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rotandguts · 9 months

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✶ ┄ YOU WEREN’T MINE TO LOSE

danny (evil dead rise) x fem!reader,

part one of the ‘august’ series.

camp map

summary: the first week back at camp is never easy, but it definitely doesn’t help matters that your lifelong rival and ‘mortal enemy’ is there. both picked as camp counsellors, you’re forced to work together for the good of the camp, but that doesn’t mean you have to like each other.

word count: 10k+

content: SUMMER CAMP AU, rivals/enemies to lovers, implications of transphobia, mentions of bullying, slowburn, angst, mentions of alcohol/intoxication/underaged drinking, mentions of sex, mentions of divorce and abandonment, hints of david allen (evil dead 2013) x fem!reader, some people may be quite OOC?

A/N: EEEEEEK, this is going to be a long one but will be split up into chapters. btw i have no clue what danny’s actual last name is so for the sake of this story its bixler bc that's what beth’s confirmed name is okay? I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG LMAO part 2 and 3 will take very long also okay okay i’m so sorry pls enjoyyyyyy xoxo

publishing date ― july 21st 2023 | © rotandguts

✶

The winding road on the way to camp was claustrophobic, your first year driving there yourself. You prayed you were still on the right route, your phone’s GPS struggling to update after losing service a while back.

The sight of the endless rows of green trees was becoming redundant, the charm of the wilderness already wearing off on you upon the second hour of your journey. Eyes on the road, you slurped on the blue raspberry Slusho you picked up at a gas stop mid-journey. Savouring the cool syrup induced taste in the summer heat, windows down and car speakers blaring.

A large wooden sign came into view, confirming your path and indicating the end of the long journey. Engraved on the sign was:

CAMP KANDAR

est. 1959

You have gone past this sign every year since you were 8 years old. Initially reluctant to attend, you grew to truly love the place. You giggled at the thought that they almost had to pull you kicking and screaming from the car when you realised you would be remaining there for a little over a month the first ever time you arrived. How times had changed seeing as you were now willingly returning as an adult.

Camp Kandar was just outside Los Angeles, a safe hub to send your kids away to learn what the outside world was like at a reasonable price.

If you imagine what your ideal slasher sleepaway camp would look like from a 70s horror film, Kandar probably looked exactly like it. You were surprised that in all the years of running it no one had actually died there, as far as you were aware anyway.

There were rumours and myths of the camp being built over an ancient castle. Or maybe it was a burial ground? It changed every few years when new counselors got to tell their own version of the myth to the young campers.

This actually would be your first year as a counselor at the camp, it was either this or spending more time slaving away at your job in the local Henrietta’s pizza. You could no longer bare the daily heat and stench of the pizza kitchen, especially during summer.

Hands from distant figures you couldn’t make out waved at you on arrival. Your car finishes its journey in the parking lot beside a Buick Roadsmaster at the child and parent drop off point. You furrow your brows, the campers weren’t meant to arrive for another 2 days.

Exiting the car, you take a moment to breathe in and embrace your new home for the next few weeks, your summer sanctuary for over the past decade greeting you like an old friend. Thick, moist summer sweetness so rife in the air that it makes you feel almost sick to your stomach.

The first thing on your itinerary was to collect your uniform from the camp reception, which you were sure you’d be manning at some point during your time working there. You thought of all the things you’d be able to do now as a counselor, buzzing around the prospect of sneaking out late to whatever party they’d always throw near the old cabin. None of the younger campers were invited, only hearing fabled tales of wild goings on from the distant music and laughter in the night.

Camp director Williams definitely knew about the extracurricular goings on at the camp, and while he took no nonsense, he knew that kids just want to have fun. It’s what made him such a great leader, although the shotgun on the wall above his desk definitely kept campers on edge.

With your case trailing behind you and your backpack hanging casually from your shoulder, you set off towards the camp reception. The building clearly needed a refresher, certain letters in the sign slightly faded due to time and the wood of the steps creaking to a cautious extent under your feet.

Doors swing open, eyes flicker to you. A woman with long red hair stands at the desk with her back to you, obviously in distress talking to director Williams, her arms flailing with hushed whispers.

“Oh great. And you’re here, now. My day just gets better.”

And him.

You turn around and there he is, bags slung on the floor, leaning against the wall with a Nintendo Switch in hand.

Danny Bixler-Sutherland, your worst nightmare.

You had met him that first ever year at camp, becoming close friends after you were assigned to share a bunk. But something shifted in both of you, you were unsure when it all really started. You were both naturally competitive at the group activities from a young age and usually always sorted onto different teams, you always wondered if your competitive playing style drove a wedge in between you both.

Director Williams places a hand on her arm in comfort, “Please, we’ve known each other for how many years now? You know you can call me Ash, Ellie. We can just get bunks sorted for them until moving in day and then sort out proper accommodation. Means they’re not alone in the cabin.” He began to walk towards you, shifting the woman to face you. It was Danny’s mother, Ellie with a striking hair dye job.

Danny had always been in your dormitory growing up, until he came out and his mom fought tooth and nail to get him transferred to the boys dorm. He was popular around camp and people adjusted to the news quickly. But, there were of course a handful of dickheads that treated him like shit because of it. Director Williams put great measures in place to ensure none of them bothered Danny again, some of them being kicked out of camp. You had always wondered if that shotgun had been involved in Williams’ interrogation of them, you hoped it had.

Ever since the summer when the championship was determined to be a tie after you and Danny broke into a fight during the last challenge, you’d been at each other’s necks at almost every possible second.

However, deep down you had an inkling that it all really had something to do with a night that same year, around five or six years ago when a small group of the pre-teen campers, including the both of you, snuck out to camp in the woods.

It had been a largely uneventful night, the excitement in the moment mainly fuelled by the breaking of rules. By the end of the night it had become apparent that despite the bunks in their dorms not being the comfiest, they sure beat the makeshift tents and dusty forest floor.

But the shift in the air was clear. You went into those woods that night, hoping for a last chance of that closeness so present in your youth. By the time you left in the morning and returned to your respective dorms, you barely spoke.

Both of you may have been at each other's necks at the best of times, but insulting each other's appearances or anything personal was a line you both silently agreed to never ever cross. You remembered overhearing bitchy whispers from some of the girls in the cafeteria about him when he first appeared with short hair pre-transition, and you took great pleasure in cutting their hair that night when they were sleeping.

When the girls reported you to the director he had simply shrugged and said, “Talk shit, get hit girls. First rule in the book.”

And it’s not like he wouldn’t do the same for you. Some of the boys had been teasing you, more specifically teasing your figure, behind your back. Low and behold, you had heard that Danny took the charge when standing up for you. It was little things like that that meant you could never truly hate him, and same for him about you.

It was kind of like, the only people that could be mean to you both were the two of you. It was endearing in a way that you would rather die than to admit outloud, a sign of respect from your former friendship.

“Is this a bad time?” You question Danny, feeling like you’ve walked in on something you shouldn’t have but not wanting to pester director Williams until he ends his conversation. “Every place you exist in is a bad time.” Danny remarks, concentration still fully on the games console in front of him.

“That’s a low blow even for you, someone woke up on the wrong side of bed today, Mr Crankypants?” You retaliate, readjusting the weight of your backpack.

“You’re a little too old for camp, scout.” That was his nickname for you ever since you were younger. Without context it seemed almost endearing, but the reality of it drove you crazy.

In an attempt to impress an older counselor years ago, you had told a little white lie that you were a scout with all the training. This was a lie you kept up for almost the full time at camp, and doubled down on it on most days. On a hike, one kid began to have an asthma attack and the responsibility of helping them was promptly put on you by the panicking teen counselor.

Luckily, the kid was completely fine but it became apparent to everyone that you not only were not a scout but had zero knowledge in first aid training. No one had really cared, the counselor got in trouble for their negligence and own lack of first aid knowledge. Everyone went back to their normal jokes the next week after a spot of light torment from your fellow campers.

But you cared. It was just one of those borderline traumatic cringe moments in your life that you wish you could forget. And Danny, who was on the hike that day, knew that.

“Yeah I could say the same to you, DJ Dan.” He grimaced, slamming the console down on the reception desk.

“Jesus H Christ, how many years now with you both and you’re still doing this shit?” Ash wiped his brow of sweat, Ellie’s eyes fluttering between the two of you.

“Hey, Y/N. Good summer?” She smiled. You’d known the woman in passing for the same time you’d known Danny. She had definitely been on the receiving end of many phone calls about your behaviour towards each other, and your perhaps even worse behaviour towards others while acting in defence of one another.

Smiling and nodding back to her, “Yeah great so far, thanks - yours?” Despite trying to keep her smile, for a second her face flickered with something unreadable, Danny nervously shifted, eyes bouncing to his sisters in the corner of the room. They were so quiet you had failed to notice them sitting there.

“Same old, I guess.” Her hands clutching her car keys tighter. “How are your parents?”

If you were being honest, you didn’t know the answer to that.

“They’re fine. Same old, I guess.” You gripped the strap of your backpack a little tighter too. Your parents, while not mega rich, had a good bit of money. Most of your life, you’d spent much of your time without them or with a nanny. Summer was great because it meant going on holiday with them somewhere, anywhere. Until they realised they could hire a nanny in the form of Camp Kandar for the entire summer that was far cheaper and even further away from them.

Ellie politely nodded, before approaching the girls. “It’s just two days extra, right? I’ll be there to pick you all up the first second I can and bring you home.” Bridget nods, the older of the two. Kassie looked pained for a moment. Danny began to walk over, finally leaving his haunt, sitting beside Kassie and holding her small hand in his own.

“But what’s gonna happen? Are we even gonna have a home?” The youngest Bixler sibling clung to a pole with a doll's head stuck on top of it, you elected to ignore it as Ash pulled you to the side.

“Here’s the uniform, good thing you got here when you did ‘cause you and Danny took the last of that size.” Your eyes widened at his statement as Ash continued on. Danny, still holding Kass’ hand, glared at you with a twisted smile.

This confirmed the worst, he wasn’t here for a brief visit to drop off his sisters like you’d prayed, he would be a camp counselor too.

“Rota will get sorted by tonight, but all that’s really needed is some clean up jobs around camp before we open. You’re sharing with Mia in Cabin 13.” Your face lit up. Like Danny, Mia and her older brother David had been attending the camp since you were young. David, being two years older than her, became a counselor when he turned 18. You didn’t know if she would be returning this summer to do the same, the last time you’d texted she seemed reluctant to return.

“Great. Happy to do that.” Danny rolled his eyes at your enthusiasm. “Suck up.” He muttered. You chose to ignore him.

You set off towards Cabin 13, ensuring you got the first pick of the beds.

The cabin itself was small and pokey, compared to some of the other larger counselor cabins which resembled camper quarters with bunks. Considering the added privacy that came with having only one roommate, especially a roommate you were close with, the size of the cabin was fine with you.

When you arrived, you found the cabin cork board already decorated with pictures and the left bed claimed with a sports bag emptied out on the sheets. You couldn’t even waste time being dismayed that you got there second, not when you could hear Mia singing in the shower. You began unpacking everything you could and changing into your new uniform, the faster you got settled in the quicker you could get on with the fun activities.

When Mia had eventually got out of the bathroom, dark long hair damp with her new uniform on (a green and white t-shirt with the camp logo on it), she squealed as soon as she saw you.

Mia Allen was 5’2 and looked probably around 7 pounds soaking wet, give or take. Ever since she was little she’d been much smaller than the others, but what she lacked in size she made up for in her quick wit and snappy attitude.

And plus, it certainly helped that she had an older brother that could only be described as totally swoon worthy.

While at times sardonic and off putting, she was your best friend at the camp and had been for many years. Both of you being placed in the same dorm each year led to a sense of familiarity with you both. You knew each other’s habits better than anyone.

Others viewed her as troubled, with rumours of past years involving her using drugs on camp grounds or going apeshit on other campers - but you knew better. She had experienced her fair share of bad times in her life, mostly as a way of dealing with her sick mom, should she be punished for them forever? You definitely didn’t think so.

“Thank GOD Williams listened to my roomie request, I almost thought I was gonna get stuck with Olivia.” She bounces on you and embraces you within a death grip.

“I thought you and Olivia were friends?” The older girl was a medical student now but still returned each summer to help, she’d hung around you both growing up. She loved to follow the rules, with no exception or nuance to them. However, Olivia was without a doubt the most responsible of all the counselors and it meant the staff didn’t need to train her in first-aid every year.

“Um, yeah, of course we are. But I’d rather choke on my own vomit than have little miss campus police as my bunkmate. She does her own room inspections every week, David says no one even asks her to do them.” Mia rolls her eyes, going over to her bedside cabinet to put some perfume on.

“Fair enough, I’m so happy to see you. I seriously thought I’d be the only one coming back this year.” Running a hand through your hair, you watched her lean into your shared mirror and put on her earrings.

