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nicoline1998enilocin · 11 months

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Yours, Forever | Chapter 4

PAIRING | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.8K

SUMMARY | The party was a great success, but Y/N didn't see much of it. After her panic attack, she was too busy with caring for herself, and being cared for by everyone she loved. She realizes she has feelings for Bucky, but will they be mutual? And will she pass the bar exam she has coming up?

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Talk about the panic attack.

A/N | Hi everyone, thank you so much for reading my first ever fic! I would like to start off by saying that English isn’t my first language (I’m Dutch after all 😉) so every mistake you find – spelling or otherwise – is completely my own. I would appreciate you spreading the love about this fic, and I ofcourse hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Series masterlist | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

On the morning after her panic attack, Y/N felt like she was hit by a truck, she looked that way too. She still had her arms around Tony and when she woke up and looked up at him, she saw he was awake too. ''Hi honey, how are you feeling right now? Did you get some sleep?'' he asked, but she couldn't say anything because of her sore throat. She nodded a little bit and pulled her arms away from his neck, but they were sore too and it hurt. ''It's okay, take it easy. We have nowhere to be today, so we can take all day if we have to.'' he said in a soft voice, which made her feel good on the inside. She loves this caring side of Tony not many people get to see.

''Your dad brought some clean clothes, your glasses, toiletries and stuff like that, so you can get cleaned up and get into something more comfortable. He stayed with us for a few hours, but he eventually went home, he arrived home safe. Pepper came by here as well and she wishes you the best, but she was heartbroken seeing you like this, but we all are obviously, nobody wishes this on you. Oh, and Bucky came by to see you a few times too, he was worried about you too. Even after you accused him of being gay!'' Tony said followed by a laugh. Y/N felt incredibly loved in this moment and was happy that there were so many people who care about her and her well being. She felt a blush creeping up her face when he mentioned Bucky and him checking up on her.

''Do you wanna stay in bed for a little bit, or do you wanna get cleaned up?'' he asked, and she held up 2 fingers to signal that she wanted to go for the second option. ''Okay, I'm going to put you down on the bed and I'm going to run you a bath so you can relax a little okay? Your dad brought all of your favorites so it should be easy. When he wanted to put her down, she croaked out ''B-B-Bucky'' with a very soft voice, indicating that she wanted to see Bucky right now. ''Okay, I'll go get him first, and then I'll run you a bath. Sound good?'' and she nodded slightly. He ran out of the room and to Bucky's bedroom.

''Buck, you awake? She's asking for you. I don't know why she would ask for you, but Y/N wants to see you!'' Tony said and didn't wait for him to get up. He barely got the chance to turn around before the door opened and he walked out with sweatpants low on his hips, he didn't even bother to put on a shirt or shoes when she needed him. Bucky would run to the ends of the earth and back if you asked him to, so he didn't hesitate even a second. When they reached the room she was laying in, she managed to get her phone and text her dad she was awake and to thank him for bringing the supplies. When she saw Tony and Bucky walk into the room, she looked at them and gave both of them a smile in acknowledgement that they'r here.

''Hey doll, Tony said you were asking for me?'' Bucky said and he crouched down beside the bed to be on Y/N's eye level with a worried look on his face. Tony went to run a bath as promised following the instructions he got from her dad. ''Thank you... last night... meant a lot...'' she managed to get out before her voice gave way again. She talked about when he ran into the room and making sure she wasn't alone when her dad went to go get Tony, it meant the world that she didn't have to be alone right then. She was also happy about the fact that he checked up on her a few times. ''It's okay doll, I'm just happy to see you're okay now, you really had me worried for a few hours. I hated seeing the most beautiful woman I've ever seen being in distress, but I'm just glad Tony was there to hold you, I'm glad you didn't have to be alone.'' he said while softly stroking her hair with his flesh hand. Her eyes flickered over to his metal arm and where it meets his shoulder for just a few seconds. That is when Bucky suddenly had the realization he wasn't wearing a shirt.

He felt the redness of his blushing creeping up his neck and onto his face, as well as down to his chest. ''I- I was in such a hurry, I didn't even realize I wasn't wearing a shirt. Sorry.'' he apologized but Y/N just smiled, she didn't mind at all. She thought about him a lot, and she had fantasized about everything under those shirts he wore, but this was even beyond her wildest dreams. ''I think your bath is ready, do you want me to carry you to the bathroom, so you can take your bath? Tony can help you take care of the rest over there.'' he said, still blushing like a teenager who was head over heels in love. She nodded a little bit, and Bucky got up, he put one arm under her back and one under her knees so he could carry her bridal style to the bathroom.

Tony listened to the conversation in the bathroom and didn't want to interrupt, so he waited until you got carried to the bathroom. ''Well, you're already practicing for your wedding day I see!'' he joked and a smile formed on Y/N's lips, unable to make a sassy remark back at him. ''Do you mind setting her down on the bathroom counter for now? I can take it from here.'' Tony said to Bucky who just nodded as a response. Once he put her down softly and made sure she was sitting steady enough, he let her go and put a soft kiss on her forehead to let her know everything would be okay. ''I hope I'll see you around soon, Y/N, I'd love to get to know you better.'' he said. And with those words he left Tony and Y/N behind, so she could go take her bath.

''So, Bucky huh?'' Tony started when he was out of ear shot. ''Out of all the men in the world, you happen to choose the grumpiest one of them all!'' he said in a teasing way, helping her to take her dress off, and sliding it down her legs after slightly lifting her off the counter. She was left in her underwear and he helped take that off too, but neither of them were embarrassed about it, since they had seen each other naked quite a few times before Tony met Pepper. They didn't have feelings for each other in a romantic way, but they did have a friends with benefits arrangement for a few years before Y/N went off to Harvard and Tony met Pepper. ''Get in too...'' Y/N said softly, sounding a little bit more like herself now.

He agreed, but did decide to keep his boxer briefs on in the bath tub. There was no need for him to be naked, he just helped her relax and get cleaned up. They sat in the bath for a while and Tony contacted Pepper again with an update about the situation, also telling her about Bucky and how Y/N wanted to see him. She was happy to hear she was doing better and laughed about the situation with Bucky, saying how cute the two of them would be together, and Tony could only agree. When they were done and Y/N relaxed for a while, she came back to her normal self again more and more.

''Thank you Tony, for everything. For you being there for me these past ten years, when I escaped from Paul and you let me stay with you and Pepper, and last night too. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you in my life.'' Y/N said with tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. ''Woah woah woah, don't you think you've cried enough already?!'' Tony said jokingly, but it meant the world to hear those words, he knows she would do the exact same for him if the roles were reversed. ''Let's get you dried off and into something more comfy, shall we?'' Tony said and he got up.

''Damn Stark, still looking good as ever!'' she said teasing him as he got up. ''I train enough hours a week, it would be a crime if I didn't look like this!'' he said back, and wrapped a towel around his waist before taking his underwear off. He knows they've seen each other naked plenty of times, but he doesn't want to draw attention to it right now, so he decided to do it this way. ''Can you get up by yourself?'' he asks, and Y/N pushes up and stands, albeit a little unsteady, up in the bath and steps over the edge. Tony is ready with the fluffiest towel he could find, and he wraps her in it after she lifted her arms. When she sees the clothes her dad brought her, a smile creeps up on her face when she notices it's one of her mom's shirts that she kept, not being able to throw it away. ''What are you so happy about, honey?'' Tony asks, and she explains it's her moms shirt, her dad knew she needed her and brought her shirt to help her feel closer to her mom.

They both dry off and Tony leaves the bathroom in order for Y/N to get changed and ready for the day. She is happy her dad brought her glasses, so she didn't have to fumble with her contacts now, and stepped into her underwear after that. After putting on her bra and pants, she picked up her moms shirt and clutched it to her chest for a bit and put it on, looking in the mirror at herself. She felt happy right now, knowing how loved she was by everyone, and how they all wanted her to help. She put her hair in her usual ponytail and walked outside, Tony being fully clothed too now. ''Can you maybe bring me to Bucky's room? I wanna talk to him if that's okay.'' and he does.

She knocks on the door and when the door opens, Bucky is standing there fully clothed this time, earning a little bit of a disappointed look from Y/N. He started blushing and Y/N couldn't help but smile while also becoming more and more red. ''Hey, I wanted to say thank you again. I know I already did, but I wanted you to know that it really meant a lot to me to have you there last night. At first I didn't know it was you, but when I saw your arm it clicked into place, it felt so cool against my back and I realized you were there for me, so thank you.'' she said. ''Doll, there's no need to thank me. I'm just glad you're okay, and I am happy knowing that you're feeling better now.'' he said. When he said that nickname again 'doll' that was all she could think about. She stepped a little closer to him and got onto her tiptoes, then she placed a kiss on his right cheek as one more thank you for everything. She lingered a little bit so she could inhale his scent, and after she walked away, meeting up with Tony again.

Bucky walked over to Steve's room since they were supposed to meet up anyways, but he couldn't wait, he had to talk to his best friend NOW. ''Steve, you in there?'' he said after knocking on the door. ''Yeah, coming!'' he heard from the bedroom, and then he saw Steve open the door a little bit with a towel around his waist, his hair a mess and a sheen of sweat over his body with red cheeks. Bucky knew immediately what that meant. ''You know what, I'll come back later, I see that you're busy.'' looking at his best friend who clearly was in the middle of having sex, probably with someone he met at the party last night.

A few days later, Y/N was over at Tony's house, and they were having dinner with Pepper. At first the conversation was light, talking about the pregnancy, work, stuff like that, but at some point, Tony wanted to talk about the panic attack from a few days ago. ''Y/N, you know I love you to death, but can you please tell me what was going on that night? You scared me so much, your dad came to find me and didn't want to tell me what was going on, only that you were having a panic attack again.'' he said with a worried look in his eyes.

''I just got overwhelmed with everything, you know how bad my social anxiety can get.'' she said shortly, with a tone that made it clear she didn't want to elaborate further and hoping they'd just drop the subject altogether. ''Yeah, I know, but I also know that wasn't JUST your social anxiety getting the best of you. I haven't seen you like that since we got you away from Paul, and I hoped to never have to see you like that again. When I saw you on that stage with your dad I knew something was very very wrong, and the worries got the best of me again. So can you please tell me what was going on?''

With a sigh of defeat, Y/N knew she couldn't hide her feelings from them, and when Pepper gave her a reassuring squeeze in her hand, she started telling them about everything that happened, all the feelings she felt. Missing her mom, how she had a hard time dealing with that, the stress when she was away to college, hew abusive ex, all the emotions she bottled up for years coming out tonight. But this morning there was a little bit of relief going through her, and she wanted to tell them about that too. ''This morning, I asked to see Bucky right? Well, when he showed up with you, I felt a little of relief coming down over me. Like it felt right for him to be there or something, it's hard to explain.'' she said.

''That night, when my dad went to look for you again, he showed up and held me when my dad wasn't there, he was my rock at that moment. It felt right to be in his arms, and for a few moments it felt like there was this feeling of warmth going through my body, which was different from when you held me. When you held me it felt safe, like everything was going to be okay, but when I saw Bucky again, it felt like I saw home. And I honestly think I can say I witnessed love at first sight first hand.'' she explained with her face becoming more and more red as she kept going. She knew they wouldn't tell it to anyone, that her secret was safe with them, and that they just want her to be happy.

''It was honestly the first time I felt any feelings like THAT, well, ever actually. I never felt those kind of feelings with Paul, and we all know what a mistake that was, but I really hope Bucky will be different. It's like I found my soulmate and I don't even know him, like, at all.'' she finished. Y/N was afraid that they didn't understand what she was talking about, but all Tony said was ''I understand, I had the exact same feeling when I met Pepper.'' and he got tears in his eyes when he thought back to that, and all the happy memories they shared. ''I just hope you will get the life you have always dreamt of, honey. You deserve nothing less than that, and I honestly think Barnes can give you that. And you know I don't say that lightly!'' he mentioned quickly, but he didn't have to. This was all she needed to hear from Tony. Y/N got up from her seat and went to hug Tony, she really was the luckiest girl in the world to be able to call him her best friend.

~ 1 year later ~

Y/N had taken the test for the bar to become a lawyer, while also still working in her dad's bakery when she could. During this year, she didn't see Bucky as often as she'd like, since he was away on long missions for the most time, just like the other Avengers. Steve got injured pretty badly on a mission, and even his super serum blood couldn't fix that properly, even though everything else healed incredibly fast. Because of this, he was usually in the compound working when the rest were on missions, which gave Y/N time to bond with him, and she always went to see Steve as well when she visited Tony. She checked in to see how he was doing, and ofcourse she tried to subtly ask about Bucky as well. ''You know, if you want to know how Bucky is doing, you may always just ask that instead of asking about everyone else too and trying to not make it look obvious. It's pretty obvious you like him!'' Steve said with a smirk on his face, as he watched her face turn deep red.

''How about we go grab a coffee and I can tell you a little more about Bucky? I won't tell you his deepest, darkest secrets, but I can tell you a little more about who he is as a person.'' Steve suggested, and you immediately said yes. ''Alright, it's a date!'' he said with a wink. ''Looking forward to it! Just text me when you have time, and I'll see when I can make time in my busy schedule for this date of yours!'' Y/N said before walking away to go grab a snack from the kitchen, and somehow you bump into Bucky, who shouldn't be there, or so you thought. ''Hey doll, you should watch out where you're going, or else you're going to get hurt! Also, you're going on a date...?'' Bucky asked when he felt jealousy creep through his chest, feeling like he was too late with asking her out, someone got to her first.

Bucky was trying to be a gentleman and give her a little bit of space in order to not smother her with his presence, since he wasn't sure if she would like being around him all the time. He knew he really enjoyed hanging out with her every time the two of you were together, since you could always talk about your love of books, and you constantly recommended books to one another and discussed them the next chance you got. Tony invited Y/N to movie night a couple times as well and as luck would have it, she could always sit next to him. Little did he know it wasn't luck, but just Tony playing cupid. When there was a scary movie, Y/N usually cuddled up to him after there were some scary parts, and she hid her face in his chests a couple times. Those moments he wrapped his arm around her and sometimes even dared to give a little kiss on the top of her head, but only when no one was looking.

He curses himself out for being too late, and tried to act interested never the less, not wanting her to know he was jealous. ''Uh, yeah, but it doesn't mean anything! I'm just grabbing coffee with Steve soon, that's all, we've been getting along pretty well the last year and I think we're becoming pretty good friends at this point. It was just a bit of a joke when he said it was a date. Besides, I have my eye on someone else I actually might have a chance with, someone who is not into guys like Steve is.'' she ranted, instantly regretting the last part as soon as it left her mouth. ''But if you don't mind, I was just on my way to go see if I passed the bar or not, since the results just got posted a few minutes ago!'' she said excited and nervous at the same time.

''Oh, do you want me to come with you, or did you want to be alone?'' Bucky asks, hoping you want him to come along for it. ''Uhm, I think it would be nice if you could be there, I'm really nervous and I have a feeling I might pass out when I'm alone...'' Y/N said softly. They went to the tech lab and grabbed a laptop so she could see her results. After she filled in her username and password, she grabbed Bucky's hand and looked at him for some reassurance. ''You got this doll, I'm sure it's gonna be good news!'' he said, and she kept on holding his hand when pressing enter. There it was, the results she had been hoping for, and she didn't dare to look, so she turned her head away.

''Doll, you should really look at the screen, because you're gonna be working for S.I. very soon.'' Bucky said, and before she realized what he had said, she looked at the screen. It said she had passed, and she would officially be a lawyer once she took the oath. After that, she would become a practicing lawyer in the state of New York. ''OH MY GOD, I PASSED?!'' she exclaimed, still not quite believing it. In her excitement she did something she always dreamt about doing, but she didn't dare. She stood up and she grabbed Bucky's face, pulling him into a soft kiss that made the butterflies in her stomach go absolutely crazy. Their lips fit perfectly together, like they were made for each other, and Bucky slowly put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer when she kissed him. It was a kiss filled with love, excitement, and hope for a beautiful future together. It wasn't rushed, it was a soft, slow kiss that felt like it was going on for ever and ever.

When they finally had to let go of one another, they saw nothing but love in each others eyes. Both their dreams had finally come true, they finally kissed each other. But as soon as they came back to earth, there was a realization dawning on Y/N, she was going to leave to go to Italy on a vacation for 3 months with her best friend, Eve. She wouldn't be seeing Bucky for 3 months, just when they had found each other, and that feeling absolutely broke her heart in a million pieces.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes

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espresso-lessdepresso · 2 years

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Hello Sofi! The lovely anon

I’ve just read all your messages and seeing as you wanted to be anonymous, I’ll simply reply though here without directly replying to your ask and without disclosing your account.

I feel like a 40 year old woman that has to sit down with her coffee and glasses to read the story her favorite writer just dropped.

Honestly, I feel very similar, in the sense that, whenever I’m writing, I’m in some alternate universe where I’m pursuing writing and am writing to publish some book of mine :]

I’ve also read your comments beside writing and I hope you’re doing okay, it’s a tough year especially all the weird and sad situations going on that hit like a truck but remember that you followers and me are here to support you. You can talk to me about anything you need, I’ll always be here to help you, it’s the least I can do as a big fan of yours.

It has been a rough year for most if not all of us. On top of personal family issues, my writer's block and depression seem to be wombo comboing my ass for the past few months. Evident by the lack of new works on this blog as well as the second chapter of The Cage that I had promised. I really appreciate how understanding and thoughtful you are ^^ I should be back on my usual habit hopefully soon.

And I am so thankful that you took the time to read my letter and you loved it and will save it, it meant not only the world but also the whole entire galaxy to me. I meant every word I said and will keep on sending lovely asks because you absolutely, with no shadow of a doubt, deserve them. ILY, stay safe my love and sending all good and calming vibes your way <333

Gosh, this is all so sweet I don’t know how to express how grateful I am. I truly am! Your kind and sweet messages haven’t failed to brighten my day whenever I’ve received them. THANK YOU <3

hihihii !! it’s me again, the lovely anon lol. You can call me sofi btw if you want to :D. So I’m coming with another message, sorry if they bother but I really like writing them and idk, it just feels right.

I’m very much fine with such kind messages so no need to shy away! In a way, it is nice to interact with my readers and know a bit about them and what they think about my writing. Lol, it feels less like I'm putting my writing out into the void and more like to people with similar interests and likings.

Anywayssss, so yesterday I was listening to Conan Gray and I had this weird awakening, while listening to ‘Memories’ I remembered the dialogue you wrote, the one where the reader was left alone and GOD. I read it while listening and it fitted so well, I firmly believe you just have a way to convey so many emotions into one scene like a full on movie script and like I get this tight feeling on my chest, so sad and prominent that only REALLY GOOD STORIES make me have.

I like writing just dialogue because unlike the other proper stories, which have settings, dialogue, descriptions, etc, etc.- the reader gets to make and take away from the dialogue as much or as little as they want to. Like, sprinkle your brain glitter on it and make it as emotionally harrowing as you want ^^

I listened to Memories and oh my god, I did not know that there would be a song so fitting to this dialogue as this is! This song has like 90% of what my thought process consisted of when I was writing D4. This is just so wild and interesting I'm like all giddy and frazzled. And once again, thank you so much. My writing is almost always self-indulgent and with this, I’m very happy and satisfied that the emotions I was feeling were able to transfer into my writing. Please I hope you had some chocolate after the pain that my writing inflicted!!! I can’t lose my readers!!!

If I could add and expand, the rest of the 10% that I wanted to convey into the writing of D4 was... anger accompanied by betrayal. In my mind, the ‘reader’ in D4 struggles with abandonment and attachment so being left all alone, a lot of hurt and confutation was laced into the last dialogue.

That’s you power, absolutely incredible. I cannot stress enough about how amazing you are, seriously you’re super cool and I hope you know that whatever you come up with I just love it so much. Even the small and insignificant make such a difference for me, also you made want to pick up a story I left long forgotten before I started college. It’s just idk, you reminded me how sweet it is to step back and write something cute and warm (I’m a film student, most scripts I write are horror lmao) so thank you so much for that, hope you’re getting better everyday. Stay safe, ily and sending you all the good vibes <333

Hearing all of this motivates me so much to write and makes my brain brrr like there's no tomorrow.

I’m glad that you’ve reconnected with your own writing <3 If you ever post your writing online, I would love to read them! I enjoy reading horror, mostly Stephen king for now (I hope to explore), so if your horror scripts are ever posted as well, link me!

I apologise for such a late reply. I hope you are doing well! All the good vibes to you too and I hope you take care Sofi <3 !!!

I just realized I wasn’t hitting the anon button all this time 💀 now you know my secret identity

Hmm, it seems that I have spontaneously forgotten the name of your account and now your online identity will remain an absolute mystery ;]

#❄mail❄#anon sofi #talking

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kevinychen · 2 years

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Anchorage (7/12)

Today we went to the Anchorage Heritage Museum!

The museum was very art-focused. Or at least, it started out very much so. There were four floors, and we were recommended to start on the top and work our way down.

The third and fourth floors turned out to all be temporary art exhibits. And this was all modern art stuff. So for example, there was like water coming out of a hose and hitting some drums, and this was supposed to represent the unchanging presence of nature in our lives. And if you were in an appreciative mood, this made a lot of sense, and if you weren't, it didn't.

Some random artwork

The second floor had the cool permanent exhibits though. We saw artifacts from the various indigenous peoples of Alaska. There were the Aleut, who inhabited be Aleutian Islands, the small island chain extending off the southwestern coast of Alaska, and whose language is were the word "Alaska" came from. There were the Athabaskans, which inhabited the Seward peninsula area that our entire trip was in. And there were the Yupik, with many artifacts made of seal intestine.

Today was also Lawn Lunch Tuesday! There were a bunch of food trucks. Becky got really excited, but we didn't eat lunch there. Instead, we went back home and reheated left over pizza from Moose's Tooth from the previous night. Yum. It was actually still pretty good after microwaving.

After lunch we planned to go to AWCC (The Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center). But Becky was angry at us for not eating at the food trucks. So she didn't go with us. Instead, she forced me to drop her off at Potter Creek trail head where she sulked for a couple hours.

At the AWCC, we saw wolves, some black bears, porcupines, a bold eagle, bison, musk ox, caribou, reindeer, elk, deer. And we spent an embarrassingly long amount of time trying to find the lynx in its exhibit, but we failed.

This bald eagle got its wing shot by a hunter. It had to be amputated and the eagle could no longer fly.

After a couple hours of birding, Becky felt much better ed asked us to pick her up from a nearby trailhead which she had walked to. But we were early, so after we parked I got out to run toward Becky while Tommy and Natalle didn't want to get out of the car.

Apparently Becky had an unwanted encounter with bears! She was still shaking like Snaky.

It was now time for dinner! Natalle had a long list of recommendations in Anchorage from her friend. So she called the first one on the list.

"Hi, how long is the wait for four?"

It was over an hour and a half. She hung up. And called the next restaurant.

Also an hour and a half.

And the next too. And this was all on a weekday evening.

Finally Tommy got exasperated. "Let's just go to a less popular place," he said. "How about Nepalese?" He pointed at a place on the map called Mandala Restaurant.

"It's your turn to call," said Natalle. Tommy grumbled.

"Hi, how long is the wait for four?"

"I said, how long is the wait for four?"

"I SAID, HOW LONG IS THE WAIT FOR FOUR?"

It took as long for Tommy to finish the call as for Natalle to finish her entire list. But there wouldn't be a wait! That counts for something, right?

We got there and asked for a table for four. The server shook his head at us and said, "There's no room." He then pointed at an empty table and said, "This table is reserved. You have to call ahead. Did you call to reserve?"

"Uh, I'm not sure," said Tommy.

We had to wait for an hour and a half.

Later, we played bridge.

#alaska

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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TO LOVE AND BE LOVED - Part Four (Harry Styles)

a/n: happy TLABL day!! can’t believe we are already on part 4! im not sure if part 5 will be the last part, im still very much writing the rest so we’ll see! thank you so much for all the love you’ve been showing the series, i love reading your reactions! feedback is very much appreciated this time as well!

pairing: CEO!Dad!Harry X Reader

warning: mentions of death, cheating and divorce

word count: 11k

SERIES MASTERPOST masterlist

You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck or at least consumed a whole bottle of tequila. Your head is pounding and it’s probably with all the crying and stress, so you are quick to take some pills to ease the pain. Sitting on the edge of your bed you stare ahead of you blankly, trying to gain power to start the day.

Though today is Sunday, so you are not working, you’re still worried to face Harry after whatever it was that happened last night. What were you thinking, kissing your boss out of the blue? And what was he thinking kissing you for the second time? It kind of feels like a dream, but you know it really did happen.

