. "Eren are...are you okay, you've been acting pretty...uh strange lately."

Resting his cheek on his hand, "what do you mean?" Eren said.

"You've been...distante lately, not spending as much time with us and being late or canceling last minute whenever we agree to meet up." Armin tried touching the other's shoulder, only to let go when Eren stiffened up.

His reply was so quiet, Armin wouldn't have heard if he wasn't sitting as close. "you're one to talk."

"what?" Armin tilted his head, wondering if he misheard something.

"I'm just saying, isn't it hypocrisy to criticise me for something you're already doing?" With narrowed eyes, Eren doubled down.

"I'm not criticising you, I'm just concerned for you."

"when's the last time you visited Armin? My mom has been asking why you suddenly stopped showing"

Feeling like something's stuck in his throat, Armin swallowed. "...I've been busy, work has been piling up and-"

Getting up from the coach to stare down at his friend, Eren didn't let him finish talking before saying. "yeah don't give me that work bullshit, I know for a fact it's just excuses. It never bothered you before so why now, it's like you've been lying to get out of things ever since…"

Fist grabbing in the pillow near him, Armin just stared up at Eren, the feeling in his throat intensifying.

Stepping closer, Eren was almost towering over the other while standing up. "Ever since y/n and I started dating."

"What are you talking about" Not wanting to face him, Armin stared at his feet instead.

"you know exactly what I'm talking about" Eren said, jaw clenched, "Jean told me everything."

That seemed to get Armin to meet his gaze "Jean?"

"yeah, of all people. Why did I have to know about this from someone else?" Putting space between them, Eren looked away in disgust, "all the letters, late night calls, good morning texts, gifts... I'm not stupid"

"believe me you've got it wrong" desperation in his voice, Armin was struggling to stay calm, "whatever Jean told you it's probably things Mikasa didn't know how to explain well-"

"Mikasa ? I didn't hear it from her." Interrupting him again, Eren seemed to be growing more agitated by the second.

Looking lost, Armin said "what? But I only told-"

"did she know about this too? And still kept it from me?" running his hand through his hair, Eren took another step back.

Standing up, Armin took a few steps towards him. "I asked her to, she was just trying to help."

Just looking at him made Eren's blood boil. "helping you with what Armin? Sleeping with y/n behind my back? Yeah what a real good friend she is." Not wasting any time in cutting the distance between them, "Keeping the fact y/n has been cheating on me with my best friend." He said in Armin's face.

"That never happened! Mikasa would never do that and you know that." Not backing away, Armin stood still.

"Mikasa would never, but I'm not stupid enough to believe you wouldn't do it Armin." Pressing his lips into a thin line, for a second Eren looked more hurt than angry, "I thought we were best friends, were you ever going to tell me?"

Attempting to touch his shoulder again, Armin said. "do you really think I would do that to you? Do you really think y/n would do that to you? Is this how little you think of me? 

Only to be pushed away again.

"I don't know what to believe anymore" putting back the space between them, "I didn't want to believe Jean till I've seen proof with my own eyes. You're lying. "

Hands tightening into fists, "if you'd just calm down and listen then maybe-" Armin stayed near the couch.

Getting impatient, Eren said. "No. Don't-" only to be interrupted by a pillow thrown next to his head.

"You think y/n would cheat on you with ME? Really Eren? You think y/n would choose me over you? In what world would that happen, we both know i have no chance." Struggling to hold back his tears, Armin felt all his frustration pouring out.

Seemingly unimpressed with the other's outburst, Eren just scoffed. "There you go again with that self pity! I Don’t want any of your pathetic excuses, all you do is whine."

"Yeah? And all you do is get angry and yell." Shaking his head, before continuing, "that's why Mikasa didn't tell you, she knew you'd act exactly like this."

"I have every fucking right to be angry-"

"stop pushing everyone away, you're acting like a selfish self centred child throwing a tantrum." Interrupting him again, Armin didn't look away this time, "You just want to pick a fight without listening to what I have to say.

Attempting to lick his lips, Armin tasted saltiness, only realising then his tears have been pouring for a while.

Not wasting the chance, Eren pushed even more. "I'm the child ? At least I'm not the fucking crybaby in here. Remember Armin? When you grandpa-"

His eyes were burning again, throat aching in shame. "Don't- please don't bring it up."

"why? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to cry even more?"

His vision getting too blurry to see, Armin wiped his face with his hands. "now you're just being-"

"I don't care about your opinion on how I'm being, no one asked for it." Whatever guilt Eren might have felt he pushed away, "You didn't seem to care about mine before going to fuck the person I'm dating-"

"I DIDN'T, WHY CAN'T YOU BELIEVE ME." Having used all his remaining energy to yell that, Armin sat back in defeat on the couch feeling too overwhelmed.

Eren stared him down as he collected himself, waiting for an explanation to follow as he leaned back against the wall.

After a minute, Armin began talking again. "yes I wrote y/n peoms and letters, yes i called really late at night and yes I looked at them in a not so innocent way, but I've never ever done anything inappropriate."

Eren stayed silent, only looking at him in an unreadable expression.

"Yes I liked y/n while knowing you're dating , and i fucking wished they'd like me back. Yes i have feelings for them but y/n did nothing to betray your trust neither did i cross any lines. "

"...how long have you been bottling this up."

Hesitante to answer, Armin couldn't meet the other's eyes anymore. "Before you started dating...even before you met actually. I've been planning to confess to them but...it was too late. I take full responsibility for this I'm really-"

Finally seeming to calm down, Eren moved from where he was standing. "I don't want your apology. So y/n didn't cheat on me?"

Shaking his head, Armin replied. "No...it's just me."

Another full minute of silence passed before Eren grabbed his Jacket from the couch, his phone too. "would...you've told me if y/n did it?"

Armin look at him, confused. "What?"

"Cheating on me, from your speech you seemed to be hoping for it to happen." Walking to the door, he began putting his shoes back on.

Armin didn't know how to reply, he just sat there.

"can you deny it? Can you say you've never hoped for y/n to leave me for you?"

He was speechless, Armin couldn't even attempt to form an answer.

"that's what i thought, what kind of freind are you? You act like you're the bigger person yet you were just waiting for me and y/n to break up for your own selfish desires" Opening the door, Eren stepped outside, "And instead of talking about it you just try to avoid me forever? That's your genius plan Armin?"

Having followed him at the last second, Armin was standing next to the doorway." I didn't know what else to do, i couldn't just watch you and y/n from afar knowing i could've had that! It was torture!"

"real mature, attempting to steal the person your best friend's dating"

"Steal? You're the one who got between us in the first place. Since day one you've done nothing but hog y/n at every chance you got."

Getting up in his personal space, Eren said. "If you had a problem with it then why the fuck didn't you speak up Armin?"

Why didn't he speak up? That's something he's been asking himself every night before falling asleep. "I wanted to, I just-"

"just what? Be honest for once in your life, no one forced you to stay silent, you chose to." Eren looked at him.

Did he? Every action you don't change is something you're choosing...Armin couldn't even look at him.

But instead of waiting for him like every time, Eren just stepped back, slammed the door shut before walking away.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

hello, excuse me if this makes you uncomfortable but my birthday is September 14 and I have very few friends and therefore I did not receive congratulations or gifts, could I please ask for something with drarry and scorbus? something like Harry and his children living in the manor anda Lucius and Narcissa still alive, I know it's out of your comfort zone and if you can't or don't want to then sorry for the inconvenience🥺😖

Scorbus

Hello friends, First thing- Happy birthday to the nonnie who requested this. Second thing- Yes! For your birthday and for the other lovelies who have requested Scorbus, I will write one (1) Scorbus fic. I will do my best but I've got to be honest- I don't have any real feelings about Scorbus (I don't read much of it and didn't enjoy The Cursed Child). So we'll have to see how it turns out.

cw: talks about hospice care and future death (not of a main character- we're talking about Lucius, no death will take place in the fic) without further ado, here's the best take I can give you. <3

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

"But Daaad," Albus whined, "I don't want to go!"

"I know, bud," Harry replied, instantly regretting calling his 15-year-old 'bud', as he helped Lily find her bag.

James came in and flopped on Albus' bed, "It's just because he-"

"Shut up!" Albus shrieked, pouncing on him and smothering him with a pillow.

"Boys-" Harry started even as the boys started screaming and wrestling and Lily started to cry about not being able to find something. "Enough!" he shouted, casting a shield charm between the boys. "All of you," he said, "Let's just take a breath."

"But-" multiple voices rang out.

"No buts," he interrupted. "Deep breaths. Right now."

(Read more below the cut)

Everyone glared at him but at least they stopped talking.

"Okay," he said, "James, please stop intentionally trying to bother your brother."

Albus stuck his tongue out at him.

"Al, please finish packing. Lily, your straightener is in the bathroom under the sink."

They let out a collective groan.

"Look guys," he said. "I know. I know it's hard when I have to go to work. I know being in a house where someone is about to die is difficult. But Draco is a good friend and if I can help Lucius pass on, I need to do it. Okay?"

All of his children nodded sullenly.

"Besides," he added, "The manor is huge. You won't even have to see Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. And," he said, smiling at Albus, "Scorpius will be there. I'm sure he'll be glad to have a friend, yeah?"

Albus rolled his eyes and just muttered, "Can you get out so I can pack, please?"

With a sigh, Harry nodded and left, thinking for the thousandth time that single parenting was really fucking hard.