“I know, you need to tell me everything that’s happened since I last saw you. Oh my god, so much shit has happened with my mom it’s fuckin crazy, man.” She began to apply lipgloss. “Tell me about it on the way to initiation, I didn’t realise the time already!” You grab her wrist, pulling her from the cabin.

“Slow the fuck down! Listen, they won’t start without us, and we’re like two minutes away.” Mia halted your speed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

In the distance you could see Danny and some of the others heading towards the campfire area, or as the campers called it, The Pavilion. His head flew back with laughter at something a girl you didn’t recognise said.

“Not you literally gawking at your boy-toy.” Mia murmured, making you turn to look at her with furrowed brows. “What?”

“Yeah, you heard me. And don’t think I’m talking about Eric or Pablo, ‘cause I’m not.” She pulled out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket of her shorts, offering you one. You politely turn it down with a shake of the hand, “Maybe later.”

“This whole uhhhh I hate you so much uhhhhh I hate you too charade is so 2018. Like I wish you’d just give it a rest already and fuck it out.” Mia struggles to keep the cigarette in her mouth as she acts out her impressions of you both before lighting it. You almost choke on her words.

“What the fuck, Mia! Not cool!“

“I am literally right! Don’t think I’ve forgotten that whole truth or dare bullshit from last year.” The smaller girl took a long drag and shifted her weight on her feet, hand resting on a tree beside her.

“You shouldn’t be smoking out in the open like this - at least do it in the cabin with the shower on.” You roll your eyes and begin to power ahead to the Pavilion. “A-HA, don’t try and change the subject with me missy because you know I am not that bitch to be messed with.” Mia begins to chase after you, almost tripping while stealing glances around to make sure no one actually catches her in the act.

“Mia, I think you should quit while you’re ahead. You know my feelings towards that boy and you know none of them are pleasant.” Halting and turning to face her, she does the same with slightly more unbalanced, disjointed movements.

She takes a puff, “Yeah, I thought I knew your feelings. And then you said what you said.” She wasn’t giving up easily.

“I don’t remember what I said.”

“Bull-fucking-shit, this is like pathological liar level. You’re gaslighting me, man!” She waves her arms around manically with wide eyes, obviously trying to tease you. Giving her one last begging look, she stubs the cigarette out. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.”

With that, she powers on in front of you. It’s as if the nicotine has given her enough energy to run a marathon as she determinedly stomps towards the campfire.

That game of truth or dare had been a drunken mishap at the secret end of year party. You had both managed to score an invite thanks to David, and by association Danny had been invited by Eric. Olivia was too buzzed on wine coolers to feel the need to kick you out, so you managed to spend most of the night there. Mia’s drunk alter-ego ‘the Abomination’ eventually appeared which led to you and David escorting her back to the girls dorm in the early hours.

You had been asked by a drunken Mia, the absolute fucking menace that she was, if you had to spend a night in bed with any of the boys who would it be? Immediately without thinking, in your own intoxicated state, you answered Danny.

Before you could even realise the deeper implications of the question, you immediately attempted to justify your answer by stating that you had shared a bunk for years and didn’t kill each other during that time.

She had teased you in front of the entire group, in your own state of embarrassment you had failed to notice Danny’s wide eyes and rosy cheeks.

But the teasing was over quickly with Mia throwing her entire guts up in front of everyone, leading David to jump back onto his feet and promptly drag her from the scene, requesting that you help carry her legs.

What you’d failed to tell Mia, tell anyone for that matter, is that despite your answer to her question, you and David shared a kiss.

It was behind the cabin after you both dragged her back in her drunken state, you hoped all its occupants would be sound asleep. He’d looked at you with a glimmer in his eye, his testing patience, seeing who would make the first move.

Both of you had been dangerously towing a flirtatious line all summer, a line that you’d been tiptoeing on for probably the past nine years prior.

It had never ever been a possibility before, you were his kid sister’s best friend. You were just you. But here he was looking at you like that.

Do you regret it in hindsight? Sure, but you hardly remember it. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might break out of your chest like that little creature from Alien. The moist summer air of the early morning clinging to your skin, a strong hand on the low of your back. Pressed tight chest to chest, a forbidden taste.

You jumped apart at the sound of the snapping of sticks by god knows what.

You parted with wide eyes and uncertainty rising in your chest. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, yeah?” You nodded, a smile growing. The start of something new blossoming.

David and Mia were gone by the time you woke up, you had assumed David had driven them off specifically so you both didn’t need to address any drunken awkwardness from the previous night. Mia wouldn’t have opposed, with her hangover probably kicking in tenfold.

All that was left in his departure was a letter saying that he’d see you next summer and that you should call him when you got home if you wanted to pick up where you left off, with a phone number left under the statement. You text the number, leaving him with a message.

hey david,

last night was a mistake. it was a plain and simple heat of the moment mistake - as much as I’d like to start again, i can’t do that to mia.

You sent ‘i’m sorry.’ when you didn’t receive a reply after a month.

Quite frankly, you were dreading seeing him far more than Danny. With Danny at least, you knew that whatever you had said last year had gone right past his head (or atleast you thought it had). Danny wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make you squirm, surely?

Honestly, now that you had been able to think it through - you wouldn’t be opposed to starting where you left off with David, the whole him being your friend’s brother thing aside. He was handsome, kind, and popular around camp. He’d looked out for you since, like, forever and you trusted him. If you were searching for a summer fling David would certainly be your go-to.

But whatever. If nothing happened, nothing happened, especially after the text you sent him. You could play this totally cool, right? It was just David. Stupidly hot David, with his constant tan and his almost annoyingly unwavering warm demeanour. You still remembered the first time you saw that smile. You were eight and he was ten, you fell down and scraped your knee during a group activity. He ran to you before any counsellors could even get to you.

“You’re okay.” A hand reached out, you grabbed it. And there was that smile. A smile you could trust. Yeah, maybe you were gonna be okay.

It was undeniable how he made you feel. Your legs turned to jelly everytime you laid eyes on him, you felt like such a ditz. But the presence of Mia complicated everything. You couldn’t do that to her. It would be too weird. Unless, you kept it a secret? A secret summer fling could be exactly what you need. Why did you have to send that damn text?

But then ultimately, he was just safe. Despite his attractiveness, all of the passion of the fling would be mostly fuelled by his relation to Mia, and if you’re being honest that was a line you did not want to cross with her. If she even found out that you both had kissed it’d be game over.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Mia calling your name.

“Are you even listening? Wait up, I have little legs!” She was significantly behind you now, struggling to keep up with your pace as you unconsciously powered ahead in front of her. “Sorry Mia, my inner volume was too loud, I guess.”

She squints, smirks before tapping your arm. “Yeah and we all know exactly who you’re thinking about.” Your eyes widen.

“Dann-”

“No.”

Barging past her again, the Pavilion now in sight, both of you being the only two left to arrive.

While the overall area has rows of structured seating comparable to wooden bleachers facing a stage, for more intimate occasions such as this there were stools placed closer to the stage.

“Fashionably late as always, you too. First strike.” Ash attempted to chase away flies with his prosthetic hand, shooting her a stern look. “Hey- what the hell? What happened to a friendly camper hello?” She resigned herself to the first tree stump available in front of you, beside her brother. You could only see his back and still you could feel the butterflies going wild inside you.

“You forfeit that when you come back here as a counselor. You’re being paid for this, this is a job. Stay. On. Time.” You swallow, taking the seat near Danny. He’s whispering something to Eric, but your eyes still meet.

Neither of you break but both of you wonder who will be the first to.

You pick up on things that have changed since last summer. His hair, chestnut again after a brief bleach blonde stint. You didn’t know what he suited more, you liked both.

You almost mentally slapped yourself for thinking that. But it was hard to not think how actually kinda attractive Danny was in staring competition moments like this. His eyes had such a mischievous glint in them that begged you for more, egged you on like what you were doing was so, so wrong.

Your cheeks grow heated and you can’t bare to stare any longer, losing the silent game.

“Okay, Bridget and Kassie will be staying here with us a few days early. That’s okay. Just make sure you’re on best behaviour at all time big kids, make sure you’re doing your job and looking after the little ones.” Bridget rolls her eyes at his words. She’s fifteen and thinks she can take on the world single handedly. Kassie looks a little less sure, resigning herself to staring at the ground and kicking some wood chippings at her feet.

“Cheryl, you wanna take it from here?” Director Williams turns to his sister, who appears by his side. “Sure thing, I’ve sorted the camp rota.”

You glance back at Danny, his eyes still on you. He smirks. You feel like you’re on fire. Turning away from him again to look where you had been so desperately avoiding, you see David glance at you. He smiles softly when he realises you’ve caught him, sending a slight wave. You don’t hesitate to return it, hearing a Danny sounding scoff coming from the opposite direction.

Cheryl goes over your duties for the next few weeks, you’re placed in arts and crafts with Mia and Danny. And a new girl who’d never attended this camp prior, Natalie. You assumed it was the girl walking with Danny earlier, now sitting timidly beside Eric.

Great.

Mia you could handle, and you could probably even handle Danny alone too. But Mia’s unrelenting urge to tease you for your misspoken words and Danny’s eyes that seemingly bore into your soul at every chance was going to be a challenge in combination.

Your face must’ve immediately read your exasperation, as Cheryl reassured “Don’t worry, usually it’ll just be two of you in for activities. You guys will be mixed and matched.” Your shoulders sunk in relief, not even realising how tense you had suddenly become.

Your ear is met with the soft whisper of Danny. “Don’t look too excited.”

“Bite me.” You hiss back, he grins with wild eyes, like he enjoys the way you’re speaking to him.

“Hey assholes! And I can call you that now because you’re adults. I better see no fighting, no nothing, or else this year - got it?” More Ash than director Williams warns, you nod.

“I’ll try sir, but she’s the issue.” The boy points at you, false sincerity in his voice. You bite your tongue, giving Ash a look that portrays your frustration.

“Whatever. Seriously, I’m watching you two.” Ash points at the both of you, Danny rolls his eyes. Eric and Mia make a quiet ‘ooooooooh’ noise and then laugh at their accidental timing.

Eric was the same age as David, and his childhood best friend, although you had noticed that they had drifted apart. He was as sarcastic as they come, but knew when to shut up and be serious. He’d been growing out his hair for the past few summers, it now resting just at his collarbone.

He’d taken Danny under his wing when he got moved to the boy’s dorm, it was common that one would be seen the other around camp.

After a few more ground rules were laid out, Ash reminded you that you are now the adults in charge and that any responsibility will be put on you.

“Oh and by the way. This is Natalie, she’s new. I know you all grew up together but please make her feel welcome, yeah?” Cheryl put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, Natalie waving timidly.

She was so effortlessly pretty you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or roll your eyes.

With that, you were free to spend the last night free before your jobs started the next day. As everyone was departing, you notice David eyeing the new girl, who stands like a spare prick as Cheryl inaudibly talks to her. He leaves with Pablo and Olivia after taking a second glance.

There’s those damn butterflies again.

Mia wraps an arm around you and drags you in the opposite direction, heading to your own cabin. You pass Danny, who winks before sending you a sarcastic kiss. You respond with a middle finger.

—

The first few days go smoothly, managing to stay out of any drama. Everyone is seemingly too tired to really interact with each other outside of your shared meals in the mess hall, all of you still adjusting to being in a foreign home.

Drop off day was longer and more tedious than the previous days, an earlier rise than the already early mornings at Camp Kandar. Buses filling the parking lot, hurried parents ushering kids out of cars, kisses goodbye. A floury of campers old and new dragging their luggage behind them in the chaos of sorting cabins. Camp reception was even more packed than before with parents handing off medication and bus drivers piling up all the forgotten items from their respective vehicles.

When the kids arrived, you were kind of ecstatic, seeing everybody arrive from a different angle than you ever had before, remembering how nervous you had been each year on drop-off day.

The camp entrance itself, aside from the parking lot and reception, welcomed campers in with a large arch that displayed the camp’s name proudly. From here, past the reception, led to a large open ground shaped in a circle.

If you kept walking straight, the mess hall was in front with extra benches set up outside for the good weather. To the left, through the trees were the camper dorms. Scattered throughout the many acres, it was common for the little ones to get lost.

Just beyond that were the staff and counselor cabins, with Ash’s being the furthest out of them all. On the opposite end of the camp was the activity field and the lake. It was pretty simple to get around, but the prospect of getting lost in the surrounding woods was intimidating.

Bridget ran towards a group of teens, who welcomed her with open arms. It was odd to think that in a few years they potentially would be the camp counsellors, and you and your peers would be off in the world doing all types of grown up shit. Goodbye adolescence forever.

Your heart dropped when you saw Kassie standing to the side awkwardly, clutching her stick with the doll head on it. For the past few days she had kind of kept to herself while Bridget had helped with the bigger jobs setting up camp. Slowly approaching her, you decided to strike up a conversation.