You try to stay in your room as long as possible, avoiding to face Harry, but soon enough you can’t postpone it any longer, because you are starving. Peeking out of your room you hear voices coming from downstairs and as you reach the stairs you recognize not just Harry’s and Izzy’s voice, but Niall’s as well.

Arriving downstairs you see Niall and Izzy sitting on the stools at the kitchen island while Harry is cleaning the dishes after their breakfast probably. He is wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and a black hoodie, the sleeves bunched around his elbows. He looks so casual and yet just looking at him makes your heart skip a beat. You are in some big trouble.

Niall spots you first and he perks up waving in your way happily.

“Good morning, Y/N!” he beams, his accent sounds so comforting in such a stressful moment, for some reason.

“Hi, good morning,” you breathe out. Harry turns around, his eyes fall on you and a shiver runs down your spine. He just looked at you and you already want to run away and hide in your room a little longer.

“Morning,” he greets you with a nod before turning back to the sink to finish the dishes.

“Daddy and Uncle Niall are taking me to the park! We are picking Yara up too!” Izzy shares the news with you excitedly.

“Oh, that sounds great!” you smile at her, giving her cheek a gentle pinch before moving to the fridge.

“Do you want to come?” she invites you and your eyes immediately flicker over to Harry who looks at you the exact same time, making your stomach drop right away.

“Um, I have some work to do, maybe some other time,” you smile at Izzy, grabbing yourself a yoghurt and a banana before shutting the fridge closed.

“So how was yesterday?” Niall asks and you freeze. Does he know what happened? Did Harry tell him about last night?

Niall sees your frightened look to which he shoots you a confused one.

“The wedding, Harry told me earlier you had a wedding yesterday.”

“Oh, it went… fine,” you nod shortly, peeking at Harry who is now staring down at his feet awkwardly. This was starting to get painfully ridiculous, the two of you dancing around each other, pretending like you weren’t down each other’s throats just a few hours prior.

“Alright, let’s leave, we need to pick Yara up in twenty,” Harry claps his hands. Izzy jumps off the stool and takes Niall’s hand as they all head out of the house. “We’ll probably have lunch somewhere and then go grocery shopping, so we’ll be away for a while,” he informs you without looking your way before leaving without even waiting for any reaction from you.

Yeah, this was straight up the most awkward conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Here, Izzy. Play some games on my phone!” Niall passes his phone to her with a sweet smile, but Harry smacks his bicep.

“What are you doing? She has enough screen time already!”

“Yeah, but I needed her to be busy so I can ask you what the fuck was that in the house.”

Harry curls his lips into his mouth, his eyes glued to the road ahead of him as he tries to come up with a good answer, but he knows he could never fool his best friend.

“Don’t stop, even if she is busy with the phone,” Harry scolds him, glancing at Izzy through the mirror, but she doesn’t seem to be listening to them. Niall rolls his eyes, but lets his words uncommented. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, you exactly know it. You and Y/N were like scared little bunnies around each other. She looked like she was about to faint any moment when you looked at her.”

“Maybe she was just tired,” he shrugs, but Niall laughs at his weak attempt to fool him.

“Now tell me the real reason, I know something happened.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip, debating whether he should come clean or not, but he knows Niall won’t leave him until he finally tells him so he is not left with many choices.

“We kissed.”

“What?!” Niall snaps, a little louder than Harry expected, his voice makes him flinch. “Sorry, that was a little too dramatic, but what the fuck? Why were you keeping this from me?!”

“Because I knew this is how you’d react,” Harry mumbles under his breath. “And… I don’t think it will ever happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole thing was a mess,” Harry sighs. “She came home late, pretty upset because she met with her ex at the wedding.”

“The one that cheated on her?”

“Mhm. The dude was an asshole and… she was crying in the kitchen when I came down. We sat on the couch, talked, I tried to calm her down and all that and then… she kissed me.”

“Wait, she kissed you? Wow, she’s got balls!” Niall laughs.

“Yeah, but it was, like, really short and she pulled back, shocked at herself for doing it. I think it was just all the emotions that got her a little confused. But then she tried to apologize and… and I kissed her.”

“What?! Oh my God!” Niall’s mind is blown and he doesn’t even tries to hide his excitement hearing the news about last night. “Was there tongue?”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry scowls. “I’m not sharing the details with you.”

“Okay, but was it like a solid, short kiss or you guys went right at it?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but it tells enough about the situation and Niall can’t help but whistle as he claps his hands.

“Stop acting like a horny teenager, Niall,” Harry growls rolling his eyes at his friend.

“So you guys snogged, what’s the matter with that?”

“It got awkward. We just pulled back and I think we both were pretty shocked about it and… she just stood up and said that she is going to bed. End of story. And then you were there in the morning, so… yeah.”

“Tell me why the hell we are heading to a playdate then when you should be talking to her?” Niall asks, arching an eyebrow at Harry.

“There’s not much to talk about. It just happened in the heat of the moment, that’s all,” Harry shrugs, but deep down he knows it’s a blatant lie. At least on his side.

Unlike you, who fell asleep right away, Harry spent about an hour lying in his bed wide awake, not able to think about anything else but your lips on his. He replayed the whole thing in his head about a million times, he was starting to feel ashamed of it, but he just couldn’t stop.

Your abrupt leaving left him puzzled and he thought long and hard about why you felt the need to run away. The only thing that made sense to him is that you regretted it the moment it happened, that it really did just happen in the heat of the moment so Harry thought it’s best to act like it didn’t even happen.

“Please don’t be an ass and just… talk to her. We both know we can never know for sure what a woman thinks about. You can’t just assume and think that your assumption is one hundred percent right.”

“I find it funny that you’re such an expert in this stuff, but you haven’t had a stable relationship since like, we finished college,” Harry scoffs as he takes the corner and starts driving down the street to Yara’s moms’ house.

“Me not having a relationship doesn’t mean that I’m not good at them. It’s a choice,” Niall smirks.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“But back to the topic, you wanted to kiss her, right?”

“I mean, yeah? It kinda threw me off as well, but it was… nice.”

“Please don’t refer to a kiss as nice again,” Niall gags, but Harry just chuckles at him. “A kiss is hot, passionate, pant tighteni—“

“Okay, that’s enough!” Harry cuts him, earning a cackle from him.

“Just talk to her, don’t be a pussy.”

“I really do need better friends,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he pulls up to the driveway.

You really didn’t feel like staying home alone in that big ass house so you invited yourself over for an early dinner to your mom’s. You haven’t been over since the little fiasco with Trevor so you thought it might be a good idea to spend some time with them. Trevor said they’ve been trying to keep the fighting down to the minimum and not let it turn into a screaming match, so your speech worked after all.

It’s past three o’clock when you leave, no sign of Harry or Izzy and you feel like they won’t be back for a while either, so you lock everything up and head out.

You have a genuinely good time. It’s obvious that your mom feels guilty about her past behavior and is trying to lure you into forgiving her, though you already did that. But you’re happy your little speech worked. At least Trevor can have his peace now.

After dinner your mom disappears in her room and then returns with a nicely wrapped box and you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Mom, I told you I don’t need gifts.” You give her a look. Your birthday is coming up next week, but you were never the kind to celebrate. You never felt comfortable with all the attention and fuss birthdays come with, so you’ve always liked to keep it down. These past years you didn’t even ask for anything, though your parents never listened and this year doesn’t seem like an exception either.

“Oh hush. You can’t expect me not to celebrate my baby!” she shakes her head, sitting back to the dining table. “And besides, I didn’t pay a dollar for it,” she then adds and now you’re curious what she got you.

Removing the lid of the box you peek inside and your lips immediately part as you see the stack of polaroids inside.

“I know how much you like old photos and when we sold Grandma’s house back in August, I found these in my old room. I got a polaroid camera for graduation, just in time to take tons of pictures of you,” she explains with a soft chuckle as you start going through the pictures from when you were born and the next few years. Whenever you are done looking at a photo you hand it to Trevor so he can take a look at them too.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep these, mom?” you ask glancing up at her over the stack.

“I took out a few for myself,” she admits with a sneaky smile. “You can have the rest, I know how much you love these stuff.”

“Thank you, mom,” you smile at her, hugging her from the side, feeling touched by this gift.

It’s nearing eight when you arrive back home, the lights are still up and if you had to guess you’d say that Harry is trying to tire Izzy out enough to put to bed, as usual. Walking in, your guess is proven right, the TV is on in the living room while Harry is sitting on the couch, Izzy all over him in her pink pajamas, playing around with his hair like she always does.

“Hi Y/N!” she calls out happily when she spots you.

“Hi Sunshine, did you have a good time today?” you ask with a soft smile.

“I did! And guess what!”

“What?”

“Yara invited me over for a sleepover!” she beams, clearly ecstatic about the invitation.

“That’s amazing!”

“What’s that?” she curiously asks pointing at the gift box in your hands. Harry turns to see you, his eyes falling on the box as well.

“Oh, it’s a gift I got from my mom,” you explain, stepping closer.

“Is it your birthday?” she questions, knitting her eyebrows together.

“No, not yet. But it will be next week,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Really? Are you having a birthday party?” she gasps, getting way too excited already. Harry eyes you without a word, holding Izzy by her hips so she is not losing her balance standing on the cushion of the couch.

“I’m not, sorry. I don’t like having birthday parties,” you pout at her apologetically.

“Oh, okay. Can I see what you got from your mom?”

“Izzy, don’t be nosy,” Harry warns her, but you just smile at the curious girl.

“Sure,” you nod, joining them on the couch. You sit on the opposite end than where Harry is, Izzy in the middle as she watches the box in awe. You set it down to the cushion and take the lid off, revealing the stack of photos.

“What are these?”

“They are called polaroids. They are old pictures, taken with a special camera that kind of prints the picture out right away,” you explain to her as she takes the first photo from the top, a picture of your mom holding you as a newborn. She was so young, practically a child herself, yet her pride was undeniable, it shone all over her face. You spot Harry looking at the picture as well over Izzy’s shoulder, still keeping his silence.

“Who are these people?”

“That’s my mom and that’s me as a baby. And… this is my dad,” you hold up another photo that features your dad.

“They really were young when they had you,” Harry speaks up for the first time, surprised by the photos.

“Yeah, they were.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Izzy questions, dropping the photo back into the box as she leans back to lie on Harry’s chest.

“Not sure yet. I might make an album from them,” you shrug. “I really like polaroids, I love that they are one of a kind.”

Izzy nods, though you’re not sure she understood what you meant by that. Fidgeting with her fingers she pushes down a yawn and Harry takes that as a good sign.

“Alright, time for bed, Love. Say good night to Y/N.” He picks her up as he stands from the couch. Izzy waves at you smiling with tired eyes.

“Night-night, Y/N,” she singsongs as Harry carries her towards the stairs.

Putting the pictures back into the box you head into your bedroom too, feeling like the time when you and Harry talk about what happened yesterday will never come. It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, so you’ll just let it slip. It happened just in the heat of the moment, didn’t mean a thing, you better forget about it.

After a speedy shower you are getting ready to just go to bed, read some and have a relaxing evening, something you didn’t have the luck to have the day before. But right as you’re about to make yourself comfortable in bed, there’s a knock on your door.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you open it and find Harry standing in the hallway.

“I hope you weren’t sleeping already.”

“No. Come on in,” you invite him inside and he walks in. As he awkwardly stops in the middle of the room you realize he hasn’t even been in here since you’ve moved in. He takes a look around, examining what you’ve done with the room and you feel thankful you decided to put your laundry away just yesterday, so no dirty underwear is littering the floor anywhere.

“How can I help you?” you ask with a soft smile.

“I, erm… I just wanted to clear some things,” he starts, clearly feeling nervous about the conversation and that makes the two of you for sure. Nodding you let him know that you’re waiting for him to carry on. “What happened yesterday…” he starts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “You were very emotional, a lot happened and it was a very confusing moment probably for the both of us. I really like working with you, I’m very happy with the way you’ve been taking care of Izzy and I would hate to ruin it with anything.”

You can feel your stomach dropping even though you were bracing yourself for this version of the situation. It was very likely that Harry would want to keep things professional, like before, but it still makes you feel like shit.

“I’m sorry for stepping over some boundaries, but I really hope that… we can put it behind us and that we can move on.”

He is using his business tone. It’s the same tone he used with Sarah and his assistants and now he is using it to talk about the kiss that happened between the two of you.

“Sure,” you answer quietly nodding. “Moving on sounds… great,” you nod, forcing a smile to your face, but it couldn’t be more fake.

Harry nods as he runs his tongue over his lips, looking around a little awkwardly now that it’s been discussed.

“Alright, then… good night, Y/N,” he nods in your way before heading towards the door.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble after him as he walks out and closes the door behind him.

As soon as you are on your own, you let out a shaky breath, falling to your bed, lips trembling as you try to even make out what you’re feeling. Because part of you is glad he didn’t make a fuss about it and you didn’t lose your job, that’s great news. But another part, which is vehemently bigger than the first one is upset and sad and… disappointed?

You were hoping it meant something for him, you wanted him to want it, to feel the same craving for you as you feel towards him, because you haven’t really stopped thinking about what his lips felt like against yours, what it was like when his fingers dug into your thigh, how it sent a shiver down your spine when his tongue met yours.

But this conversation just made it awfully clear that he wants nothing to do with you. And it hurts probably more than it should.

Harry doesn’t get too far from your door when he feels the all too familiar pain in his chest he has been forced to live with these past over three years. It’s like something is gripping his heart and lungs in his chest so tight, even breathing is a hard task.

Rushing into his bedroom he closes the door behind him and slides down to the floor as the tears flood from his eyes. The past twenty-four hours have been rough on him, the guilt has been growing immensely since he let himself slip and give in for his desires and eventually kiss you.

It’s not that he didn’t want it. Because he’d be lying if he said it meant nothing to him and that he hasn’t been craving it these past weeks.

But his guilt, this evil little voice in the back of his head wouldn’t let him enjoy it even the slightest.

How dare you kiss another woman after your wife? Are you insane? You don’t deserve to feel this way with anyone else. Not when you were the reason your wife ended up dead!

Heartbreaking sobs escape from his chest as he pushes himself up from the floor and heads into the bathroom. He strips out of his clothes leaving them all in a pile on the marble tiled floor before he steps into the shower and lets the hot water pour down on him, almost burning his skin, but he doesn’t change the temperature, as if he was trying to punish himself. His salty tears mix with the water as he stands still, chest heaving as his vivid memories from that night come crashing down on him all at once.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment now? Really?” Harry sighed at his wife when she failed to answer his question about the whereabouts of his sweatpants. Maggie sat on the bed with the recent maternity book she’d been reading these past days, not even paying her husband a look at his question.

“Mags, for fuck’s sake, I’m not in the mood to play this game right now,” Harry sighed in defeat. Maggie looked up at him, closed the book slowly and put it aside to the bedside table.

“So the question of expanding our family is just a game to you?” she asked calmly, but her anger and disappointment in her husband was soaking through her tone.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“No, you are not talking about anything, because you refuse to have a fucking conversation with me!” she retorted, letting all her bottled up anger out that’d been boiling inside her.

“I already told you that I can’t think about having another baby right now. Izzy is only six, I’m in the middle of a huge project, I don’t have the capacity to think about having another baby, Maggie. I thought I made it clear, why are you still onto me then?”

“Because it’s not something we can put aside for too long! I don’t want to have another baby when I’m in my mid-thirties, but if we go with your plan, we won’t even have another one!” Maggie jumped to her feet, pacing the floor back and forth next to their bed as Harry stood with his hands on his hips, getting irritated that they were fighting over the same thing again.

“I never said we can’t have another baby, but why can’t we wait a little? When Izzy is older and more independent? Do you have any idea how hard it is to take care of a baby and a toddler? It’s a fucking nightmare!” Harry growled rolling his eyes.

“So our family is just a pain in the ass for you?” Maggie questioned, folding her arms on her chest and she was really getting on Harry’s nerves, twisting his words completely.

“That’s not what I said!” he snapped. “All I’m asking for is you to be a little patient and give me some time!”

“I don’t have time, Harry! I want it as soon as possible!”

“Why are you so fucking difficult?” Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair. “Why can’t you wait just… one year at least? Is that too much to ask?”

“And is it too much to ask to focus on your family? We are supposed to come first!” she turned it back around and Harry was not having the dirty games she was playing, putting all the blame on him when she could have been a little more understanding as well. He was feeling like his opinion was put aside and didn’t matter at all.

“You do come first, you don’t have the right to question that.” Harry pointed at Maggie, his blood practically boiling at this point.

“Then why do I feel like work is always more important to you?”

“What are you talking about? You know I’m home as much as I can, but we still need the fucking money, Maggie! Or how do you plan on paying the bills of this fucking mansion?!”

“I don’t need a mansion! I just need my family and that’s all!” she argued, but Harry rolled his eyes at her.

“Well you seem to enjoy this mansion a lot when you sit by the pool and watch movies in the fucking movie theater in your own home!” he snapped back feistily. “Stop acting like I don’t do shit for our family when I work my ass off to provide the best possible life. And all I’m asking for in return is some fucking time before we bring another baby into the picture!”

“You are so fucking unbelievable,” Maggie shook her head as she marched past him, walking away from the fight that just grinded his gears even more.

Just as Harry was about to go after her, he heard the faint crying through the baby monitor. Groaning he headed into Izzy’s room and as he took her out of her crib, he heard the front door open and shut.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry, did we wake you up?” he cooed, hugging the crying little girl to his chest who clung onto him immediately. Even at such a young age, Izzy was already a daddy’s little girl.

Soon her cries died down to just little hiccups as Harry soothed her, patting her bum and back gently as he moved around the room. Holding Izzy in one arm he grabbed his phone with his free hand and typed a message to his wife.

Harry: Where did you go?!

Maggie: I’m going over to my sister’s. Don’t wait up, might get home late.

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. She called him out for running away from the conversation, but when they were finally talking about it she just decided to disappear when it didn’t head in the direction she wanted, seeking comfort at her sister, as always.

He managed to lull Izzy back to sleep, putting her back to her crib before going back to the bedroom. As time passed by and he calmed down more and more he wished Maggie was home so they could talk about it without jumping at each other’s throat. There had to be a compromising way to solve the situation that would be fine for the both of them.

Harry: Please come home and let’s talk about it.

Maggie: So you can bite my head off again?!

Harry: Mags, please. You have to understand my point of view too!

Maggie: I understand it, but I don’t agree with it. And you don’t seem to understand mine…

Harry: I do, but there are more things to consider. Please come home, I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone!

Maggie: Okay, I’m heading home now.

Harry put his phone down to the nightstand with a long sigh, already tired from everything that happened that day and he knew this conversation would be a hard one too, but they needed to be on the same page when it came to their family.

It was late getting late and Harry grew a little more restless with each passing moment. Paisley, Maggie’s sister lived about thirty minutes away from them and it’d been forty minutes since she sent her last text. At first he figured she maybe stayed and talked for a little longer with Paisley, or stopped for some fast food which he knew she liked so much whenever she was upset, but when an entire hour passed by he was getting worried.

He kept sending her texts that didn’t even get delivered and when he tried to call it went straight to her voicemail. Harry was losing his shit so he decided to call Paisley to see if she knew anything about her.

“She hasn’t arrived home yet?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“No, and she is not answering my calls and texts. When did she leave from yours?”

“A long time ago. Almost right away when you texted her to go home.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, anxiously pacing the floor as he held the phone to his ear. “Okay, can you please call your parents in case she went there for whatever reason? I’ll try her friends.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me know if you got a hold of her,” Paisley told him before they ended the call.

Harry was scrolling through his contacts, trying to decide who Maggie would go to first in this situation and just as he was about to call the first person, his phone started ringing with an unknown number.

“Hello?” he answered the call unsurely, his heart beating fast in his chest as he stood in the middle of the room.

“Mr. Harry Styles?” a male voice asked on the other end.

“Yes, it’s me. Who am I speaking to?”

“I’m Officer Field speaking. You were listed as the emergency contact for your wife, Margaret Linn Styles.”

Blood rushed out of Harry’s face faster than he could even process what was happening. He stood completely frozen, his hands were getting clammy as he started sweating as if he just ran the marathon.

“What happened?” he asked weakly, barely even finding his own voice.

“Mr. Styles, I have bad news…”

Harry makes his way down to the entertainment room, walking like a zombie, only thinking about the bottle of vodka that sits in the minibar down there. Following his skin burning shower he tried to go to bed, but his head was starting to spin from everything that’s been swirling in his mind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it if he didn’t numb himself somehow. Unfortunately, his only way of doing it has been drinking, nothing seemed to help him the way alcohol did and though he knew he should never solve any of his problems with drinking, he still couldn’t help himself sometimes. When the pain was growing immensely, taking over his whole body, he chose the easiest way to get rid of the guilt or at least stop himself from… feeling.

Grabbing the bottle from the mini fridge he snatches himself a glass as well, not drinking straight from the bottle at least, and plopping himself down to the couch he pours a generous glass, drinking it without any chaser.

He winces as the alcohol burns down his throat, but at least it’s a different kind of pain, that takes the focus away from the one he is feeling in his chest.

One glass chases the other and since he is not particularly used to the heavy drinking, he is more like the ‘let’s nurse this pint for an hour’ type of guy, the raw vodka kicks in pretty quickly.

But he is not the only one who can’t fall asleep tonight.

You tried everything in your power to end your misery and finally fall asleep, but your mind and body was plotting against you and made you toss and turn until you couldn’t take it any longer. Making a good cup of tea seemed like a good idea, so you headed down the kitchen.

As you round the corner after the stairs and you’re about to walk into the kitchen, you notice how the lights are on down in the entertainment room. You stop in your tracks and try to think back if anyone was there before you went upstairs, but you don’t think it was the case.

You figure since there are only two adults living in the house, it must be Harry down there and right now, facing him doesn’t sound like a good idea, so you decide to leave him be, but that’s when you hear the voice of some kind of glass breaking, followed by a heavy accented cursing and it changes your mind right away.

“Harry?” you softly call out as you walk down the stairs, not sure what to expect down there. He is crouching down, his back in your direction as he is trying to get the pieces of the broken glass up from the floor, but he is too disoriented to succeed in the task and it’s obvious that an injury is deemed to happen sooner or later.

“Harry, you’re gonna cut yourself!” you warn him, and walking over to him you pull him up from his squatting position and when he looks at you is when you realize that he is drunk out of his mind.

“Y/N, oh shit, did I—Did I wake you up?” he slurs, knitting his eyebrows together as he tries to focus his vision on you.

“You didn’t, but let me just—Why don’t you sit down for a moment while I clean this up, huh?” you suggest, pulling him towards the couch, making him sit. He falls to the cushion like dead weight, letting out a tired sigh while you rush to get a broom and a dustpan to get rid of the broken glass on the floor as fast as possible before someone cuts themselves.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he breathes out closing his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ll just clean it up quickly,” you assure him, getting down to business.

“Not about the g-glass. Well, about that as well…”

“Then why are you sorry?” you ask, as you sweep the shards onto the dustpan and throw them into the closest trashcan.

“About being… a pain in the ass,” he hiccups.

“You are not a pain in the ass,” you chuckle softly as you sit beside him.

“I am. I fucked things up,” he nods with a painful expression all over his handsome face.

“What do you mean?” You know you shouldn’t make him talk in this state, but you can’t help your curiosity. It seems like drunkenness makes his tongue run wild and you are desperate for the tiniest crumble of information about what’s going on in his head.

“I just… I kissed you,” he breathes out, his eyes popping open, but he is staring at the ceiling, not you.

“And?” you ask, trying to act cool, though your pulse is rapidly increasing.

“And I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh.” You lick your lips and try not to show how much that hurt. But even drunk, Harry notices the disappointment in your tone. His glassy eyes snap over to you and his face falls right away.

“That’s not how I mean it!” he gasps, reaching for your hand and you’re surprised by the sudden physical touch, but it feels kind of nice, so you let him hold your hand between his arm palms. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it, because fucking hell, it was amazing!” he bluntly tells you and you can already feel the heat crawling up your neck.

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Then why did you tell me all of that in my room just earlier now?”

Harry pulls his hands back and moves his arms across his face, covering his eyes as he slides down the couch, his legs spreading out in front of him. He lets out a shaky whimper and seeing him like this worries you a lot. Harry is always in control, he has never let him fall apart like this before.

“Because… I don’t deserve to feel this way,” he confesses, confusing you even more. What is he talking about?

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He shakes his head under his arms, biting into his bottom lip as he inhales deeply, like he is trying to keep something inside, something you shouldn’t know about, but now you are desperate to find it out.