---------

He hadn't expected this to be his life. Harry had expected that he'd join the aurors or that he'd go on to be a quidditch player.

Working as a hospice care healer had never been in the plans. But there was no denying that he was good at it; he wasn't grossed out by all of the ways that bodies failed as a person began the process of dying. He didn't mind the late nights and early mornings. He actually usually enjoyed listening to stories from his patient as they reflected on their lives. And death didn't bother him. He'd spent nearly twenty years in this profession, he was good at his job, and he liked it.

Still, as he stood looking at the Manor, nerves that he hadn't felt in years settled in. He couldn't be sure if it was because the Manor still gave him the creeps all these years later, if it was because it was Lucius Malfoy and they'd never had the best of relationships, if it was because he was anxious about how Draco would handle his father's death, or something else entirely.

"Let's go," Albus snapped, impatient and anxious.

He nodded once and stepped up onto the top step and rang the door bell.

Draco opened the door, looking exhausted.

"Hey," Harry said softly, aching to hold him, to take him into his arms and hide him away from the rest of the world and all that was happening to him.

But they didn't do that. Not in public, not where anyone could see them including their families. Maybe especially their families. "Hi," Draco replied and Harry knew he was wishing for the same thing. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," he said because there hadn't really ever been a choice. He loved Draco and he would do anything that would help make this easier. "Let me just get these guys settled in and I'll check in with your dad, okay?"

He nodded, "I have you guys set up in the West wing," he said as he started inside, "I know this is probably not the way you were hoping to spend your summer hols-" Draco started.

"It's okay," Lily said, falling into step beside Draco. "I'm sorry about your dad," she added.

"Thank you," he replied.

And Harry smiled, if nothing else, he and Ginny still agreed it was important to raise their kids to practice kindness.

-----------

It was a long day. The first day at a new job almost always was, lots of intake paperwork, lots of working to make sure they had all their doses right in order to keep their patient comfortable, and inevitably lots of input from the patient's family.

By the time Harry had gotten everything set up and diagnostic spells and alerts in place, Lucius was sleeping comfortably in the hospice bed, Narcissa on the cot beside him.

Only Draco remained awake, watching Harry work from the sofa in the corner.

When he finished he nodded to the door and Draco followed him out. "You okay?" he asked softly once the door closed.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispered.

"Yeah, love," he replied, giving Draco's hand a quick squeeze. "Of course."

Draco nodded once and led the way through the halls to a different wing entirely. He opened the last door on the left and let Harry in first.

Harry looked around curiously. He'd obviously seen Draco's room in his own home but not the room he occupied when he stayed at the Manor.

"It's actually not the room I stayed in as a child," Draco informed him as he made his way to the drawers to pull out two pairs of pajamas. "It gave me nightmares," he said, "after everything in this awful house."

He hummed, "It must be hard," he said gently, slipping into the comfortable clothes Draco had tossed him. "A lot of trauma wrapped up in an already challenging event." He folded down the covers and climbed in, making a space for Draco so he could curl up in front of him.

"Harry?" he asked once he'd settled back against him and pulled Harry's arm snug around his waist.

He hummed, pressing a kiss to the smooth, soft skin of Draco's neck.

"Do you think you might want to tell our families about us?"

Harry froze, "Do you think you might want to tell our families?" he asked.

"I asked first."

"Personally," Harry said, "Yes. I would like that. I don't like keeping things from my kids and you're," he swallowed. It was silly to be nervous, he'd said this before, but he couldn't help the surge of adrenaline. "I love you, Draco. You're important to me. But the real question is do you want to tell them? You dad-"

"My father is a bigoted arse," he snapped. "And yes he is dying but Harry you make me so happy and I just," he sighed. "I don't want to keep it a secret anymore. If he hates it, he hates it but I don't want him to go from this life thinking that he got to control mine."

Harry didn't quite know what to say.

"I'm awful. I know. I-"

"Draco," he said, squeezing him a little tighter, "I wasn't judging you. I don't think you're awful. Grief and death affect us all differently. If that's what you want, let's do it."

"Let's tell our kids first."

--------

Harry called a family meeting the next day after he'd check on Lucius and they'd done a bit of exercise and gone for a walk.

In retrospect, this might not have been the best thing to call it. Family meeting had never had the best associations and the last one they'd had was to tell the kids that he and Ginny were getting a divorce.

His kids were cagey, Scorpius was withdrawn, and Draco was honestly a bit erratic.

"Okay," he said, smiling at the room, only Lily smiled back. "So we," he said pointing back and forth between him and Draco, "have some news."

"Oh Salazar, please no," Albus whispered.

Harry gave him the look the one every parent had perfected by the time their child was three. "It's good news," Harry said.

"We're together," Draco blurted.

James barely looked up from his book as he said, "Called it."

Lily said "Like together-together?"

And Albus promptly burst into tears, fleeing the room.

"Albus!" Scorpius shouted, jumping up and chasing after him.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "Maybe he thought that Ginny and I would get back together someday?"

James rolled his eyes, "That's not it. He and Scorpius are like," he waved a careless hand, "a thing."

Draco's eyes widened.

"Oh," Harry said. "And no one could have said something about this before?"

James shrugged, turning the page, "I tried to say something yesterday and you told me to shut up."

"I did not use those words," Harry said.

"Yeah, but that's what you meant."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, he was careful about his words, never wanting his kids to feel like they were unloved and unheard.

"It's fine, dad," James said, waving him off, "You should talk to Albus."

He was right, they really did need to talk to Albus and Scorpius.

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

When they found them, Al and Scorpius were sitting together on one of the swings and Al was still crying.

"Alright," Harry said, transfiguring a couple of sticks into chairs. "Let's talk about this."

"You're the worst," Albus shouted at him. "It's like you're intentionally trying to ruin my life without even knowing you're doing it."

It took everything in Harry not to point out the fallacy in that logic. Draco, too, if the sharp intake of breath was anything to go by. "Could you tell me more about why you feel that way?" Harry asked, gently squeezing Draco's thigh.

"Because he thinks you're going to ask us to break up," Scorpius said, biting his bottom lip.

"And even if you don't, everyone's going to think it's weird," Albus said, a hiccoughing sob escaping.

"Think what's weird?" Draco asked.

"If you guys are dating and we're dating," Scorpius said.

Harry nodded, "I think I understand," he said. "But honestly, guys, we're not going to ask you to stop dating and it doesn't really matter what other people think."

"Easy for you to say," Albus sniffled, "You're Harry Potter. Everyone already loves you."

"I agree with you dad," Draco said, "other people's opinions are irrelevant. It's not as though you were raised together or anything like that."

"Well everyone already hates you anyway," Albus snapped, "So why would it matter?"

"Albus," Harry warned, "Apologize."

"No, it's alright," Draco said. "I used to be a lot like you, you know," he said. "I used to really care about what other people thought and how they felt."

"What changed?" Scorpius asked curiously.

"Your mum, actually," he said, with a little smile. "She helped me to look at myself and see who I really was, not the person that people believe me to be. She helped me to recognize that other people didn't define me, I did." He shrugged, "At the end of the day, if I chose to listen to them I was still the one defining myself that way."

"That," Albus started, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, "Makes sense."

"Good," Draco said, nodding once.

Harry squeezed his hand, "Right, well, congratulations, you two. Please be sure if you decide to make things physical you talk to one of us about protection spe-"

"Dad!" Albus shrieked, covering his ears. "Shut up! Shut up! Merlin save me."

Draco laughed, attempting to stifle it with a cough and failing in Harry's opinion.

"I'm just saying," Harry said, holding up his hands in defeat. "We should probably have this conversation at some point."

Albus shook his head and Scorpius had turned as red as a beet.

"Well. I'm off, then. Back to work," Harry replied.

Draco took his hand, "I'll walk you," he offered and they headed back to the house.

"Well," Harry said, once they were a good distance away. "That was unexpected."

"Was it, though?" Draco asked. "The way Scorp talks about Albus," he trailed off. "Well, let's just say he reminded me a little too much of me at that age."

"Had a crush on me that long have you?"

He laughed, "Longer. My father was just too bigoted to take my ramblings for what they really were."

Harry leaned over and pecked his cheek, "Well, I after that, I think that telling your parents will be a piece of cake."

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

See the rest of my drabbles here

[henqtic]

𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘦 𝘈 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader 

word count: 2.3k

summary: Draco Malfoy. His name was registered in your mind as your enemy, plain and simple. A platinum blonde idiot who you’d find much more likable if he’s just shut up everyone in a while. But what would happen if your parents arranged for you both to attend the yule ball together- would some hidden feeling shine their way out? 

warnings: mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of feeling anxious, feelings of self doubt, kissing, angry love confession, crying, a little angst, please contact me if theres more !

a/n: Also this is an au where the yuleball is in seventh year and no Voldemort <3

masterlist.  // gif creds // taglist form.

When Dumbledore announced the yule ball to the school in the middle of the dinner, you were a bit excited. Excited at the idea that you’d have the chance to be asked to the dance by some nice boy and that could potentially lead to a relationship.

But being born into a family like yours, you couldn’t hope for much. Not even a week after they got the news, your mother and father made an arrangement with the Malfoy’s that you would have to attend the ball with their son Draco.

You could've sworn they had been trying to set you both up for some kind of arranged marriage. Maybe them pushing you together was a way to soften a blow when it finally happened? But still, out of any one they just had to choose him.