“Cool doll, what’s it’s name?” You gently poked it, her face lighting up at someone talking to her. Because she was little, it was hard for her to be included like her older sister aside from odd jobs Ash would send her on. Things like sending her to the Pavilion to find the biggest pine cone, or seeing how many laps she could do around the activity grounds.

“Staffanie. I made her, so she can protect me, and scare off anything scary in the woods. Danny says there’s monsters here.” Kassie explains timidly, a shy smile growing slowly.

“She’s cool, hiya Staffanie.” You return the smile, she waves the doll head as if to make her say hello.

“She says hello back.” After a nice lull, she turns to watch a group of kids her own age stand and talk to each other, obviously knowing each other outside of camp.

“I was really scared my first year here too.” You bend down to get to her level. “Really?”

“Yeah, really, it was super hard at first. But then I met Mia and it was all okay.” The little girl looks doubtful. “I don’t know, I think people think I’m weird.”

“Well that makes two of us kiddo. Listen, you’ve got Danny and Bridget to help you out,” Before you can finish she interjects. “That doesn’t count, they're related to me.”

She was right technically. “Yeah, but they’re not required to be nice to you, are they? David and Mia are related and they barely hang out.” You point towards them, on opposite sides of the area, David calming down a crying mother clutching onto her uninterested child. Mia was poking the ground with a stick.

“I guess.” Kassie was still hesitant, head racing with thoughts of what was really going on back home. Her mom thought she’d done enough to protect her from the startling reality of the impending divorce, and in a way she had. Kassie was sure that everything would be fine between her parents, only really worrying about losing their family home.

But even the thought of being at this camp, making no friends and then coming back to nothing was terrifying to the young girl. And it was a reality that a girl her age shouldn’t have to face.

“Kassie, I’m gonna be brutally honest with you. I think you’re gonna have the best summer ever.”

After a moment, Kassie turned with a smile. “You really think so?” You couldn’t help but return it. “I know so, pal.”

It was harrowing, it was like seeing your younger self in a way. Coming here was no easy feat. Sure, the activities were nice and you settled in eventually, but that scary feeling doesn’t really go away even after all these years.

“I’m Kassie, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Her face lit up. “Wait, I know who you are!”

“Well we have spent the last few days together so I did hope that you would have known my name by now honestly-”

“You’re the girl Danny always talks about! You’re his friend!” Kassie kind of bounces around, her new found enthusiasm infectious but her statement alarming. Not wanting to burst her bubble after seeing her so gloom for the past few days, with a stiff smile you offer a nod.

“I remember all the stories from when you used to share a bunk! Wow, I hope I get a bunk mate just like you!” You aren’t quite sure what she’s talking about, as most of your time bunking with Danny involved arguing about his snoring and your constant shifting above him.

“Yeah, fingers crossed.” You mimicked your own words, she copied you.

“And I can teach them the secret bunk code that you taught Danny, ‘cause Danny taught me!” A stab in the heart. You’d forgotten about that.

You developed a quiet knocking, humming and scraping system to have conversations with each other. It’d been one of those silly kid things you just stop thinking about when you have your first kiss or learn to drive. You can’t really even remember what you used to talk about in the quiet moments of the night when you weren’t bickering.

“We taught each other, just like you and your bunk mate will make up new words. Just go with the flow and you’ll have a great time.”

Kassie nods, more than cheered up from the conversation. “I’ll remember that. Gosh, I hope I get put on your team for the games!”

“Yeah, me too kiddo.” A girl around Kassie’s age stands alone at the drop off point just beyond the arch of Camp Kandar. Her eyes scan the scene in front of her, campers overwhelmingly conversing in their individual cliques. Nudging Kassie, you point in her direction.

“Why not go say hi to her? I think it might be her first day too.” The youngest Bixler-Sutherland sibling nods, and takes a deep breath.

“Kass, if it doesn’t go well I’m right here.” You crouch to her level, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. You knew exactly what she was thinking right now, as if this one interaction would determine her ability to make friends this summer.

With one last optimistic look, she trots off with Staffanie in tow.

“You givin’ my sister your shitty advice?” Danny’s voice catches you off guard, him appearing behind you as you watch Kassie from afar.

“Better than anything you’ve offered her the past few days clearly.” You don’t bother to turn to look at him, but you can feel his chin almost hovering in the crook of your left shoulder. His body, while not at all touching yours, feels close.

“Ouch, scout. And here I thought you were giving me flirty eyes at the first meeting the other day.”

“You fucking wish, Bixler.” He seems unfazed at your use of only one of his last names. In the distance, Kassie seemed to be explaining Staffanie to the other girl, who giggled and pet the doll head awkwardly.

Turning your head to face him, you’re almost caught off guard at how close he is.

“Kassie was talking about all the stories you’ve been telling about me.” His eyes flash with alarm for a moment, you have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight. Danny’s attempt to catch you off guard disrupted by your own secret weapon.

“Just the shit from when we were kids, before you become an intolerable bitch.” He stepped back, strutting in front of you.

“Well atleast I’m a bitch and not a complete moron, like you.” He sucks in a breath and scoffs. “This moron’s gonna beat your ass in the challenge teams this year.”

“Not if we’re on the same team, dipshit.”

“Pablo told Eric who told me that you’re in red team. I’m blue team, scout.” He circles you like a shark smelling blood for the first time, your eyes stay trained on him.

“How the fuck does Pablo know? Why would director Williams or Cheryl put us on opposite teams? Isn’t that just begging for trouble?” Your hands raise to rest on your hips, fists clenching.

“‘Cause maybe Pablo’s tight with Ash and Ash sorts the teams ‘cause Cheryl does rota. I was in red team but Eric asked to swap places and I said yes so I could be on the opposite team from you.” This bastard, always testing you. Always looking for a fight. Always needing to win.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Knuckles white, this was all going to backfire on you specifically.

His taunting grin begged you to lose your temper.

“‘Cause it makes us better. Why be just good at working together when we could be even better tearing each other apart?” There was that closeness thing again, him getting up in your personal space. This was all a stupid intimidation tactic and you weren’t going to let it slide.

“When director Williams calls it out he won’t let you switch, even if Eric asks.” Something was going on here, more than what he was letting on. His eyes take a dangerous glance at your lips, he was playing dirty.

It wasn’t like you thought of him in that way anyway, nor he with you surely. Ultimately, he infuriated you.

Though, anyone would admit he was in great shape. Chiselled jawline and soft blue eyes that would make anyone swoon. He was attractive and you had shared a bunk with him, it was inevitable you would potentially form a deep attachment to him, you supposed. It’s definitely not like you had thought about him in the heat of the night in the safety of your own room, miles and miles away from camp. It was a hundred percent not like you had ever, ever replayed your most heated debates in your head, thinking about how breathless he could make you feel.

Fuck Danny Bixler-Sutherland.

“Don’t be so sure, they can’t reject a team transfer as long as someone on the other team volunteers a switch, it's against camp rules.” He backed away, hands held up in surrender. That stupid fuckin grin still on his mouth.

“Plus, Mia would be a far better teammate than you.” And with that he leaves you.

You couldn’t get his words out of your head.

What the fuck was he planning? Would Eric stoop so low to be involved in some stupid plot to have you guys in prime fighting positions? What was he getting out of this?

Stumbling across the sea of new campers to get to Mia, a plan quickly trying to form in your head.

“Mia, I need to call in a favour.” She dropped the stick at the mention of her name, pretending that she had actually been busy the full time.

“Fuck no, baby.”

“Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?” Mia crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“You need to swap teams with me.”

“How do you know we’re on opposite teams?” Her position unchanging, eyes burning into your soul as if you were breaking the rules somehow.

“Danny might’ve let something slip, he’s in my team and wants to change with Eric so we can be competing, but I don’t wanna do that.” She glances over your shoulder at Danny’s current location, beginning to guide the campers to their assigned cabins.

“How does he know this?” You roll your eyes, scratching your forehead. “It’s a long story, but please Mia, I’m begging you - I need to beat him at his own game.”

Mia stands for a moment, watching the boy, before smiling and looking back at you.

“This is ‘cause you wanna spend more time with him isn’t it?”

“Whatever the fuck helps you sleep at night.” You cannot let her win this foolish debate she’s created in her head.

“Sure thing, I’ll swap I guess.”

—

You had completely zoned out of the induction campfire ceremony. It’s mandatory every year anyway, aimed at the campers specifically. You weren’t missing much. This team shit was driving you crazy, as soon as Ash coughed up that it was time for the counselor sorting ceremony you shot upright. Across the seating area you could see Eric nudge Danny, who barely acknowledged him.

“Okay guys, team red. Okay people here we go. Olivia, Y/N-”

“I wanna swap teams.” You stood up.

Some of the campers ooooooed at your exclamation, Olivia scoffed. “What’s so bad about my team?” You turned to her, apology written all over your face.

You couldn’t swap if you didn’t have someone to swap with, you knew this. But if Mia came in clutch then you also knew that Eric wanted to be on the red team for some reason, so no matter what he would swap with Danny.

“We’ve not even finished reading out the rest of your teammates.” Director Williams answers with an irritated tone, and honestly, rightfully so. You were being difficult.

“Blue is usually my team, c’mon Williams we know this.” Much to his chagrin, you are right. “Well, seeing as we’ve not even called out blue team members, how is anyone gonna swap with you?” All eyes on you, intimidating you more than you cared to admit.

Luckily, Mia came right to your rescue.

“I’ll swap with her.” She stands proud, like she’s testifying to the court.

The fingers on his prosthetic hand scratch his nose, for a second you wonder how it would feel to have such an appendage. His hand had been gone longer than you’d been alive apparently, the camp legend was that it got torn off by a bear in the camp outskirts when Ash was a counselor here himself.

“How the hell did you know you were on the other team?”

“Last year you warned us we spoke too much when we’re together at these things, I thought this year you’d want to keep us separated.” Mia’s excuse didn’t really make any sense, seeing as he had allowed them to share a cabin, but she was right in saying that when they were partnered up they did not shut the fuck up. “Red’s more my color anyway.”

The older man shrugged. “Swap accepted, I suppose.

That was that.

“Shall we continue? Okay, red team. Olivia, Mia, Danny, Sheila and Eric. C’mere.”

Your heart dropped.

What the actual fuck.

Even Mia turned to you in confusion as she began to walk down to the stage with the rest of her team.

Danny must have known all along that Eric wasn’t actually going to swap, he’d done this to throw you off his trail. If anything happens between you two it’s your fault for the switch over now.

But why? Why was he so desperate to manipulate you like that? If it had gone wrong at any point, if you had chosen to stay on the team, who would he have swapped with? Maybe Pedro was in on it too, but looking at him now he seemed even more zoned out than you were.

Danny’s eyes found yours in the crowd, you were instantly reminded of all the other types of shit like this he’d pulled in the years prior. You felt like a total idiot for causing a scene, tears threatening to fall.

“Blue team, let’s go! David, Y/N, Pedro, Natalie and Kelly.”

David. He’d completely slipped your mind.

Fuck this shit.

You couldn’t even turn to look at Danny through the rest of the sorting of the teams, not able to face his stupid smug face that you knew would be looking at you. Why did he have to be such a headfuck all the time?

The full thing kept playing on your mind even when you were back in your cabin with Mia. She was smoking a cigarette, leaning out of the bathroom window. Head in your hands, you sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

“Thank fuck we have our own toilets now, jesus, could you imagine only being able to use the fuckin shared one?”

“We still have to clean all the cubicles when it’s our shift, a private toilet just adds one more toilet onto that.”

She inhales the cigarette for a moment, letting it hit her lungs. Even with the window open it still stunk.

“Yeah, but like atleast it’s our toilet. I’d happily clean your piss on the daily over the combined piss of like 60 something kids.” Mia looks different with the moonlight on her face. Her eyes, kind of buggish normally, seem even bigger. Sometimes she looks like a different person, you think.

“From everything I know, I really thought he liked you.” She murmured, flicking the butt out the window when she finished. “I tried to warn you.” You look at her through your hands. She sinks down onto the tiled floor of the shower.

“Just so weird, right? Like what could he have gotten out of that?” Mia stares off to a point in the corner of the room, in contemplation. “I don’t even get why you don’t like each other. You both used to get along so well.”

You’d heard it all before, and your constant avoidance of the question came from the fact that quite honestly you didn’t even know how to answer it.

“All I know is that I’m gonna get him back tenfold.”

She smirks at you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

For your arts and crafts block that week, you’d been assigned with Natalie. She was nice enough, kind of quiet but sweet with the kids. She’d spent most of her time asking you where things were. As far as you could tell, she was older. Probably not by much, at least around the same age as Olivia, David and Eric. She was from Salt Lake City, which you thought was a little far to come all the way to camp, but you didn’t judge her too much for it. It’s good to get away from home sometimes.

Kassie had indeed been placed on your team. Telling her that you were confident that with her and Staffanie on the team, you’d beat anything her brother threw at you both earned a giggle from her.

Another surprise was Bridget being placed on your team. She kept to herself or her friends mostly, but was more outspoken than a lot of the other teens.