“I’m a fucking mess,” he breathes out, letting his arms fall to his sides, but he keeps his eyes closed, shutting you out in a way. “I don’t deserve to have these feelings,” he repeats again and it appears he is more likely talking to himself, rather than to you.

“Harry, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you, because if I did, you’d never be able to look at me again.”

Now he is crying. Tears are rolling down his cheeks and his lips are trembling and you’ve never seen him in such a vulnerable state and quite frankly, it scares you. You knew him to be a strong and stable man, but now he resembles a frightened little boy, so lost in this big world.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad, Harry.”

“It is,” he winces, as if it’s causing him physical pain to even talk about it.

“Harry…” You breathe out and moving closer you place a hand on his knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He turns to face you, his eyes all watered and glistening, he looks so heartbroken, it almost pains you as well.

“Promise me you won’t see me as a monster,” he whispers.

“I-I promise,” you nod, already bearing yourself for the worst, judging from the look on his face.

Taking a deep breath he looks around, as if he is making sure no one else is listening. Then his eyes fall down to his hands in his lap, he fidgets with his fingers, his tongue running along his pink lips before he takes a deep breath and speaks up again.

“Maggie’s death… It was all my fault. I fucking… killed my own wife.”

His voice dies down at the end of the sentence, staring into the void, completely zoned out as you sit beside him, shocked at his words. This was not exactly what you were expecting him to say. Harry starts sobbing again, the hot tears running down his cheeks as he starts crying and panic sets in you. He is so out of his own world, you have no idea what’s happening to him. Rushing over to the mini fridge, you grab a water for him, thinking it might help him at least after all the alcohol he has consumed.

“Here, drink some water,” you softly tell him, taking the cap off as you hand him the bottle. He takes it with a shaky hand and raising it to his trembling lips he takes a few small sips. “Harry, what do you mean it was your fault?” you ask, knowing well you probably shouldn’t push it, but you can’t just ignore what he said.

“Exactly what I said,” he sobs shaking his head vigorously. “It was all my fault, I was a fucking coward and that’s why she died! I could have stopped her! I should have gone after her!”

He is not answering you, not entirely. He is speaking thoughts that have been planted in his head a long time ago and they seem to be on repeat whenever he is feeling down. As much as you want to get more details out of him, he needs to rest, especially because he is working in the morning.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, H,” you tell him as you stand up and reach out for him to help him to his unsteady feet. It turns out to be a little harder than you expected, but you manage to get him up from his sitting position, and throwing one of his arms over your shoulders you start to walk him up towards his bedroom.

“You fucking hate me now, don’t you?” he slurs, his other hand reaching out towards the wall to steady himself a little more.

“I don’t hate you, Harry.”

“But you think I’m a monster, right?”

“I’m not sure I know enough to think anything about you. This is a conversation we should have when you’re sober,” you suggest and he huffs.

“M’sorry for getting drunk in the middle of the night.”

“It’s alright. But I think you’ll have a mean headache in the morning,” you tease him as you finally reach the upstairs and head down the hallway towards his room.

“You’re a fucking angel, Y/N. You know that?” He just keeps talking and talking and you find it funny how different he is from his reserved and quiet self in this state.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You are. You are so good to my daughter and to me as well… I really don’t get why your fucker ex cheated on you,” he huffs and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips. “What was his name? Kyle?”

“Keith,” you correct him.

“That fucker, Keith!” he spats making you laugh as you push his bedroom’s door open and walk him inside finally. “I bet he had a small dick.”

“Why does that matter,” you chuckle, making him sit on the edge of the bed.

“Because guys with small dicks are always out of touch with themselves. They think they are just better than everyone for some reason.”

“Do you have any scientific research to prove that?” you tease him as you push him down, tugging him under the covers, like a little kid.

“No, I just… know shit,” he sighs, his eyes falling closed the moment his head rests on the pillow.

“Alright. You can tell me more about what else you know when you’re sober. Now get some sleep, because you have work in the morning.”

You make sure he lies on his side as he hums his response. Reaching down you brush his messy curls out of his forehead as he breathes out harshly through his nose, probably about to fall asleep any moment.

Tapping on the screen of his phone on the nightstand you make sure that he has set up his alarm and you see the little alarm clock icon at the top bar so you are just about to walk out when you turn back around.

Seeing how he pushed so many things down inside of him, you’re not convinced he’ll be willing to give you the answers you are looking for. You’re afraid he might talk himself out and give you some kind of bullshit answer, so reaching for his phone you sneakily take his thumb and open the device, all whilst he doesn’t even move an inch.

Scrolling through his contacts you find Niall’s number and send it over to yourself before deleting the message so you leave no trail behind. You set the phone back to his nightstand and head out finally, going to bed as well, right after sending Niall a quick message.

Y/N: Hi! It’s Y/N, I got your number from Harry’s phone. Can you come by sometime tomorrow? I need to talk to you about something.

When you come down in the morning it’s pretty obvious that even though Harry had his alarm on, he snoozed one too many times and now he is in a rush, trying to get everything done and leave on time.

“Good morning,” you greet him and Izzy upon walking into the kitchen. Harry’s head snaps up from the half-made breakfast in front of him and judging by his expression, he more or less remembers what happened last night. “Rough morning?” you ask teasing him to ease the tension.

“Uh, yeah. Woke up a little late,” he nods, finishing up Izzy’s sandwich just the way she likes, without the crust on before handing it over to her. Izzy grabs the plate and marches over to the dining table, quietly munching on her food while Harry quickly tries to make himself a coffee, but he is a hot mess, still in his night clothes when he is supposed to leave in about ten minutes.

“I’ll make you the coffee, go and get changed,” you offer, taking over the machine.

“Oh, thank you,” he nods and for a change, he doesn’t try to argue with you, he just disappears upstairs.

You make his coffee just as he likes and leave it on the counter for him before joining Izzy at the table with your own breakfast. She is babbling about how excited she is for her piano lesson today, because she’s been practicing a lot lately. When Harry appears again he is dressed for work, but still looks a little disoriented.

“Hey,” you softly say as you join him in the kitchen.

“Hey, thank you for the coffee,” he nods, moving around the kitchen.

“No problem. How are you feeling?” you ask, hoping you’re not crossing any boundaries. Harry opens his mouth to answer, but then closes, probably not sure how much he should share, though he didn’t have too much problem with that last night.

“I’m… A little hangover, but I’m… fine,” he nods shortly. “Y/N, about last night, I—“

“We can talk about it later, okay? Don’t stress about it.” You give him a reassuring smile and you can tell he is sort of relieved he doesn’t have to have this conversation right in this moment.

“Thank you.”

“No worries. And I’ll clean up in the kitchen, don’t be late,” you smile at him warmly. You can tell he wants to protest, but he also knows he is running late so he doesn’t have much choice.

“Thank you, I’ll… see you later.”

Storming over to Izzy he presses a kiss to her forehead before grabbing all his stuff and leaving.

Niall texts you back not long after breakfast that he is free to drop by when Izzy is having her piano lesson. You carry on with the morning as usual, trying your best not to dwell on everything that happened last night.

Just as Rosaline and Izzy get settled for the lesson you hear a car pulling up outside and a few moments later the doorbell rings through the house.

“Let’s get one thing straight, is it a booty call?” Niall questions right away as you let him inside.

“It’s good to see you again,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“So no sex is gonna be involved?” he smirks and you know he is just teasing you.

“No, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you can never disappoint me, darling,” he winks at you before walking into the kitchen to serve himself a drink. “So why did you need to see me so desperately?”

“Well, I know I shouldn’t be discussing this with you first, but I feel like I need to know some basic information that Harry might not give me so I thought you could help me out.” Niall nods as he pours himself some soda and joins you at the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to you. “I uhh—I need to ask how much Harry shared with you about… about me—and, um what—“

“Save the stuttering, I know you two kissed,” Niall cuts you off and you breathe out in relief that you don’t have to be the one breaking him the news.

“Oh, okay,” you nod with an awkward smile. “Yeah, so that happened. And last night he and I had this conversation how we should just keep our relationship professional and all that. We both went our own way but then later I found Harry down in the entertainment room, drunk and basically having a meltdown of some sort.”

“How drunk was he?” Niall asks, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Pretty drunk. He broke a glass and he was… crying and talking about a lot of stuff.” Niall takes your words in as he inhales deeply, just nodding for you to continue. “He started telling me how sorry he was for fucking things up and he was a mess, like a huge fucking mess. Then he told me about how he shouldn’t be feeling the way he does, because he doesn’t deserve it…”

“Jesus…” Niall shakes his head, probably already knowing where this is heading.

“And then he told me that his wife’s death was his fault. That was… pretty intense.”

“I can imagine.”

“I know I have to talk to him about it, but I’m really afraid he might shake it off, but it seems like he is having some serious issues and I wouldn’t want things to get out of hands. That’s why I thought I would talk to you, maybe you know what to do or how to approach him with such a sensitive subject.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s nice of you for being so considerate,” Niall nods, scratching his chin. “Alright, I’ll tell you what I know, but please also let him tell you if he decides to share it with you.” You nod and turn all your attention to him. “I didn’t find this out until about two months after Maggie’s death, but apparently, the night she died they had a fight. Maggie had been nagging Harry to have another baby, but he wanted to wait a little longer, until Izzy is older so they don’t have two babies at the same time. Harry said they had another big fight about it, said some pretty nasty things to each other before Maggie just stormed out to go over to her sister’s. She made it there, but… never made it back home.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of how devastating it must have been, losing your partner after an intense fight without ever making up.

“Understandably, Harry completely lost his shit. For weeks he was barely functioning and we all knew he was grieving, but we didn’t know that he was blaming himself for what happened. When he wasn’t getting any better we somehow convinced him to go to therapy which luckily helped him immensely, but he stopped going a while ago. I thought he got things straight in his head about this whole Maggie situation, but I guess he is still hung up on that.”

“What about the drinking, did that happen a lot?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, yeah, he got wasted quite a few times, but only at the beginning. I don’t think you should be afraid that he might turn into an alcoholic. I think he is just really struggling right now because of the conflict he is having because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah, he is clearly very confused about his feelings for you and he has convinced himself he shouldn’t feel this way towards anyone ever, but then you came,” he chuckles softly giving you a knowing look.

“Niall, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you breathe out, worry and fear slowly taking over your judgment.

“First and foremost just… be patient with him, okay? This is genuinely the first time he has taken an interest in anyone since Maggie and I think he has already taken some big steps, which is a good sign. Try to talk to him and be open, but don’t push him. I know it can be really annoying when he keeps things, but let him tell you everything at his own pace.”

You nod, understanding the importance of not rushing Harry into anything. Just because you want to get over the awkwardness of the current situation, you can’t push him over his own boundaries.

“Okay, I’ll try to do that,” you nod taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Niall.”

“Oh, and don’t let him give you the ‘you work for me, we shouldn’t be doing this’ bullshit alright? He’ll try to make it out to be some kind of business, but it’s not. He needs to get himself out there and I genuinely think you’re the right person to help him with that.”

His words touch you and you’re not even sure how to react. Niall is clearly someone who stands close to Harry and if he thinks that you and him should give it a try, that must mean something. You can only hope that Harry will come around and think the same at one point.

Izzy gets a little fussy by the end of the day and it takes a lot of persuading to get her to bed in the evening. Harry arrived back home on his usual time and because it’s been such a hot day outside, he took her out to the pool. The problem with that is that Izzy never wants to get out of the water, so when Harry said it’s time for dinner she threw a bit of a tantrum as Harry brought her inside and her mood didn’t get any better later either.

You spent most of your night in the living room just watching TV and working on your laptop, updating your schedule for the upcoming weeks and doing some editing. Harry stays upstairs with Izzy for a long time when her bedtime comes and you figure she is still a little moody, but then you eventually hear his footsteps approaching. Harry pads his way into the living room and joins you on the couch. When you glance over at him you know he is trying to find a way to start the conversation you both know you need to have, so you put your laptop aside and turn your attention towards him.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry about last night. I’m honestly so terribly ashamed you had to… see me like that,” he starts, clearly nervous to bring it all up.

“It’s fine, happens to everyone,” you assure him and it’s the genuine truth.

“It’s not a regular occurrence, really. I usually know my limits and try to stay within them. I’m really sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it,” you tell him again with a warm smile. “We can get past it. I think what we really should talk about is… what you said. Do you remember what we talked about?” you carefully ask.

“I do…” he nods, awkward diverting his eyes away from you. “I’m sorry I told you all that in that state, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to just pour it all on you so suddenly.”

“It’s alright.” “No, it’s not,” he protests shaking his head. “I dropped a bomb on you because I couldn’t deal with my own problems the right way, and it’s not okay. So please, just… accept my apology.”

“Okay, I accept it,” you nod.

“And about the whole thing with… What I told you about Maggie…”

“Just know that you don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. I’m happy to listen whenever you are ready to, but I’m not trying to push you.”

“I know and thank you for that, but I feel like… I owe you an explanation,” he admits and you nod, happy that he is willing to talk instead of closing himself off entirely. “The day Maggie died, we got into this huge fight and she ran off to her sister. It was… a whole mess, we both said things we clearly didn’t mean and I texted her, tried to get her to come home so we could talk things out. That’s when… she was on her way home when it happened and… I still feel like it was my fault.” His voice dies down at the end, just like it did last night when he was talking about her. It clearly left a deep scar on him that’s still not entirely healed and you can’t blame him.

“Everyone keeps telling me that it wasn’t, that it was just all one big coincidence, but all I can think about is that she would still be here if we didn’t get into the fight and I didn’t piss her off so much she felt the need to leave.”

“There was no way for you to see what would happen, Harry. It’s not like you did it on purpose, you had no power over the drunk driver or where Maggie chose to drive home. It really was a coincidence.”

“I know, I mean… I understand, but somehow, my mind keeps telling me that it was my fault.”

“Have you thought about… getting professional help?” you ask, trying to be polite and cautious on the topic.

“Actually, I just called my therapist today to see if… she can fit me in for some sessions,” he admits and you’re surprised at how great he is dealing with the matter. “I feel like I might need some guidance again, before things get out of my hands.”

“That’s great! It really is good to go a bit ahead of problems.”

“Yeah. About us…” he exhales nervously, his eyes meeting yours and you can tell this is the part that’s got him the most anxious. You take this as your queue to take over the conversation.

“Harry, I’m going to be honest with you,” you start and he nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “I… I have feelings for you. You haven’t been the only one making realizations,” you add with a soft chuckle, that brings a smile to his lips as well. “I know that the situation is not quite ideal, but it’s not impossible. But I just want you to be honest with me, do you have feelings for me?”

The conflict is clearer than daylight in his eyes as he is trying to figure out what to say and you really hope he isn’t gonna try to mask his feelings.

“I do,” he then admits and it’s like a giant rock has been lifted off your chest and shoulders. “It’s just… I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him. “Let’s just… take it slow. We’re not in a rush, we obviously have a lot to figure out and that’s completely fine. The pace is completely up to you, I know that you need to get a lot of things straight in your head and I can wait, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I really like where we are now and… I just hope that we can move this forward whenever you feel comfortable with it.”

Harry stares back at you for a moment like you’re some alien creature. Like what you just said wasn’t normal or even human and that’s quite heartbreaking, because somewhere along the way he managed to convince himself that he is not worthy of the most basic decency.

“I-I can’t ask you to wait around while I figure my shit out, that’s not—“

“You’re not asking me, Harry,” you smile at him softly. “This is my decision.”

His eyes are shifting between yours and he is most likely looking for any sign of doubt or qualm, but there’s none, you genuinely meant everything you said.

“So, where does this leave us?” he then asks and you shrug your shoulders.

“Everything goes on like it used to and… whenever you are ready to take a step, just… let me know.”

You can tell he is filled with questions, but he just nods with a weak smile and leaves it at that. This will be a bumpy ride, but at least you are more or less on the same page now.

You haven’t been a big fan of birthday celebrations. You just never understood the big fuss about it, throwing a party for surviving another year? Seems a little weird. This is why you never treated this day any different.

The morning starts off as usual, only that you wake up to a few texts from friends and family, wishing you a happy birthday. Your mom has sent you a whole damn paragraph about how you made her life complete and it wouldn’t be the same without you in it. She does that every time, gets a little too sentimental about it, but you guess it’s because it reminds her of getting old herself as well, which is a sensitive topic in her book these days.

It’s a Sunday, so a day off for you. Coming downstairs you find Izzy and Harry sitting at the dining table, already having their breakfast as usual, but when she sees you, she jumps in her seat in excitement.

“Good morning, Y/N!” she beams with a wide smile, buzzing more than she usually does.

“Morning, Sunshine. Slept well?” you ask as you pour yourself some cereal and join them at the table. Izzy nods and then peeks at her father as if she is trying to hide something with him from you.

“Daddy, can we do it now?” she asks in a whisper, but it’s not quiet enough for you to not hear it.

Your eyes lock with Harry’s over the table and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing around right away when you see the tiny smirk tugging on his lips.

It’s been almost an entire week since your conversation with him and things finally seem to get in place for now. Harry had his first session with his therapist on Wednesday and though you can tell he is still trying to find his own boundaries, he doesn’t worry as much about the situation as he probably did before. He isn’t walking on eggshells around you, unsure how to act. More or less it’s the same as it was before the kiss, but there are tiny little things that still make it different. Stolen glances, lingering touches and sweet smiles are making your days more colorful now and it’s gotten you all giddy and… happy.

“What are you two plotting, huh?” you ask, pointing at them with your spoon before digging into the cereal. Izzy glances at Harry one last time and when he nods shortly, she turns to you and throws her arms in the air.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” she cheers as Harry reaches over to the chair next to him and pulls up a box from under the table, handing it over to Izzy so she could give it to you. “This is for you!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything!” you gasp, truly surprised by the gift. You were not expecting it at all.

“It’s not a birthday without gifts!” she giggles excitedly as she hands the box over. You push your cereal bowl to the side and set the gift to the table in front of you. “Open it!” she urges you, her little hands curled into fists as she watches your every move, as if it was her who just got a present.

Your eyes meet Harry’s green ones over the table once more and he is watching you with a small smile, probably enjoying that he could surprise you.

You pull on the bow on the top and then carefully take the wrapping paper off until the box is revealed underneath and you gas as soon as you realize what this is.

“Oh my God!” you breathe out in disbelief as you take a better look at the gift. Harry didn’t just get you something, he actually listened to what you were saying and remembered that you’re a big fan of oldschool cameras and you have a special love for polaroids. And now, in front of you in the box is your very own polaroid camera, something you’ve been really wanting to buy for yourself for a long time, but you just never got around to actually do it.

“Do you like it? Daddy said you’d really like it!” Izzy asks with big eyes, watching your reaction.

“Oh, I love it!” you breathe out, feeling all mushy and melted from the gesture. Izzy climbs over to your lap, hugging your neck. You wrap your arms around her in a bone crushing hug and you’re so thankful for having them both in your life.

Izzy sits on your lap as you get the camera out of the box and figure out how to work it. She then hops off your lap and poses for the first ever picture taken with your new favorite camera.

“But it’s blank!” she furrows her eyebrows when the photo comes out.

“Because you have to wait for it to develop. It’ll show up in a few minutes,” you smile, setting the photo down on the table.

Izzy sits in her seat, excitedly waiting for the photo to develop and in the meanwhile you join Harry in the kitchen where he is washing the dishes. He spots you and turns the tap off, turning to face you as he dries his hands off.

“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” you tell him softly, but really feel touched by the gesture.

“No, but I wanted to. Do you really like it?”

“I love it!” you chuckle in disbelief. How could he think you wouldn’t like it?!

You move forward, aiming for a hug out of instinct but then stop yourself, not wanting to cross any boundaries, but Harry notices the motion and for your surprise, he wraps you in a warm hug on his own. You melt against his hard chest, your nose buried into his shoulder as your arms circle around his waist.

When you lean back, you both keep your arms around each other, eyes meeting and you realize just how close you are to each other. Without even knowing, your gaze flickers down to his lips and you’re dying to kiss him, to feel them again, but you don’t move, wanting to keep your word about letting him set the pace.

But what you didn’t expect is Harry leaning down and capturing your lips in a sweet, innocent kiss. It’s so different from the last time, that was a hot mess, but this one… this is light as a feather but still makes your stomach somersault as you taste his lips, cupping his face in your hands.

“Daddy! I’m thirsty!” Izzy calls out from outside and it kind of ends the moment. Harry pulls back and when you look at him you see that his eyes are still closed. They flutter open a moment later, finding your gaze and you look for any kind of regret or fear in them, but they are nothing but shiny.

“Just a moment, baby!” he answers her, a small smile tugging on his lips as he leans down and pecks the corner of your mouth again before his hands fall from your waist. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he breathes out before grabbing a bottled water and heading back to Izzy.

You bring your fingertips to your tingling lips as you take a moment to really process what just happened and you can’t push down the smile that spreads across your face. Harry finally took the first step and now you can’t wait to see what’s coming next.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

Validation

Summary: Santi comes home early to find his new roommate a little undressed.

(Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!Reader) Part 2 : Corroboration

My Masterlist

Word count: 5600 (I don’t know what the fuck happened). Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC17 (Explicit)

Warnings: oral (m & f receiving). alcohol.

Santiago slammed his truck door shut, leaning forward for a moment to press his forehead to the steering wheel. He needed to stop online dating. The chicks he picked up after hours in bars might not be the kind he ended up keeping around - but at least there he knew what he was getting into. The woman he had met tonight was using a picture of her granddaughter on her profile. And yeah, he didn’t have a problem with older ladies, but twice his age was really too much.

He groaned as he started the engine, swearing to himself and backing out of the spot. All he wanted to do was go home, get drunk, and maybe watch some basketball in his underwear. But he couldn’t.

Because you were there.

The light turned red and he coasted to a stop, mulling the issue over. It was a favor for Frankie. Put his sister-in-law up for a couple of weeks. Maybe a month while you were looking for a job in town. They didn’t have room at the Morales house, what with the baby and all, and Frankie had begged Santi to let you use his guest room for a bit. He’d agreed. 'Cause he was a nice guy and Frankie was a brother.

And to be honest, you weren’t exactly a horrible roommate. You cleaned up after yourself, spent most of your time in your room, and just generally gave him his space. Unless it was one of the nights you offered to cook, he barely saw you.

Which was a shame because you were exactly his fucking type.

"Do not fuck her." Frankie’s warning had hit him like a fist to the gut and he’d looked at the other man incredulously.

"Fish, you think I’d do that to you? She’s fucking family."

Frankie had eyed him dubiously. "Damn right she is. You fucking remember that when you meet her hermano."

It had taken approximately three tenths of a second for Santi to realize why Frankie had given him the warning. Standing on his front steps with a bag in one hand and a wide smile on your face Santi had had to resist the urge to throw you up against the front door and claim you then and there. The first day he had been a mess, alternating between staring at you and avoiding you. He knew you must have thought he was strange but he didn’t know what else to do.

And then you’d come out to get coffee the next morning wearing a tank top and a pair of tiny cotton shorts and every ounce of blood had shot straight to his cock and never come back.

Tonight was supposed to be a relief. A fucking date, his first since your arrival. But the octogenarian was a bust and he was pressing the button for the garage by barely eight thirty. He was home much earlier than he expected. Earlier than he had told you. He didn’t think about that fact as he parked his truck and entered the house through the side door. Didn’t think about it when he toed his boots off and wandered through the laundry room and into the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen and the bottle of tequila on the shelf there.

Maybe he should have.

If he’d have thought about it he might have called ahead. Texted to let you know he was going to be back sooner rather than later. Given you a heads up so that he didn’t walk in on you sitting in his favorite armchair wearing the skimpiest lingerie he’d ever seen in his life and about to take a photo of yourself.

There was just a moment before you noticed him. A moment where the phone blocked him from your view entirely and he couldn’t help how he froze, his eyes scanning over your body. And then your hand dropped, your brow furrowing as you looked at the picture. Another second ticked by before you looked up at him and then you screeched.

Santi spun on his heel, turning to face the wall and squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. "Fuck, sorry," he said, the words spilling out as he pressed one hand through his hair. He could hear you scrambling, muttering curses under your breath for a minute before your laughter shocked him out of his secondhand embarrassment.

"For Christ’s sake, turn around Santi."

He did so slowly, half hoping that maybe you were still… but no. You had a robe on, sash tied tightly around your waist. Yet even then, it was short. Barely covering the tops of your thighs. He’d seen that much leg before, those little shorts that made his fingers itch. But there was something about this expanse of skin. Of knowing that if he lifted the hem of the robe you’d be wearing just a lace-

"I thought you were going to be out late?"