You had grown up with him, Draco, and if you hadn't already known— he was what you called a... bitch boy. He’d tattle about small things, throw a few temper tantrums, and cry to get his way. This is why even though your families had been so closely connected for years, centuries even— he was your enemy and nothing could change that.

That fact wasn’t hidden from your parents, not in the slightest. They saw the numerous dirty looks you’d throw at each other when you thought no one looking, not to mention the childish pulling of hairs and elbowing with shoulders.

But they also saw the good things about your relationship, how'd you do little things for each other that made a bigger impact than you thought, like it was second nature.

Like whenever another dinner party would come up where there were random families of investors, business owners or, just more snooty rich people— Draco would always make sure you were seated right next to him in the case that both of you had to show up.

It honestly wasn’t that much of a big deal from his view point. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that you found yourself uncomfortable around new people and him saving you a seat was just common decency.

And there was always little moments where they’d find you both curled into each other after one of the tense meetings you had to attend seeing as you’d be graduating soon and still had the responsibility of up keeping your family names once you were adults.

Draco would be there tenderly playing with your hands and venting. Because while he did come off as confident about everything in his life, how he had both the Malfoy and Black fortuned to fall back onto, you could tell he was still scared of the future— of growing up.

That fear is also what led to the very rushed apology he had offered to the golden trio for his past behavior. You did have to physically push him into them and he did choke up on the words of kindness that were supposed to make the apology sincere but he still did it.

They hadn't forgiven him of course, they just sort of stared like some one had cast an unforgivable curse on the boy seconds before, but at least they were now, they were civil towards each other.

And even though you did do those things for him, that didn’t stop you from not wanting to do this and neither did it stop you from impatiently waiting outside of the great hall doors.

Your dress was made out of nothing less of the finest fabrics and silks you could get your hands onto. You knew it wouldn't make a single dent into your families Gringotts account but you felt that the purchase would make some sort of statement.

“You’re five minutes late,” you seethed, watching as a head of white-blonde hair finally round the corner. His hands brushed his jacket in a smug manor, getting rid of the invisible dust particles.

It really wasn’t that much time, many other students could still be found wither waiting for their dates or just standing around to show up ‘fashionably late’.

But you knew Draco had spent those minutes staring at himself in the mirror and fixing his oh so perfect hair.

“Some of us like to look good when showing up to these things,” he sneered before eyeing you in disgust.

“Oh please, this dress cost more than the gel you have piled in your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you along with a scrunch of his nose as he offered you the junction between his folded arm to lead you down the steps.  

The night had gone pretty well so far, both of you somehow never finding the right time to leave the others side as you had planned. It seemed as if your friends had all decided to hide themselves away from you both— like they were planning something. Of course, they were.

Blaise fucking Zabini

That idiot talked Professor Flitwick into playing a slow song, one that every couple had to join in on. And while that did sound good at eye view, you had to sign a paper at the begging saying if you coming as a couple or single. And the only people who had signed single to not face embarrassment were the staff—not counting Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Was this real, you being the living cliche of dancing with your enemy?

“If you step on my shoes one more time, I’ll leave you,” he growled into your, tightening his grip on your waist. Yeah, it was.

“What do you think I’ll do? Cry?” You asked in a mocking tone, sticking out your stuck your bottom lip out in a pout to taunt him even further.

Suddenly your front was pressed up against his back— your attention had been else where. Else where being reaching the goal of getting on his last nerve so when a husky voice whispered in your ear, you were shocked.

“Oh don’t act like I haven’t made you cry before.” He turned you back around swiftly, the only thing indicating what had just happened being the proud smirk on his face.

“Says you. Weren’t you the one who cried over a guy asking me out in fifth year?” You challenged, bringing up the incident that happened two years ago.

He hadn’t cried but he might as well have and you just needed something to tick him off for the moment. Whatever he had just did caused something to happened within you, and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet.

It was a situation that the blonde deeply wanted to regret—George Weasley asking you out. You and Draco had been finishing up on your work in the courtyard when he had invited himself to sit in between you and Draco and then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

Draco hadn't given you the chance to answer, a new found jealously fueling him to gather both of your things and drag you away from the scene.

He knew the chances were slim that you would reject the boy, and deep down tucked inside of him, Draco knew that the Weasleys were better than him— in some aspects.

Over the years Draco had found himself growing into a separate person from his parents, a person who had could think on their own and didn’t have to rely solely on his parents' truths.

And through that process, he realized that maybe his ideals were not the best out there. Including the way he treated many of his pears even if he was too proud to say it out loud.

That being said, he always stayed up wondering while you stayed. Why’d you even stick with him in the first place. And that’s what Brough him to find out his second greatest fear, loosing you.

Yes, you were insufferable at times, but you were still you. Someone that he liked having around and talking too. And someone that listened to him even if it was something as stupid as why gingers exist and why they shouldn't.

Yes that was an actual conversation that you had. In conclusion, you were a person he loved. But he never did think to tell you that because, why risk losing you over something that was most likely unrequited.

“I was protecting your future y/n. Would you like for your children to come out as gingers,” he spat as if what he had just made complete sense.

“Draco I was fifteen and he was sixteen at the time and we barely ever talked before that because you were always bad-mouthing his family.”

Now that you think of it, he had always been this way about you and boys. It was an ongoing thing where it didn't matter what blood type, what house, which people they associated themselves with, they were always ‘below you and you could find better’.

“Why do you always meddle in my relationships?” You were irritated. Maybe it was the close proximity of your bodies or maybe it was how oblivious he was.

“Meddle? You’ve never even been in a relationship,” he snorted making your point clearer than day.

“Exactly. Why are you so jealous of me wanting to break out of whatever shell we have enclosed over each other? What if I want to branch out and you know, talk to new people?”

Ouch.

It didn’t hurt that you considered him to be somewhat of an enemy, it was your thing—but you didn’t even consider him to be a friend?

“Alright then when about Pansy? I tried to break out of our ‘shell’ as you call it when I started talking to her.”

“Parkinson was not good for you then and now even more. We both know that.”

You weren’t a person who used the word hate. In most times it was used out of anger and would be regretted later on. But Pansy Parkinson? She was very deserving of the title of someone that you hated.

Commenting on someone else’s hair when she had been walking around with a bowl cut for the last last five years? It didn’t make sense to you how she always found a way to put her input in places where it truly wasn’t needed.

“Yeah alright. Then who is good enough for me y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know me,” you mumbled under your breath not expecting him to hear it— but he did.

That’s how you found yourself once again getting dragged away. But this time it was form the great hall to a more private place where none of the ears of Hogwarts could hear you both.

“What do you mean you’re good enough for me?” He asked with more disgust in his tone than wanted, and it crushed you.

You scoffed before going on, “Well I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Would it be so horrible to consider me good enough for you?” You asked watching as some emotion flickered past his eyes.

“I mean I know so many dumb things about you like how you hate the feeling of those sweaters that your mother always buys you and you turn them inside out. And then when she ask if you're wearing them you aren't lying to her face. Do you know how cute that is, that you don’t even harbor the ability to lie to your mum about something as small as that?”

Cute?

“And don’t get me started on how your favorite food is not that ridiculously priced stake that you try convincing people- even me. I know that it’s that tomato soup that your mum makes when you’re sick because it reminds you of being a kid. And guess what? I don’t even let the house elves make it for you when I say that they do—”

“Then who does y/n?” He asked softly while slowly bringing you to be trapped between his arms by one of the thick walls. He always had the suspicion be never thought you’d actually—

“Well I uh- I do it myself because I want it to have the same feeling of home as it always does and I sort of asked your mum the exact details on how to cook it like she does,” you explained peering up to look into his eyes.

“You hate the smell of tomatoes,” he said with a light laugh, it wasn’t out of amusement but pure adoration. Never did he think that you’d actually do that for him— of course, you were there when he was sick but it was more of making fun of his ‘weak immune system’ and throwing tissues at him.

“Well I love you more and don’t pretend like you don’t slip those house elves thank you letter—” You were once again cut off but instead it was by his hand reaching the side of your jaw to look up at him fully.

“Repeat that,” he whispered with a small smirk.

oh no

Tears started to cloud your vision, the realization hitting that you had may just ruin your relationship with your childhood- enemy- friend- frenemy?

“Don’t cry I’m not- I’m not mad at you. I’m happy, unbelievably so. I just need you to repeat exactly what you just said to me,” he said moving both hands to cup your face giving his thumbs access to wipe the liquid from under your eyes.

“I love you Draco and I’m sorry that I ruined this. We could honestly just forget it if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to forget anything. Would it be a surprise if I told you that I loved you back and that I have for a long time?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he serious, or was this some sort of sick joke?

Noticing the worries floating around in your head, he gave you a look, one that wordlessly asked that if the next move he was going to make was the right one and that you would both be fine after.

And it was

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Pls pls pls do more of Dirty Little Secret🥺 It was so good I want more

Dirty Laundry +

Tw: WHOLE LOTTA ANGST BABEY Word count?: 1.9k

--

The room was silent.

You couldn’t even describe the air as full of tension, it felt more like all the air in the room had been sucked out entirely. Pete just stared at you, his expression like he had a sour taste in his mouth. The thought of you with his best friend, something you so clearly knew you should tell him, being kept as a secret. There was no way it was anything but intentional, and he had to wonder if Colson and you had planned to never tell him.

You felt like you were being interrogated, not sure where to start, the all too bright lights in contrast to the dark room, all eyes on you, the man in front of you just waiting for you to slip up and confess the murder. He knew.