Bridget had been attending camp the past few years since she turned 8, so you were more familiar with her than Kassie. In saying that, the age gap did mean that neither of you had really spoken to each other, especially as you weren’t a counselor before.

Each week, the teams would participate in challenges. Kids would file into the pavilion in their respective team colours, carrying makeshift posters and signs they had made during arts and crafts.

Waves of red and blue lining the wooden bleachers, allowing you to zone out while Danny lingered in your line of vision.

A soft hand to the low of your back, you jump. David waits with a smile and a water bottle on offer.

“Hey.” You soften, tucking a loose hair behind your ear.

“Hey, barely got a chance to catch up with you

since we got here. How you doing, kiddo?” The hand moves to your shoulder, a tinge of disappointment rushing through you. Another nickname, albeit a well meaning one, but one you still held in disdain.

“Not too bad, I've been busy keeping your sister out of trouble.” He chuckles, the famous David Allen smile appears. “I don’t know what she’d do without you.”

An earnest pause, but also a dangerous one.

“Listen David-“

“About last summer-“ Interrupting each other before either could make their point, and yet both so obviously on the same wavelength. The kiss.

“You go first.” His arms fold in a polite defeat. God, the bastard just oozed charm.

“Just wanted to address what happened last summer, between us. Just incase you felt uneasy or something it doesn’t have to be anything big if you don’t want it to be.” Heat rising in your chest, you felt like a stupid idiot with a school girl crush.

As if he could read your own thoughts, David placed his hand on your forearm. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Danny lingered from afar, no stranger to the occasional glance your way. He almost scowled when he saw your company.

You wanted to mention the text, you wanted to ask why he never said anything. Why he didn’t reply. But David simply rubbed your arm, “We don’t need to talk about it.”

A sigh escapes your lips, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding in. “Cool.”

The first challenge passes by fairly simply, despite Danny’s obvious attempts to wind you up. He was a competitive fucker, that’s for sure.

Team Blue manages to take the win for the night, with the kids chanting David’s name. He runs up to you, sweating profusely and yet managing to effortlessly appear like he was a vampire from Twilight instead of someone who just won a game of dodgeball.

“Great work kiddo, my second in command.” A grin appears, one that you can’t help but mimic knowing finewell that you spent the full game preoccupied with Danny.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Eric nudge Mia with a smug smile and whispered in her ear. She looked at you immediately and grinned, the worried pit immediately returned in your stomach.

She skips towards you, with Eric retreating to Danny who stands on the sidelines looking a bit misplaced.

“Guess who’s going to a party tonight?” Mia offers you two thumbs up and does a shuffling dance, that only manages to kick up dirt and makes you cough.

“The Abomination?”

“Okay, fuck you. Us! They’re having a party outside the woods. Dude, our own counselor party!” It had been something you’d spoken about for years, but you felt the effect had been lessened after last year's antics.

“I don’t know, Mia. I want to take this next challenge seriously and-”

“And what? All the tension from today will mean nothing when we’ll all be hungover tomorrow, group bonding?” You tried to find another excuse. “What about the kids?”

“Girl, fuck the kids! I want to party.” All you could do was answer with an awkward shrug, which she took for total defeat.

“YAAAAY. Okay, quick, we have like 2 hours to get ready-” Mia grabs your wrist and pulls you in the direction of your cabin, Danny standing on the hill watching you as you go by. If you weren’t so nervous about the prospect of being at the party with David and trying to listen to Mia, you’d think he was checking you out.

“You better be there, Scout!” Eric calls after you both as you pass, Danny’s head dipping beside him seemingly finding the ground extremely interesting right now. “Suck my ass, Eric!” He howled in response, earning a fit of laughter from you and Mia.

—

The winding path, illuminated with random lanterns left by partying campers long ago, seemed to go on forever. The prospect of getting absolutely shit faced at the end of the trail after a long week of ensuring the safety of screaming kids, patching up old equiptment and cleaning up actual shit was what kept the counsellors of Camp Kandar going.

The transition between the July weather and August’s own was usually indistinguishable, but tonight was particularly breezy. Regardless, the blazing campfire your colleagues crowded around gave a small amount of relief.

Cheap bottles of liquor and red solo cups, firebright light and wine coolers left discarded on the forest floor in favour of roaming hands on dancing teens. There was almost something melancholic about it all, one day they’d well and truly grow out of this forever. The fleeting fun of camp summer, the spontaneity of beers in the woods on a lukewarm summer night.

David strummed lazily on a dark cherry coloured guitar, you almost wanted to roll your eyes at how it looked like he’d stepped right out of a young adult rom com.

“I don’t get what you see in him.” Danny appears, housing a beer you can’t quite decipher the brand name of. You can feel his judgement despite his eyes also watching the older boy at the other side of the fire, unaware to his dueling voyeurs.

“What are you talking about?” He licked his lips, letting out a scoffing almost laugh at your reply.

“You never suited acting stupid, Scout. But then again, are as predictable as a Chainsmokers song.”

Fingers clenching around your cup filled with god knows what, how dare he? It took everything you had in you to show restraint and now throw its contains over his loose fitting tank top and cargo shorts. He was dressed like every female gaze dream skater boy forever immortalised on countless Pinterest boards - and yet you were the predictable one apparently.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking dick all of the goddamned time? You’re insane.”

“I’m not the one sleeping with my best friend’s brother.” Wide eyes snap to his, still burning holes into David’s skull across the fire with a tinge of unnoticed envy.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The clench around the red cup switches from anger to fear. He could always read her better than anyone. He finally looks at you, his blue eyes somehow welcome despite the venom you shot at each other. A pit in your stomach started to burn as if someone was inside digging it themself.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting this reaction. All I’ll say is don’t waste your time on him.” You could feel your eyes roll back, here he was backtracking trying to act like he was helping you again. No way were you falling for it again.

“I can spend time with whoever I want to. You’re just jealous that without alcohol I can’t hang around you without social distancing myself at all times.” You down the rest of your cup, just trying to keep your shaking hands preoccupied.

He shrugs. “Maybe I am.” His gaze shifts back to the rim of the beer. He contemplates copying your action and downing it as well. “Or maybe I just don’t give a shit ‘cuz I won’t even be around to see the fallout when you fuck it all up next year.”

Your turn to look at the boy again, taking in his frame for a moment. His hunched demeanour doesn’t read like he’s telling a joke or trying to wind you up.

“W-what?”

“Yeah, this is my last year. My parents are getting a divorce and my mom can’t afford to take us here anymore. And everything that was saved for my collage fund is getting put into the divorce. Surprise!” Danny uncannily laughs, clearly highlighting just how rotten the situation is.

“And it’s so fucked because we’re moving away and Bridge and Kass are leaving their entire lives behind and they’ll never get to experience this and they barely even know that we’re never going home again and it’s all just so so fucked-”

“Danny…. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, why the fuck would you I don’t even know why I’m telling you this-” He starts to dab at his eyes and make a hurried exit before you reach out and grab his wrist.

When you look into his eyes you see that same boy from the first year you bunked together. The boy that was scared of the dark, the boy that was chatty and so eager to be outdoors yet scared of the wilderness. You see little Danny, all alone in the big bad scary world with no parents to really protect him, as much as his mom was trying. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You never knew he was going through anything this serious.

“Wanna go on a walk right now?”

You expect him to tell you to fuck off and storm away, or cast some snarky remark about David. He just nods slowly. “Let me just tell Eric where I’m going.”

“Cool, I’ll get you at the carving tree.” He kind of fumbles a nod and scurries to find the older boy.

You turn and David is behind you like a jumpscare, you’re unable to hide a yelp. He laughs and places a hand on your forearm, you grow tense - mind too preoccupied with Danny. “Everything okay? I know you and Bixler are kind of neck and neck, I’d hate for him to spoil the party for you.”

Glancing back at the blonde boy as he searches for Eric, a tinge of guilt pierces through. “It’s fine, I can handle him.

“Well if you ever wanted me to say anything to him, let me know.” He shrugged, guitar still resting over him.

“I actually had something to ask you.” The liquid courage was saying it was now or never, and if it all went wrong you could escape into the woods with Danny who would probably be feeling even worse than you.

“Uh-huh?”

Here goes nothing.

“Today, when you said we shouldn’t talk about the kiss or whatever. I just wanted to ask what changed your mind after you left that note on my pillow?” David’s face is unreadable.

“What?”

“And yeah, I’m sorry if the text I sent was brutal and I won’t lie and say I’ve not thought about the kiss a lot. But I don’t know man, just help me here.” It almost sounds like a rant as the words escape your mouth, David raising an eyebrow in retaliation.

“Well I’ll try and help you out, I don’t know what you’re speaking about.” He seems dumbfounded, an expression you’ve never seen cross him.

“The text. The note. You left me a note, did you not?” Hands trembling, you wish you had it with you in the chance it would somehow completely restart his memory.

“I left with Mia. I needed to get out of there, it was crazy and intense, and kinda good, but like totally wrong.” He moves you to the side, speaking in hushed tones as if it was an affair on par with JFK and Marilyn and not a stupid drunken kiss.

“And then I texted you.”

“No you didn’t, I don’t even have your number. Show me your phone.” The device feels like a brick from the Great Wall of China when you pull it out of your pocket. You try your best to hide your uneasy fingers when you scroll to the conversation, a silent prayer that you didn’t delete it.

There it was plain as day. It was a real conversation. He lightly grabs the phone off you, still holding it at a level that you can both see it. He taps on the contact and stares for a moment.

“Kiddo, I am so sorry. I don’t know who the hell this could be ‘cause that’s not my number.” David peels his own phone out his back pocket and shows his own contact. He was right, the number was completely different.

“I promise I don’t have a second phone as well, and I’ve never changed it. Not since I was like 13 and you still had a Motorola Razr, remember those?” He smiles, going back into a personality mode similar to a dad or grandfather. You weren’t going to lie and say it wasn’t giving you the ick.

All you could do was nod.

“Nevermind, I guess.” He parts with a pat on the shoulder like he was your sports teammate. And technically that’s all he was. A teammate, a friend's brother.

You turn in the direction of the carving tree, Danny stands in the distance. The stomach pit returns, you wish the digger would just go on strike.

All you can do is collect your thoughts for a moment and prepare yourself for the trip ahead, ensuring to grab a bottle of vodka from the ground as you approach him.

#danny evil dead rise #evil dead rise #danny evil dead rise x reader #danny evil dead #danny evil dead x reader #evil dead #evil dead smut #evil dead x reader #morgan davies #danny x reader #evil dead 2013 #evil dead fic #david allen #mia allen

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aita-blorbos · 7 months

Note

AITA for how I respond to my troubled past?

I (scientist, 40s M) had a rough upbringing. My parents were absent at pivotal key moments, and often put me through trials and tribulations (being made fun of for being scared of a high dive, being forced to stand still all night long outside, constantly being pushed aside in favor of my brother, to name a few). But even my life outside of my family is a mess. I live alone, I’m divorced, and my teenage daughter is distant, save for rare moments like when she thought I was cool for DJ’ing for her friends (which was an accident including glue and mind control). I’ve had sand thrown at me, I’ve been forced to live with wild cats, I’ve even had to endure being a bratwurst salesman.

So, naturally, I seek to take revenge on all of these key instances. I build machines that help me achieve my goals. Do they work…? Usually not, but the intent is there. I think I’m fully justified in each of my machines. My assigned coworker (adult for his species) thinks I am the asshole, otherwise he and his organization wouldn’t send him over. Sometimes, he comes over in disguise and I can’t tell it’s him until he puts his uniform on, which is an incredibly dirty trick! But, after one machine experiment failed and an alternate dimension version of myself almost wreaked havoc because of his own tragic backstory including a train, I’m wondering… AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #child abuse

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eats-all-your-shoes · 7 months

Text

pearlscott rant because i’m normal about them :3

okay so first i just wanna talk about like. the duo name thing i use for them, because i know eclipseduo is the “official” duo name but like that doesn’t seem right because i don’t see them as completely platonic because they are exes, but they are definitely also not dating/romantic at all but like it’s so not just duo? so i use pearlscott as like just an alternative duo name type thing for them!

OKAY TALKY TIME!! i’ve said this before but the entirety of the divorce quartet is so interesting but i love pearlscott so much it’s just AAAAA!! after scott leaves pearl she might have been slightly okay, just by looking at the way she was joking about it in the first episode, but then martyn leaves her and she’s left completely alone in a new series, and if we add some watcher angst to that it makes it worse for her.

their dynamic is so bad that it’s good, pearl’s angry at scott but will also take any chance she gets to come back and try and be with him (breaking into his house and building on scott’s and cleo’s bridge) she wants him dead but also desperately wants him back, it’s raw and crazy and loud and everyone can tell she’s going insane over it.

scott on the other hand just wants her gone, she doesn’t matter to him anymore, he just wants to live peacefully with cleo and let her leave him alone. he hates her too and it’s very obvious, but he’s less loud about it then pearl. it’s that petty hate that’s not bad enough to warrant that bad of a reaction but just enough to annoy pearl which makes it so much worse

like it’s just so interesting to think about how different each of their reactions are and how that just makes them so much worse when you put it together.

then there’s the fact that they were ally’s, hell friends, in last life but that doesn’t matter anymore, all that they had together was thrown out the window when scott met cleo and they realized pearl and martyn weren’t looking for them.