Your voice cut off his train of thought and he tried to slip into his normal charm like it was a mask. "Yeah, date was a bust." He shrugged, walking past you into the kitchen. He really needed a drink. He slammed a cabinet door a little too forcefully while he searched for the bottle he swore he just bought.

"Want some wine?"

He raised an eyebrow when he looked at you, then at the nearly empty bottle of wine you were offering him. Well, that made things make a little more sense. You didn’t seem the type to take nudes - but maybe after a bottle of wine…?

He took the bottle, emptying the remainder into a glass and clinking it to yours before taking a sip. "Sorry I startled you."

You shrugged and the sleeve of the robe fell down your arm, exposing the wide straps of whatever the hell it was you had wrapped around your neck and dipping down to your breasts. It wasn’t a bra. Santi had seen hundreds of bras in his life. Whatever it was you were wearing did not qualify for the name. You pulled the sleeve back up with a casual tug, but now the front was gaping open and Santi could see the hint of your breasts.

"Sorry you walked in on that."

He wasn’t. In fact he was already mentally planning how he might set up this same situation again. What else might you do in the living room if you thought you were alone for the night? "Don’t worry about it, I told you to make yourself at home." Jesus Christ had he really just said that? "Who’s the lucky guy?" He grinned to cover the slight note of envy that crept into his voice.

"Who?"

"Whoever you were taking photos for," he gestured at your phone.

You bit your lip and then shook your head. "No, it’s not… there’s no he."

"She," Santi corrected with a shrug. "I don’t judge."

You laughed and Santi watched the way your throat worked. His beer at dinner and the wine now must be interacting in some strange way because he felt drunk. Light-headed. Like he wanted to lean into you and make some very bad decisions that Frankie would fucking castrate him for.

"No, it was… for a friend," you clarified.

Santi’s eyebrow rose. "You send your friends nudes?"

"They’re not nudes," you corrected him with a glare, "they’re just. You know… you send your friends photos and they hype you up. It’s validation." You sighed softly, "And it’s been a while since I got that."

Santi did not know. At no point in his life had he sent anyone he knew photos of himself. With clothes or without. Hell, he’d never even sent anyone a sexy message - he knew too well how much information someone could find on you if they wanted to. He kept things simple with a 'Mind if I come over' or if he was feeling particularly adventurous 'wanna fuck?'

No one ever complained.

"Validation," he repeated, rolling the word in his mouth. "Huh."

You sighed, setting your elbows on the kitchen island and leaning towards him. You didn’t seem to notice how the action pressed your breasts together or that he could see it in the way your robe gaped open. But Santi noticed. Santi noticed every detail.

"Not that you’d know anything about that." You said with an eye roll. "But some of us aren’t as cocky as you are. Some of us need our friends to reassure us we’re attractive."

Santi opened his mouth then paused, thinking about the next thing he was going to say. You didn’t seem to notice, finishing off your wine in a gulp and moving over to the sink to drop your glass. He shouldn’t do what he was about to do. He knew it - in fact he had promised he wouldn’t. But that had been before. Before he knew you or what your laugh sounded like or the way you smelled. Before the opportunity to do more than just want you had landed squarely in his lap and Santi was left with the easiest decision of his life. And he was nothing if not decisive.

After all, there was no harm in looking right?

"I’m your friend."

You froze in place and Santi swallowed, staring at the back of your thighs and what he thought might be the start of the swell of your ass. He let the words sit there before he said them again. "I’m your friend, querida."

You turned back to him, hands braced on the counter behind you. "What do you mean?"

"If you needed validation, why don’t you ask me?" Your lips parted as you stared at him, the soft gesture enough to send blood rushing to his cock. As if he weren’t already hard enough.

Finally, after what felt like eons, you smiled, huffing a laugh and moving to walk past him. "Funny."

He moved just slightly, not enough to block your way, but enough to force you to have to work to avoid him. He breathed deeply, smelling your soap and a faint overlay of something richer. "I’m a red-blooded man," he pointed out. "I think I can be reasonably counted on to appreciate a woman’s body."

You were so close. Close enough that he would only need to lean in to taste you, to run his tongue along your plush lips and sink inside of you. You blinked, looking away, and Santi realized that maybe he was coming on a little strong. Especially for someone who until recently had expressed no interest in you whatsoever. In fact had gone out of his way to give every impression of not being interested.

He held his hands up, moving to make plenty of room for you to continue by. "I’m only saying, if you’re looking for someone to admire your lingerie I’m right here and willing." He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, hoping the comical effect would lighten the mood and thank God it did. Your nose crinkled when you looked back over your shoulder at him, stopping near the kitchen table.

"I mean, I suppose you are my target audience," you mused out loud and Santi resisted the urge to adjust himself. He knew what you meant - but damn the idea of you buying lingerie for him was like gasoline on an already raging inferno.

He leaned his hands back against the island, facing you now. Feet crossed in front of him to hide the bulge in his jeans. He shrugged nonchalantly, listening to the blood rush in his ears, his eyes glued to your face. "Only if you want."

Your fingers were hesitant for just a second on the tie of your robe and Santi held himself still, keeping his eyes on yours. He wanted to see you. Fuck he wanted to see you. But he wanted you to want him to see you even more. Wanted you to feel the sense of power in turning him on. He was already there, you just hadn’t seemed to notice yet.

He saw your lips part. Saw the moment your lips quirked, as though you were laughing at yourself for even thinking of doing this. But your fingers pulled the sash and you shrugged and both it and the robe fell to the floor in a heap at your feet.

Santi tried. He really did. He tried to keep his eyes on yours until he saw that you were ready. That you were comfortable. But one of your hands twitched up to cover your stomach for a moment and his eyes followed the path immediately and then he couldn’t look away. There was probably a name for what you were wearing. He should definitely ask you at some point because his porn for the next month was going to feature this thing and it would make the search easier if he knew what it was called.

A wide band of lace - maybe two inches, in deep blue - starting behind your neck and running over your breasts to cover each nipple. The lace continued downwards, framing your stomach before meeting and disappearing between your thighs. There were small straps that went from the lace behind your back, out of sight, that must be holding the thing in place. In the front two sets of straps criss-crossed, one just below your ribcage and the other between your breasts. And right there, right between two of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, was a ribbon tied into a bow. Like a present.

He wanted to pull it apart with his teeth.

This… outfit had no practical use. If you moved too quickly you’d be falling out of it six different ways. It’s only purpose was to frame your body in the best light possible. To take your assets and offer them to someone else. To entice someone to commit several different sins with you all at once.

Santi was fucking enticed.

He realized abruptly that your fingers were twitching at your sides and more importantly, he had been just staring at you with no expression at all for what felt like several minutes - although it probably wasn’t that long.

"You’re beautiful," he blurted out.

Oh fuck, it wasn’t the right thing to say because you’re laughing and the motion is doing frankly amazing things to your breasts. But you were also crouching down and gathering your robe and yes that was definitely the wrong thing and he stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you could move further.

"Sorry, that was… you look…" he tried to find words that weren’t going to make you run away but all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck you and if that lace actually joined together over your cunt or just skimmed around your thighs. "Fuck," he finally bit out.

"Well, that’s better," you said, picking up the robe with two fingers and standing up again.

"It is?" He asked incredulously and you laughed again.

"Santi, if I wanted someone to call me beautiful I’d take a photo on a Sunday morning and send it to my mom." You tried to make a gesture with your hands but he was still holding your wrist. You both glanced at it but he didn’t let go. "I want to hear I look hot. Like I’m smoking. Like you think you’ll come in your pants just seeing me." You gave him a wry smile and started to pull away. Started to put your robe back on and Santi rushed to stop you.

"Querida if you knew what I was thinking…"

You paused, partially turned away, and gave him an assessing glance. "Oh?"

His thumb stroked across your wrist while he considered his next words. He wouldn’t ordinarily. Fucking hell you were Frankie’s sister-in-law and he’d already been promised consequences for messing around with you. But your pulse was wild beneath his fingers and you were standing there looking like that and he just couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

"You look like a fucking wet dream."

You dropped the robe, turning back to him fully. But he was too close. Too close to see you so he took a step back, then another, not letting go of your hand but holding it up between you while he let his eyes crawl over you.

"I’m going to jerk off later thinking about you," he said simply, watching you so closely he saw how your breath stuttered at the words. "Think about twisting my hands into that lacy bit of nothing and using it to hold you to my mouth. Is it scratchy or is it soft?"

"Soft," your reply was so low he barely heard it but it flowed across his skin like honey regardless and he didn’t bother biting back his moan.

"Fuck, of course it is," he nearly spit the words out, his fingers clenching around yours. "But you look even softer. Can I see the back?" He tugged on your hand as he asked and you didn’t hesitate before spinning around.

There was nothing there.

Well, not nothing. But five pieces of string no wider than fucking scotch tape was so close to nothing as to make no difference. He wanted to touch. Wanted to snap those strings against your body. Get on his knees and bite the globes of your ass that were perfectly exposed to him around the lines of what might charitably be called a thong.

"Fucking hell querida, I want to bend you over that table and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name."

You moaned. He heard it, clear as a bell in the room and he turned you back to face him. "When I say you look beautiful, that is what I mean. That I want to lose myself inside of you and not come out for days."

"That’s…" you trailed off, lips parted, your breath lifting your breasts in rhythmic motion.

"Validation?" He asked with a grin and laughed when you smiled in return.

"Yeah."

You were still holding his hand and he was sick of standing so far away from you. He pulled in the same motion he stepped towards you, encouraging you closer to his space. Looking down he could see your bare feet just a scant inch from his toes. If you took a deep breath your nipples would brush his shirt, hell if he took a deep breath they might. Ever so slowly he raised his free hand, hovering it over your chest before asking, "May I?"

"Please."

He groaned. Not 'yes,' but 'please' - said with a breathy moan that struck right to the heart of him. You were begging for his touch, your mouth slightly agape and your lips trembling with each breath. No man on earth could fault him for giving in. When his fingers touched the band of lace you took a shaky breath, eyes closing.

"It is soft," he commented, slipping his hand beneath to rub the fabric between his fingers. He slid his hand down, gently tracing over the lace until he felt the hard peak of your nipple pressing upwards. He paused for a second, lightly stroking, your entire body shifting underneath his touch, before he continued the path downwards. Over your stomach, your hip, just barely stroking at the top of your cunt.

"Soft," he said again and pressed his fingers a little harder, slipping between your lips and nudging at your clit. Your head fell back on a choked gasp and Santi’s control snapped. His hand wedged further, feeling your wetness coat along his fingers and forcing you to take a step back. Your ass hit the table behind you and he gently nudged your knees apart with his own. Now he had his answer, the lace never did join together between your thighs. There was absolutely nothing to stop him from twisting his fingers and pressing them up inside you.

You gasped again, his name this time, and he let go of your wrist to cup the back of your neck, jerking you forward and into his mouth. His tongue thrust inside, met immediately and enthusiastically by yours. Your hands came up to clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric so hard he heard a faint rip at the seams. His lips quirked as he pulled away, his free hand falling to your wrist again.

"Seems I might be overdressed."

You nodded so earnestly he couldn’t help but grin, swooping in to kiss you again and pressing your hand to the buttons of his shirt. He could do it himself but that would mean pulling his fingers out of the hottest and wettest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of being inside. And he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Instead he traced his fingers over the bow between your breasts, pulling gently before breaking away to ask, "What happens if I undo this?"

You had his shirt pulled free of his pants, the buttons undone and the fabric pushed back over his shoulders. He’d be more cocky about the lusty look on your face while you stared at his chest but he wanted an answer to his question so he tapped beneath your chin and forced you to look up. "The bow? What happens if I pull it?"

Your brows pulled together and you glanced down. "I think it’s decorative."

He hummed to himself and pulled, slightly disappointed when you turned out to be right. The sound of you undoing his belt hit his brain before he fully processed what your hands were doing and he finally pulled his fingers away from you, catching both of your wrists in his grip. You pouted, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Chuckling, he brushed his lips over yours and let you go, leaning down slightly to cup under your ass and lift you the few inches up onto the table.

"You got me distracted," he scolded, hooking one of the dining chairs with his foot and pulling it over. "I promised you my mouth, didn’t I?" Your eyes were hazy and he pressed a kiss to your temple before sitting in the chair, using his hands to spread your thighs wide. He stared for just a moment and then looked up at you, your breasts right at the level of his face. Never losing eye contact, he leaned forward and set his teeth to your nipple.

Christ, you made the most delightful faces for him. And noises too. He reached up and cupped your jaw in his hand, running his thumb along your lower lip where your teeth were digging into the soft flesh. He groaned when you pulled it into your mouth, your tongue caressing it and then sucking softly. He pressed his forehead to your chest, taking a deep breath.

"Lie back." He didn’t move as he said it, just mumbled the words into your cleavage. But he followed you when you did, catching a set of straps with his teeth and then letting go to turn his cheek to lay on your stomach. Slowly, he drew his fingers out of your mouth and down your body, grinning to himself when you shivered beneath his touch. Ticklish - he’d have to remember that for later.

He pressed a quick kiss to your navel and sat up, pulling your knees over his shoulders in one movement. You arched beneath him and he wasted no time tangling his fingers in that lacy bit of nothing you were wearing and pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He could see how wet you were, hell he could fucking smell it. That heady scent of arousal that made his cock jerk and his mouth water.

Santi moaned when he tasted you for the first time. It was partially technique, he knew the vibrations would riot across your nerve endings and drive you wild. But it was also just because he couldn’t fucking help it. He slid his tongue through your folds, pressing his tongue flat to you and burying his face into your cunt. He loved this. Loved making a woman squirm and moan for him. Loved the feel and taste and sound of it.

Loved that in this moment you were his.

He jerked his fingers tighter into the straps of your lingerie, digging into your hips and holding you still while he worked you with his tongue. Pressing his lips to your clit and shaking his head side to side, flicking his tongue over it, pulling it between his lips and humming. He pulled out every trick he knew, watching you heave and thrust and arch in his hands while he learned what you liked, what you didn’t like, and what drove you absolutely wild.

When he found that he kept at it, driving you higher and higher. Listened to you calling his name out while he coaxed your orgasm out of you. He wanted to be inside of you, wanted to feel the clench and pulse of your muscles while you came on his fingers. But before he could consider it, before he could try to untangle his fingers from your lingerie, your back arched a final time and he felt you get even wetter, your thighs clenching on his head.

Santi kept his mouth pressed against you while you came back down, gently licking deep inside you and staring up your body. You rose, propping yourself up on your elbows and giving him a bemused half smile and a huff of laughter.

"That was…" You started to say but he thrust his tongue inside you, pulling you closer and grinned when your back arched and your head fell back. "Fucking hell Santi…"

He turned his head to each side, placing soft kisses on your thighs before leaning back to look at you. "What else are friends for?"

God you were beautiful when you laughed, your eyes crinkling and your face breaking into a huge smile. "I feel very validated," you commented wryly and he nipped at your stomach, watching you flinch away from him and try to move backwards along the table. He twisted his hands in your outfit tighter, pulling you back.

"Now now," he tsked. " Where do you think you’re going?"

You stared at him and then sighed, reaching out and brushing a curl off his forehead. "You’re too close."

Santi felt his brows pull together. "What do you mean?"

Sitting up fully, you cupped his face in your hands and leaned down to kiss him, tongue stroking along the seam of his mouth. Tasting yourself on him. You pulled away with a small hum. "You’re too close to the table, I can’t fit in your lap."

The screech of the chair legs was loud in the room but it was covered up by the sound of your laugh. Santi pulled you off the table and onto his thighs, catching the joyful noise with his lips. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, settling onto him like you’d done it a thousand times before. This was… all of your bare skin. On him. Around him. At his fingertips.

He groaned when you pulled your mouth away. "I know there was talk of bending me over the table…" Okay, yes, he was listening. "But I was thinking maybe a softer surface, something more conducive to taking our time…"

The hesitancy in your voice hit him hard and he squeezed your sides and pulled your mouth back to his. "That is a fantastic idea," he mumbled against you. "I know of this great place just down the hall. King size bed. Just changed the sheets yesterday."

Your giggle sent pulse points of sensation through his body and he helped you stand up, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss between your breasts before he did the same. He motioned you ahead of him down the hall. By all rights he should be leading - it was his room you were going to - but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to walk behind you. To watch all of you dip and sway as you sauntered in front of him. He reached out and cupped under your ass, pinching slightly and watched you jump and turn around right in his doorway. He didn’t stop, kept walking, shrugging out of his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. His hands fell to your hips, holding you close and dipping his head down to kiss you while he continued to back you up towards his bed.

He had a moment of disappointment when you ducked out of his embrace before you got there, side-stepping him and trailing a hand across his chest while you moved behind him. He leaned back against you when you wrapped your arms around his chest, groaning as your hands glided over him. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, licking up to his hairline. A shudder wracked his body and his hands covered yours, pulling you tighter around him.

"I want to see you," he heard you murmur into his ear, dropping one hand to his belt. "Help?"

"Anything you want," he promised quickly, pulling the belt free and jerking his pants and socks off together. He was left in only his black briefs and his thumbs hooked on them before he felt you stop him with a light touch. You ran your hands around the band, toying with it slightly. His fists clenched at his sides while he resisted the urge to turn around and toss you over onto his bed.

"May I return the favor?"

"What fa-" he started to ask but the words ended in a groan when you slipped your hand beneath his briefs and cupped the hard length of him. Fuck yes. Whatever the favor was you could return it as many times as you liked. As long as you kept stroking along him with those soft fingers and your other hand pushing his underwear down, down, down… much further down than you should be able to reach. It wasn’t until he felt you nip gently just at the top of his thigh that he realized you were kneeling on the floor behind him.

He turned without prompting, kicking his briefs off and nearly fell to the ground himself when you immediately took him in your mouth. "Oh Jesus fuck querida," he moaned, cupping the back of your head in his hands, "you’re going to kill me."

The pleased little hum that vibrated along his cock made his spine tingle. It turned into a shudder when you slid your mouth down him and felt himself nudge the back of your throat for a moment before you pulled away. Your hands were on him, thumbs pressed to the tops of his thighs as you guided him into a slow steady rhythm. Fucking in to your mouth and your tongue working against him.

He ought to close his eyes. The visual of you kneeling on the floor, that scrappy bit of nothing that was going to haunt his fucking dreams, your lips wrapped around his cock - it was too much. He jerked one hand off your head to grip the base of his cock tightly, giving you a half smile when you stopped sucking on him and gave him a quizzical look.

"You’re too good at that," he said with a shrug.

There was no way he could miss the pleased expression on your face, or the way you took the tip of him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. Your hand knocked his out of the way, guiding it back on to your head and then going back to stroke along him. It felt like you were taking all of him - every last inch into that perfect mouth. He let go of his tightly held control and just surrendered to the pleasure. Mentally cataloguing the sight and sound and feel of you and the best goddamn blowjob he’d ever had.

When he came it was sudden, he didn’t even have time to warn you. His toes curled and his eyes rolled back in his head and he grunted - the only sign before he was coming in to your mouth but you didn’t seemed phased, just sucked and fucking hell swallowed as he shuddered and cursed and stroked your face.

When the last drop of pleasure was wrung out of him he stumbled backwards, knees hitting the bed and he sprawled across it. His chest was heaving, one arm over his eyes while he tried to remember what his name was. He peeked out from under his forearm in time to see you rise to your feet, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb and licking it.

"Fucking hell woman," he groaned, lifting his head slightly to look at you.

Your hands rose to the neck of the lingerie you had on. "Should I-?"

"Don’t you fucking dare," Santi growled, pointing at you for good measure and flopping back on the bed. "I’m not done with you," he said to the ceiling. "Just give me like… thirty minutes."

Your laugh floated across the room to him and he felt your weight shift the bed to each side of him. Suddenly his vision was you, straddling his waist and leaning over him. "Thirty minutes huh?"

He grinned and reached out to pull your hips closer. Smiling to himself he ran his fingers under the lace, rubbing it between his fingers. "With this thing? Maybe ten."

Frankie was going to murder him.

Somehow, he couldn’t make himself care.

Part Two : Corroboration

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #triple frontier #fic #smut

662 notes · View notes

upat4amwiththemoon · 3 years

Text

The Scary People Next Door

Summary: Two women move to the neighborhood, it seems like there’s more to them than meets the eye.

Pairing: ? x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2312

Prompts (taken from thecharactercomma.com): ”Our new neighbors are simultaneously the scariest and nicest people I’ve met.”

a/n: New story! I don’t know how many chapters this’ll be, but I hope you’ll enjoy this. I don’t know yet who to make the love interest, so now you have a say in this matter. Who would you like it to be? Feedback is always appreciated :)

Y/N stares at the moving truck opposite from her house. Two women, both redheads, are taking boxes from the truck and taking them into the house. The house had been empty for months and Y/N was excited to finally get some new neighbors, as the older ones aren’t really that neighborly.

One of the women turn around to look straight at Y/N as if she knew they were being watched. Y/N’s eyes widen as she ducks under her window, closing the curtains.

“Shit.” She mumbles, embarrassed she got caught staring. Waiting a moment, just to be sure, she peeks through the curtains again. Only to see both of the women staring at her. “What the fuck!” She hides again, crawling to her bed.

As she sinks into her bed, her phone starts ringing. Groaning, she picks it up. “Hey you!” A cheerful voice comes through, Darcy Lewis, her best friend.

“Hi.”

“Why do you sound like that? What happened?”

Of course she’d know something was wrong just from a greeting. She knows her so well, sometimes a little too well.

“I totally embarrassed myself in front of my new neighbors.” Y/N presses her face into a pillow, letting out muffled sounds.

Darcy laughs. “Not surprised at all. When did they move?”

“They are moving the boxes right now.”

Darcy manages to laugh even louder at that, making Y/N groan. “Not even 24 hours have passed and you’ve already made a fool of yourself.”

“Shut up.” She mumbles.

“Oh come on, you know I love you.” Darcy’s voice is playful, but there’s some sincerity behind it. That’s how she showed her love, through jokes. “I actually did have something to tell you, me and Monica are going on a date today!”

Y/N gasps, lifting her head from the pillow. “Finally! It took ages for you two to confess your very obvious feelings.” She teases, smiling from ear to ear for her friend. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thanks.” Darcy chuckles quietly. Even though she had a confident demeanor, taking compliments and expressions of happiness directed for her were still difficult. “Anyways, that was it. Update me on the neighbor situation when something interesting happens!”

“Will do. Bye!” Y/N hangs up and throws the phone onto the bed.

She looks at her window, thinking enough time has passed, she decides to make her way towards it. Opening the curtains carefully, she sees the moving truck is gone. She notices movement from the upstairs’ window opposite from her own bedroom’s window. The taller redhead was putting stuff away from the multiple boxes in her room.

Y/N knows she shouldn’t be staring, but she couldn’t help but be captivated by her new neighbors. They seemed like nice people. Nice people with multiple guns and magic powers.

She gasps loudly, eyes widening. “What the hell.” She stares at the woman in the window moving things, guns included, with red mist coming out of her hands. Y/N shrieks loudly when the woman’s eyes meet hers. She closes the curtains and locks every window and door in her house. Her mind goes to the scariest situation. What if her neighbors were serial killers? Or part of a mafia? Was she going to be killed now that she saw the weapons?

Panicking, she dials Darcy’s number. “The have guns and magic and a lot of guns, please help me, they’re going to murder me!”

“What are you saying? What happened?”

“They have multiple weapons and magic! She was moving stuff without touching them!”

“Are you high right now?”

“No!” Y/N grips her phone tighter. “No normal person has that many guns. They’re going to kill me!”

“No one is going to kill you, Y/N.” Darcy sighs, pausing for a second. “Monica and I’ll come over, okay? Just stay put.”

“Okay.” Y/N takes deep breaths. “Okay, thank you.” She hangs up the call, but doesn’t let go of her phone as she sits on her bed, shaking.

On the other side of the road, Wanda Maximoff is cringing at the window. She didn’t hide her powers and now someone saw. It had to be a record on how fast someone can compromise a mission. She walks down the stairs. “Natasha?”

Natasha Romanoff hums from the kitchen, where she’s putting away dishes.

“Please, don’t be mad.”

Natasha turns around, brows furrowed. “What did you do?”

“It was a total accident! I wasn’t thinking nor paying attention to my surroundings. I also didn’t think she’d peek for the third time, like seriously, she already got caught.” She rants on, ignoring the look Natasha is giving her.

“Wanda.”

“Right. The girl from opposite of us saw me using my magic. And most likely all of the weapons that I was putting away.” She looks at the ground, not daring to face Natasha. She knew the look on her face, she looked like a disappointed mother.