It didn’t entirely matter that you didn’t know what to say, because Pete didn’t know what to ask. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

It would’ve been different if you had told him before you got together, but now all he could think about was how Colson had seen every part of you before him. His best friend had seen you in the same way he had and still had the guts to look him in the eye and say how happy he was that you two had finally gotten together.

Pete knew you had slept with men before him, obviously, but this felt different. There was a pang of hurt in his chest as he wondered if it was misogynistic of him to care. It was before you had begun dating, he reasoned, it was your body, but it still felt wrong. He hoped he wasn’t wrong for feeling that, never quite confident in his own emotions.

Questions floated around in his head until he finally decided to grab one out of the air.

“You fucked him.” It was more of a statement.

“Yes.” You admit, your voice low and full of guilt

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes. I told him I felt guilty and I wanted you to know and he told me not to. He said it would only make things worse if I did, that it would ruin our relationship and his. I tried to convince him the whole time he was here, but he convinced me not to.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Pete questioned, his words hitting you right in your stomach.

“It’s the truth.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying? How do I know you didn’t convince him not to tell me?”

“Wait, why do you believe him? I get it, I didn’t tell you and I should’ve, I own that, but that’s not fair. He lied too, why is he innocent in this all of the sudden?” You ask, Colson was the one who initiated the sex in the first place. Pete should’ve known you would’ve never been brave enough to start something like that, especially with a guy like Colson. You weren’t a victim, but you refused to be portrayed as the villain.

“I don’t know. I just- I don’t know anymore.” Pete shrugged, standing up and walking to the kitchen. You hesitated, but followed after him.

“I get it, okay. It’s awkward and you aren’t sure how to feel-”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.” Pete snapped

“I’m not, I’m sorry, I’m not. I’m just trying to let you know that it’s okay if you’re mad at me or hurt. I want to let you know I love you and I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“But you didn’t. Colson did. Over the phone. The only reason I even found out is because I called him because you were crying about how you weren’t good enough for me.” He paused to hastily pour himself a drink “and then you begged me not to call him. You knew what he would say, didn’t you?” 

“No, I-” 

“The fact that both of you hung out with me multiple times, listened to me as I talked about the other- I told him I wanted to marry you the other day. He didn’t even mention it. Do you know how much that sucks?” Pete rants, cutting you off once more.

“You wanted to marry me?” You whisper. He went silent at the confession, the pain and confusion evident in his eyes.

“Listen, like he said, the second I realized there was something between us we stopped. I genuinely thought we would only ever be friends.”

“Maybe we should have.”

“You don’t mean that.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him or yourself. “I don’t love him, okay? I love you. I never loved him, it was just sex and with you it was never just sex. It was never just kissing. It was never just laughing together. Everything means more to me when it’s with you and I really hope we can get through this.” You plead, only realizing Pete had gone silent when you stopped talking.

Pete reached onto the counter to grab a blunt from the ashtray, taking a long hit from it and letting the smoke pour from his lungs, his eyes going dead as he stared at the wall.

“And I know it’s weird,” You continued, it being evident that Pete didn’t have much to say, your only path being to plead your case or otherwise be convicted “but the point of relationships are to work together through your problems. We’ve both obviously moved on, not that there was anything to move on from, just that-”

“What are you building up to?” He asks impatiently.

“I’m just trying to explain myself.”

“Explain what? You fucked my best friend and never planned on telling me. What if I had fucked (Y/B/F)? It would be completely different right now.”

“Okay, I get that the tensions are high right now but I need you to drop the attitude. I did plan on telling you, your ‘best friend’ told me not to. Why do you keep forgetting that he did this too?”

“He’s not here, this isn’t about him right now it’s about me and you. It’ll be about me and him later. I’m not going to talk about everything he did wrong to you.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause this just feels like an excuse to slut shame me. What? It’s not a problem with Colson ‘cause he's a guy?”

“I never even fucking said that, you just don’t want to take responsibility.”

“I already fucking did take responsibility, jackass! Maybe I wouldn’t have slept with him if you had the balls to tell me you liked me sooner.” You yell, throwing your arms into the air. 

“Oh, are you sure? Are you sure you wouldn’t just blame your commitment issues so you could keep sleeping with him?”

“Stop blaming your fucking insecurities on me! I was trying to have a simple conversation with you about this and you’re acting like a fucking child!”

“Well I’m sorry if you hurt me and don’t want to see that. I’m fucking sorry if the fact that your actions having consequences hurts your feelings. I’m sorry that the excuse of ‘well, he told me not to.’ isn’t fucking good enough for me. This wasn’t about him, it’s about you. You didn’t fucking tell me. You didn’t respect me. You actively tried to stop me from finding out. I don’t care what he did.” He yells, putting on a high pitched voice to imitate you.

“Why the fuck not?! This is exactly what I mean, you keep acting like he’s innocent!” You shout back.

“I don’t expect Colson to tell me the truth, I’m not fucking in love with him!” Pete yelled, the room went silent for a moment before he continued, calmer this time “I expect this shit from everyone, okay? I watched my back with everyone, and I fought tooth and nail to earn your trust because I know you have trust issues, I know that’s why it took so long for us to get together,” He took in a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. “You’re just the only person I trusted not to hurt me.”

“Well that’s a really unrealistic pedestal to put me on, so.” You say, your own voice lowering.

Amy walked down the stairs, wrapping her robe around herself in an attempt to keep the warmth in. You hadn’t even realized how late it was, or how loud the two of you had been yelling at each other.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on down here?” She asks, her new york accent evident. Pete licked his lips, staring at you. You could see right past the anger in his eyes, all the way to the hurt.

“He keeps blaming everything on me.” You half yell

“Huh? Blaming what?” She asked, her voice low and full of sleep. It was clear you had woken her up.

“She slept with Colson.” Pete’s voice broke as he said it, jaw clenched. You knew his tongue was between his teeth and he was biting down on it to hold back tears, not wanting to give you the satisfaction. Amy’s eyes softened as she heard this, turning to look at you.

“Get out.” She said softly, but still making it clear there was no room for argument.

“What?” You asked, your heart crumbling.

“Get out of my house.” She added, her voice more stern this time. She pointed angrily at the door, and as you walked out you caught a glimpse of her pulling Pete into her arms.  The height difference was awkward, he had to lean down to bury his face in her shoulder and yet it seemed so natural. You knew there were tears in his eyes as he accepted the loving embrace of his mother, his heart shattered once again.

The door shut behind you like so many times before, but this time felt different. Like it was the last. You wished you had known when you were crying in his arms that it would be the last time you’d ever be in his arms at all. You wished a lot of things, but it was late and the sky was pitch black, leaving the stars to wish on few.

The ferry from staten island wouldn’t leave til morning, so there was no making it back to your apartment. You had no choice but to stay at a hotel. You cursed when you realized you had left your phone in the house, nothing on you but the clothes on your back, the cold night air nipping at your cheeks. 

You began walking, hoping to find a place to stay sooner than later. Pete had a few friends that lived nearby, but the option was dropped as quickly as it was picked up. You didn’t think they’d be much for helping you if they heard what happened.

A gag came up your throat as your foot landed in something cold and squishy, you looked down, lifting your foot to look at the bottom of it. It was hard to make out in the dark of night, but you didn’t need to, you knew what it was. You had just stepped in dog shit while barefoot, and you could only wipe your foot on the grass, destined to spend the night on a park bench.

And throughout all of this, you couldn’t help but feel that you deserved it.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Continued from here because @firewheeesky asked for more :)

-

They have to be dragged there, harsh hands the only thing keeping Whumpee from falling on their face, feet only grazing the floor, back screaming in agony.

As soon as they stop in front of the barred door that leads to a hallway filled with dingy cells, though, Whumpee is left to stand on their own and immediately falls to their knees, letting out a low, involuntary whimper when pain blurs the world around them. 

One of the guards huffs in mockery or impatience, the other nudges Whumpee with their foot. They don’t have enough strength to do more than close their eyes.

Caretaker isn’t eating or drinking any water. Do something about it or I will, Whumper had said. Didn’t even need an “or else” to convince them to go, even if they could barely stand up without support. Whumpee knew all the “or else’s” – torture, isolation, being sold away. All had been hung over their head at some point until they knew none was a bluff.

They’d had two days of rest after Caretaker’s capture – after their best friend’s hiding spot was whipped out of them. The gashes on their back are still angry red, blazing hot, and maddeningly painful. Still, no complaints were heard when Whumper ordered them to go down to the dungeon, to talk to the one person they wanted to the most and the least at the same exact amount.

Whumpee takes deep breaths in hopes it calms their mind, their body. It doesn’t, but they don’t have the time to wait for the pain to recede.

Using the wall for support, Whumpee climbs to their feet and straightens their back, lifts their chin. Yes, they had been tortured for the information of where to find Caretaker, but it was Whumpee’s decision, their selfishness that made them tell their living nightmare where to find their best friend. They can’t – they won’t – use their pain to force Caretaker into forgiveness. It’s not something Whumpee deserves, anyway.

They take one last moment to frown at the waves of pain before opening their eyes and start walking.

It hurts and hurts and hurts to stride forward like their back isn’t about to burst into flames – like it isn’t already burning. Move their feet like each step doesn’t make the world spin and a whine to gather behind their teeth. Stare ahead like they don’t wish to shut their eyes and crumble down.

Whumpee stops in front of the only occupied cell and the guards halt a few steps behind, just out of sight. 