ALSOALSO!! Pearl was regarded as the “bringer of death” in double life due to a lot of people dying close to her (joel and etho with the fishing rods, bigb and ren with the enderman) and scott has the winners curse (always having an ally of his win the game) and that just seems like something cool to think about but i’m not the best with symbolism so someone else can use that.

another thing, pearl was so close to killing scott in ep3, he stole her music disc and she axe crit him multiple times bringing them below half health and almost killed him by punching him off the bridge aswell, and if it weren’t for someone stopping her i think she would have gone through with it. the blood on her hands and just letting out so much rage by killing him (and herself, but i don’t think she would care all that much).

She didn’t even have the chance to kill him when she won, event the ghosts were chanting for her to do it but she couldn’t because scott killed himself first. but then when she’s on the respawn screen when she wins she says something along the lines of “he sacrificed himself for me. i guess i do forgive him.” and that’s just AAAA. she hates scott, but winning is horrible and she understands why he would not want to do it again, but also he has forced her to take on the burden of winning by killing himself. they are so complicated it’s amazing.

#so uh #they are cool #pearlescentmoon #scott smajor #double life #double life smp #mcytblr #trafficblr #life series

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jucyfruit · 2 days

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CATHERINE MARKS: BOYGENIUS, MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA, AND FINDING EMOTIONAL FREEDOM

by Daniel Gumble | 4/22/24

Award-winning producer Catherine Marks sits down with Headliner to reflect on a whirlwind start to 2024, the magic that went into boygenius’s the record, and how her enduring relationship with Manchester Orchestra has taught her the importance of unlocking true “emotional freedom”in the studio…

“It’s been a crazy start to the year,” Catherine Marks exhales as she joins us via Zoom from her London home on a bright, early-Spring morning in late March. “I keep thinking it’s September or something.” In reality, it’s a month to the day until the 2024 MPG Awards ceremony, which will see Marks fighting on three fronts for a trio of highly coveted gongs. This year she’s up for Producer of the Year (an award she won in 2018) and Mix Engineer of the Year, while the record by indie rock ‘supergroup’ boygenuis, produced by Marks, is shortlisted for Album of the Year. Taking place on April 25th at The Troxy in London, the night will provide the Australian-born, London-based producer a rare moment to reflect on what has been one of the busiest and most fruitful spells of her career so far.

In the first quarter of 2024, she’s been hopping between continents to work across a number of new records, while also squeezing in a visit to the Grammys and the Resonator Awards, where her work on the widely lauded the record was deservedly recognised. At the Grammys, boygenius won Best Alternative Music Album, as well as Best Rock Performance and Best Rock Song for Not Strong Enough, while the band themselves presented Marks with the Powerhouse Award at The Resonator Awards in recognition of her work on the album. “I definitely felt like I was invited to the cool kids’ party by accident,” she laughs.

As those who have spent time with Marks will attest, she is excellent company. In conversation she is entertaining, thoughtful, and insightful, not to mention generous with her time, as evidenced by her almost apologetic disclaimer at the start of our conversation that she is battling through illness to talk to us. Still, she’s happy to speak at length about the year she’s had and what’s been keeping her busy in the first quarter of 2024.

“I started an album at the end of December with a band called Divorce and the day after we finished, I flew to LA, and the Resonator Awards were the day after that,” she says. “It was this intense period, and I don’t feel like I’ve really taken stock of that week in LA and meeting all those amazing people. And having already done a full album, it’s crazy! “It’s been a real whirlwind.”

The recognition Marks has received not just in the US but around the world for her work with boygenius certainly appears to have shifted the dial on her career. She was already a highly sought after, multi-award-winning producer and engineer, having cut her teeth with studio icons Flood and Alan Moulder and cultivating a client list that includes, to name a few, the likes of Foals, Alanis Morissette, Wolf Alice, Frank Turner, The Big Moon, and Manchester Orchestra, with whom she has become a regular collaborator.

We were both holding back tears… it was one of those magic moments.

However, when three of indie rock’s most celebrated songwriters, Phoebe Bridgers, Julien Baker, and Lucy Dacus decided to join forced under the boygenius moniker, few could have predicted the extent of acclaim and success their debut album the record would achieve. Their self-titled 2018 EP was met with critical acclaim, but offered little indication that their first full-length release five years later would go on to top multiple charts, scoop a raft of awards, and make the upper reaches of countless 2023 album of the year lists.

The iconography of the trio also elevated the record beyond the realm of the side project. From the album artwork, through to their already legendary take on Nirvana’s 1994 Rolling Stone magazine cover, which saw the band kitted out in pin-striped business suits, everything about the project felt synonymous with a bona fide band, rather than something that existed on the periphery of each member’s full-time solo career.

“They wanted me to mix their first EP, but the timings didn’t work out, as I was working with Manchester Orchestra,” Marks explains, recalling the origins of her relationship with the group. “And they reached out to me because of my work with Manchester Orchestra. There was a lot of mutual love and respect for those guys. But I had a meeting with them via Zoom and that was the first time we’d seen each other’s faces, and that was when we spoke about making an album together.”

While the ‘supergroup’ concept that shrouds the boygenius project is something that Bridgers, Baker, and Dacus were acutely aware of, Marks says that there was no discussion of the matter in the studio. As she puts it, the sessions were very much akin to recording a band, as opposed to three solo artists coming together.

“I don’t think that the ‘supergroup’ aspect was ever a real consideration, as they are all just really great friends and love each other very much,” Marks affirms. “As far as songwriting is concerned, they had written individually but had also gone away to work on them together before we started making the album. They treated it very much like a band where three people were bringing songs in, and they were critiquing each other’s music and lyrics. There was a lot of collaboration.”

Despite the collaborative spirit that fuelled the sessions, the task of weaving a cohesive whole from three distinct creative voices was one that hung heavily on Marks’s shoulders.

“We all knew it had to be a cohesive album,” she states. “That was something that was on my mind, but I don’t think it was ever articulated. Somehow the aesthetic of the album feels really consistent, yet each of their individual identities still shines through. It weighed heavily on my mind, but through the power of magic it turned out to be a cohesive record [laughs]. A lot of the other collaborators and musicians that worked on the album also helped to create this consistent sonic thread that runs all the way through it.

“We spent the first three- or four-days doing pre-production and working out how wanted everything to feel, so we were collectively conscious of making sure there was a flow to the album,” she continues, describing how they set the tone for the sessions. “We had a ‘wall of dreams’ that we would throw ideas at and we would write down particular influences and then see if there were other songs that fitted that aesthetic. There were relationships and interconnections between each song. That’s something I do on other records too. But they were so militant I don’t think they would have let anything veer off track.”

They were the toughest customers I’d worked with. I underestimated the challenge.

When reflecting on the most memorable moments shared between herself and the band (“there are too many to mention”), Marks is reminded of an especially poignant moment shared with Dacus when working on one of the album’s many highlights, We’re In Love.

“Lucy and I arrived the night before everyone else to start work on the album, and she played me this song,” says Marks. “There wasn’t really a structure to it, but there was this stunning, gorgeous melody that I was so moved by. Throughout the course of the time we were at the studio she carried on working at it. I had been saying I think it absolutely needs to be on the album, but it doesn’t feel finished yet. So, she worked really hard at it and performed it for me, and I thought it was beautiful.

“Anyway, on the day that we ended up recording it, it was still light outside and it was just her and I in the studio, and she played it just on the acoustic guitar in the control room. I had a couple of mics set up, and there was this beautiful light streaming in, and you can sort of hear at the end she chokes up, as I did. We were both holding back tears… it was just one of those magic moments. It was all about the performance, not recording the guitar and then adding the vocals over the top. She just put everything into this performance, and it was magical. That’s a really strong memory. But there were so many of those moments.”

As to whether or not the sessions offered any indication as to the rapturous response the record would be met with upon release, Marks takes a moment to consider her answer.

“I mean [pauses] it’s been next level,” she says. “I knew it would be significant. There are moments when you think back and get butterflies, like, I’m really a part of something special here. So, there is a kind of instinctive but intangible knowledge that you’re working on something special. And they are incredible characters. They are three of the best songwriters that exist today, so something had to go right!”

In looking back at the process of making the record and the spotlight it has drawn towards Marks and her oeuvre, our conversation gravitates toward some of the other records that have moved the needle on her career.

“Every record feels like that,” she states. “One of the most significant moments was engineering the Foals record (Holy Fire, 2013) with Flood and Alan Moulder. I was known within the industry from assisting in studios, but the success of that record put me on a lot of people’s radars. It was the next step from engineering into production on a commercial level.

“And there have been moments like working on Wolf Alice’s first EP (Moaning Lisa Smile, 2014), The Big Moon’s first record (Love In The 4th Dimension, 2017). And all the work I’ve done with Manchester Orchestra. I love working with them, and it seems like every band I work with LOVES Manchester Orchestra. My relationship and work with them has allowed me to learn so much and has enabled me to work with so many other artists.”

Marks’s work with Manchester Orchestra has undoubtedly been one of the defining features of her career. After producing the US rock outfit’s fifth album A Black Mile To The Surface (2017), she has become a regular and much loved collaborator, yet the harmonious relationship that has flourished between band and producer since was initially born from more tempestuous circumstances.

“On the first record we made together we were really at loggerheads,” she reveals. “They were the toughest customers I’d ever worked with. I underestimated how much of a challenge it would be. It was their fifth record, and I thought they’ll be very well versed in the process of making album, and it’ll just be really enjoyable and different to a lot of the first album projects I’d been working on. But I was really wrong, because they were putting so much pressure on themselves to make it the best album, they’d ever made, otherwise they were going to stop what they were doing. I didn’t anticipate that. Also, they are really polite, so it took about two weeks to get to the bottom of what needed to be done, and that really opened the floodgates.

“The way we communicate is so much freer now, which means it’s more about the creativity and the collaboration rather than the psychology. There are no minds games or personality challenges, we just accept each other for who we are and want to make amazing music.”

As we bid our farewells and allow Marks to return to nursing herself back to health before another imminent trip to LA to produce the new Rise Against album in April and another Manchester Orchestra record starting in May, she is keen to point out that those early moments of friction can not only yield positive results but can be essential in unlocking a project’s potential.

“I actually encourage that kind of discourse in the studio,” she signs off. “I want people to feel free to be however they want to be in order to express themselves. There should be chemistry and conversation. And those little tussles you have can reaffirm what you believe in. Obviously, I wouldn’t encourage aggression, but frustration and anger can be a part of that, and there is something exciting about that level of emotional freedom.”

(x)

#catherine marks #boygenius #julien baker #lucy dacus #phoebe bridgers #headliner magazine #2024 #april 2024 #interview #archival

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batcavescolony · 4 months

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Snapper Carr. this was gonna be a post on how he seems cool but then I looked at his Wikipedia character bio and.....

This is what it says and I'm just reiterating it so if it's wrong its on Wikipedia

Becomes an honorary member of the JLA during his senior year of high school, did monitor duty and jack of all trades stuff. a guy named John Dough convinces him to betray the JL, John Dough ends up being the Joker. Leaves the JL. Family and him get kidnapped. Brain washed. Becomes a villain because after he left the JL no college would accept him and no one would higher him. Didn't go to jail and got a job at STAR labs because Superman. kidnapped (along with other humans) and taken to the Dominator homeworld, where they are forced to run a gauntlet of horrific deadly traps and experiments. Revealed he has the metagene (teleports when he snaps). went to alien insane asylum because he kept his eyes open during a teleport and saw the eternity of time passing (temporarily driven insane), escaped. accidentally imprisoned. then captured and tortured, during torture his hands were cut off so he couldn't teleport but later got hands again but now can't teleport. He got married and divorced. Turned into a Android by amazo. Almost driven insane AGAIN! kidnapped by demons and tortured for several days. suffered from severe depression. Thrown back in time in a loop where he was forced to relive the loss of his hands over and over again. Then left on an astroid for a bit. And after that Red Tornado was like 'hey I know a guy who could help Young Justice' and put him there.

It's doesn't end there but I think I'll have to read some of these comics because WTF! the JLA should give him therapy and a break. Is he ok?

(He also has a cat names starro and wears superhero themed graphic tees cool right?)

And he was in the YJ TV show hes a teacher, adopted Harper and Cullen and officiated Conner and Megan's (🤢 sorry I just hate them) wedding.