“Wanda! We talked about this, only use your magic when the curtains are closed.”

“I’m sorry! It was a total accident.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her temples. Now they had one more thing to worry about besides their mission, which was difficult enough without random people seeing them.

“Okay, we’ll go to her house and threaten her or something.”

“We can’t threaten her because of my mistake.” Wanda frowns.

“What would you like to do then? Manipulate her?”

“No, let’s just be nice neighbors and show that she doesn’t have to be afraid of us.” Wanda conjures a pie with her magic. “Come on! We have a neighbor to impress.” She smiles and walks out of the house, Natasha behind her.

A knock on the door brings Y/N out of her head. She rushes downstairs, but stops right in front of the door. It takes Darcy and Monica a lot longer to get to her house. She looks through the peephole. Seeing the two women behind her door, she clamps her hand on her mouth to silence herself.

The taller woman waves with a wide smile and a pie in her hands. They already knew she’s behind the door, there’s nowhere to hide now.

Y/N opens the door ever so slightly. “Hello.”

“Hey!” The one with the pie waves again, trying to move her head to see Y/N better from the small crack. “We just moved to the house opposite of yours and wanted to come say hi.”

Y/N stays quiet, inspecting the two. The shorter one seemed much more intimidating, like she didn’t want to be there.

The taller woman elbows the shorter one to the ribs, giving her a small look. “Right, yes, hi. Could we come in? We brought pie.” She gives her a small smile before turning her face back into a stoic one.

“Now’s not really a good time.”

“I’m Wanda! This is Natasha.” She nods towards the shorter redhead. “We really mean no harm.”

She glances between the two. She knew she should just slam the door closed, but something in the back of her mind said to let them in, that they wouldn’t be harmful. So, Y/N opened the door wider, letting the women in.

“Here you go!” Wanda gives her the pie as she steps inside with Natasha.

She shows them to the living room. “Do you, like, want a piece or something to drink? I don’t have a lot, but there’s water and tea.” She asks as the redheads sit down to the couch.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Wanda and Natasha turn to stare at each other, almost like they’re having an internal conversation.

“Yes.” Wanda says in a slightly more commanding tone. “We would love some pie and water, please.”

Y/N goes to the kitchen, cuts up three pieces and takes three water bottles from the fridge, bringing them to the living room.

“So,” Wanda starts, grabbing her plate. “You might’ve seen something that you shouldn’t have and we wanted to tell you that there’s nothing to worry about.” She smiles as she eats a forkful of the pie.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I only saw you two move the boxes in the driveway.”

Natasha groans. She hasn’t even touched her piece. “We know you saw the guns and maybe little something unnatural in Wanda’s room.” She states, tired of the ‘nice neighbor’ approach Wanda wanted to do. “You won’t tell anyone about it and we won’t have a problem.”

“Natasha.” Wanda frowns and gently hits her shoulder.

Before Y/N can open her mouth, the doorbell rings.

“Who’s at the door?”

“Probably my friends. I might have called them when I saw what I saw.” She explains, covering under the harsh glare Natasha is giving her.

“Don’t open it.”

“She’s not leaving until I open the door.”

Natasha mumbles something incoherent, rubbing her face. She looks very pissed. “Then open the door and tell them everything is fine.” Wanda is trying to calm her down by saying that everything is fine. It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Y/N stands up slowly and goes to the door. Putting on her best smile, she opens it. Darcy and Monica are standing behind it, both of them having concern written all over their faces. They did, after all, just get a very worrying call from her.

“Hey you! Going to your date, huh?”

Darcy glances at Monica, who is looking at her. Everyone except Y/N seemed to be telepathically communicating today.

“Are you okay?” Darcy tries to look inside, but Y/N is blocking the view with her body.

“Yes! It was totally a misunderstanding, I saw wrong, everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Monica speaks up. “Darcy said you sounded really panicky on the call.”

“Totally! I was just being the paranoid person I am and saw things that weren’t there.” She giggles quietly, internally cringing at herself. She wasn’t making the situation any better. “I am fine! You two can leave and enjoy your date. Okay, bye!” Y/N closes the door, not letting them say anything else to stop her. She takes a deep breath and goes back to the living room. “Crisis averted.”

“Well, I suppose we should head out then. Thanks for having us!” Wanda stands up, somehow still smiling. “I hope to see you soon again.”

“Remember not to say anything, you saw those guns we have.” Natasha points at her.

“She’s kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

Wanda lets out a forceful laugh. “Please, don’t be scared of us.”

Y/N gives her a tight lipped smile and shakes her head. She leads them to the front door, opening it for them.

“Bye!” Wanda and Natasha walk into their house together.

Y/N closes the door, leaning her back against it. “What the fuck just happened.”

Few days pass with no problems. Wanda and Natasha, mostly Wanda, visit Y/N’s house every day, bringing some baked goods with them. Y/N was sure that was only a way to keep her quiet, though, she didn’t complain. The pastries were amazing and she had yet to die from poison, which was always a win in her book. Y/N felt bad for not never really doing anything nice back to them, she wanted to, but they were scary.

“I’m telling you Darcy, the new neighbors are simultaneously the scariest and nicest people I’ve met.” Y/N mumbles as she paints her nails while talking to Darcy on the phone. “Should I give them something? Just to make sure I stay on their good side.” She told Darcy everything that happened the next day. She knows she promised not to say, but those never include best friends, right?

“No.” Darcy scoffs. “I have no idea why you´re still talking to them.”

“What part of ‘staying on their good side’ do you not understand?” She blows on her nails, trying to dry them quicker. “Flowers or glitter?”

“Flowers.” She comments, knowing Y/N means what to do to her nails. “Shouldn’t you just, like, I don’t know, call the cops or move.”

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I could help you.”

Darcy has tried to help her financially for years, as money wasn't a problem to her, being an astrophysicist and all. Y/N never wanted her money, she wanted to be able to do things on her own, even when she knew help was going to be needed. That’s why Darcy usually didn’t give her a choice on whether or not she was coming over to help, but money wasn’t something she could force onto her.

Y/N sighs, carefully tapping her fingers to her leg. “You know I don’t want it.”

Darcy hums. “Well, me and Monica are here for you.” A silence falls between the two best friends.

“Yeah, thanks. Bye then.” She stops the call. Groaning, she lays down. She didn’t want to have these weird interactions with Darcy. They made them both uncomfortable.

Y/N didn’t get a lot of time to dwell on her problems as a loud, and weirdly violent, knocking comes from the door. Y/N frowns, walking downstairs to the door. She looks through the peephole. Four men with very dark and covering clothes. Opening the door slowly, she leaves only a small crack to it.

“How can I help you?”

“Have you seen these two around here?” One of the men shows a picture of Wanda and Natasha. “They are very dangerous.”

“Nope.”

The men start talking in a different language, leaving Y/N confused. The conversation seems to get heated. They are talking fast and harshly. One of them points at her, saying something that silences the rest.

“This all could’ve been easier if you just told us the truth.” One of the men sighs before knocking Y/N out.

#marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #the black widow #the scarlet witch #darcy lewis #monica rambeau #darcy lewis x monica rambeau

369 notes · View notes

spencerspecifics · 3 years

Note

HI HI HI PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MOREID AT PRIDE AND SOME PINING AND SPENCER THINKS DEREK IS STRAIGHT BUT HE ISN'T AND THEY KIIIITTTTTHHHHH

I absolutely love your energy fuck yes!! I’m so sorry this took forever, ive got school, work and some other personal things happening so I appreciate your patience!

No TW, B u t, a creep hits on Spencer at pride, so if that is upsetting please note that! Thanks :)

———————————————————————

Pride

———————————————————————

Garcia had been pestering Spencer about going to pride for the past week now, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He used almost every excuse he could think of. When he first turned her down, he had simply said, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy that week.” And of course, Garcia being Garcia, she stole his calendar to see what he was busy with (spoiler alert: he had nothing. Except a reminder to go grocery shopping, and email some professors and research scientists back).

So, she persisted, and he came up with a dozen more excuses; “I was considering flying out to see my mom”, “The local museum has a new interactive archeology exhibit for adults, and I want to learn more about ancient structures”, “I have to do a presentation on thermodynamics”.

None of those excuses work, as she sniffed out every lie, “Spencer, you hate flying to Vegas last minute, that archaeology exhibit has been open for months, and your calendar is empty!”

So with her persistence, and legitimate bullying, Spencer found himself finally agreeing. “Fine, but come over to my apartment before we leave so you can help me.” After all, he wasn’t really familiar with pride parades, and what the scene was like there. He was going to be a fish out of water, he already knew that for certain.

True to her word, Garcia showed up an hour before the pride parade was set to start, carrying a coffee in each hand- how she possibly knocked on his apartment door, Spencer didn’t know.

“I brought you a pick me up, that way you have no excuse to be in a bad mood!” She spoke in her signature sing song voice as Spencer let her inside, she barreled in like a hurricane. God, Spencer wasn’t ready for this.

“Thanks..” Spencer decided to reply with that lame response, and not with what he was actually thinking. He took the coffee from her wordlessly as she stepped in further, going to sit down on his couch.

“You excited?” Garcia asked as she set her cup down on his cluttered coffee table. Reid just shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t do great with crowds.”

“But you do great with disarming murderers?” “You know that’s different-” Spencer said, doing his best to argue, “Reid it is literally not. Both are anxiety inducing, but one is life or death, and it’s not pride. So you can do this.”

Spencer sighed, resigning himself to not arguing with Garcia. Because she was right, though at times her arguments sounded wild. He just had to get over this anxiety and show up at pride, he could do this, right?

Wrong. So, very, wrong. They had left his apartment with thirty minutes to spare, deciding to walk over to where pride was being held- as it was only a few blocks away in a public park.

And as soon as they got there, Spencer wanted out. There were so many people, more than he estimated (and his estimations were usually spot on.), and there was just chaos everywhere. Music, dancing, shouting, singing, drag queens running around happily. Spencer wasn’t sure what to do. He was out of his element.

Garcia seemed to sense that, though, as she dragged Spencer over to some stalls that sold pride flags, pins, and other miscellaneous pride related things.

“C’mon Reid, why don’t you look around and find something you like?” She offered up, something for him to do- something for him to stay busy with. He could do that. Spencer nodded simply, Garcia stayed by his side- looking at pride related wear for herself.

Spencer ended up deciding on a small pin that simply said; “love all”, planning to stick it on his messenger bag strap. Garcia bought a pin as well, but hers just had her pronouns on them; “she/her/hers”.

Looking at all the pride apparel was a good distraction for Spencer, he felt a lot more calmer now- though that didn’t stop him from feeling like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’s just not familiar with this world, and it’s awkward to suddenly be in the middle of it.

Spencer was in the middle of looking at another booth that sold flags, possibly considering buying himself a small one to stick in his pencil cup at work, because Garcia left him to go compliment a drag queen- when a voice broke through.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

That was a voice all too familiar, what on earth was Morgan doing here? Spencer looked up at him as he made his way towards him. “Hey,” Spencer spoke awkwardly. Not sure what to say.

Spencer was gay. He was fine with admitting he was gay, but he hadn’t really told the team. He thought they figured it out on their own. And they probably had, but still, having his coworker see him at a pride event- it was anxiety inducing.

“What’re- what’re you doing here?” Spencer asked, stumbling over his words as he dropped the small flag he was holding back onto the vendors table.

“Oh, well I’m on the local PFLAG committee. I’m just here to hand out flyers and stuff. But I’m glad to see you’re here, I’m guessing Garcia’s here too?” He asked Spencer casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Spencer.

He was on the PFLAG committee? Why? To help queer people, obviously, but that had to mean he was gay or something- Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from coming up with every possible answer to why Derek was on the committee.

Spencer just nodded in response, he moved himself back from the vendors table to get out of the way, so other customers could look at the flags being sold.

“Yeah, she’s- there.” Reid pointed her out, as if on cue she came out of the thick crowd that had started to gather back up, the parade portion of pride had concluded by now, and people were coming over to the vendors section.

“Hey, Babygirl!” Derek called over to her, and Garcia somehow lit up with a smile brighter than the one she was wearing before, “Well, hey!” She responded enthusiastically, walking up swiftly to give Derek a quick embrace, which he happily returned.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were staying for, but I’m glad I caught you!” Garcia started rambling to Derek, about how the drag queen she met was so nice; “Her name was Mysteria Hysteria. Isn’t that genius?”.

Spencer just stepped back from them both, not sure what to do, not sure if he fully belonged. Pride was a nice event, it was. But the longer he stood around, the more he felt like he should be leaving. Everyone was laughing and smiling, everyone was just happy. And Spencer couldn’t stop racking his brain. In the beginning, he couldn’t stop thinking because of his anxiety, but now he was searching his brain for a reason why Derek was here and what it meant.

Of course, a stupid large portion of Spencer’s mind went to “maybe Morgan likes men”, and then an even larger and stupider portion of his mind had the absurdity to think; “maybe he’s interested in me”. Which Spencer did not even want to remotely entertain, because if he fell down that rabbit hole, he’d never climb back out.

Because yes, he did like Derek. He liked him a lot, the start for his liking towards the man was innocuous enough- which is why it was a problem for Spencer. He didn’t realized he liked Morgan until it was too late. And now he had been battling these feelings for years. Spencer wasn’t ever going to act on them, he just had to live with them- which he had been doing, which he has been content with. But this new information, about Morgan being here, being part of PFLAG- it was going to make Reid’s mind implode in on itself.

Reid decided the best thing was to say; “I’m gonna get some water, I’ll be back.” To which Derek and Garcia both nodded to, and Spencer was off, away from the vendors stand and the only two people he knew at pride.

And while that was a good thing, it was simultaneously not so good. Because now he was alone, overwhelmed, and thinking too much. And now he had a task to do, find himself some water.

That task seemed to be more difficult than anticipated, as the prides layout was a confusing maze, spencer had to pass in front of a group of drag queens in order to get to the food trucks that were on site- but he eventually got there.

He walked up to the first food truck he saw, it didn’t matter what they sold, he wasn’t getting it.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked him, “Just a water, please.” He ordered, the cashier nodded and pulled a bottle out from a cooler that was nearby within the truck, handing it over to spencer as they told him his total, a dollar twenty five. Spencer paid quickly, stepping back and away from the food truck, as he wasn’t sure where else to go now. He didn’t want to go back towards Derek or Garcia, he honestly wanted to go home.

He just needed a minute, some space and time to breathe and relax. He was stressing himself out. And about what? Nothing of goddamn importance, just a stupid crush he had been living with for a while now.

Spencer had been leaning against the back the food truck for not long, only a couple of minutes as he was absorbed in thought as he fiddled with the cap on the water bottle.

He was doing his best to follow the grounding techniques he had learned, something to help him calm down, when suddenly- a stranger emerged out of the crowd.

“Hey there, handsome.” The man said confidently as he strode up to introduce himself Spencer. Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, the man in question was a fine looking guy, chiseled jawline, long shoulder length hair, a bit of facial stubble. He was handsome. “Hello,” Spencer answered hollowly in response. In an ordinary situation, he would try and seem more lively- but he wasn’t in a normal situation, not at all.

The anxiety of attending pride was stress enough on its own, but now knowing the guy he had been drooling over for years was here- and worked as a PFLAG volunteer? It was enough to make him lose his mind.

The man didn’t seem to notice Spencer’s empty response, however, as he answered suavely in response; “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the way. I’m Fabian,” Thankfully, the man- Fabian, didn’t stick his hand out for a handshake, instead casually pushing his hair back a bit.

“I’m Spencer,” Reid replied simply, knowing it was best to ride this odd social interaction out, rather than try and fight it. “That’s a lovely name,” Fabian complimented, “Is this your first time at pride, Spencer?” He asked him casually, taking a step forward, closer to Spencer. He was all too confident for Spencer, he too comfortable with invading Spencer’s space. If Spencer could’ve, he would’ve stepped back.

“Uh, yeah. My friend dragged me along.” Reid explained, twisting the bottle cap back onto his half empty water bottle. Fabian nodded, “Your boyfriend didn’t take you?” Fabian asked him. That was a leading question, Spencer had alarm bells ringing in his head the second he heard it. “No. He- um- he met up with us here.” Spencer replied unconvincingly, Fabian obviously did not believe a word he said.

“Well,” Fabian took another step forward, practically blocking Reid in against the back of the food truck, leaning in farther to whisper in Spencer’s ear; “I don’t see him around. So, why don’t you and I get out of here? Hm?”

Spencer wasn’t sure of what to do. He wanted to kick this guy in the crotch and just book it, but he wasn’t sure if his FBI status would protect him in this scenario. He wasn’t sure what could protect him in this scenario.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” A saving grace broke through, and suddenly Fabian was stepping back, and Morgan was walking up.

Thank god, thank fucking god, that’s all Spencer could manage to think as Derek came to stand beside him. “Hey, babe.” Spencer said, cringing at his voice, at what he just said. But that feeling only lasted for a moment as Fabian was still standing right there, staring them both down now.

Spencer could only throw his wish in the sky and hope Derek caught it coming down, ‘please catch along to why I’m calling you babe’ Reid was trying to say.

And Derek caught it, “Hey, baby, was worried about you. Who’s your friend?” He said in his smooth voice, a voice Spencer couldn’t forget. He especially couldn’t forget now, being called ‘baby’ was something Spencer especially could not forget.

“I’m Fabian, you’re Spencer’s boyfriend?” Fabian asked, as if them both calling each other ‘babe’ counted for nothing. “Yeah, I’m Derek.” Morgan responded simply, sliding his hand around Spencer’s waist as if to prove a point. Fabian just nodded, looking between Spencer and Derek one last time before talking; “Well, it was nice to meet you, I’ve gotta get going. See you.”

And then, he was off, fast walking away from Derek and Reid, escaping the terrible situation he had created. Fabian quickly disappeared into the thick crowd, and by then Spencer had his hand squeezing his water bottle all too tightly- as evident by the terrible crunch sound it made. He was too anxious to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked him softly, pulling his hand away from Spencer’s waist. “Can we find somewhere else- can we go sit down?” Spencer asked him quickly. Reid didn’t want to talk about it right this second, right where it had happened. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave pride and never come back.

Derek didn’t ask a single follow up question as he led Reid away from the food trucks, taking him back towards the vendors stands, and then a bit further back, into the normal-not-so-pride-parade-filled park area. Somewhere less stressful, less scary.

“What did that guy want?” Derek asked Spencer casually as they made their way towards a bench that was sat under a large oak tree. Spencer didn’t speak right away, instead he waited until they were seated to start talking.

“He was trying to flirt, but then he wanted me to leave with him.” Spencer explained as he took a deep breath in, just being away from all the loud sounds and sights was helping him calm down. Derek rubbed Spencer’s back in slow, circular motions as Spencer kept talking.

“He was a classic example of a narcissistic personality, it just made me so uncomfortable- he invaded my space.”

“He was a creep, Reid. Simple as that,” Derek kept rubbing Spencer’s back slowly, Spencer nodded. “I know. Sorry, it shook me up.” Spencer attempted to apologized, and Derek was immediately having none of that.

“Reid, no. Don’t apologize for that, don’t you dare. He was a creep, I’m sorry you got caught up with him. It’s okay if you’re shaken up. We can stay here until you feel up to going back, or we can leave. But I’m not leaving you.”

And so they sat for a good amount of time on that park bench, at one point Derek stopped rubbing Spencer’s back, instead just keeping his arm stretched out against the back of the bench and against Spencer’s back. Spencer loved it, but he knew if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking. That was his biggest problem, he couldn’t stop thinking.

He had to know, he decided, he couldn’t just wonder why Derek was on the committee for PFLAG. He wanted to know, he had to.

“Derek?” He spoke up softly, sounds of laughing and shouting and music were still heard in the distance, but they were safe from the sounds under the tree. “Mhm?” Derek hummed in response, looking up at the aforementioned tree that was providing shade for them.

His eyes were tracing the way the branches curved and bent around each other, it was something he did to pass the time. Spencer thought he was extraordinary for it, Derek loved to see where things went; he was curious- after all these years, and all the bad they had seen together, Derek still loved to search and find the beauty.

“Why are you on the PFLAG committee ?” Spencer asked him, it was thankfully an innocuous enough ask to not draw too much of Derek profilings side out to pry apart his question. Derek shrugged, and was quiet for a second before responding, “I know what it’s like to be a scared kid, unsure of his identity. If I can help someone through that, that’s all that matters. Same reason I’m in the BAU, to help people.”

Spencer stayed quiet, Derek’s reason was so sincere and so sweet and kind- and only driving him to think further. Was Derek still unsure of his identity? Was he an ally? Why did he have to make Spencer swoon so hard without even trying?

“So, you’re just an ally?” Spencer approached Derek carefully with that question, not wanting to impose or be rude- but just feign simple curiosity, praying Derek wasn’t using his profiling skills right now to decode Spencer’s fake motive.

Derek didn’t notice, thankfully, as he chuckled lowly in response; “No, pretty boy, I’m bisexual. I don’t really tell the team, but it’s not confidential information. Plus, Garcia found Grindr on my phone. Can’t hide anything from that girl.”

Spencer nodded, mumbling something in response about how Garcia had hacked his email to make sure he was free for pride. And then, the two fell into silence again. But it didn’t last for long, because Derek wanted to know just as much, why was Spencer here?

“What about you, Reid?” Derek asked him cautiously, the way you approach a puppy you find on the side of the road. Calm and slow, trying to get him to trust him bit by bit. “What about me?” Spencer asked, not wanting to answer anything about himself unless Derek was specific.

“Are you an ally?” Morgan asked him, leaving the question open ended. Spencer could say as little or as much as he wanted. This is how you get him to open up, Derek knew that for a fact. “Um.. yeah, I mean- who isn’t? I just- I have to be. I’m.. gay.” Spencer admitted all too awkwardly, not at all in a normal fashion. But nothing about Spencer was in normal fashion.

Derek nodded slowly, not responding as he stared back up, tracing his eyes over the tree branches yet again.

A few hours had passed, Spencer and Derek eventually left their peaceful bench under the large oak tree, and instead moved back towards the parking lot.

“Garcia’s got a ride home already- I think she got that drag queen to get her home.” Derek explained as they approached his truck, Spencer nodded as he followed Derek. “Anyways,” Derek continued speaking, “I can give you a ride home. Let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to-“ Spencer started, Derek immediately shut him down. “I want to, c’mon. It’s late, you’re tired. I know you are. Let me take you home.” Spencer just nodded in agreement, he couldn’t argue with Derek, even if he did try. Morgan was a stubborn man.

So, Spencer followed Derek into his truck, and they sat in comfortable silence as they started on their journey back to Spencer’s safe space, his apartment.

By the time Derek pulled his truck into the apartments parking lot, Spencer knew something was just the slightest bit wrong. Derek had barely spoken for the entire ride, and usually he loves to say something, to make Spencer smile or laugh, or even just nod and mumble in agreement. But he had done none of that on the way to Spencers.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, turning to face Derek as he put the vehicle in park. Derek didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the steering wheel instead as he spoke; “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Spencer pried, absentmindedly unbuckling his seatbelt as he spoke, “About today.” Derek said, not explaining further. “Was today bad?”

Derek shook his head, “No. It started weird, it’s ending pretty good, though. But I’m gonna regret today forever if I don’t do something right now.”

Now, Spencer was confused. Not sure at all what Derek could be talking about, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

Derek said nothing as he unbuckled his own seatbelt, turning to face Spencer as well, and then he leaned in- closer than they had ever been before. Their noses were almost touching, and Spencer didn’t move. Instead, he watched Derek’s eyes expectantly.

Then, Derek broke through, they were no longer intersecting each other’s personal space- now they were fully destroying each other’s atmospheres. Derek’s lips were on Spencer’s, a chaste, soft, quick kiss- something Spencer would have wanted to go for a lot longer. But then, he pulled away just as fast.

“...That’s what I meant..” He mumbled after a second, looking back towards the steering wheel, looking away from Spencer- and more importantly, not seeing the smile on Spencer’s face.

Spencer couldn’t help it. He knew it was terrible to be smiling right now- he should jump and say something to fix what was happening. But he had to smile, he couldn’t believe that had actually just happened, his brain was still computing and re-circuiting, trying to savor the memory and not forget how Derek’s lips felt against his.

Spencer dragged himself out of his own head quickly, though. He did all he could think of to do in the moment, get Derek back. “Morgan.” Spencer said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as he did so, forcing him to look back at Spencer and meet his eyes again.

But Spencer didn’t say anything, and he didn’t give Derek the chance to speak, either. Instead, he leant forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s. This is all he had wanted to know for the longest time, and now he had it.