Caretaker is a hunched figure on the ground, gaze lost somewhere else for the few moments they take to realize who’s standing on the other side of the metal bars. As soon as they do, the haze in their eyes dissolves into something sharper, colder.

“Hi,” Whumpee whispers. 

Caretaker simply glares at them, the disappointment so visible in the way they hug their knees closer to their chest and tilt their head slightly to the side, it makes Whumpee bite on their lip to keep the tears at bay. Their heart pounds and their hands are clammy, both from pain and anxiety, and suddenly they feel so faint they lean back against the wall across the cell. As soon as they do, though, a scream gets caught in their throat. 

Pain floods their body and steals away their breath. Whumpee clenches their fists and turns their head away, hoping it’ll hide the pain prompted tears shining in their eyes. It takes long seconds to calm their breathing enough to make the world stop spinning, to straighten up again as if nothing had happened.

“Whumper said you’re not eating,” they say softly once they’re sure they can do it without stammering. 

“I don’t trust that the food won’t be drugged,” is the hoarse answer. 

“It’s been almost three days, Caretaker. You have to at least drink some water or you’ll… you’ll–“

“Die?” they laugh bitterly, shaking their head. “I’d rather go by my terms than by your new ally’s.”

“Whumper isn’t my ally,” Whumpee murmurs, gripping the cage’s bars, leaning against it, and sighing soundlessly at the slight relief of not holding their entire weight on their own. 

“Oh?” Caretaker’s eyebrows shoot up, mockery filling their voice. “Then what are they? Your new best friend? Oh, oh, I know! You two fell in love and now you’re lovers. Or maybe your new mentor?”

Each word is aimed to wound, and each one of them does. They know Caretaker is trying to get them into a fight, maybe to hurt Whumpee as much as they hurt them. It’s fair, and they wish they could give them that if nothing else. But Whumpee has no fight left in them. It was all taken away between whips and knives, punches and kicks. Threats and treats. Whumpee’s hands tremble at the thought, at every slight, although unwelcome affectionate touch, meant to harm and comfort and disgust all at the same time. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Whumpee says, meeting Caretaker’s angry eyes with their exhausted ones. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really am sorry I betrayed you. I wish I hadn’t, but it’s done now and I can’t go back. Just please, please eat something. For–“ me. Our friendship. The words get stuck in Whumpee’s throat, and Caretaker’s narrowed eyes are enough for Whumpee to know they were heard even if unpronounced. “Your food’s not drugged. Please.”

“What makes you think I trust you any better than Whumper?”

Whumpee flinches and coughs to conceal the little squeak that escapes when the movement lights up all their barely healing nerve endings. 

What is there to be said? That they’d never hurt Caretaker? That they wouldn’t lie? That they’re sorry?

They’ve already hurt them. Gave them in. There’s no comfort to be offered here.

“If you don’t eat by yourself, Whumper will force you to. It’s not– don’t choose that option.”

Because that option meant far more pain than it was worth, Whumpee had learned. 

Something softens in Caretaker’s gaze at that, the tilt of their head becomes less ironic, more tired.

“You need all the strength you can get,” Whumpee murmurs, looking down at their hands.  

“I’m sorry Whumpee, but I won’t change sides as you did. Let them try and force me if they must, but I won’t yield on my own.”

Whumpee looks up, wide, sad eyes locking into Caretaker’s fearless features as echoing footfalls reach their ears. The guards are beside them in no time, and Whumpee almost gags when one of them touches their back to push them out of their way. 

They catch themself before they can either scream or tumble down, gripping the cell’s bars to keep standing. The guards open the door and enter the cell, and all they can do is tremble and stare while four armed men surround their best friend, who weirdly only has eyes for Whumpee, tracking each of their ragged breaths.

Caretaker looks at Whumpee with furrowed brows, and they feel themself recoil at the emotion in their eyes. Deeper than anger, deeper even than hatred. The face they turn away as soon as a guard touches them is one that promises murder.

They hadn’t known the men would listen to the conversation and intervene if it didn’t work, but they should’ve. Whumpee’s been with Whumper long enough to guess their orders if they hadn’t been so lost in their own guilt and pain. They deserve that anger too.  

Caretaker tries to fight, but their flimsy struggles, weak from days without food, are nothing compared to the guards. The first one pushes Caretaker to the floor, sits over their chest to keep them pinned down. The second sits over their legs. A strangled scream fills the dungeon when the third grips their cheeks to hold their head still and their mouth open for the fourth to pour water inside, way too fast for Caretaker to do more than gag and cough.

Whumpee takes a step in their direction, shaking like a leaf. Their hands reach forward, desperate to help, feet taking another step, heart sinking at each desperate gasp. But their back burns in warning, as well as every other bruise and wound that never got the chance to close and scar. A hundred lashes cross their mind, the pain and the helplessness, and Whumper’s words are whispered against their ear again and again. We’ll have to try to get to a hundred and fifty next time you start misbehaving.

Silent tears flow down their face, and Whumpee falls to their knees just outside the cell, arms wrapping around themself as they stare in horror, knowing there’s nothing they can do to stop it, unable to convince themself to take another step only to fail and suffer later for their empty loyalty. 

Caretaker shouts and cries in the few moments they’re not choking and gasping for air. Whumpee gasps too and weeps at who they’ve become, at what’s happening right in front of their eyes. When did Whumper turn them into this broken mess? This scared thing that doesn’t dare help the only person that ever mattered?

Still, none of the thoughts do more than break their already shattered heart. They still kneel an inch from the door, still stare, frozen, at their friend drowning in air. Their shoulders hunch forward, and as Whumpee looks and looks, they let the pain coming from their back envelop them, and welcome it – it’s well deserved. They deserve far worse for letting this happen, for not being strong enough to say a word to interfere.

It takes seconds or months or years, but the guards let go of Caretaker’s now shaky, soaked body, leaving them to curl up on the floor and cough their lungs out. 

The guards laugh at Caretaker, then at Whumpee’s tear-stained cheeks as they leave the cell. 

“Come on, pet, let’s go,” one of them says on the way out, viciously squeezing their shoulder and digging their fingertips into a wound. Warm blood soaks up the bandages, trickle down Whumpee’s thin t-shirt, but they only close their eyes at the pain and welcome it too. 

They shoot Caretaker one last glance filled with sorrow and longing, hoping they can read the truth behind their tears – if I could go back, I’d let them ruin me, I’d try to be stronger. I’m so sorry for being weak for you, I’m so, so sorry.

But instead of hatred or pain, what they find in their friend’s eyes is worry and bravery, even as they sag on the floor, exhausted.

Whumpee holds the bars again to pull themself slowly up, and with one last look at Caretaker, take a step away.

“Wait, Whumpee,” Caretaker calls in between coughs. The guard behind them sighs their disapproval but doesn’t stop them when Whumpee turns around. “You’re bleeding,” Caretaker states in a painfully raspy voice, eyes glued to their back. “What did Whumper do to you?”

It’s the concern in their voice that breaks the rest of Whumpee’s heart, that makes new tears stream down their face. They turned Caretaker in, betrayed and yielded, and still, the fierce protectiveness in their tone is missed by no one.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” they whisper before turning around again.

They leave their heart behind, with the one person they never deserved but love anyway, as Caretaker’s voice fills the dungeon. The sound of them shouting Whumpee’s name without answer echoes through the dark hallways all the way out. It keeps echoing inside of Whumpee’s chest even after it fades in distance.

(part 3)

[zodiyack]

Smile

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cuteness?, fluff, swearing, no proofreading

Words: 2,191

Summary: A cold winter’s night gives Tommy inspiration to go for the woman he desires. After all, what gentleman would let a lady walk home in the teeth chattering cold?

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @stydia-4-ever​, @simonsbluee​, @marquelapage​, @stuckysslag​, @darling-i-read-it​, @psychkunox​, @peakyxtommy​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @fandom-puff​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

The woman who worked with his family, sitting at the front of the betting shop despite being someone who should never have to see what horrors the Shelbys have. She was the one Tommy dreamt of the few times he’d actually been able to sleep. His heart thundered as he passed her, waving a hand with a kind and welcoming smile, a genuine one at that. His family could tease him all they’d like, but Y/n L/n had stolen Thomas’ heart and he was perfectly fine with that.

However, he wasn’t the best at telling her so. He could talk to her just fine but telling her he fancied her... Y/n was far too innocent. Sure, she wasn’t literally innocent but he couldn’t bear to bring her into the shit-show disguised as “family-business”. The smile she returned to him every time he passed her only reminded him of that.

“Mr. Shelby? You-” His head perked up, expression of deep thought washing away at the sound of her soft voice. Oh, her beautiful voice. It serenaded him without either of the two even realizing it.

“Again, please Y/n, call me Tommy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he let out a small chuckle, “I promise. Now, what about me?”

“Um... Oh! Yes! You have a visitor. I assume it’s about some Peaky Business so I told them I’d get you.”

Tommy nodded. “Thank you, Y/n.” His eyes had been fixated on her long enough to notice more about her appearance than he had a  The pink on the tip of her nose, the slightest hue of blue on her lips. “Y/n...come here please.”

“Alright...” She did as she was told. A small nervous feeling bounced around in her gut, alarm bells ringing. Tommy was hard to read, but the request scared her more. Ada was the one who got her the job, Tommy was the one who let her keep the job. Was he having second thoughts?

Before another worrying thought could make its way to her head, Tommy swung his coat over Y/n’s shoulders. A little sigh of relief, yet also a gasp of surprise, escaped Y/n’s lips as the coat began to envelope her in its warmth. Caught in the moment, her eyes flicked to Tommy’s, his to hers. They just stared. And yet, neither of them minded.