#snapper carr #lucas carr #lucas snapper carr #comics #dc comics #young justice 98 #young justice #young just us #batcavescolony reads comics #is he my new blorbo? he can do no wrong. idgaf he apparently went supervillain he deserves it as a treat. he needs a hug and therapy

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private-bryan · 5 months

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Get To Know Me

Thanks for the tag @queer-cosette

🖌 - Do you have/want any tattoos?

Niet - I've never really wanted to get one either. If I was forced to at needlepoint it would probaby be the inscription from the One Ring around my bicep

💚 - What’s your favourite colour?

Royal Blue

🍕 - What’s the last thing you ate?

A bowl of Kellogg's Special K (gotta get that fibre in)

🕰 - What time is it where you are rn?

11:06 - I'm meant to be doing a security review, but that can wait for the more important Tumblring

🌟 - What is your zodiac sign?

Libra. And I've got no clue on anything more than that

🌍 - What is your favourite accent?

Canadian (just in case the missus is listening), but from the UK/Ireland it's any of the Scottish, Welsh, or Irish accents. They're extremely sexy (most of the time) compared to the bland Home Counties accent in my area

⚡️ - Do you have any scars?

Several.

My dumbest are the ones on my knuckles. It wasn't from a fight, but from slipping down an icy set of concrete steps, and not realising I was bleeding copiously from all the knuckles on my left hand until I was halfway to work (on a Rail Replacement Bus, no less)

I also have one on my palm from where it was cut by flaking paint (on the handrail of the same set of stairs!)

🌺 - What’s your MBTI type?

ISTP

🥀 - Favourite animated movie?

The Road to El Dorado

"Did you ever imagine it would end like this?"

"The horse is a surprise."

📺 - Favourite show?

Derry Girls. Also Taskmaster

😂 - Are you ticklish?

Yes, but the freewheeling elbows that follow usually disuade people from trying again

💍 - Do you ever want to get married?

I already am. Unless I divorce I'd rather not commit bigamy

😳 - Do you like your name?

I don't dislike my name. It's just... a name. My surname is quite rare though, so I've got that going for me

💙 - What colour is your bedroom?

Magnolia (we rent)

🤓 - How did you get your name?

I don't think there's a reason my parents picked it, unfortunately.

🎓 - When did/do you graduate?

I never went to Uni, but I left college (UK definition) in 2004

🍄 - Do you have/want any piercings?

Nope. Again, fairly bland in how I want my body to look. Aside from the beard (which was mainly an excuse not to shave every day) I basically just think of it as a slightly crappy vessel to live in.

👀 - What colour are your eyes?

Brown. Quite dark, in fact, so that from not too far away they look almost black.

👱🏻‍♀️ - What is your go to hairstyle?

Cut short twice a year (grade 3 all over), then I just let it grow until it gets too curly. I don't do anything with it, not that you could do anything with it anyway.

🥂 - Have you ever drank underage?

Not really. I was a/am nerd, and didn't really go past shandy until I was 18

🍾 - Have you ever gotten drunk?

Just twice - I don't really like how it makes my head feel. Once was after a funeral of a schoolfriend. I can't remember the other one

😱 - What’s your biggest fear?

Physical fear is either heights or dogs. But my biggest one is that one day I'll be alone and forgotten.

🥵 - Would you rather be too hot or too cold?

Too cold. I'm an overweight man, so I don't like almost literally swimming in sweat. And with cold weather I can just chuck on another jumper or t-shirt (I'm currently sat here in my dressing gown)

🌦 - What’s your favourite weather?

Pissing it down. So long as I'm at home and can listen while reading in bed

🍂 - What’s your favourite season?

Autumn. Cool, colourful, and has my birthday in it!

🐷 - What’s your favourite animal?

The Alpaca. I made the missus go to an Alapca farm on the Isle of Wight when we were over there for our 10th wedding anniversary

🐶 - Do you have any pets?

Three cats (Penelope, Irene, Helen). The wife has a dog called Fritz, but I don't interact with him

😴 - What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

Just over two days.

🎨 - Any hobbies?

Writing, gaming, bookbinding, sewing, model making, 3D printing, procrastinating

🛩 - If travelling was free, where’s the first place you’d go?

I'd like to tour the UK - Have a hoke around Scotland, revisit Wales and Northern Ireland, go and see some history in York or Nottingham or something.

🎇 - What’s your most searched thing on Google?

Currently, it's foiling techniques for my books - the missus bought a second hand set of the LOTR books, and I've got designs on rebinding them and want to make the edges gold

📱 - Favourite app on your phone?

Tumblr. Close second for NYT Games (gotta get Wordle and Connections in), and Duolingo

🤠 - Are you more of a city person or a country person?

I'm a suburbs person. Or at least a town person.

I like some people around, and being in close range to a supermarket and stuff, but I don't like being in a really big city (like London or Belfast) for too long - something like Portsmouth or Derry is ideal actually

Tagging: @areseebee @carouselunique @imstressedx if you feel like you'd like to have a go too :)

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heroinejinx · 2 years

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‘A proper drink’ - Advices and Vices, part 1 of ? (CaitJinx Modern AU)

So, another fic to add to my bow, this time in the form of a crack ship!

‘Advices and Vices’ is named after the Chelsea Wolfe song of the same name, which is part of my PistolWhip spotify playlist which you can listen to here !!

AO3 link here

My hyper-fixation made me do it lol enjoy!

(4,520 words)

Alone at a bar in Zaun, Caitlyn nursed a gin and tonic. The ice had melted, and the liquid was becoming room temperature. She’d made one drink last over an hour. It was a useless talent: the ability to wait for someone she knew wasn’t coming.

Vi was a no show, once again. She refused to sign the divorce papers. Refused to even discuss the situation like adults. She was lashing out, angry and hurt. Still, Caitlyn had hoped to keep things civil, hence the drinks. Neutral location. Easy escape route. Cards on the table. It seemed like the perfect solution when she thought of it. But, of course, Vi disagreed.

They always disagreed.

Caitlyn stayed and waited until the clock fixed to the wall above the bar crept towards ten. Two hours after they were supposed to meet, and still no Vi. Caitlyn was at her limit. She downed what remained of her drink, grimaced at the strength of it as it slid down her throat, and stepped away from the bar. That was that, then. Communication breakdown. Vi had made her point: she was beyond reasoning with.

The cool night air smacked at her cheeks as she left the bar. She looked up at the cloudy sky, reflecting the green of The Lanes’ neon lights, and let out a sigh of disappointment. Things could’ve been so different. Why was Vi like this? How had things turned so bitter between them?

An unmistakable cackle brought her gaze back to the street. Not now. Right in front of her, head tilted and grinning ear to ear, was the last person she expected to see.

‘Well, if it isn’t my soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law,’ Jinx drawled. ‘What’re you doing out so late? Isn’t it past your bedtime?’

Sister-in-law? Caitlyn saw red. Vi’s bond with her younger sister had strained to near breaking point over the years, with Jinx often blaming Caitlyn for the distance, and now that it was all over, they were suddenly sisters-in-law!? Gods, everything that girl said was pure venom, designed to hurt and sting and eat away at you.

‘You’re barely a sister to Vi, let alone anyone else,’ Caitlyn raged. ‘And yes, it is getting late. She’s stood me up. I’m going home.’

‘Ouch.’ Jinx pouted and wiped a pretend tear from her cheek. Sidled up to the entrance, closer to Caitlyn. ‘Well, don’t be boring, Kiramman. Have a drink with me instead.’

‘A what?’

‘No hard feelings, I swear,’ Jinx said, a shade more serious. ‘I’ll even pay.’

She’d pay? With what, Silco’s blood money?

Somehow Caitlyn couldn’t say that out loud. Jinx was being strange, almost pleasant. They had built their relationship on forced civility and underhand mockery. No favours, no kindness, nothing remotely friendly. Caitlyn couldn’t think of a time they’d spent one on one that didn’t end with them tearing chunks out of each other. So, why then? Vi was crashing at their friend Ekko’s place, heartbroken, yet there Jinx was, engaging with the woman responsible, offering an olive branch to someone she’d never even liked before. Where was her loyalty? It felt like a trick, but Jinx wasn’t usually one for mind games. The sisters’ mutual, brutal honesty was a trait Caitlyn had always admired.

Jinx opened the door, forcing Caitlyn to decide: walk away, or stay?

‘After you, sis,’ Jinx winked.

Caitlyn groaned and rolled her eyes at the blatant mockery but didn’t leave. Instead, she re-entered the bar with a swing in her step. Fine. If Vi wouldn’t speak to her directly, she could do it through her sister. Good enough.

She entered first, with Jinx close behind. Rather than slouch at the bar like before, she made a beeline for a table nearby and settled into one of the padded leather armchairs surrounding it.

As Jinx waited for service at the bar, Caitlyn watched her. Scanned her up and down, as though staring at her would somehow help explain what was happening. She wore her usual, grungy get-up, worlds away from Caitlyn’s smart casual blazer, blouse, and chinos. The alternative look suited her. She couldn’t imagine Jinx in any other style. It wasn’t Caitlyn’s taste, but it was Jinx all over, and she owned it. She always looked good; Caitlyn conceded to herself. Vi and Jinx had their looks in common, too.

‘Gin and tonic for the lady,’ Jinx said.

She handed Caitlyn her drink and plopped down in the chair opposite, careful not to spill any of the cocktail she’d gotten for herself. It was bright pink with tiny specks of glitter floating around inside. Classic Jinx.

Drinks with Jinx. Caitlyn was having drinks with Jinx… It felt like stepping into a parallel universe.

‘Thanks,’ Caitlyn said. ‘And what’s that abomination?’

‘Unicorn daiquiri,’ Jinx shrugged and took a sip. ‘Yum.’

‘Only you would order something so vile-sounding,’ Caitlyn jibed.

‘Okay,’ Jinx scoffed and put her drink down on the table. ‘I’m trying not to be a bitch here, Cait. Like, I’m actually trying to be nice, so…’

‘Oh.’ Taken aback, Caitlyn wasn’t sure what to say. She gulped down some of her drink and fidgeted with her necklace, as her cheeks grew hot with discomfort.

How was she supposed to talk to Jinx without ridiculing her? It was the only dynamic they’d ever shared. And how the hell was she supposed to know Jinx was trying to be nice!? As a matter of course, Jinx was not nice.

‘Y’know what, it’s fine,’ Jinx said. ‘I get it. You’re, uh… you’re going through a lot right now. I’m probably the last person you wanna be around.’

‘Pretty much.’ Caitlyn spoke from her gut without passing it through her brain first, but a pinch of compassion made her soften a little, and she recalibrated; if Jinx was trying, she could at least meet her halfway. ‘Although, in fairness, I can think of worse company.’

‘Jayce?’ Jinx’s joke made them both chuckle.

‘Ah, he means well,’ Caitlyn snickered. ‘Poor bastard.’

‘What about Vi…?’ Jinx bit her lip, as though she was nervous for the answer.

‘What about Vi?’ Caitlyn countered. Enraged. ‘She was supposed to meet me here tonight and stood me up. Did you know that?’

Jinx shook her head, but she didn’t look surprised. Caitlyn continued ranting, regardless.

‘We were meant to finally have a proper, adult conversation about everything but, of course, she’s not ready for any of that, is she? No. She’d rather bury her head in the sand and pretend none of this is happening.’

‘Well, she loves you, Cait,’ Jinx said, and shifted in her seat like her body rejected the words. ‘She’s probably gonna be like this a while; she’s stubborn like that.’

‘Yeah, don’t I know it,’ Caitlyn grumbled, fed up.

It was beyond belief that she was confiding in Jinx about all of this, so out of the blue, but what else could she have done? The pressure of it weighed on her, impacting her chest. She had to talk to someone other than Vi. Her father was too nice, her mother too judgemental, and Jayce was far too invested in his research to concern himself with trivial issues like, oh, say, human emotions.

Sitting there with Jinx, just the two of them, it occurred to her how few people she had in her life. She couldn’t think of a single other person who would’ve chosen to sit there with her like that, just talking, hanging out, letting her open up. Encouraging her, even. Jinx was always unpredictable, but this took the cake.

Caitlyn found herself smiling a sincere, heartfelt smile, and decided to embrace the unexpected change to her evening, and the unusual company.

‘I just want… need… to move on,’ she explained. ‘It’s been six months since I filed, Jinx. Six months I’ve waited for her to sign those bloody papers.’

‘Okay, and? You left her, Cait,’ Jinx stated, matter of fact. ‘She doesn’t owe you anything.’

‘Right. Except a little human decency, maybe.’

‘Well, people in pain don’t have a whole lot of room for decency.’ Jinx was more acquainted with pain than most. She and Vi weren’t too close those days, but it must’ve been hard seeing her sister like that. ‘Maybe you’d understand pain better if you’d ever really experienced any,’ she added, her tone a little too scathing for comfort.

What happened to trying to be nice?

‘Because ending my marriage of three years was so easy and pain-free for me?’ Caitlyn spat out without thinking.

‘Oh, please,’ Jinx sniped back. ‘Leaving Vi was a relief. Admit it.’