Maybe pride wasn’t so bad after all, you just have to be with the right people for it to work out.

———————————————————————

196 notes · View notes

ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au #for some reason i’m not showing up in the tags??#i’m gonna kill everybody

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

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“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#jiara #outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #otp: cause i'll come #It's messy but in a cute way

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prozd · 3 years

Text

Bones of the Forgotten

For those unaware, when I was 12 years old, I used to write very gritty Mario fanfiction. The only reason this exists is because we hit a charity milestone for Extra Life (which by the way you can still donate to here: https://www.extra-life.org/participant/450294)

I decided to write the sort of fanfiction that 12 year old me would've enjoyed writing, so here is my love letter to my youth.

A question block can come in handy in a variety of ways. You just gotta know how to scrap it down. Easily done enough with a precision focus Fire Flower blowtorch. The first thing you gotta do is realize there's nothing bringing that sonuvabitch down; those fuckers float in the air forever no matter how much you push or pull 'em. Instead, you gotta carve off pieces from it as it's floating up there. Awkward at first, but by the fiftieth time, it's fucking clockwork.

Melt down the pieces and you've got the golden goo perfect for crafting all sorts of nasty tools. A bat made from question block has just enough lightness for a easy swing, but just enough density to still effectively break a kneecap. A blade still won't pierce, say, a Chain Chomp, but it can at least pierce most Koopa shells. Plus, some people just like the gold color; they think it looks sick.

I personally think the best use of question block goo is making bullets out of it. They're denser than most others and they maintain their speed for longer. The only downside is they stand out if you leave them in a body at a crime scene, but that's irrelevant as long as you're cleaning up your messes properly. If anyone had the time and resources to search the bottom of the sea near Rogueport Docks, I imagine you'd find a glittering trove of golden bullets scattered among the bones of the forgotten.

One of those bullets dances idly through my fingers as I listen to one of my subordinates, a Craw with the quite frankly unfortunate name of Garf, lament about his recent mistreatment by the Syndicate.

"Ishnail, they just stomped the shit out of us! Gus and I, we weren't doin' NOTHIN' and those leafy fucks attacked us. Everyone knows the Plaza's neutral territory, we gotta DO somethin' about this."

Craws get a bad rap, in my opinion. They get labeled as savage, but I've always found them to be much more thoughtful than people would assume. Even in this moment, as my eyes gaze upon Garf's tattered, bloodied vest and bandana, and his curved beak squawks in rage, I notice the slightest trace of tears at the very edges of his eyes. Aw.

"Let me ask you one question, Garf." Out of respect, Garf immediately goes silent. Again, thoughtful. "Were you and Gus carrying your spears?"

"I......I mean.....we have to, it's part of Craw culture...."

"I'm well aware, but Garf, I'm sure YOU'RE well aware that no weapons are allowed in the Plaza. I mean, at the very least, keep a goddamn gun hidden in your pocket, don't wave a fucking SPEAR around. You're just asking for the Piantas to give you a beating."

I get up from the dingy sofa I've been lounging on and dust myself off. "But I can't have Don Pianta thinking it's okay to fuck up my guys. I'll have to have a word with the ol' mustachioed fuck." I pat Garf on the cheek and wipe a tear away with my thumb. He nods in appreciation.

I motion to two of my subordinates, a scrappy looking Goomba named Goomfrey and a laidback Hammer Brother named Hamma. We step outside HQ and into the bustling, grimy streets of Rogueport's east side.

As long as I've lived in Rogueport, it's always carried the smell of the sea in the air. It's a welcome scent to me, having grown up in the Seaside Kingdom. My mom was a Bubblainian; she raised me when my deadbeat Koopa dad left us, and what she gave me was the snail shell on my back and a love for the water. Merchants shouting and the occasional "STOP, THIEF!" ring out as my muscle and I make our way through the Plaza. We pass the gallows where the Shadow Queen's corpse was supposedly hung from one thousand years ago. Fittingly gruesome lore for a city filled with murderous rat-bastards.

A sickly sweet scent starts to mingle with the smell of the sea and garbage I'm used to. It's an indication that we're entering the west side of Rogueport. Sure, it's a much tidier area than where the Robbos and I live; there may be fancy-ass things like "flowers" and "benches," how hoity-toity. You can put lipstick on a Li'l Oink, but it still smells like shit.

We walk into Westside Goods. There's no need for the customary password; Peeka, the Boo shopkeeper, knows why I'm here. She opens up the back door, and we walk up the stairs in the back alley to Don Pianta's office.

"Ishnail, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Don Pianta stands behind his desk; as much as I hate to admit it, his presence is overwhelming. "And you brought friends, too?" he notes as he sees Goomfrey and Hamma.

If you want to live long in Rogueport, every time you enter a room, you have to mentally gauge 1. the quickest way to escape, 2. who you may need to disable and/or kill to escape, and 3. how easy that's all going to be. Two giant yellow Pianta in suits stand guard at both sides of the Don's desk. A blue Pianta in a white suit, the Don's underboss Frankie, closes the door behind us.

Piantas are not easy to injure, let alone kill; I know this from years of tangling with the Don's gang. The little palm trees and skirts would make you think otherwise, but Piantas are naturally built like fucking dump trucks and hit just as hard. Hamma's a Glitz Pit fighter, and I've seen what he can do with that hammer. Goomfrey gets underestimated for his species, but his reputation precedes him; he has bitten off more fingers than your average Rogueportian. Still, a fight against four Piantas, even with my question block bullets, would be brutal. It's telling that you never see a Pianta with a weapon because nothing will kill you faster than simply their own fists.

"Your men attacked mine, Don. And for what, carrying spears? You and I both know that's bullshit."

"My men....have been on edge. Your little Bandit friends have been scuttling around, picking too many pockets they shouldn't be. Keep that shit on the East Side where it belongs, and we'll be fine."

As Don Pianta talks, he habitually cracks his knuckles. Out of all the Piantas in the syndicate, Don Pianta is truly a mammoth; his muscles are barely contained by the suit he's wearing. Honestly, if he wasn't my ultimate arch-nemesis in this town, shit, I'd fuck him. I like my men beefy.

"Alright, Don. I'll tell my boys to keep their weapons out of the plaza. You and I both know no one benefits if we fight in the streets. Bad business for both your establishments and mine. Let's keep things quiet."

"Agreed," The Don extends a giant hand. I shake it firmly.

I turn to leave with my muscle in tow. As I open the door to leave, I hear a whisper.

"Get your slimy shell outta here, you fuck."

I pause. I give Goomfrey the look, and he smirks. Goomfrey's eyes quickly dart and I know he's already memorizing every little detail about the yellow Pianta who whispered the insult. Without another word, I close the door behind me.

---

There's one more use for question block goo I forgot to mention. It's perfect for weighing things down.

I breathe in the salty seaport air; it's particularly sweet tonight. The golden bullet dances between my fingers; I know it's a bad habit, but it's fun to fidget with. It'll go to good use though. I load it into my Fire Flower pistol with a few others and carefully attach the silencer.

"Now, listen, uh...what was his name again?"

"Paulie," says Goomfrey, standing to my side with a grin.

"That's right, Paulie. I'm a pretty patient person, I think most people including your boss would agree, but I've got a real sore spot about the shell, ya know? It's just, it reminds me of my dear old ma, and I love her to bits. You understand, right?"

There is no response from Paulie due to his crushed windpipe courtesy of Hamma's hammer. Quite frankly, I'm impressed he's still conscious from the pain. He looks up at me from his crouching position eyes filled with hate, his hands and feet encased in reforged golden question blocks. Piantas are heavy, so four blocks worth is safest.

"I did promise the dear Don that I'd keep things quiet, so let's cut to the chase." I point the gun at his forehead and before he can react, I fire three shots. There's no need to prolong this shit; I'm not a sadist. Hamma and Goomfrey pick up the body and toss it off the port into the sea.

"For what it's worth, boss," says Hamma in a low, pleasant baritone. "I like your shell. Looks good on ya."

"Aww, thanks."

#mario #fanfiction #charity #paper mario #thousand year door

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haysianrose · 3 years

Text

Transcript of Kelly Marie Tran and Jenny Yang’s conversation for CAA Amplify’s Town Hall on Confronting Anti-Asian Racism on April 1, 2021. Watch the full video on CAA Amplify’s website at amplify.caa.com/library/ (linked in source).

Kelly and Jenny’s part starts at the 47 minute mark and is about 7 minutes long.

To know more about what was discussed at the town hall and the other speakers, read ‘CAA Amplify Town Hall Confronts Anti-Asian Racism; Asian Community Finds Power In No Longer Staying Silent – Commentary’ on Deadline.com.

Jenny Yang: [waves] Hi, Amplify! Kelly Marie Tran: [laughs] Hi! JY: Kelly! Hi! KMT: Jenny! Oh my gosh! JY: I just want you to appreciate the matchy-ness of my look today. KMT: I’m loving the coordination. The shirt with that little pot in the back. You look like someone who’s got everything together. [laughs] JY: You know, we’re trying to. We’re still in a pandemic. And now we’re gonna talk about being in Hollywood as an Asian American! KMT: Great! [laughs] JY: Let’s do it!

JY: With everything that’s been going on in the world, um, with… Frankly, feeling like Asian Americans, being an Asian woman in particular, with the shooting and murders in Atlanta… Like, feeling, like, under attack and super sad. How have you kind of come to understand who you are now as an Asian American in entertainment because of all of this?

KMT: There’s just so many emotions being felt at one time and I think… [sighs] For me, I wanted to dismantle, like, internalized racism, racism inside of me. It’s no secret that I left the Internet for very specific reasons. One thing that I think made a really big impact on me was recognizing just how deep seated the racism was. That was something that I don’t know that I knew the extent of it. And it made me really think about, okay, how do I figure out how I’m working within this system that has… perpetuated this thing.

JY: You unfortunately saw some of the worst, um, hate and ire that’s directed at.. women and particularly you as an Asian American woman, right? I mean, like, publicly. Just because, just because you exist! And this is what’s so, so, like, like, bonkers for me. And I think it’s really cool that, like, you’re admitting to having internalized some of this. Because I feel like that’s one of the first steps, right? It’s like… we need to educate ourselves and get right with ourselves as well as take action.

JY: When, uh, the pandemic first hit, we all had to stay at home. March, like, 11th, was my last day, 2020, of being out in public. About a week later, I was going out, just me and my, you know, blunt bangs, right? And my Asian ass eyes. In front of me stops a pickup truck of, sort of a middle aged white guy. He stopped right in front of me while I was at the corner when he had a green light and flipped me off. What was that for? Nothing had happened. And yet I’m getting accosted, assaulted, whatever. And then it hit me. And then I got hot in my face. And I was like, oh! This is because people think I am responsible for the pandemic. This is because our president and other people call it the China Virus, call it Kung Flu, make it a punchline. It’s telling someone driving down the street that I am a target for their, their hate. It was really upsetting that, okay, wow, this is the beginning of the pandemic, this is what’s to come. It is really important for me to think about what does it mean for us now as Asian Americans in Hollywood and honestly other people who are non-Asian in Hollywood to step up.

KMT: Like, what is helpful moving forward? You know, there’s so… so many instances of uh… you know, my friends and people that I’ve worked with who have, you know, done the social media posts and donated to foundations. They’re reading books about how to dismantle their own internalized racism. Like, what is that next step? And how do we actually, um… Help create change.

JY: You know, Andrew Yang, presidential then presidential candidate, put out a Washington Post op-ed that’s essentially said Asian Americans, if you want to fight anti-Asian racism, then you need to show that you’re more American so that we can be more liked. And, um, I wanted to test that premise in a video and I did that. And, um, you know, I went out with a sign that says, you know, honk if you, uh, if you won’t hate crime me. A middle aged white woman and her son drove around and stopped me and said, “I honked earlier and we just made two loops just so that we could talk to you.” And she just started to go into tears. She’s like, “I am so sorry what’s happening to you and your community. We are… I want you to know that we’re here for you.” That, I will never forget. Because that’s what we need. We need people who, um… are going to be there for us, not just as allies, ’cause we say that word so easily. We need people to be like adopted family! Who wanna join us, alright? Who are, uh, willing to be the intense aunties and uncles of our families who will stand up, whether you’re Asian or not, to actually risk something. ’Cause to me this is what, this is what it’s about.

KMT: During the pandemic, you had this comedy show called Comedy Crossing over Animal Crossing because we couldn’t do it in person and you raised over 30,000 dollars for Black Lives Matter. And that’s someone who is showing up. And that is someone who is risking something. When you’re talking about holding on to hope and you’re talking about a vision for a better world, like, that’s what you did. I’m getting emotional talking about it!

JY: I know! Why are you doing this, Kelly! [wipes eye] KMT: Because it’s true! [laughs] JY: Why are you doing this! KMT: Because it’s true! [laughs]

JY: I mean, listen… There’s more we can always do, but we need to do what we can, you know? And I’m not perfect at all, and… I probably could risk more. I really admire, you know, in your journey, sort of your moment when you, when you, I feel like really took a step forward. And so— Oh, now I’m gonna tear up again. I remember reading the draft of it in that cafe before the pandemic and tearing up and being so happy and proud of you because I know for a fact that, like you were saying earlier, it was very challenging to all of a sudden be thrusted into the public spotlight and become… automatically representation as an Asian American woman, right? In pop culture. And I don’t think people are prepared for that! Honestly, every single person who works in entertainment who has any kind of platform, we all need like mandatory training or something. Asian American studies… KMT: [laughs] JY: Asian American history. So.

KMT: Um. I was just gonna say I’m really grateful for our friendship and the way in which… recognizing that no matter how hard an experience gets, it always gets a little easier if you’re not in isolation within that experience.

JY: The more we can stay connected with each other, right? And encourage each other and not feel alone, I think that’s the way we get through this.

KMT: I’m really grateful to have had this conversation. Just to hear more about your insights as someone who is a community organizer, someone who has been furthering, um, not just the movement in terms of, you know, combating anti-Asian hate, but also anti-Black hate. Um… And how do we continue to be productive as people who all obviously are now sort of pulled into wanting to help in ways that will further, um, hopefully these movements.

JY: Yeah. Thank you. KMT: I love you so much, friend. It’s so good to virtually see you. JY: I know! I love you too, Kelly Marie Tran. KMT and JY: Bye!

#kelly marie tran #jenny yang #eastasiansonwesternscreen #stop aapi hate #stop asian hate #protect asian lives #anti asian racism #caa amplify #star wars #rose tico #cw shooting mention #haysianrose posts #person: kelly marie tran #person: jenny yang #media: videos #events #era: 2021

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cyllaeth · 3 years

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bad enough for you

find it on ao3

“Itʼs a good look on you.”

Itʼs Friday, lazy evening after a long, very tiring shift; theyʼre at Eddieʼs house sprawled on the couch, watching some movie played on TV. Itʼs nothing new, really. Lately, it has become kind of a tradition—because Buckʼs here almost everyday. Eddieʼs not complaining; in fact, heʼs the one who invites him to his house with a simple you coming with me? Buck agrees excitedly and they usually end up on the couch with Christopher, watching TV or playing games

—and his excitement to spend time with Buck is priceless to see.

This evening was no exception. The only thing thatʼs different is that Christopher is already asleep in his bed and theyʼre alone in the living room. Buck stepped out of the shower like ten minutes ago and he smells like Eddieʼs favourite body wash. His hair is quite disheveled and still a little wet which made them more curly than usual. Thereʼs a nice stubble on his cheeks because Buck hasnʼt shaved for two days and Eddie wonders how this stubble would feel between his thighs. His cheeks are burning at the thought. He tries to think about something else, something other than his best friend in different positions in various states of undress. Itʼs hard, though. Not like his dick when he wakes up in the morning, covered in sweat and frustrated because of the dream heʼs had but still. Itʼs hard because Buckʼs sitting next to him and the dim lights of the lamp standing in the corner make his skin glow. Heʼs in his sweatpants and Eddieʼs old shirt (he has his own in Eddieʼs house but he just likes that particular shirt) that is a little too tight for him but it doesnʼt bother either of them. It does wonders for the blonde because it highlights his broad chest, his biceps and now itʼs a little rolled out and exposes Buckʼs skin.

“What?” Buck asks sleepily and opens his eyes. Eddie realises he said those words out loud.

“Uh... I said itʼs a good look on you. Yʼknow, the curls and the stubble.” He replies sheepishly. He didnʼt want to lie and besides, itʼs completely normal to appreciate your friendʼs good look, right?

Buck runs his hand over his hair nervously but then smiles shyly.

“Thanks.”

Itʼs only one word but itʼs filled with so much joy, Eddieʼs glad he shared his thoughts with Buck.

Eddie wants to kiss him.

Days later, Buck shows up at the station and Eddie almost drops his phone when he sees him. His friend is already in his workʼs clothes (this navy t-shirt really brings out Buckʼs eyes) but he looks different. His hair is extremely fluffy and very curly. He also has a nice scruff—a little more visible than the other night—and it suits him. And when he notices the Texan is staring at him, he winks.

“Eddie, youʼre drooling.” Chim laughs and he pretends heʼs wiping off the drool from Eddieʼs chin.

He should be embarrassed, horrified that Chim caught him checking Buck out. The thing is, heʼs not. He doesnʼt care if the rest of 118 noticed that too. Heʼs too happy, too giddy because apparently Buck likes this.

“Funny thatʼs coming out from your mouth.” Eddie teases. “Youʼre the one whoʼs drooling over another Buckley.”

“Hate to break it to you, Howie, but Eddieʼs right.” Buck laughs and goes to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“If youʼre looking for coffee, itʼs already waiting for you on the counter, red firefighter mug.” Eddie informs him.

“How domestic.” Chim mutters, rolling his eyes. Diaz pretends he didnʼt hear it but the tips of his ears turn red. Buck takes a sip and groans with pleasure because the coffee is exactly how he likes it. His friend knows him too well.

“Youʼre the best, Eds.” He says and sits right next to Eddie. Theyʼre so close their shoulders and legs are touching even though thereʼs still a lot of space on the couch.

“I know.” Eddie mutters. He enjoys their closeness, maybe even a little bit too much. He can smell Buck’s—wait, is that his favourite body wash? It definitely is. And from the smirk on Buck’s lips, it seems like his best friend knows what he’s thinking about.

He feels the heat is slowly taking over his whole body and suddenly, he’s more aware that he sits with Buck like they’re glued together. And they are in a way. It has always been like that. Personal space? Never heard of it. He just didn’t pay too much attention to it at first but over the years he discovered that Buck’s closeness, touch and smile have a huge effect on him. Sometimes it’s still hard to admit it and he tries to deny it but his traitorous body has a different opinion.

Jesus, he desperately needs to regain control over his own mind and not picture Buck sprawled on his couch again. Fire station is not the best place to fantasise about his best friend.

“Earth do Diiiiiiiaz!” Chim waves his hands right before Eddie’s face and Eddie immediately snaps out of his thoughts.

“You were saying?” He asks and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Actually it was me.” Hen answers; there’s a very knowing, smug smile dancing on her lips and Eddie suspects this woman really can read his mind. “I was asking if you’re free this Saturday, Denny wants to meet with Christopher and I thought it’s an amazing idea. They haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Oh, it is a good idea. And we have nothing planned so we can definitely meet.” Eddie states and then turns to face his best friend. “Buck, you’re free too, right?”

Chim looks at him incredulously.

“What do you need him for?”

“Buck is Christopher and Denny’s favourite and they haven’t seen him in a while too so I figured they would be happy to see him.” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly.

“Wasn’t Buck like literally yesterday at your house? Because I swear I heard you inviting him over. And I definitely saw you two getting in Eddie’s car. Just like everyday.” Chim inquires, looking suspiciously at Eddie.

“Do you keep notes on how often I go to Eddie’s house?” Buck asks, clearly amused.

“No, but it’s hard not to notice that you basically live together. Albert claims he rarely sees you anymore. He told me that last time you didn’t even sleep in your own bed because he checked it and you didn’t come back!”

“I should’ve known that Albert would be just as nosy as you.” Buck mutters, shooting a very murderous glance at Chim.

“You and Hen have never heard of a sleepover? Never had one?” Eddie asks with a dose of sarcasm in his voice.

“Ha ha, very funny, Edmundo. We have sleepovers... Just not every night like you and Buck. Those kinds of sleepovers I have with Maddie.” Chim responses with a smirk.

“Oh, you donʼt want to know what we do during these sleepovers.” Buck blurts out. Both Chim and Hen freeze like they didnʼt expect this kind of response. Eddie stifles a laugh because they look hilarious with almost identical expressions on their faces. Heʼs glad Buck found a witty response to shut them up because this conversation was getting more ridiculous. And it was getting harder for him not to think about inappropriate things again.

“I think we broke them.” He gathers.

“Finally.”

Buck’s grinning at him, obviously very proud of himself. He’s usually the main topic of Chim and Hen’s jokes so when the tables turned, it must have been a nice feeling.

Eddie feels the urge to kiss him again and he has to physically restrain himself from doing it.

This is getting more ridiculous too. He needs to keep it together. Somehow. He has to.

“Whatʼs with the weird faces?” He hears Bobbyʼs voice who just came up the stairs and looks at his coworkers with curiosity.

“Oh, Hen and Chim just had a taste of their own medicine.” Eddie explains and points at Buck.

“Part of me wants to ask. The other part says knowing would be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine. So I wonʼt ask for details.” Bobby says carefully.

The whole shift is a nightmare. Oh, they donʼt have too many awful, difficult calls. Itʼs just a nightmare because Eddie is quite distracted.

“Wise choice, Bobby, wise choice.” Chim mutters and just shakes his head.

Itʼs all Buckʼs fault because Eddie canʼt keep his eyes off him (which is not that uncommon). Hen only rolls her eyes when she notices that he stares at his best friend again. Chim just pretends not to see this even though heʼs clearly curious and he opens his mouth from time to time as if he wants to ask but he decides not to.

It seems like Buck knows about Eddieʼs inner conflict and he does things to torture him.

He definitely loses his control when theyʼre back at the station and they change their clothes.

All of the touches, looks and smiles are nothing out of ordinary—they share it on a daily basis—but it still feels a little bit different. More intimate, more private. Itʼs just the way Buckʼs lips curl in a smile when he catches him staring and he subtly changes his position to be more seen, like he wants Eddie to have a full view. Itʼs the way Buck shoots him a quick look whenever their arms brush. Itʼs the way Buck bites his lip while looking directly at him. These are all small things, almost a details but Eddie pays attention to every one of it.

Eddie can’t help himself but glance at his best friend when he unbuttons his uniform. He’s seen him shirtless countless of times already but it’s not like he will be complaining about it.

“See something you like?” Buck asks teasingly, noticing that Eddie stares at him. Again.

“Oh, for the love of—” Chim mutters under his breath and he definitely looks like he’s about to hit his head against the lockers but Hen pulls him away and whispers something in his ear. Then, they quickly make their way out of the changing room and Eddie’s all alone with Buck.

This is definitely not helping with his internal crisis. He doesnʼt trust himself and he feels like heʼs just one step away from dragging Buckley to a more private place where they could release the tension that has been building up between them for years.

Hell, he could easily just come closer, push him against the lockers and—

“Cap says you two can clean up the fire truck before dinner.” Donnellyʼs voice snaps him out of his thoughts quite harshly and he feels like he was just caught red-handed. He nods at his coworker and turns his head to see Buck.

“We should be quick, I heard Bobbyʼs doing carbonara today.” He says, trying to sound as normal as he can. He hopes that his friend wonʼt notice the blush on his cheeks thatʼs definitely here.

“Will you just kiss me or youʼre only gonna keep staring at me?” He asks, his voice teasing and amused.

“Please, when were we not quick?” Buck asks with a smile. “Letʼs just get to work.”

Cleaning up the fire truck goes quite smoothly. Buckʼs right; they are a very good team and they always work very well, no matter if itʼs a rescue or doing more mundane things. They work in silence, solely focused on finishing the cleaning soon. Eddie really tries to keep his mind off Buck and things he wants to do with him but he fails. He glances at him discreetly—or at least he thinks itʼs discreet but after a while, Buck stops working, leans against the car and turns to face him. Thereʼs a very mischievous smile on his lips and a spark in his eyes.

“I—” Eddie wets his lips and looks at Buck. The question catches him off guard and for a while he does nothing. Buck just waits patiently, still smiling like he knows Eddie wonʼt back out.

And Eddie doesnʼt.

He takes a step closer until Buck is pinned against the fire truck completely and crashes their lips together. Itʼs definitely better than all of his fantasies. Buck tastes like cinnamon gum and his lips are incredibly soft, softer than heʼd ever imagined. He can feel Buckʼs hands on his belt, tugging him closer. Eddie gasps when Buck rolls his hips and they can both feel how turned on they are.