His face... It was like a Greek god, or an angel maybe? So imperfectly perfect.

That’s what he was.

She thought about his smile, not currently visible, but always on her mind. It looked so handsome, so charming, and, dare she say, pretty. His smile brought hers to her face. Even if it was hiding in the pits of the darkest, deepest, smallest hiding place on a bad day, his own called hers to the surface almost instantly.

The beautiful blue of Tommy’s orbs, like sapphires sparkling in the light that bounced off them or a mad ocean; the rage secretly a symphony as each wave crashed and washed away, a symphony only those who stopped to listen, actually listen, could hear. She had so many words and ways to describe the almost child-like look in his eyes, full of a hidden innocence ironically enough, but a knock at the door tore them away from her before they even reached her mouth.

 “Mr. Shelby? If you and your...uh...friend are done here, I have some business to talk with you.” The man was impatient. Luckily, his scare drew an instant reaction from Y/n. She had hurriedly turned around to face the guest with a flushed expression across her face the moment the door swung open. With her attention elsewhere, she missed the wince the man elicited from Tommy when he called Y/n his “friend”.

“Yes. We’re done. Y/n, you may go back to your work now.” He excused her with the same lift of his lips he’d always given her, only this time, the corners of his mouth were a little higher, a little closer to his eyes. This was progress.

A thin sheet of snow, white as angel’s wings, cloaked Small Heath. The waters were slick with ice. The cold wrapped its arms round Birmingham, Mother Nature hoping to warm her children and herself regardless of her cold skin. It nipped at the tips of noses like she was booping her finger against them in attempt to draw a smile from her shivering children.

Tommy cursed to himself. It felt so much colder than it did at the start of the day- one person on his mind upon the realization. Y/n had left a little prior to Thomas, just like she did every other day. Her reddened nose, her trembling lips as her teeth subtly and silently chattered, her fragile form even more so with her arms wrapped around her and Tommy’s coat in attempt to gain warmth. The images never seemed to leave his brain, especially not when she returned his coat.

He began to walk home, still focused on Y/n. Pondering up a variety of situations, good and bad, he tried to reassure himself. Constant anxiety was not new for Tommy. He worried for his family, for his friends- for Y/n... Too much was on his mind but he couldn’t seem to shake any of it off.

Although he was looking straight ahead- looking where he was going, he wasn’t entirely paying attention. A grunt slipped from his throat as he walked into someone, knocking them over and causing him to stumble. Normally, he’d just tell them to watch it, but as he regained focus on what’s in front of him rather than what’s been bothering him, he paused.

She too was surprised, having literally been knocked off her feet by none other than Thomas fucking Shelby. Her head jerked upwards to see who had walked into her, a similar intensity as Tommy’s. But she softened as well, untensing when his face, those baby blue gems, came into her view. He looked so puzzled, so...guilty.

“Fuck!” He was quick to drop the ground and help her up, checking her for any form of injury. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you alright? You look frightened-”

“I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings, I must’ve walked right into you. You know I didn’t mean for that to happen, love? It was purely on accident. Is there any way I can make it up to you? Anything at all?”

“Tommy. It’s alright.” The way she said his name was comforting. Her voice was soothing as usual. Her hand came to his upper arm, a relaxed and friendly grip. She gave him a squeeze, letting him know she meant it, that she was serious. “But, before I answer your second question, please, answer mine.”

Thomas was ready to ignore her, lips already parting to ask her again, but the sincerity of her concerned demeanor crumbled the facade he’d put up. He released a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m just- ...worried.” It took a lot for him to admit some things, but the feeling of relief that surged through him after he told her...it felt like she took the burden from his shoulders.

“About what?”

He looked around for a minute and then suddenly stopped. Now that he thought about it, they weren’t that far from his place. He looked back to her. Her form was just as cold as it was this morning, the color of her lips had darkened, likely from longer time in colder weather.

“How about this. You come with me, to my place, we warm you up, get you a cup of tea, and then I’ll tell you.”

“W-what? No, Tom, you don’t have to-” There it was again. His name. She was like a siren, luring Thomas Michael Shelby, the helpless sailor, his name entwined with her voice- her melody. Her form did not change, as it was her he desired most.

“No, I do. I’m the reason you were on the ground, I’m the reason you’re covered in snow, but I’ll be damned if I become the reason you freeze to death out here.”

“I won’t-”

“You live quite some distance away,” his final attempt, a pleading sigh to mark it as so, and he was determined to make it a strong one, “...at least let me drive you home.”

She looked to be in serious contemplation of his offer, biting her lip and rocking back in forth to collect some warmth from movement before she returned her eyes to his. “...Fine.”

“I’d still like to get you warmed up though, so you can’t turn me down about that, yeah?”

The air escaping her parted lips could just barely be seen. Huddled by the fire, wrapped in Tommy’s sheets with a mug in her hands resting close to her face, the sinister chill was retreating from her body. Tommy felt his heart speed as he watched her. It felt...right. It felt right to have her be safe and warm, just as it felt right to have her there, with him.

Though a number of feelings were checked as “right”, there was a rather large one that didn’t. There was a feeling that wasn’t right, that hadn’t been satiated. His feelings for her poked at him, urging him to kiss her, hug her, ask her, to do something! Anything!

“You going to tell me what was on your mind, or was that just a trick to get me to accept your ride home, Mr. Shelby?” The grin that was present on her lips could be practically be heard as she asked the question.

“Not a trick, I promise.” His chuckle brought a chortle to Y/n’s mouth. He walked to the fire, sitting beside her. “I’ll tell you. But first...you have to promise me something.”

“Yes, anything.”

“Promise me that you won’t go spreading my business where it doesn’t need to be.” He took a deep inhale, exhaling it as he prepared to speak his next request involving her reaction. “And promise me this won’t affect our relationship.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “...I-...  I promise, but, ...I don’t understand how it could make a change between us?”

“It just...” He lifted his hands, scanning his brain for the right words. His hands dropped, making a small sound as they hit his thighs, the sound hidden only slightly by his sigh. “It just can.”

“How so? I mean, surely it’s-”

“I was worried about you.”

“O-oh? Thank you, that’s very-”  She didn’t understand. But how could he blame her with her lack of context?

“No. I was worried about you because I seem...” a pause to get it out. “I seem to have fallen in love with you.” He looked into the fire with an intensity. He looked at it as if looking at her would make him crumble on the spot. The moments passing by without any response from her made the fire so much more entertaining. Tommy Shelby couldn’t be scared by much, he’d already been through war, but this? It scared him.

A part of him wanted to look at her, see the reaction just in case it was just a lack of verbal response...but another part didn’t want to face the disappointment. Y/n was a nice woman and Tommy could never bring himself to hate her. Losing her would be hard, but seeing her at work would be harder. Tearing her from the job she cherished would be harder. He couldn’t do that to her.

Luckily, “Your eyes are so pretty...” he didn’t have to. “Your eyes, your smile-  everything about you has the stars jealous of its beauty. Personally, I wondered if our lips would meet. Today, in your office. It took everything in me not to surge forward, taste your lips on mine.” She snickered lightly, “Excuse my bluntness.”

“I like your bluntness. I only wish I’d been gifted with it.” He joined in, turning to face her, finally. He took a moment to admire the way her features looked in the orangey light from the fire. His eyes, observing her face with great interest, traveled to her lips before flicking back up to hers.

“Is that so?... Well, Tommy, now’s a good time to be blunt.”

“Pardon?”

She’d seen it. Fixated, just like him, on his eyes, specifically. “If you want to kiss me, just say so.” She’d caught him, easily with how entranced they both were.

He thought to himself. What’s blunter than saying he wanted to kiss her?

It happened in one swift motion. One second she was giving him a smug quirk of her brow, the next, her lips her locked with his. They pulled away, slowly and hesitatingly. “That was...as blunt as I could be.”

A laugh erupted from her. The sound sweeter than the songbirds. Then, Tommy smiled. Even if he wouldn’t be her target, in a boat on a restless sea, he knew, without a single doubt, that he’d go to her willingly. In fact, he did. And upon reaching the siren, perched on a sturdy ledge-like-rock, he realized she meant no harm. Tommy smiled. The smile reached his eyes.

[supremeinlilac]

Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (2)

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader x Wilhelmina Venable

Word count: 4415

Warnings: Brief sexual imagery

A/n: total writers block but managed to finish it, longer than I thought it was going to be lmao. anyway don't know if the whole 'surprise' thing is written as well as I would have liked but fuck it :))

Part 1: HERE

You weren’t sure what the effect of your magic would be on Wilhemina; on all of the prior occasions the use of your gift had been an accident, your magic sparking out through your skin at the very briefest of contacts with another person, whether you’d wanted it to or not. Since then, you’d been taught to harness and wield and control your powers, you’d been able to touch people without the spark.

This time however, it had been a choice, a conscious decision to hold her hands within your own and let your magic flow into her. You’d seen the way her eyes had widened, and the way she’d jumped and tried to break contact. You’d persisted, not quite knowing the reason why you finally wanted to share your gift with another person, Ms Venable of all people.

When she’d finally been able to pry her hands away from your grasp, she’d stood and straightened, softness gone from her features as she’d smoothed down her skirt and stalk away, cane echoing harshly as she hit it against the ground. That night you lay awake and unable to sleep; sensitive to the sounds of the house- the creak of a floorboard and the hoot of an owl. You were listening for signs of movement from the master bedroom across the hall.