‘A relief?’ Caitlyn smarted. That one hurt. Too close to home. ‘What the hell is this, Jinx? I don’t get it. One minute, you want to get drinks, tell me you’re trying to be nice — whatever that means — and the next you’re laying into me, making me sound like some kind of heartless bitch. If you’re just here to argue, I’d rather go home.’

‘Sorry,’ Jinx held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘We’ll table it. Or eighty-six it. Whatever the phrase is. Let’s just… talk about something else.’

‘No,’ Caitlyn said plainly. ‘No. We’ve started now; might as well finish.’

Bracing herself, she took a gulp of the bitter gin and tonic, thought it wasn’t nearly strong enough. If she and Jinx were really having this conversation, she’d need at least five more. Maybe the whole bottle.

‘What makes you think I’m relieved?’ She dared to ask.

Jinx’s eyes flared a little, then narrowed with intrigue as she sat forward, arms resting on her lap, head tilted, holding Caitlyn’s glare. The smudged out black around her lids made her blue irises glisten even more than usual. Caitlyn grew hot under her restrictive suit jacket, as Jinx reached for her drink and took a sip of the sparkling liquid. Chewing pensively on the straw, Jinx refocused on Caitlyn.

For a long moment, they just sat and looked at each other, until Jinx broke the fixation with a snicker, a shake of her head, and another sip of her sickly-sweet cocktail.

‘That,’ Jinx said pointedly, still snickering, ‘that’s what.’

Caitlyn felt flustered, like Jinx had duped her, ‘…what?’

‘You never looked at Vi like that.’

Oh, gods. ‘Like what?’

‘Like you wanted to ruin her.’ The words rolled off Jinx’s tongue, silky smooth and self-assured.

Where the hell did that come from!?

Caitlyn spluttered, almost choked on her drink. Cleared her throat. Tried desperately to compose herself. ‘Excuse me?’

Jinx thought… Jinx actually thought that Caitlyn wanted to… Nope, she wasn’t recovering from that one anytime soon. She couldn’t decide if she felt offended or amused or called out. All of the above, probably.

‘Kidding!’ Jinx erupted in laughter and took another sip of her drink, as the colour returned to Caitlyn’s cheeks.

The audacity was unbelievable. Where the hell did Jinx get the nerve to make jokes like that? Did she realise there was truth to it? Fuck. More gin hit the back of Caitlyn’s throat, and she winced.

‘Okay, but seriously,’ Jinx levelled out, grin fading, ‘all I meant was you never really looked at Vi like you were interested in what she had to say.’

‘What?’ Whatever Caitlyn felt before, that remark had definitely offended her. ‘Of course, I was interested!’

‘Not that interested.’

‘Yes, I was!’ She prickled, conflicted at defending the quality of a connection she’d already said goodbye to.

‘Come on, Cait,’ Jinx drawled. ‘Why deny it? I’m not saying you weren’t in love with her, but you don’t exactly have much in common. The two of you were kind of an odd mix from the get-go. Brains and brawn, you know.’

‘Opposites attract,’ she said feebly.

‘Right,’ Jinx said, quirking a cynical brow. ‘Until they realise how badly matched they are and repel each other.’

‘I’m starting to think eighty-six-ing this wasn’t such a bad idea.’

‘Okay, we won’t talk about it,’ Jinx shrugged, as if to say she didn’t care either way.

Her nonchalance was infuriating. Worse still was the smirk that followed; she knew exactly how annoyed Caitlyn was becoming, and she revelled in it.

‘Good.’ Caitlyn forced a smile and took another sip.

She’d nearly finished her drink, but Jinx had most of her cocktail left. If she wanted to, she could’ve easily made her excuses to leave there and then. Time was ticking on, getting later and later, and if they weren’t talking about the Vi situation, what was the point in talking at all? Jinx’s veil of niceties was already wearing thin. Soon, it was bound to vanish completely, and they’d be stuck in a heated confrontation with only the bartender there to pull them apart.

If Caitlyn was honest with herself, fighting with Jinx didn’t sound too bad. She was so angry at Vi for not showing. So let down. Jinx was the perfect distraction. The pair of them could argue about anything. She polished off her gin and tonic, wracking her brains for a new topic. It needed to be less triggering than the impending divorce but still bound to cause friction.

‘So,’ Jinx began, beating Caitlyn to the punch. She leant further forwards and propped her chin up on her wrist, elbow balancing on her crossed knees, ‘if Vi’s off limits, what else is there to talk about?’

‘I was just wondering the same thing,’ Caitlyn replied. ‘Are you still seeing that guy?’ The name escaped her. ‘Um… the one you work with.’

‘They’re not a guy,’ Jinx corrected. ‘They’re nonbinary, their name’s Ran, and it turns out they’re a huge asshole like all the others, so…’

Once again, Jinx shrugged, acting like what she had just said didn’t matter, but it did. Breakups were difficult, and from what Caitlyn knew from Vi, Jinx had experienced far too many; what she went through mattered very much.

‘Wow, I’m sorry,’ Caitlyn said, embarrassed by her silly mistake. Misgendering people wasn’t something she took lightly. ‘I’m not sure I ever even met them, did I? I know so little about you outside of Vi.’

‘Yup.’

‘What happened with Ran?’ Caitlyn asked out of genuine concern, but it probably seemed like she was just being nosy.

Jinx scoffed and slouched back into her chair. Glancing Caitlyn up and down in scrutiny, she bit her lip and chuckled.

‘What?’ Caitlyn demanded.

‘So, we can’t talk about your love life, but mine’s fair game?’ Jinx’s tone was teasing, but there was a warning in there somewhere, a threat behind her shimmering eyes. ‘How’s the job? Make any cool arrests lately?’

Okay, so, abrupt topic change. Caitlyn could work with that, she just had to sidestep the jab of irritation at Jinx’s choice of topic. If she wanted friction, her career choice would no doubt produce it, so there was that. Jinx knew from experience how discussions surrounding Caitlyn’s work inevitably ended badly. Maybe she was after the same thing Caitlyn was? A return to their default mode of mutual disdain. No more of that faux kindness Jinx had kicked things off with. Back to what they were both used to.

‘Why? Met any criminals lately? Other than yourself and almost everyone you associate with, of course.’ Caitlyn mocked, but a softer, almost flirtatious intonation replaced her usual edge.

That was new.

Jinx tongued her cheek and grinned, returning Caitlyn’s energy, before grimacing at her half-drunk unicorn daiquiri. ‘How about whoever invented this drink? Turns out you were right; it’s disgusting.’

Caitlyn’s head spun; she was right about something, and Jinx had freely admitted to it. This wasn’t their standard sparring. Not even close. And the energy between them… Had she misread Jinx’s intentions? What was going on?

‘Dare me to down it?’ Jinx asked.

‘…what?’

‘My drink, genius.’

Jinx giggled and stood, stretched her limbs, clicked her fingers, readying herself. And then, with a deep breath and a ‘here goes,’ she pinched her nose and drank down the rest of her foul drink in a string of hastened gulps. When it was all gone, she wiped the excess from her mouth with a triumphant grin, performed a theatrical bow for Caitlyn’s benefit, and finished with a shudder.

‘Bleugh!’ She exclaimed. ‘So, so gross!’

‘What an achievement,’ Caitlyn dryly replied, but she couldn’t deny that Jinx’s antics amused her. To her chagrin, Jinx’s company wasn’t so bad. It beat being alone with her thoughts, anyway. ‘My round, I suppose.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to keep humouring me, Cait,’ Jinx said.

It was a clear out for them to go their separate ways for the night, and probably for the rest of their lives. A short while ago, Caitlyn would’ve taken her up on it, and that would’ve been the end, but…

‘One more won’t hurt,’ Caitlyn smiled, and slung her handbag over her shoulder as she stood. ‘You need to get the taste of that shit out of your mouth.’

Before Jinx could protest, Caitlyn marched up to the bar and ordered them both a gin and tonic, but made Jinx’s the pink and fruity kind, something she’d like. As she paid, she looked over her shoulder and met Jinx’s gaze. Those penetrating eyes. It seemed the younger woman was watching her, just like Caitlyn had watched her earlier.

A jolt of excitement rippled through her before she could stop it. Fuck. No. She couldn’t let Jinx affect her like that. It was the gin, she told herself. She was tipsy and lonely, touch starved. This thing with Jinx was just drinks with someone who no longer held a place in her life. A meeting of opposing forces bound in different directions. A mutual way of saying goodbye. Nothing more.

‘Now,’ Caitlyn said, as she returned to the table and placed Jinx’s pink gin in front of her. ‘A proper drink.’

‘You really didn’t have to,’ Jinx said. She took a cautious sip, as though expecting to hate it, but the second she tasted it, her eyes lit up.

‘Good?’ Caitlyn asked. The answer was obvious from Jinx’s reaction alone, but she wanted verbal confirmation. Further acknowledgement that her instincts were right. Praise, maybe.

Chewing on her straw with a twinkling grin, Jinx looked Caitlyn up and down, lingering on her lips before flickering back to her eyes.

‘It’ll do,’ she said, playing coy. She seemed to know exactly what Caitlyn was angling for, but she wasn’t willing to give it easily. ‘So, what now?’ Her teasing tone continued, as she enjoyed more of her new drink. ‘We’ve never hung out this long without Vi or someone else interrupting.’

‘Mm,’ Caitlyn agreed. ‘To tear us apart before things turned ugly, usually.’

‘Pfft, how ugly could things have gotten, really? Who doesn’t like watching hot girls fight?’

Caitlyn twinged at the implication that Jinx found her hot. Chased the unwanted arousal down with more gin.

‘Vi, for one,’ she said, the bitterness of her drink still resting on her tongue. ‘She’d sooner knock us both out than watch us get physical like that.’

Get physical? Great choice of words, Caitlyn.

‘And look at us now,’ Jinx snickered. ‘She’d hate this even more. Her estranged little sister and almost ex-wife actually enjoying each other’s company… She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.’

It was a fair point. The scenario unfolding that night would perplex Vi beyond all reason. If they told her, she probably wouldn’t believe them, even though it was happening because of her. Her unreliability had thrust them together.

But, well, it wasn’t Vi that had kept them together. They’d made that decision for themselves. Like Jinx said, they were enjoying each other’s company. Who knew such a thing was even possible?

‘Actually, scratch that,’ Jinx said with a heavy sigh and a roll of her mesmerizing eyes, ‘I know exactly what she’d do.’

‘Oh, yeah? What’s that?’

‘She’d tell me to get the fuck away from her wife,’ Jinx said. ‘Naturally, I’d tell her to fuck off, and uh… well, I think we both know how that’d go, right?’

The words snaked under Caitlyn’s skin and lodged in her gut like sticky tar, too truthful to deny. She tried to digest them. Vi was always protective, jealous, defensive, especially when she didn’t need to be. In the end, it was partly why Caitlyn left. The redhead’s temper bested her time and time again, and Caitlyn had to pick up the pieces. They’d lost so many friendships and opportunities because Vi just couldn’t help herself. Her paranoia was too much. It made her say and do things she shouldn’t have, not caring who was there to bear witness. She even exploded around Caitlyn’s parents at the annual Progress Day Gala, humiliating everyone involved. The fact was, she needed help to cope with the trauma and bullshit of her childhood—therapy, medication, anything that might’ve brought her some peace of mind—but any time Caitlyn brought it up, it caused yet another argument.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Vi arriving at the bar, hours late and hateful, primed for a confrontation. If she saw Caitlyn and Jinx sat there, talking the way they were, gods knew what conclusions she’d spring to. She’d think they were having an affair, talking behind her back, mocking her. She’d probably do a lot worse than simply tell Jinx to leave. Jinx, her sister and only surviving family member, had been on the receiving end of Vi’s anger too many times to count.

The two were as troubled as each other, Caitlyn reminded herself. Jinx lashed out with her words, and Vi, her fists. Neither of them coped particularly well with life. Then again, neither did she, really. She was just better at pretending than they were.

‘I’m sorry,’ Caitlyn spoke into the silence that had fallen around them.

Jinx frowned, ‘for what?’

‘I just… I can’t imagine having a relationship like that with a family member,’ she admitted. ‘My parents can be a pain in the arse, but that hardly compares.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re an only child, Cait,’ Jinx said, blunt and straightforward as ever, but with a smile this time. ‘Sibling dynamics are fucking weird. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I grew up wishing I had siblings, you know. A house full of brothers and sisters, people to play with and talk to on my own level…’ Caitlyn wasn’t sure where the confession had come from, only that it was heartfelt, and it seemed like the natural thing to say. She went along with it, curious where the thought would lead her. ‘It probably sounds stupid to you, but I always felt like I was missing out on some magical part of life. D’you think… d’you think I’d be different if I wasn’t an only child? More sociable, maybe? More likeable?’

‘You are likeable, Cait,’ Jinx scoffed but kept her smile, softened her gaze, ‘honestly, I don’t think you’d be half as interesting if you weren’t so neglected and alone growing up.’