“Jesus, Buck.” He says, voice all hoarse when they break apart to catch a breath. Buck doesnʼt give him time to think because he already starts to kiss his neck. His stubble scratches a little but itʼs not a bad feeling. In fact, he even enjoys it and closes his eyes, letting Buck do whatever he wants to.

“You know, I kept thinking...” He tries to say but itʼs very hard to focus and not to moan loudly when Buck moves with his kisses near his earlobe. “I really wanted to know how your stubble would feel.”

His best friend stops and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, really? Good thing I didnʼt shave then.” He grins and thereʼs something in the tone of his voice that Eddie picks up immediately.

“You planned this, didnʼt you? You were fucking with me today on purpose?” He asks with disbelief.

“Hey, the fucking part is still ahead of us.” Buck corrects him, still grinning. “But yes, I was flirting with you and I did keep the look because I figured youʼre really into it. I just wanted to push you a little and convince myself that I didnʼt make up all of this.” He says, pointing out their swollen lips, flushed cheeks and their bodies tangled up together.

“You know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you and not to drag you to the nearest bathroom or closet and do all the things I had in my mind just because you were all cute and flirty? Youʼre a menace, Buckley, you know that?” Eddie says. He still cannot quite believe that he was just making out with his best friend, that it wasnʼt just a dream. But he wants to repeat it, though.

“You and I both know you like it anyway. Just FYI, you can drag me whenever you want and do whatever you want, Iʼm very much interested.”

“Good.” Eddie comes closer again and before he kisses him again, he adds. “Because Iʼll definitely do it.”

They kiss again for God knows how long; itʼs like once theyʼve done it, they just canʼt stop. Eddie feels like heʼs a teenager again, all giddy and excited and definitely horny but he doesnʼt mind it. Kissing Buck definitely lands on top of the list of his favourite things to do and he suspects he will add a few more very soon. Heʼd do it even now but he still remembers—somehow—that theyʼre at work and they need to wait just a little longer. He does not remember that theyʼre not alone in the station, though, and Chimʼs voice definitely surprises him.

“Guys, where are you? If you donʼt hurry up—Oh my god.”

Chim sounds almost horrified and both Buck and Eddie look in his direction. He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes widened when he realised what he walked into.

“Sorry, Chim, weʼll be done in a minute.” Eddie promises. He doesnʼt even care that Chim caught them kissing and neither does Buck.

“I really wanted you two to finally resolve this sexual tension but I definitely didnʼt want to witness that.” Chim scowls. “Now I need something to erase this image from my mind.”

“Consider it a repay for all your never-ending teasing.” Buck says smugly. “Just be glad it was only kissing.”

“Ew, Buckley. Next time Iʼll send Hen, I canʼt be the only one traumatised by the two of you.”

“Youʼre suspiciously sure there will be a next time.” Eddie notices.

“Weʼve seen you dancing around each other for three years, three years of pent up sexual tension doesnʼt disappear suddenly after one making out session. I doubt youʼll be able to keep hands off each other for a long time. Do what you want to but please, give man a warning first.”

“I think we can do that.”

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bobby nash #henrietta wilson #howie han #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 fic #buck x eddie fic #lucy writes #lucy's attempt to write #i know it's silly but here we go anyway #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfiction

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get-your-fics · 3 years

Text

Oh No!

Summary: You unexpectedly catch the eye of a psychopath when you stand up for yourself.

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x reader

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: Non-con fingering, blood, reader is in high school but is 18, kidnapping, possessive behavior, language

A/N: happy halloween! this is a fic i had written a while back that i edited A LOT. hope you enjoy :)

"Score, Gotham, score! We want more!" you chanted along with your fellow cheerleaders at the top of your lungs, rustling your maroon and white pom poms to the rhythm. "Hit 'em where it hurts and knock 'em to the floor!"

The bus erupted in a series of whoops and hollers, the excitement for the upcoming game palpable in the air. The bus driver glared at the cheerleaders in the rearview mirror. "Sit down!" he shouted.

You did as you were told and returned to your seat, the other cheerleaders mimicking you. You sat closest to the aisle next to a girl named Isabella Green. She was relatively quiet and kept to herself, but your time on the squad together had opened her up to you, and you ended up becoming close friends over the years.

“Ready for the game to be over?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

You playfully bumped your shoulder into hers. “Stop! It’s the last game of senior year. Try to enjoy it while it lasts?”

She forced out a wry laugh. “That’ll be hard to do with Peyton breathing down my neck.” She glared in the direction of the ruthless cheer captain loudly chatting with her friends at the front of the bus.

You opened your mouth to come to Peyton’s defense when the blare of a car horn cut you off. The bus lurched to a stop, nearly throwing you and Isabella out of your seat. You gripped the back of the seat in front of you to steady yourself. You whipped your head forward to look out the windshield and saw a red truck with the words “HEST OIL” on the side blocking the bus’s path. You rose slightly out of your seat and peered above the other confused cheerleaders’ heads to get a better look at what was going on.

Three figures piled out of the truck wearing white straitjackets. One of them scrambled to get the door on the driver’s side of the truck and yanked on the handle. It swung open, and he stood at attention as the final member of the group emerged from the truck.

A tall boy of about nineteen with fiery, red hair hopped out of the truck. Judging by the confidence he exuded and the way the others regarded him, it was clear he was the leader of their little group. You couldn’t help but notice that he was attractive. He had a boyish charm to him, but any appreciation you had for his appearance dissipated when his lips stretched into a menacing smile that sent shivers down your spine like ice had been poured down the back of your uniform.

As the four men made their way over to the bus, you seemed to realize at the same time the rest of your squad did who they were: the Maniax, the recently escaped inmates of Arkham Asylum who were wreaking havoc all over Gotham City. The footage of them mercilessly murdering people by throwing them off of a building had played nonstop on the news, so it was impossible not to recognize them.

The cheerleaders exchanged weary glances, and the unnerving silence that had fallen over the bus was pierced by hushed, frantic whispers. The redhead skipped over to the bus gleefully, spinning and sliding as he came to a stop in front of the glass door like a dancing child. He stared the bus driver dead in the eye as he tapped the gun in his hand against the glass in a signal for him to open the door.

Screams arose from the group once they realized exactly what kind of trouble they were in for, piercing your ears. You, on the other hand, had the complete opposite reaction: you became paralyzed, every muscle in your body freezing up as the gravity of the situation hit you like a freight train. You felt impossibly cold, and your mind could only comprehend five words: I am going to die.

Reluctantly, the bus driver gave in, his finger hovering over the button before eventually pressing it. You knew there wasn’t much else he could do, but you still couldn’t help but feel betrayed. The door opened with a rush of air, and a pleased grin spread across the redhead’s face.

He skipped up the steps and paused at the top of the stairs. He leaned down and swiftly seized the driver by his collar. He yanked him out of his seat and sent him hurtling down the stairs. He tumbled out of your view, but a second later, a gunshot rang outside, earning several yelps from the group. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut tightly.

Panic spread throughout the bus like wildfire as cheerleaders leapt out of their seats. They rushed towards the different exits, shoving and pushing each other like animals. The redhead immediately put a stop to this behavior, however, by raising his gun in the air and firing one shot at the ceiling. The blast echoed throughout the interior of the bus, and everyone froze where they were. The attempted escapees slowly returned to their seats, watching him with fearful, anxious eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

The redhead grinned. "Ladies," he glanced at the few male cheerleaders, furrowing his brow, "and gentlemen," his momentary confusion subsided, and his eerie smile returned to his face, "stay where you are, or else that won't be the only time I shoot."

You swallowed the urge to scream and reached for Isabella’s shaky hand. She intertwined her fingers with yours, gripping tightly. You glanced at her face. Her eyes were red, and tears streamed down her cheeks, taking bits of mascara with them. Her glossy lips were pursed into a thin, quivering line, and you could tell she was choking back sobs. You gave her clammy hand a reassuring squeeze, although you were freaking out internally just as much she was.

The three other psychos boarded the bus and joined the redhead’s side. "Boys," he commanded, grinning out at the cheerleaders sinisterly, "cuff 'em."

The men smiled and stared at the group like predators stalking their prey. They went row by row, handcuffing cheerleaders to their seats while their hostages resisted the urge to protest, stifling sobs and weeping silently.

A man with untamed curly hair was the one to approach where you were sitting. He leaned over you to handcuff Isabella first before turning to you. When you didn’t offer him your hands, he roughly tugged on your wrists and chained them to the seat. You narrowed your eyes at him until they were slits. If looks could kill, he certainly would’ve been six feet under.

He pulled away from you and met your deadly gaze. His lips pulled back to form an evil grin, and you noticed with disgust that his teeth were yellow, sharpened points like a shark’s. It only lasted a second before he moved onto the next row in a flash, and you watched him go, your gut churning with revulsion.

You didn’t know what had changed within you, but suddenly you were no longer racked with anxiety. All you could feel now was disdain and hatred for these men, these murderers who were torturing you and your friends for their perverse enjoyment.

After everyone was handcuffed, two of the men exited the bus while the curly-haired one stayed alongside the redhead. He guarded the door to make sure no one else tried anything while the redhead stood at the front of the bus.

"I want you all to know," the redhead paced down the middle of the aisle, his footsteps loud like claps of thunder in the otherwise quiet bus, "this was a very difficult decision for us." He approached the seat where Peyton was cowering in the corner. "It was between you and a senior citizen bingo party."

He aimed his gun at her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her teeth sank into her lower lip so aggressively you thought she would split the skin, and you could tell she was trying her best to remain quiet. He pulled his gun away, chuckling at her reaction.

"In the end, we decided to skew a little younger.” He moved away from her and continued down the aisle like a shark circling the water. “Youth won the day. Sorry.” He faked an apologetic pout, although it didn’t seem sincere in the slightest. He returned to his place at the front of the bus and shouted, "Give me an O!"

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The cheerleaders jerked in their restraints, trying uselessly to break free. You thought you heard a few people plead, "Please, let us go!"

The amused expression dropped from the redhead's face, and he raised his gun to the ceiling again. He fired, the booming gunshot piercing the air and catching you off guard. Those around you shrieked before growing quiet.

"I said,” he gritted his teeth, “'give me an O!'"

"O!” you and the others repeated after him.

"Give me an N!”

"N!”

"Give me another O!" he cheered with imbued enthusiasm.

"O!” you stuttered out, your voice wavering and unreliable.

"What does that spell?" he asked, smiling wildly.

You all chanted together in unison, "Oh, no!”

The curly-haired man handed him a hose, which the redhead gladly took. A mysterious liquid spouted from the nozzle, and he aimed the stream at the cheerleaders in the seats closest to him. It took a second for the putrid odor to reach your nose, but when it did, you identified it as gasoline. Your eyes went wide as you realized his intentions.

He’s going to light the bus on fire.

The redhead walked up and down the aisle, dousing the entire bus in gasoline. He made sure to spray it directly in some people’s faces, delighting as they panicked and sputtered from being hit with the harsh blast head on. He sprayed the hose above your seat and those around you in a large arc, and drops splattered off the windows and falling down upon you like acid rain.

You found that the gasoline lubricated your hands just enough that when you contorted them (probably injuring them in the process), you were able to slip them out of the handcuffs. It took quite a bit of effort, but once you were freed, you hid your hands between your knees out of the redhead’s view. The skin around your wrists was red and raw from the metal cuffs digging into them.

You started to hastily throw together a plan in your mind. There had to be something you could do to save your friends. Escaping obviously wasn't an option; the curly-haired man was still standing guard at the door. Getting help wasn't a viable choice either, in case you alerted the redhead that you were free. The only thing there was left to do was to face the redhead straight on. Although you could be killed in the process, you would take your chances. It wasn’t like sitting there obediently would change that outcome anyway.

The redhead passed by your seat, and when his back was to you, you sprang up and launched yourself at him. You landed on his back, a cry falling from your parted lips. Your surprise attack threw him off balance, and he grasped at the backs of the seats around him to steady himself. The cheerleaders around you stared at you with wide eyes and slack jaws. You instinctively grabbed onto his hair, attempting to tear out tufts of red orange as you sunk your teeth into his neck without thinking. You felt the bared skin break and something wet seep out from around your teeth.

He yelled out in anguish as you marred his alabaster flesh. In one swift movement, he leaned forward, sliding you off of his back, and you hit the floor with a solid thud. Every bone in your body ached, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for air.

You groaned in pain, squeezing your eyes shut, and when you opened them, you were staring down the barrel of a gun. You raised your gaze a little higher and locked eyes with the redhead staring down at you.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the bus. You studied his angered expression, his tense brow and lips pulled back over his teeth in a sneer. But as quickly as it had appeared, his countenance softened into one of shock. You imagined what you must look like. The copper taste of his blood was still on your tongue and surely smeared across your lips like rouge, the same blood dribbling out of the bite on his neck and staining his otherwise pristine straitjacket.

You stared at each other for what felt like hours, like you were the only two people on the bus. Those around you held their breath, anxiously fidgeting and waiting in anticipation for what would happen next. Then, his lips slowly curled into a smile.

"You," he began slowly, "got out of your handcuffs, then had the audacity to attack me?"

You blinked at him. You didn’t get a chance to respond as manic, crazy laughter bubbled from his lips. You winced while the redhead doubled over, slapping his knee. The sound made your skin crawl, and from the looks on the faces of the cheerleaders around you, it had the same effect on them as well. He wiped away a stray tear rolling down his cheek as his cackling ceased. He shook his head at you, the gun still trained between your eyes.

"You, you are crazy. I like you already." He took a step closer and towered over you until his face was mere inches from yours. "You're coming with me, princess."

Before you had time to register the weight of his words, he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder. He spun around and started marching towards the exit. You heard cries of your name, and you looked up to see Isabella staring after you with glassy eyes and trying to rise out of her seat.

Gasoline dripped down the stairs as the redhead hopped down them, forming a puddle on the pavement. You shrieked, beating your fists against his back and kicking wildly, although your assault didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. Once he was off the bus, he tossed the hose aside carelessly and set you down.

The second your feet touched the ground, you tried to run, but you barely got a step away from him before his arm snaked around your waist. He pulled your back flush against his chest and buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. You squirmed in his grip and clawed at his hold on you, but he remained strong and stoic like a sentinel. Your efforts were to no avail.

The other three men rejoined the redhead outside of the bus. Their brows wrinkled in confusion when they noticed that you were with him, but as he pulled out a lighter with his free hand, they quickly disregarded your presence. It was clear that he was the one in charge here.

"Ready? Okay!" The redhead held the lighter close to the gas on the steps. You twisted around in his arms and hid your face in his chest, not wanting to see the moment the gas caught fire.

"Don't worry, princess," his voice cooed right in your ear. "You get a front row seat to the light show!"

You whimpered in response. "Please, don't do this!"

He ignored you and continued to flick the lighter. When it still didn’t light, he huffed in frustration and looked at his friends. "This is so embarrassing," he muttered under his breath. He looked over at the bus. "Does anyone got a light?" He was met with screams in reply.

"I do!" a voice behind you said eagerly.

You spun around as the redhead did, and you saw that the voice had come from one of the members of the group, a man shorter than all the rest with a small stature and close-cropped hair that curled around his ears. He dug the lighter out of his pocket and held it out to him. There was a light in his eyes, like he was eager to please.

Just as the redhead was about to take the lighter from him, the wail of sirens caught their attention.

You turned your head to see three cars swerve into the parking lot and skid to a stop. Two of them were police cars, and you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope ignite inside of you. The sound of car doors slamming shut resounded in the lot as policemen got out of their vehicles, guns drawn.

"Stand your ground, boys.” The redhead’s lips curled into a smile as he and his friends got out guns of their own. “They can't shoot at the bus."

With that, all hell broke loose.

It was like open season as they shot at the cops, bullets ricocheting off of the cars’ metal exteriors and shattering the glass in the windows. The opposition could do nothing but watch, dodging bullets where they could.

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" you heard a voice amongst the policemen shout.

You watched in horror as one man got hit in the chest and crumpled to the ground. You yelped and receded further into the redhead’s grip for protection.

"Aaron, Greenwood, go get the truck started,” the redhead instructed the curly-haired man and the last member of the group you had neglected to notice. He was tall, bald, and well-built, the features of his face set into a grim expression. “We're gonna blow this barbecue!"

The two men nodded firmly and hurried off. The redhead turned to address the smaller man from before but noticed a detective sneaking closer to the bus. He whipped around and aimed his gun at him. The detective ducked behind the car just in time to avoid the shot.

The redhead fired again and again until he pulled the trigger and nothing happened but a dull, hollow click. He clenched his jaw and dropped the empty gun to the ground. Twirling a finger in the air, he commanded, "Light 'em up!"

He retreated to the truck, dragging you with him. You kicked your legs in the air and released an ear-splitting scream from your throat. He picked up the hose and sprayed more gasoline at the bus, laughing that same eerie, hysterical laugh. It was rough and low, like it was stuck in his throat and resonating from his chest.

He grabbed onto the side of the truck as it drove away, leaving the smaller man behind to set the bus on fire. He banged the hose against the truck, his face contorted in an expression of perverse glee.

Once they were far enough away from the bus, the redhead yanked open the door to the truck and slid inside. You latched onto the frame of the open door and pulled against his arm around your waist. "Let go of me, you monster!"

He ripped you away from the frame and closed the door behind you. He easily maneuvered you like a doll so you were in between his body and the curly-haired man’s. You found yourself awkwardly squished between them in the cramped cab, along with the bald man who was driving the truck.

"This one's feisty," the redhead chuckled. "Greenwood, hand me some rope."

The curly-haired man did as he was told, and the redhead wrapped rope around your wrists and ankles, tying them in strong knots. "Let's hope you don't get out of these like you did with those handcuffs."

The curly-haired man leered at you, looking you up and down like you were something to eat. "Who's this?" His mouth twisted into a demented smile, and he placed his hand on your knee. You writhed, trying to get away from him, although you knew it was of no use with your hands and feet bound together.

The redhead slapped his hand off of your leg. The look on his face was oddly serious. "Touch her again, and I'll cut off your hand.” An animalistic growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Fear was evident in the curly-haired man’s eyes, but he played it off, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

You stared straight out the windshield, silently praying that you didn’t see a column of thick, black smoke rising into the sky. Your chin wobbled as you thought about your friends roasting alive, flames licking and devouring their skin as they screamed in agony. You imagined the stench of burning flesh permeating the air. A small tear escaped from the corner of your eye and rolled down your cheek. You hoped the policemen had found a way to stop the smaller man from lighting the bus in flames in time.

Suddenly, the redhead gasped, drawing your attention to him, and he brought his hand up to the fresh bite mark on his neck. He pulled his hand away and stared at the ruby red blood sticky like syrup coating his skin.

"I hope I'll get to bite you too, princess.” He smirked. "I'm Jerome. What's your name?"

You didn’t answer; instead, you spat at him.

Your saliva landed directly on his cheek. He flinched and wiped at it with his bloodied hand. He stared at the combination of his blood and your spit on his fingers almost as if he were mesmerized before sticking them in his mouth. He stared straight into your eye as he sucked on his fingers, moaning sensually.

You grimaced, recoiling in disgust. He removed his fingers from his mouth and laughed at your reaction. “You want a taste?” He held his hand out to you as if he was offering you a lick of his ice cream cone.

"You're disgusting," you hissed.

He cackled again, and the sound rattled your bones. "What's your name, princess?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. He stared at you until you eventually gave in and gave him your name.

He repeated it as if he was tasting it on his tongue. Then, he hummed thoughtfully. "I think I like princess better."

What felt like a very long car ride later, you found yourself in the middle of the Maniax’s secret lair. It was not what you had expected at all, not in the slightest. Instead of a dark, dingy cave or abandoned warehouse, the domestic terrorists resided in an upscale penthouse that was lavishly furnished and overlooked a beautiful view of the Gotham City skyline. Who knew insane asylum patients had such good taste in home decor?

You were greeted by two people when you got there: the first, a man dressed in an expensive, tailored suit with slicked-back, raven hair; and the second, a woman wielding a scary-looking whip wearing a black leather jumpsuit, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Neither of them looked happy to see you.

"We're back!" Jerome singsonged, skipping into the room and dragging you along behind him. He had undid the rope around your wrists and ankles, but his hand on your arm was heavy like a ball and chain.

"And unsuccessful.” A scowl settled over the mysterious man’s features. "After you fled the scene, Detective James Gordon knocked out Dobkins and moved the bus before any flames could catch. We had to assassinate Dobkins before he could expose us."

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding at hearing that your friends were alright, your eyes fluttering closed. Even though you were at the mercy of these maniacs, the knowledge that your friends were safe gave you the smallest sense of relief.

Beside you, Jerome’s jaw clenched, and his free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. “I should’ve killed that idiot myself," he seethed.

"Who's this?" You opened your eyes to find the mysterious man’s on you. The weight of his gaze was heavy, as if he could see straight through you. If Jerome was a demon, this man was surely the devil.

"This," Jerome slung an arm over your shoulder and pulled you into his side, "is my girl, princess." He beamed like he was bringing a girl home to meet his parents for the first time.

The mysterious man’s frown deepened. "Jerome, you can't just go kidnapping innocent girls whenever you feel like it.”

"Oh, she's not innocent.” He chuckled and pointed to the bite mark on his neck. It was starting to scab over but still stood out like a brand on his ivory skin.

The mysterious man looked at the woman next to him brandishing the whip like they were communicating telepathically. The woman turned to you, and with a flick of her wrist, the leather of her whip was coiled around your throat.

Your eyes went wide, and your lips fell open, but no air passed between them. Your hands automatically shot up to grip onto the whip, but it slipped between your fingers like the scales of a snake. She tugged on the other end of the whip, and you were yanked out of Jerome’s arms. The whip constricted around your throat, and a squeak escaped your lips as you fought to breathe.

A look of pure, unadulterated panic came over Jerome’s face. "Stop!" He froze for a second, unsure of what to do, until in a split second decision he reached for the bald man’s gun. He snatched it from him and pressed the barrel against his head. "If she goes, I go. And you need me.”

You watched the mysterious man’s countenance slowly crumble as his gaze flickered back and forth between you and Jerome, questioning just how valuable he was to this little team.

"I swear to God, I'll do it," Jerome threatened and cocked the gun for extra emphasis. His tone was even, and his hand was steady.

Your hearing grew muffled, and your lungs burned from a lack of air, collapsing in on themselves like a house of cards. The mysterious man gave the woman another meaningful look. She hesitated, but just as gray spots started to dance across your vision, she retracted the whip. Without the whip to hold you up, you fell forward, but before you could hit the ground, Jerome caught you in his arms.

You heard the gun clatter on the ground next to you; Jerome must’ve dropped it in order to catch you. Your throat felt impossibly dry and sore as you gasped for air. You coughed and wheezed, tears springing in the corners of your eyes.

You felt Jerome raking his hands through your hair. You wanted to push him away, but you were too weak. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you,” he assured you.

The woman with the whip glared at the mysterious man. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let the boy have his fun. Maybe he’ll be more focused when he’s gotten it out of his system.” He shifted his gaze to Jerome. “If she gets in the way, I won’t tell her to stop next time.”

He walked away, the soles of his dress shoes slapping against the tile. The woman with the whip shot you and Jerome on the floor one last scalding glance before she followed after him.

Jerome watched them go with something akin to madness tainting his gaze, but it all melted away when he looked at you. He kneeled at your side and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Are you alright, princess?”

When you managed to recover somewhat and regain your breath, you swatted at his hand in your hair. “Don’t touch me.” Your voice was too hoarse, and what you meant to be a firm protest came out more like a whimper from a kicked dog.

The look of concern on his face disappeared at your words, and a grin took its place. “Sounds like you’re just fine.”

He jumped to his feet and grabbed your hands, roughly pulling you off the floor. In one fluid motion, he threw you over his shoulder again. “Princess and I are going to be spending some much needed bonding time together.” He started in the direction of the stairs. “Don’t disturb us!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you heard a voice laced with sarcasm say. You looked up to meet eyes with a woman who had curly, blonde hair. She wrinkled her nose at you as Jerome passed by her.

You didn’t bother retaliating this time around as he carried you up the stairs. All the energy had been sucked out of you from your earlier escape attempts and near death experience. He walked down a hallway and kicked one of the doors open. He stepped inside, and only when you heard the lock turn on the closed door behind you did he finally put you down.