After your show earlier, Wilhelmina had kept herself to the confines of her shared room with Cordelia; you wondered if she’d told her what had happened or if she, like always, was keeping her worries stoic and to herself. Upon being greeted with silence, you finally allowed yourself to roll over towards the wall and drift into a restless sleep.

At breakfast the following day, the empty glasses had shattered when one of the girls had spilled milk across the table. Cordelia had risen from her seat and looked around at everyone, searching for a guilty face among the widen eyes emerging from under arms which they’d flinched under to escape the flying glass. No one had owned up.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from quipping about not crying over spilt milk, but you decided now wasn’t the right time. Especially seen as you seemed to be the only person who saw the deep flush and anxious eyes of Ms Venable across the table, before she managed to harden her face again and tap her cane insistently which sent some of the younger girls scurrying to clear the glass.

When the younger girls had all finished up and left with Zoe to get themselves ready for lessons, and only some of the older girls stayed, milling around with hushed whispers and laughter, you let your gaze fall to the two women, deep in conversation at the foot of the table. Cordelia looked anxious and deep in thought while Wilhemina spoke, her own posture back to one of defensiveness after her brief slip up. You slipped away from the table, glancing back at the pair momentarily feeling a surge of emotion at them simply enjoying each other’s company, faces now relaxed again as they spoke.

***

Having forgotten your spell book for your first lesson of the day, Zoe had sent you to quickly fetch it with a nonchalant wave of her hand. You were just about to go up the staircase to your room when someone tightly grasped at your wrist and pulled you through the nearest door, eliciting a startled yelp from you in surprise.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Wilhemina seethed through gritted teeth, “what have you done to me?” Her face was hard and angry, but her eyes were wide and scared and darting back and forth between your own, as if searching them for answers that you weren’t even sure you had yourself. You tried to free yourself from her bruising grip but she held fast, shaking it for good measure when you neglected to answer her.

“I- I don’t- I don’t know” you stammered, words leaving your mouth jumbled and scattered as a reaction to her anger and close proximity. She’d never directed her frustrations at you before, she’d never had the need to as you always kept yourself to yourself and were respectful.

“Do you think this is some kind of joke? Turn me back right now.” She ordered, cane hitting against the wood impatiently. You stared dumbly at her, unsure of what exactly she was expecting you to do. At your blank expression she shook your arm again, making you wince and turn away, tears pricking in your eyes and blurring your vision.

“Are you an imbecile, I said turn me back now.”

Collecting yourself slightly, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm free, you forced yourself to stand tall and appear confident in front of the older woman. You turned back to face her, speaking clearly with as much conviction as you could muster: “I can’t, Ms Venable. I’ve never properly used my powers on anyone before, I don’t know how long they’ll last or if-” your words drifted off, a thought bubbling up which made you stop in fear, “or if they won’t fade at all.”

Your words caused her face to twitch, in anger or fear you weren’t sure, but it made you step back slightly. She looked shocked, as if it was an option she hadn’t considered, stepping towards you dangerously as you retreated.

Wilhemina Venable was a woman used to routine. She was used to being in control of everything in her life; she prided yourself on being the most punctual, organised and structured. When things happened that she hadn’t already worked into a plan; that she was not expecting or not wholly prepared for, she would bite back defensively. This was one of those times.

You thought she was going to strike you, instinctively flinching and curling inwards before the sound of the door opening made you both retract. Looking up, you saw Ms Venables knuckles drawn white against the wood of her cane and her steely glare on you unwavering, even as her girlfriends’ head poked round the door behind her.

“What’s going on in here?” Cordelia’s curious voice rang through the room, closing the door behind her as she entered. You had started to edge backwards into your own space where you didn’t feel so claustrophobic. Cordelia glanced quickly back and forth between the both of you before coming to stand by Wilhelmina’s side as she always did in tense situations, acting as a way to ground her girlfriend and offering a comforting hand on her back as a reminder to breathe.

Ms Venable’s eyes had not once left yours since you’d admitted she might be stuck in this new and powerful state that you’d given her. It was as if she was daring you to admit you were joking. Begging you silently with her eyes. They were hard and cold and unwavering next to your wide, intimidated ones, but you could see the flicker of fear that sparked within them.

Slowly Wilhemina turned her attention to Cordelia, expression and eyes immediately softening as she melted into her hold, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against the Supremes. This was the most vulnerable and exposed you’d ever seen her, and the most anyone had been allowed to see of their relationship. A simple embrace.

Cordelia moved to balance her face in her hands delicately, gently guiding Wilhemina to look at her. She just allowed the supreme to move her head, tired eyes meeting worried ones and an attempt of a smile flickered against her lips like the ghost of a candles fleeting flame in the breeze.

You felt as if you were intruding on a moment that you shouldn’t be witnessing, awkwardly shuffling on the spot and wringing your hands together. You couldn’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away as much as you knew you should from them, keeping them fixated on how soft the pair of them were in each others arms.

Gentle touches and soothing hums.

As quickly as you saw the walls of Wilhemina’s impenetrable façade crumble into dust before you, she was clearing her throat and pawing roughly at dampened eyes with the back of her gloved fist. She pulled away from Cordelia and gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting that go too.

As Cordelia continued to look between the two of you again, eyes narrowed at you in suspicion after her girlfriend’s uncharacteristic outburst of raw emotion, you felt like it was now an appropriate time to talk, stammering out a broken explanation about what had been happening. You almost revealed the truth but Wilhemina was suddenly cracking her cane against wood and interrupting you loudly.

“Y/n, stop your stuttering and blubbering.” She snapped, widening her eyes and lifting her brows, head shaking as if she was silently asking you what the fuck you are doing, and to pull yourself together.

“Y/n had agreed to help me with paperwork when she has free lesson space a couple of days ago, this morning she left me a note saying ‘soz I don’t wanna do it anymore’, and yes she spelt it s. o. z.” Wilhemina explained, acting annoyed at the way you’d written your imaginary note to try to resign from the imaginary job you’d taken on.

“I was just reminding her that she can’t just drop the responsibilities she’s taken on when she feels like it. And trying to get it into her head that that isn’t how we write messages.” It was your turn to raise your eyebrows in question. Clenching your jaw you tried to remain unbothered by the way Mina flashed you a smirk of victory while Cordelia still looked just as confused as before.

“But you don’t like the students helping you, you specifically said they do more harm than good and that they mess up your system,” the supreme stated matter of factly, hand coming to rest on her hip so her elbow jutted out to the side. She looked like she was contemplating saying something to you, turning in your direction before stopping and going back to watch Wilhemina.

“It’s the principle dear, Y/n has to learn. She’ll meet me in my office this evening after her lessons and she won’t be late. I’m sure.” Addressing Cordelia the whole time, not once looking at you while she spoke blatantly about information that you supposed that you were suppose to ‘already know’.

Cordelia looked unconvinced, although she let it go nonetheless, reminding you of the lesson you were missing and sending you scrambling out of the room. Chancing a glance back into the room before you slipped out of the room, you caught Ms Venable’s eye as she watched you leave.

Your lessons dragged slowly, time slowed and you tried to keep your focus on the tasks you’d been given; the spells you had to practise. Spells. Wilhemina. Spells. Wilhemina. Your mind kept wondering to Ms Venable, what she had planned for this evening, and you couldn’t help but picture yourself bent over her desk with the pink stripes of her cane’s touch against your skin.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus on what Zoe was demonstrating, the image seeping into the front of your eyes and refusing to leave. You excused yourself from the lesson, gathering your things and fleeing the room.

You had to find her.

Throwing your spell book onto your bed you flew out of the room again, door slamming behind you. Descending the stairs, you swung yourself around the corner quickly using the edge of the banister to spin.

Running towards her office, you looked behind you to check for anyone in the hallway and ran straight into a body. Papers scattered, raining down around you and you lost your balance over the persons foot, tumbling awkwardly towards the ground.

“Woah there, slow down.” Cordelia exclaimed, surprised, hands flying out to stop your fall, gripping at your body. Realising it was you, and you her, you both quickly let go of the hard grip you had on various parts of the other, apologies spilling from you as the supreme smoothed down her dress at the waist. She couldn’t meet your eyes with hers, looking from the papers that framed you both on the ground, to her wrist and back to the floor.

“What are you doing out of lessons?” Cordelia’s voice rang out, unnecessarily loud in the empty hallway.

“I was just- I, nothing Ms Goode.” You mumbled, glancing subtly at the door of Ms Venables office, gritting your teeth and pursing your lips. You’d been so close. Cordelia cocked her head at you, seemingly amused at your answer, picking one of her brows up as if to challenge it as a barely disguised lie.

“Well you can help me set up for our lesson then.” She left no room for arguments, waving you to follow and then once more so the papers danced back to her waiting hands, perfectly organised once more. You followed her meekly, praying that she wouldn’t bring up that morning in your conversation.

As if sensing your thoughts, Cordelia opened the greenhouse door with her free hand, speaking as you went through with a smile of thanks. “Ms Venable has gone to complete the shopping this week. I assume that’s where you were off to in such a rush. Her office.”

“But-” you started, going to say that it’s always one of the girls that does the shopping, never Wilhemina as she deemed it a waste of her valuable time.

“She insisted” Cordelia interrupted shortly, pausing before smiling as she stacked the papers in a pile on one of the shelves, “you know how she gets.”