You righted yourself and stepped out of his grasp, choosing to observe the room instead. It was rather plain, the only pieces of furniture a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The walls were bare, and there were no decorations to bring life into the dull room, nothing to make it seem like a place someone actually resided in, like whoever slept here was only doing so temporarily.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Jerome spread his arms out wide and gestured to the room. "It's no Palace of Versailles, but it's a lot better than the trailer at the circus or a cell in Arkham."

So this was where you were to be held captive during your stay here, however long that may be. It suddenly became apparent to you that there was no guarantee that you would live long. It was only a matter of time before Jerome grew bored of playing with you and disposed of you like an old toy or those two people downstairs thought you too much a liability. Your thoughts quickly drifted to your friends and your family. You wondered if they had started searching for you, although you knew whether or not they did, there was no way they’d be able to find you. At least, not alive.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as Jerome circled you like a shark who smelled blood in the water, the look in his eyes scarily intense. “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking, princess.”

It was hard to look him in the eye. “Who were those people downstairs?”

He quirked a brow. “You mean Tabitha and Theo?” Figuring that's who they were, you nodded. “Our benefactors and generous hosts. They’re the ones who broke us out of Arkham.”

So that explains the fancy penthouse. Although, you wondered what two clearly wealthy and established yet inarguably unhinged people like them had in store for the inmates and, most of all, where you fit into it all.

“But I know that’s not what you really wanted to ask me.” His pace was relentless, circling around and around like a never ending spiral. “What’s been on your mind since you first got here.”

You did have a burning question on your mind, a question that had been nagging at you for a while, but you hadn’t been able to voice it out loud. Mostly because you were scared of the answer.

“Why me?” Your voice sounded so small. “Why take me in the first place?” He could’ve killed you a long time ago for disobeying his orders, and yet he chose time and time again to keep you around.

He laughed as if you had said something funny. He stopped in front of you. “Because, princess,” he reached out to caress your cheek, and you flinched as his hand made contact with your skin, “there’s a spark inside of you. You’re brave and fearless.” He swiped his thumb across your cheekbone almost tenderly. “I admire that about you.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. In a momentary burst of rage, you pressed your hands against his chest and shoved him back as far as you could (which wasn’t very far). “Fuck you!” Your voice resonated off of the empty walls.

He barely stumbled back a step, unfazed by your anger. “Only if you’ll do the honors.” He winked smoothly.

You raised your arms to strike at him again, but before you could even get one blow in, his hands wrapped around your wrists like handcuffs. He guided you backwards until the backs of your knees met the bed. But he didn’t stop there. Your eyes went wide as your back met the mattress and he landed on top of you. Any strength you had left was gone, and his weight on top of you knocked the wind out of you.

He pinned your hands above your head, his face inches from yours. “None of that.” The tip of his nose brushed against yours. “Or do I have to remind you that your life is in my hands now?”

You blinked back tears. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

He shushed you, his eyes fluttering closed before closing the gap between your lips. The kiss was surprisingly soft and gentle. He moved his lips against yours, although you remained immobile like stone. You briefly contemplated kneeing him in the groin, but you didn’t want to push him past the point of inflicting pain on you.

As if he knew what you were thinking, he kneed your legs open and pinned your thighs down with his knees. He adjusted so he was holding your wrists in one hand, his other hand going to rest on your jaw. It moved down your neck, over your collarbone, to grope your breast through your uniform. You gasped, and he seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His thumb brushed over your nipple, massaging it into a stiffened peak.

He rolled his hips against yours, groaning into your mouth. You felt his hard length straining against the confines of his pants press against you, and it was like alarm bells went off in your head. His hand on your breast moved down to flip up the skirt of your uniform, baring your lacy panties to him.

He disconnected your lips to admire them. “A little scandalous for a cheerleader, don’t you think?” His fingers ghosted over your clothed core, and your hips involuntarily bucked against his hand. “Unless you were wearing them for someone?”

There was a jealous glint in his eye as he stared down at you, rubbing your folds through your underwear. All you could respond with, however, was “Stop.”

He sighed. “It’s always the same: ‘get away from me, let go, don’t touch me.’ But I know what you really want.”

He slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear and pressed them between your folds. You took a sharp intake of breath; his fingers were cold against your hot flesh. He spread your lips, and you heard the telltale sound of your arousal as he spread your wetness around your slit.

He bummed in contentment. “Just as I thought: you’re soaking wet.” He kissed your neck, and you could feel his cocky smile against your skin. He looked up at you. “Is all this for me?”

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. You tried to close your legs, but it was impossible with his knees holding you down. He gathered the wetness leaking out of your entrance before pressing his fingers into you. You hissed at the intrusion as he stretched you open.

“Although, maybe it would be fun to watch you fight back.” He smirked. “I can tell you want to.” He moved so his face took up your entire field of vision. “Go on. Give it your best shot.”

Your muscles seized up, unsure if this was a trap or not. Meanwhile, his fingers continued to move inside of you, in and out, in and out until you grew accustomed to the size of his thick fingers.

“Or maybe you’re enjoying it too much to try and stop me,” he teased you.

You knew he was pressing your buttons on purpose, trying to get a rise out of you, but it didn’t stop you from reacting. With both your hands and legs secured, it left you with a limited amount of options. But you took your chances anyway and, as fast as you could, smashed your forehead into his nose.

He grunted and reeled back. You felt something wet hit your face, and when he looked back down at you, you saw blood dripping from his nose. You wondered if you had broken it or not. Despite the injury you had caused him, the grin on his face was wider than ever.

“That was a good try.” He cackled. “Now, it’s my turn.”

He leaned down and sank his teeth into your neck.

A scream was ripped from your throat as a white hot, burning pain spread from your neck to your nerve endings. You felt the skin snap under the pressure of his teeth. He held you there, like you were a dead bird caught in the jaws of a lion. It felt like he was trying to tear your throat out.

He retracted from you, licking your blood from his teeth. “Now we’re even.”

His thumb flicked at your clit, and you yelped. He started tracing gentle circles over the sensitive nub while his fingers still thrust into you. You lifted your head (ignoring the shooting pain in your neck) just enough to watch his pale fingers disappear in and out of you again and again. He twisted his wrist slightly as he pulled them out almost all the way only to plunge them back in. You clamped down on the appendages violating you.

“You must not hate it that much with the way you’re strangling my fingers,” he gloated.

You thought back to the living room when you had the whip wrapped around your throat, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. Surely that tightness had been more bearable and less mortifying. Part of you wished the mysterious man hadn’t told her to stop just to spare you from this torture.

You wanted to shoot him a glare, but he curled his fingers so they brushed against your inner walls, and a pathetic mewl fell from your lips instead. You collapsed back against the bed, failing to bite back your moans as you let the pleasure consume you. You felt that familiar tightening in your gut and cursed yourself for reacting to him this way. Warmth spread from your core to your fingertips, and your toes curled as your orgasm hit you.

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, and Jerome leaned down to kiss you. You could taste your blood on his tongue mingling with the blood still oozing from his nose. He didn’t stop fingering you through your high. He didn’t even stop fingering you after your head came down from the clouds, still mercilessly stroking your clit. It wasn’t until you whined from the oversensitivity did he laugh and have the decency to remove his hand from you.

He let go of your hands and moved off of your thighs, but you were too worn out from your orgasm to move. He kneeled on the bed next to you and stared at his fingers glistening with your juices. He stuck them in his mouth and slurped it off, moaning as he did so.

You had enough strength to turn your head away from him. A cold hand on your jaw forced you to look back at him. His face was startlingly close to yours.

“You’re mine, my princess.” He traced the bite on your neck with the pad of his finger, and you cried out at the twinge of pain that shot through you as a result. “And now everyone will know it.”

You stared up at him, eyes glassy, the only thought in your mind that you were in deep, deep trouble.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Tags: @ckatattack @bamposworld @verysleepy1

#Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #dark!fic #fanfiction #fanfic #self insert

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Trust Me

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by @adela-topaz-caelon: So, I love Juice, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing a Juice x Female reader, in which the reader is Opie's younger sister, and helps the club in her own way. She's bubbly, but very ferocious when needs be, and the scenario I have in mind is they've always been attracted to each other, and good friends. When Potter first tries to coerce Juice, she knows something's up, works the truth out of him and goes on this mission for Juice that results in a fluffy coming together

Warnings: language, light angst, Juice being a soft and slightly sad boy

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: I’m here for all these requests about helping Juice dig himself out of the hole he put himself in during this series haha. Love that for him. Also, this was the most I’ve ever written for Opie as a character and it was actually very enjoyable haha. Hope y’all like this! xo

SOA Taglist: @mijop @garbinge @masterlistforimagines (As always, let me know if you'd like to be tagged!)

You walked across the lot at T-M, scanning the garages for your brother, waiting to see him towering over everyone. He was nowhere to be found, though. With a quiet sigh, you walked up to the garage and waved to get someone’s, anyone’s attention who could give you an answer as to where he was.

Juice had spotted you the second you stepped down out of your car. He jogged over to you, a smile on his face as he met you on the pavement. His grin was one that was impossible not to return. He was wiping grease from the palms of his hands onto his pants so he could hug you without leaving any stains on you.

“Y/N, hey,” he wrapped you in a brief embrace, “All good?”

You stepped back and nodded, “All good. Just looking for Ope? Said he was gonna need help with a couple things tonight and to meet him here.”

Juice nodded, “Think he’s in the clubhouse.”

“Great! Thank you. I’ll see you in a bit,” you flashed him a smile before turning and walking across the lot to the clubhouse.

Juice was left there, unable to do anything besides watch you walk away. He couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by the way you walked, so lightly but with just enough authority to let people know that you weren’t someone to be messed with. Your smile was just inviting enough to let people know that you were kind, but not so disarming that you were setting yourself up to be taken advantage of. If growing up with Opie had taught you anything, it was how to carry yourself.

“You’re askin’ for trouble, brother,” Jax materialized behind him with a chuckle.

“What?” Juice tried to feign ignorance.

“Opie will stomp you out like the bug you are if you ever try to get too close to her.”

Juice shook his head, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” he chuckled and clapped him on the back, “Whatever you say.”

Despite the fact that Jax had just called him out, he still couldn’t make himself walk back to the garage until you had disappeared into the clubhouse, the door shutting behind you. Juice let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. With a shake of his head, he walked back to the truck that he had been working on, his brain now running at a mile a minute with so many different thoughts of you.

Juice had fallen a little in love with you the first time he’d seen you. He hadn’t been in Charming all that long, and was just starting to slip into the role of prospect. He was in the clubhouse, stacking cases of beer behind the bar when you came striding in. It felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of his lungs as he looked you over—he was certain that you had made a wrong turn somewhere. There was no way that a girl like you purposely landed yourself in a place like the Samcro clubhouse.

You’d walked up to the bar, given him a smile that made him weak in the knees, and asked if he had seen your brother.

“Wh-who’s your brother?” he stammered out nervously, now jittery not just from the fact that he thought you were beautiful, but also from the fact that you were the sister of one of the men in the MC.

You laughed as you sat down on the stool directly across from him, “Ah, so you’re the new guy,” you looked him up and down before finally answering his question, “Opie.”

His eyes went wide, “Opie?”

You chuckled, “I know—I got the all the looks and he got all the height. Unfortunate division of genes.”

“Thought I heard trouble,” Opie’s voice cut through the clubhouse before the conversation between you and Juice could continue any further.

You laughed as he walked up behind you, resting his hands down on your shoulders and pulling you back into him, you head resting back against the leather of his kutte. Opie had dismissed Juice, granting himself some privacy to be able to talk to his sister without any interruptions. However as Juice left the clubhouse that day, he knew that you were someone he wasn’t going to be forgetting about any time soon.

The two of you had become friends rather quickly after that. You loved all of the guys in the MC—they were your brothers as much as they were Opie’s. But you couldn’t deny that there was something different about Juice. He had a type of light and kindness emanating from him that you just didn’t see in Charming very often, let alone in the club. Your brother had kept a close, scrutinizing eye on you when the two of you first started spending time together, but as time went on he conceded that maybe it was a good friendship for the both of you. You were level-headed enough to keep Juice reined in, and he kept you from taking yourself too seriously. It took some time, but Opie eventually stopped feeling like he had to constantly be looking over your shoulder whenever you were around Juice.

That first day felt like it was lifetimes ago now, though. You made your way back to the dorms once you didn’t see Opie sitting in the main area of the bar. The door to his room was closed, so you gave it a couple knocks and waited for your cue to enter. A few moments later, Opie pulled the door open and offered up a tired smile as he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your head.

“You look like shit,” you said with a laugh as you sat down on his bed.

“Good to see you too,” he chuckled and shook his head, trying to smooth out his extremely disheveled hair.

“Everything alright?”

“Need to ask you for a favor.”

You nodded, assuming that that was where this conversation was going to be heading, “Whatever you need.”

“Got some club business to handle. Most of us are gonna be outta town for a few days. Was wondering if you would be willing to stay here and help keep things running smoothly?”

You shrugged, nodding, “Yea, of course. Who’s gonna have the kids?”

“Mom.”

You nodded, a little surprised that your mother was still willing to take the kids when Opie had club business. You weren’t going to get into that discussion with him, though, “Who else is staying behind?”

“It’s just gonna be you, Chucky, and Juice. Gemma’s got family shit going on so we could really use you here at T-M. Mechanics will still be on deck and everything, but I’d feel better knowing we had someone else here who was Samcro.”

You loved that you got to be part of the inner circle of everything happening with the club. You didn’t get to know everything, but you got to know more than most. The fact that Opie trusted you meant the world to you. There was something exciting about the fact that every now and then he talked about you like you were part of the club.

“I got you,” you said with a nod, “But I’m crashing here. I don’t trust what might be on the sheets in anyone else’s dorms.”

He laughed, “Smart,” he ran his hands over his face, “Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate it.”

“You guys heading out tonight?”

“Couple hours,” he sighed, “Sorry for the short notice.”

You shrugged, “No big deal. We always figure it out,” you stood up and gave him a hug, “I’m gonna go pack some shit to bring here with me for the next few days. I’ll try to be back before you guys head out.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you back,” you called to him as you walked out of his dorm.

Later that afternoon, once all of the guys had peeled out of the compound, you realized just how quiet things were at T-M when they weren’t all around causing trouble. It was peaceful but it also felt a little empty. The chaos is what made it feel like home.

You walked into the clubhouse and saw Juice sitting at the bar, typing furiously away at his laptop. You smiled as you sauntered onto the other side of the bar, grabbing one beer for yourself and one for him, popping the caps off on the edge of the bar. You set his next to his laptop and you saw the smile creep across his face even though he didn’t take his eyes off of the screen in front of him.

“Just you and me for the next few days, Juice,” you said with a smirk.

That got his eyes to flick up to you for a moment. He smiled, a nervous laugh slipping out past his lips, “Looks like it.”

“Don’t look so nervous,” you chuckled, “You know I don’t bite.”

It hit Juice that this was the first time that the two of you were going to be left to your own devices for an extended period of time. The idea of it was exciting and terrifying for him all at once. For years he’d admired you and kept it to himself so he wouldn’t catch any of Opie’s wrath. But he had never been able to shake the feeling that maybe, possibly, you felt the same way about him. He was never bold enough to ask, but there was always a feeling in his gut that his feelings weren’t one-sided. There had never been the chance to even try to discuss it, there were always so many other people around, namely your brother and your father. Neither of those men were people that Juice felt like pissing off.

“You crashing here?” he asked.

You nodded as you sipped on your beer, “Yea. Taking Ope’s room. You?”

He nodded, “Always do when the guys leave town. Someone’s gotta stay here and make sure the bad guys don’t get in,” there was a childish grin on his face.

You laughed, “The bad guys just rolled out of town a few minutes ago.”

The two of you existed peacefully with each other as the afternoon bled over into the evening. You were camped out on the picnic table outside the clubhouse, a drink in one hand and a book in the other. You were laying on your back on top of the table, book perched carefully on your chest as you absorbed another page of the story.

You heard Juice’s phone going off, followed quickly by the sound of him answering it. You wanted to eavesdrop, but he was just a little too far away to be able to make out what he was saying. You sat up on the table, swinging your legs so that your feet landed on the bench. You stretched and waited for Juice to step outside.

He came out a couple minutes later, shrugging a hoodie on over his kutte. You saw the confused look on his face and just as you were about to ask him where he was going, he turned and looked at you, “Be back in a bit. Got some shit I gotta handle.”

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, “Yea. Just lock the gate behind me, don’t want you here by yourself unprotected.”

You agreed, fighting the urge to ask all of the questions that were bubbling up in your mind. You watched as he pulled his helmet on and hopped onto his bike. He looked at you and offered up a half-hearted smile before peeling out of the compound. With a heavy sigh, you did as he asked, shutting and locking the gates behind him once he had left.

Your original plan had been to head to bed, but you knew that you weren’t going to be able to fall asleep without knowing that he was back safe and sound in the clubhouse. A million different scenarios were running through your mind as you made your way back to Opie’s dorm. You tried to tune out your own brain as you changed into an old hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You figured you would just hang out in the clubhouse and wait for Juice to get back—there wasn’t much else to do otherwise especially now that you were locked onto the compound.

Not too long after Juice had left, you got a check-in text from Opie. You didn’t mention that Juice had left you on your own. It was either one of two scenarios: it was club business and Opie knew about it, or it was personal business and Opie didn’t need to know about it. You reassured him that all was quiet.

Juice had been gone for a couple hours and you were starting to get worried. You wanted to reach out, send a text or give him a call, but you refrained. If he needed your help he knew how to reach you. You were sprawled on the couch in the clubhouse, eyes resting shut but still incredibly awake.

You heard the clubhouse door open. You slowly sat up and looked over at Juice, who was clearly trying to step quietly because he thought that you had been asleep. Embarrassment flashed across his features for a moment when he saw you looking at him attempting to tip-toe on the creaky hardwood floors. He looked so much more exhausted than when he had left.

“You okay? Was starting to get a little worried.”

He nodded, “Fine. Just some personal shit going on.”

He had never been a good liar. But you knew that it wasn’t the time to press the issue, “Alright. I’m here if you wanna talk, you know. Every now and then I even have good advice.”

He forced a smile, “Thank you.”

He disappeared back towards the dorms and left you alone in the open expanse of the bar. You sighed, leaning your head back against the arm of the couch. Running your hands down over your face, you let out a quiet groan. You got up off the couch and shut off all the lights in the main area of the bar. It was one of the only times you’d ever seen it empty, clean, and quiet. You headed back towards the dorms.

Stopping just outside Juice’s door, you took a deep breath in to pluck up some courage. You tapped your knuckles lightly on his door that was slightly ajar. You heard some shuffling around before his voice called out for you to come in.

You walked in to see him in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Your breath got caught in your throat, and for a moment you forgot that you were popping in to check on him. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He wouldn’t look up at you and it made your heart sink inside your chest.

“You sure you’re alright? If you want some company I—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, something he’d never done before, “Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You tried to hide how much it had stung to have him be that short with you. Your voice was soft, “Goodnight.”

You laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling. You hated that Juice being short with you had such a negative effect on you, but he’d never been that way with you. The club had been through some serious ups and downs, and even when things felt like they were crumbling, he was always kind and soft with you. It concerned you as much as anything else.

It was reaching into the small hours of the morning and you still hadn’t been able to fall asleep. You huffed, swinging your legs off the bed and standing up. You flipped the hood of your sweatshirt up and made your way out into the clubhouse, hoping that maybe a shot or two of something strong would help put you to sleep. You were fumbling around in the dark when you heard the click of a gun behind you.

“It’s me,” you knew it was Juice, so you didn’t bother to turn around.

“Jesus Christ,” he clicked the safety back on his gun and let his hands drop to his sides, “Why are you up so early?”

“Late,” you corrected, “Never fell asleep.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a swig, cringing as the liquor burned down your throat.

“Whoa, whoa,” Juice walked over and took the bottle from you, “I don’t think that’s the answer to the problem.”

You looked at him, still seeing worry etched into his features, the light in his eyes just a little duller than usual, “What’s going on with you?”

He glanced over at you as he put the bottle away, “What?”

“You heard me. What happened tonight?”

“Is that why you haven’t been able to sleep?”

It felt childish to say, but you did anyway, “You’ve never snapped at me like that.”

He sighed, running his hand along his fauxhawk as he did. He forced himself to look over at you. He couldn’t lie to you but he didn’t want to tell you the truth either. There was too much on the line for both of you.

“It’s nothing that you need to get roped into,” he answered honestly.

“I’m not just Opie’s sister, you know,” you waited for him to look you in the eyes, “I’m your friend. I’m…I’m someone who cares about you. You can talk to me—I’m not just gonna go running to my fucking brother.”

“I know,” his response was immediate, “I know you won’t. It’s not that. It’s just, fuck,” he shook his head, “The whole thing is a mess.”

“C’mon,” you waved for him to walk with you back towards the dorms, “sit and talk with me.”

The two of you found yourselves sat on Juice’s bed. You were both sitting cross-legged, facing each other. Juice twisted his hands nervously in his lap as he started to tell you about everything that had been happening with him and Roosevelt and Potter. He told you about what they had said to him at the meeting that night, about the position that they were putting him in.

“I can’t go to the club with this.”

“Why not?” you knew the situation wasn’t ideal, but there was no one that the club hated more than the feds. If anything, they would be more than willing to help take them down or at the very least run them out of Charming.

“I can’t risk losing this,” he gestured around him to the dorm and clubhouse around him, “It’s the only home, the only family that I’ve got,” he paused, eyes searching your face for a moment, “And I can’t lose you either.”

A wave of warmth washed over you at the sentiment. You reached forward and placed your hands on top of his, “Juice, like it or not, you’re never going to be able to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now.”

He chuckled, trying to make it seem like his emotions weren’t about to get the better of him, “Promise?”

“Promise,” you nodded towards his nightstand where his laptop was resting, “Grab that for me.”

He did as you asked, but couldn’t hide his confusion as he handed it over to you. You smiled at the expression on his face as you began to start typing away on his keyboard. In that moment he realized he’d never seen you use a computer—you’d never had a reason to around him. He watched in awe as your fingers flew across the keyboard.

You were lying on your stomach on his bed, laptop propped up on his pillow. Juice was lying down beside you, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of his body and soaking into yours. You tried not to focus on that as you continued to click through windows and move things around on his desktop.

“Do I get to ask what you’re doing?”

You chuckled, “I’m doing a little information recon,” you glanced over at him with a smile, “You’re not the only one with tech know-how around here, Juicy. I just never wanted to steal your thunder in front of the guys.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “How kind of you. What’re you looking for, anyway?”

“Dirt,” you replied simply.

“On Potter?” when you nodded in response, he couldn’t hide the doubt that was warping his features, “You’re not going to be able to find anything on him. There’s no way his shit isn’t locked in a vault somewhere behind twenty million walls of encryptions.”

You shook your head, “Oh ye of little faith. No one is clean,” you sighed, “Especially not the fucking feds.”

Juice laughed, “Now you’re sounding like a patch.”

You chuckled, “Might as well be.”

Your typing faltered when you felt his hand slide underneath the warm fabric of your hoodie. His palm rested gently in the center of your back, and he didn’t make any comment about it. You fought to keep your composure, but the warmth seeping into your skin from his was making it difficult.

He rested his chin onto your shoulder and you felt like you were about to combust. He spoke up, his tone gentle, “Thank you.”

“Yea,” you fought to keep your tone even, “of course. You know I’ve always got your back.”

“And I’m sorry. About earlier, I mean. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that—I know you just wanted to help.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he slid his hand so that his arm was wrapped around you and pulled you close to him, prying your attention away from his computer, “I was just hit with all these thoughts of losing everything that I have here. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You reveled in the feelings of his arms being wrapped around you. Gently, hesitantly, you reached out and traced your fingers down the side of his face. He let his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into your touch and you could feel your heart swelling inside your chest. There was a softness to him that you hoped he would never lose.

“We’re going to figure this out,” you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, “Do you trust me?”

He took a deep breath and nodded as he wrapped his arms tighter around you, “Yea, I do.”

“Juice?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

He pulled away from you just enough so that he could look into your eyes, “Yea?”

“Can I stay here with you tonight?”

His heart was beating fast enough that he could’ve sworn that you could hear it, “Y-yea. Of course.”

You smiled as you shut the laptop and placed it back onto his bedside table. You shimmied yourself underneath the covers and waited for him to do the same. It was going to be a long few days of trying to get as many answers put together before everyone got back, but those were problems for the morning. For now, you focused on the feeling of Juice’s heartbeat against your cheek as you snuggled into him. His hand caressed your back and you let out a quiet hum of contentment. You felt him smile against your forehead before he placed a gentle kiss there.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You finally felt your exhaustion starting to kick in, “Goodnight.”

#soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #opie winston #drabblesmc #fanfiction #my writing

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