You nodded. You knew how stubborn the older woman could be, how it was nearly impossible to sway her path once she had chosen to walk it. You admired her but had to admit it could be somewhat excessive at times.

You fell into comfortable conversation. Despite the confrontation that morning, and the obvious tension, you appreciated how easy being around the supreme was. She never pushed you, always waiting for you to come to her. Even if it meant she suffered with the pain of knowing something was wrong and she couldn’t help. It was perhaps the thing you loved the most about her.

When the lesson began you did your best to stay on task, humming to yourself at one of the benches to keep your mind clear and on the glass in front of you. You could feel the Supremes eyes lingering on you as she made her rounds around the greenhouse, checking on everyone’s work.

The majority of the lesson went undisturbed, no unplanned surprises or accidents. It was calm. Silent bar from the gentle tinkle of the glass wear as everyone worked, murmur of papers turning every so often to break the peace.

Once again letting your mind wander uncontrollably, you let a low groan as the glass tubing you were using slipped from your grip to shatter against the floor of the greenhouse. Frustrated tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, as you crouched and attempted to scoop the shards into trembling hands, vision blurred and droplets falling to ricochet off the stone. You were too nervous to even notice how Cordelia had swept across the floor to help you, to stop you from cutting yourself trying to gather the glass.

Her hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you from your thoughts and prompting a rough hand to palm away the tears lest she saw them. Sitting back on your chair you watched how she effortlessly manipulated the glass with her magic, barely even needing to concentrate on such a menial task.

Staring at the wood of your workspace, you barely registered her floating back to her bench or dismissing the class, only standing when Madison pulled at the crook of your arm to jerk you into motion.

“Y/n, can I have a quick word please.” Cordelia called out to you as everyone shuffled out, Madison elbowing you in the ribs with a wink and mouthing ‘shit you’re in trouble’. She looked way too pleased about the prospect of you being in trouble.

You returned to the table that subbed as a desk for the supreme when she taught in the greenhouse, at the corner of the room, hovering behind it and tapping your fingers anxiously against the wood. Cordelia observed you through slightly worried eyes, knowing that you and Wilhemina were both keeping something from her. You’d been distracted all lesson, blank eyes staring out of the dirty windows and you’d occasionally startle yourself out of your thoughts, attention turning momentarily back to the task.

Cordelia, although happy to act as if that morning hadn’t happened, she was less ready to let your absent-mindedness during her lesson go without at least talking to you about it. She was worried. You, alongside Misty, naturally, were one of her best students, so seeing you so blank and dreamy was unwelcomed and unfamiliar.

It was one thing to be distracted in a potions lesson, where accidents were less likely under inexperienced mistakes and mishaps; but what if your mind wondered when in a lesson teaching transmutation. Cordelia had already seen Zoe impaled on the unforgiving spikes of the fence, she would not see another student like that.

“I’d like to think all my girls know that they can come to me with anything, any worries or issues they may have. You do know that you can talk to me, right?” She sounded wounded, as if she was saddened by the fact that you may not feel like you can, or even want to confide in her. The thought of her being upset because of your actions made you twinge with guilt. Not to mention the fact you were keeping something you probably should have revealed when you’d arrived at the school from her.

“Yes of course, I just didn’t sleep too well last night I guess,” you shrug nonchalantly, trying to seem natural in your response. You felt bad lying to her, but it truly wasn’t your place to run your mouth about something that she should really hear from her own girlfriend.

Cordelia looked unconvinced yet again, and she brought her hand up slowly as if to comfort you, before stopping and returning it to finger at the fabric of her flowing pants. You couldn’t meet her eyes, the familiar thawing feeling at your chest whenever you were close to her returning. You felt like you were being suffocated with the weight of her gaze, the smell of her perfume and the rhythmic sigh of her breaths. You had to get out of the greenhouse, being around her made you want to spill the truth.

Slipping away as quickly as you could without looking like you were running from the lingering questions of the Supreme, you shut yourself in your room with a hand on your chest to still your heightened breathing.

***

That evening you slipped out of the living room when the rest of the girls had huddled together to watch a movie, socked feet padding against the floorboards towards Ms Venable’s office. You’d never actually seen the inside of it, up until now counting yourself lucky because you weren’t summoned there unless

Usually, it was just Madison. Sometimes a teenage witch who got a little bit too cocky or mouthy, as they all do sometimes. They’d always come out with raw eyes and a sniffly nose that they’d wipe against their sleeves self-consciously. Madison would just be flushed and embarrassed that she’d been put in her place by the one person who knew just how to deliver blows with the sharp edge of her tongue better than she did.

Her head snapped up when you entered, she looked ready to bark at whoever it was for entering without knocking. Sighing when she realised it was you, she closed the planner that lay open on the desk and folded her hands atop it, as if in an important meeting.

“Y/n” she stated calmly, clearing having used the day to calm herself ready for this unavoidable conversation. Communication wasn’t exactly one of her strengths. She was quick to snap and judge, less so to think about the consequences of her words, or if she even meant them. She wasn’t one for honest and vulnerable conversations. Especially about things she was unsure about.

You felt like a child in trouble, small and anxious under a teachers disappointed stare. You supposed the feeling was justified. You should feel like that.

Shuffling into the seat that faced the desk, you folded your feet under you before remembering where you were and quickly straightening yourself back up. The silence was suffocating as you waited for her to scold you.

“I’m sorry.” Your head jolted to look at her as if you’d been electrified. She was sorry? You’d never heard Wilhemina admit she was in the wrong, never mind saying she was sorry. Catching your open mouth, you willed it to close, clearing your throat uncomfortably and in obvious confusion.

“I shouldn’t have been angry earlier today. I should have let you explain.” Her explanation for her apology had you tripping over your tongue in your haste to blabber out your own apologies. She looked mildly annoyed at your constant insistency to stutter and stumble over your words in her presence.

“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry. I should never have used my powers on you without your permission.” She held her hand up, effectively silencing you as your eyes focused on your hands that were curled, nails pressing moons into the skin of your knees. Wilhemina waited until you built up the confidence to meet her eyes again before continuing.

“I was just shocked after the events of breakfast. I assume that was me, breaking the glasses?” She concluded, cocking her head in slight amusement. You weren’t sure if she was waiting for you to confirm her suspicions or not. You nodded anyway, deciding it was better to answer if she wasn’t expecting one than to ignore such a request.

You did appreciate that anyone would still be reeling weeks after the initial shock of suddenly becoming a witch and inheriting magical abilities. It could be trying and scary for anyone, but to be normal your whole life and over the space of a single breath you were changed was a lot, even for Wilhemina, such a stoic and confident woman. The knowledge that it may be a permanent change could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. You hoped that she would be able to see the benefits of such a gift, be able to flourish and overcome this hurdle, embrace it even. Being a witch had certain advantages that a woman like Wilhemina should surely relish in.

She drew her lips tightly when you confirmed it, nodding, and you took her silence as an invitation to carry on with your explanation. She sat, looking more relaxed now that she had been, the twitch of her jaw had ceased and now she just looked interested in what you had to say.

“I figured my powers gave people certain, abilities, when I’d touch them. But they only used to last a few hours, mainly because it happened by accident. I wasn’t sure what would happen when I consciously wanted to give someone magic, you know? That was why I couldn’t show Ms Goode without you. You’re the only non-magical human in the house. I don’t think it would have worked on anyone else. I’m sorry.”

Wilhemina hummed, hand extending to reach her cane from where it was balanced against the desk, bringing it closer so she could thumb against the top of it. She appeared to be thinking deeply about something, and you couldn’t help but be fixated on how her fingers stroked the smooth wood of the cane in her grip.

Almost as if she knew, a momentary smirk graced her lips as she stilled her fingers. Breaking your trance and making you startle in the chair, she hit the base of the cane twice, echoingly loud in the room. Meeting your gaze, she piqued a brow before sitting back in her seat until her back rested against the leather.

“I do have one condition. Because you’re so sorry.”

“Anything Ms Venable.”

“If this could be a-” she paused momentarily, as though weighing up the options in her head, “a permanent change, then you’ll have to teach me. I can’t very well be a senior teacher here at the academy with no knowledge of how to use and control my own abilities. Whenever, wherever, that I don’t care. But you will teach me, and I will learn.”

Whatever you were expecting her to demand of you in compensation for turning her into a witch, it wasn’t that. A smile spread across your face and you had to fight the urge to jump from your seat and into her arms in thanks. Had Cordelia told her that you wanted to pursue magical teaching?

Whatever had made her choose you to teach her over the multiple other witches who were already gifted as teachers, you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was simply because you knew about her newly acquired skills. Shamelessly however, you were practically giddy with the prospect of spending more time alone with the redhead.

“Yes of course!” you explained, forgetting to keep your voice low as to not arouse suspicion, “I’ll teach you spells and Ms Goode can teach you potions!” you were practically bouncing in the chair, excitement bubbling over making you giddy and giggly. You missed how the mention of Ms Goode made Wilhemina’s smile faulter with a flicker of fear.

“Oh I just know you’re going to love spellcraft! I’ll go get her” you were getting slightly carried away in your blind enthusiasm, pushing yourself out of your chair and rushing towards the door.

The pound of her cane unforgivingly against the floor stilled your movements, whipping round to face her where she’d pushed herself to stand, making her appear more dangerous, a looming suffocating presence in the small room that made you twitch under her stare.

“You are not to tell Ms Goode” she scolded, tone severe and warning, “Not yet.” 

PART 3 

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