The painful truth in Jinx’s words spliced with a warm feeling of acceptance: to Jinx, Caitlyn was likeable and interesting. When and how the fuck did that happen?

‘Plus,’ Jinx continued, ‘having lots of family around isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Just means you’ve got more to lose.’

Ouch. Jinx had lost so much in her short life. So many people she’d considered family were no longer around. Dead, or worse, they’d abandoned her. So much grief. So much loss.

‘And you, Caitlyn Kiramman, are really fucking bad at losing,’ Jinx snickered, wordlessly encouraging another round of repartee.

Always the jester, especially at the expense of her own suffering. Another admirable quality.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Caitlyn chuckled. ‘I never lose.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Jinx arched a calculating brow. ‘I seem to remember beating you at a few shooting games in the past.’

‘That’s because you cheated,’ Caitlyn gladly reminded her. ‘In a fair match, I’d win, hands down.’

‘Still with the cheating allegations?’ Jinx shook her head. Drank down more of the tasty pink gin concoction. ‘You really can’t handle losing, can you?’

‘Of course, I can,’ Caitlyn retorted, growing a little defensive. ‘When it’s earned.’

‘Pfft, I more than earned it,’ Jinx rebuffed. ‘You just can’t take it when someone’s better than you.’

‘Come on,’ Caitlyn scoffed. ‘It’s not about being better or worse, it’s—’

‘Bullshit!’ Jinx interrupted, springing forwards across the small table so they were almost nose to nose. ‘I’m a better shot than you are, and it kills you.’

Her breath tickled Caitlyn’s lips. It was sweet and heady with booze and the slightest trace of cigarette smoke, almost irresistible… it seemed so easy to lean in a little further and…

What the hell was she thinking!?

It was like Jinx read her mind. She remained in Caitlyn’s personal space, propped up by her strong wrists either side of Caitlyn’s folded, sweaty hands and half-supped gin and tonic. Caitlyn fiddled with her rings and the stem of her glass, shifted in her seat, avoiding Jinx’s astute stare however she could. A long, slender finger traced her jaw and hooked under her chin, forcing her to look back up.

‘Admit it,’ Jinx said, huskier than before. Her nail dug into Caitlyn’s skin. ‘Or are you gonna deny this, too?’

Cheeks on fire and her core throbbing, Caitlyn steadied her breathing and examined the provocative woman a hair’s breadth away from her face.

‘Fine, I’ll admit it,’ she said. ‘Leaving Vi was a relief.’

Jinx’s eyes sparkled as she spoke. ‘And?’

‘And…’

Caitlyn met Jinx’s coaxing finger with her own. Stroked over the slope of bone and wrinkles of the joint, up to the knuckle, where finger transitioned into hand. Jinx’s hands were soft, not what Caitlyn expected of someone whose main pastime was fixing and dismantling whatever technology she could find. Vi was a builder by trade, and her hands were rough and calloused, but Jinx’s…

‘I’m definitely the better shot,’ Caitlyn teased, and bridged the tiny gap between them with a kiss before Jinx could respond with another witty comeback.

If she could’ve blamed it on the alcohol, she would have, but she wasn’t drunk enough for that. Caitlyn was in control, perfectly aware of what she was doing. Her reasoning was… well, she wasn’t listening much to reason. She listened to her gut, and her gut told her she wanted this. She wanted Jinx and all the mess that inevitably came with her.

Their kiss lingered a few seconds before Jinx pulled away. Her wet lips parted in a hazy grin, but her quizzical eyes and the downwards tug of her brow betrayed her confusion. Caitlyn watched, stupefied by her own actions, as Jinx’s mouth shifted to form speech, preparing to ask questions Caitlyn had no answers for.

‘Your round,’ Caitlyn blurted out. Neither of them had finished their current glassful, but it was all she could think to say.

Jinx stood and collected herself. Gave Caitlyn a rushed, hesitant smile, almost like she’d grown shy. Jinx was never shy. Never.

‘I need a cigarette,’ she said, and darted outside, leaving Caitlyn in disarray.

#caitjinx #pistolwhip #fanfic #modern au #crack ship #caitlyn kiramman #jinx #vi #advices and vices #part 1 #a proper drink #i had to write this lol #they have me by the throat #mature

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sillysquee · 2 years

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Ohhh yeah if perry couldve gone multi track he wouldve that makes sense. And the allure of the emperors coven being that you can use multiple types of magic likely interested him for sure. I can see darius being interested in that as well but he seems so practical that i can see him resigning himself to focus entirely on abominations bc thats where his heart laid anyway and he didnt see that the effort put into tracks that werent your goal as productive.*

Probably during coven fair (i forget the name ) though the previous golden guard put had a pretty enticing pitch. Thats probably where he met darius (and perry who actually after the different presentations realized that as cool as the emperors coven was something didnt sit right with him, call it oracles intuition and also gus had to get his perceptive nature Somewhere) i can see thats when the paths diverged a little?

Perry just seems practical in a different way than darius, like he probably was excited to learn other types of magic but it took him seeing the emperors coven up close to realize that actually he wanted no part, whereas his classmate Odelia took the exact opposite approach.

I think itd be interesting if perry was like ... Idk not friends w her but not enemies and actually it's thru him n his friendship w darius who was at least acquaintances w alador that actually was how she linked up w alador.

We know so little abt perry it feels almost to open a sandbox. But yeah i do think that after he found out that willow used to be friends w amity he feels somewht responsible bc even if he didnt know the Parks then he still feels bad about knowing them both since hexside and seen how singleminded odelia was then (and after)

*(Possibly why he thinks of how alador uses his magic as 'hack', that and the fact that he probably finds the focus of abomination magic being put towards brute force mindless creatures as ... gauche and the idea of Anybody having access to powerful defenses like that probably felt reckless to him and felt entirely too craven bc it divorces the witch from the abominations themselves bc the person using them isnt connected)

(whoops all darius headcanons)

THIS. THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME

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kimberlyannharts · 2 years

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LAST TIME ON POWER RANGERS UNIVERSE: the Morphin Master teens get their cool new suits, but unfortunately they came at the price of Morphinaut’s spouse/bestie/partner Chendil. Dark Specter exploits all this suffering to make everyone enter their divorce era, but settles on taking Morphinaut’s body bc his depression was just too delicious. Now we gotta fight him. Power Rangers Universe #6!

- Morphinaut almost broke free from Dark Specter but unfortunately the power of his depression was too strong

- aw fuck we’re gonna get Rogue One’d aren’t we.

- one thing i’ve really enjoyed about this series is how Dark Specter has like. a Personality. I like slimy and condescending he acts in these panels in particular

- it took six issues but ORI/ALEIA NATION WE WON except not really bc they’re about to be Rogue One’d

- i do kind of wish they took their helmets off for the kiss though. they don’t even have molded helmet lips!!!! CLANK

- this spread is fucking sickkkkkkkkkkkkk though

- so.....................yeah. Flooding their planet (which is apparently Earth) with grid energy got rid of Dark Specter but also did

this.

they’re not dead, but.

we’ll talk about this in greater detail later.

- before that though have a cool new piece of jewelry, on us!!!!! Too bad about his suit being forever tainted, the white and gold was growing on me

- also we never do find out Phantom Ranger’s identity, name, or face beyond “Morphin Master scientist” which is funny to me. excited for the NEXT book/series that will advertise learning the Phantom Ranger’s backstory!!!!!!!

- aheem aheem aheem it’s the tragedy of kids being forced to grow up before they’re meant to because they shouldered the burdens of their predecessors!!!!!!

- but also Ori/Aleia childhood friends romance can i get an amen thanks be to god

- what’s up Zaddy. Really weird to have you here yet not have Phantom Ranger be a part of Eltarian War but you know what that’s the least this book contradicted regarding Eltarian War

#mmpr comic spoilers #mmpr comic #comic recap #PRU 6 #text #i know this is super fast to post this but i reallyyyyy want to work on my general write-up

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kellodrawsalot · 3 months

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SHORT Sonic animation review from bad to good

ADVENTURES OF SONIC THE HEDGEHOG

I put this as the lowest, as I really get bored watching this. It's obnoxious and not funny

The low budget animation doesn't help. Robotnik is anoyying. 4/10

Sonic Prime

Wasted potential, having a multiverse story and you use the most boring ideas that was already boring when archie comics did it in the 90s. Eggman gets shelved to make evil Tails the villain. He's badly written. Don't even talk about Sonic's writing...the 2010s was the start of Sonic being lame (and if you want to pretend Sonic was cool in Lost World or Forces, im already convinced you're lying to yourself to pretend Sonic Team never does anything inconsistent, please, they are flawed writers consider the weird retcons they make) but PrimeSonic is so far removed from gameSonic that it's laughable and then there was the ending...

It means nothing, making you think what was the point of the series? The fact the showrunners said it was canon, shows to me that Sonic team doesnt care about the lore as much as the fans do. I could ignore all of that if the show was good or enjoyable ...but its not. Its boring and so generic. But Hey Shadow is atleast cool here. 5/10

Sonic Underground

This is honesty not as well made as Prime. But unlike Prime I don't get too bored watching this. The off model scenes are hilarious and some of the songs like the opening are ..pretty nice? Badly written? Yes, this was made to promote the Sonic adventure games and nothing on the show has anything related to Sonic adventure. Who is Manic and Sonia???Sonic's siblings? Sonic is a prince?! Wait is that Athair from the archie comics?...and Where is Amy and Tails? Wth went wrong here? But you know what, it's so bad its almost good. Series got canceled without a proper ending too. But I honestly hope to see a detailed history about how the heck this series was made. Probs more intreseting then the series itself

5+/10

Sonic Boom

Based on the Sonic Boom spin off that bombed super hard and DIDNT add anything decent to the Sonic franchise. Except for this TV series.

The animation is nice, but god the opening is a blatant lie. It gives you the vibe that we get some action and adventures. But the show is just a Sonic comedy with friends. Sonic Is anoyying. Amy Rose is a different character all together but name and is changed into the smart mom type in the group. Why? Sticks character and comedy gag of being paranoid gets old fast. Arround this time, the Sonic games decided to make Knuckles into a dumb dumb. Boom decided to make that trait his only trait. Boom is partly responsible for me no longer liking Knuckles anymore lol. Eggman Is again just a joke character. The salvation this show has, is its stong comedy. It's jokes about media tropes, life and the Sonic fandom are spot on. The voice acting is pretty good too.👌 if you just treat it as a comedy/parody of Sonic you end up enjoying it more.

6/10

Sonic Satam

Ngl this show has not aged well. But for what it is, it's a fine show. Sally is an enjoyable character and her chemistry with Sonic is well done. The animation is pretty good for its time and low budget. The ost isn't bad either. Robotnik is a threat here! The message this show wants to tell is pretty good. The creators had good intentions. But there are other things that bother me. The French coyote is annoying as hell. Him being a coward stops being funny after ten seconds. Why is Tails demoted to a helpless child ? And Rotor takes his place as the smart guy who is a Sonic fan boy? Why ? He just isn't as interesting as Tails. This show would have been better of if Ben Hurt made this into his own ip. The series is so divorced of Sonic's game vibe and story. Making it a nice cartoon but not a Nice Sonic cartoon. Also ends on a anoyying cliff hanger. Making this series feel so incomplete. For what it is, it's a fine series.

6/10

Sonic X

Finally a TV series based on the games! A show i loved as a child but didnt age well. Tms is normally great with their animation series but Sonic x feels half assed. I renember reading in an aniway anime magazine that during the production of the show they decided to add Chris, a child character for the western kid audience. They kinda knew this wasn't going to be a hit in Japan, and they were right, because Sonic x had such poor raitings, its last season aired in other countries, not even in Japan.

The Japanese ost is good and for the most part it got the characters right, With some exceptions of Amy Rose being flanderlized and Eggman forgetting he's a bad guy at one point. Sonic is done correctly, a jerkass, impatient, taunts his enemies without being obnoxious, not super on physical affection and Hates staying in one place. He's not the modern cape-super hero as Sonic is shown nowadays. But Sonic x's issues is that outside of the episodes based on the games, most episodes in season 1 and 2 are a bore to sit trough. Chris adds nothing to the cast and his presence hinders the overall enjoyment of the show. (Not helping that Chris steals scenes from the characters in the episodes based on the games ) Most of the human characters are quite anoyying. (Outside of Topaz and Helen, the show missed its huge chance by not making Helen the main human child in Sonic X! Super lost potential there) the anime picks up by season 3 with a new arc and introducing Cosmo. It gets intriguing! Sadly Chris is back too (just why) but two seasons with mostly mid or boring episodes is just to long to sit trough to get to the good parts.

6+/10

Sonic the movie/Sonic ova

The Sonic ova that was used as a pilot for a potential Sonic anime series in the 90s, sadly the vhs copies didn't sell well in Japan and the Ova remains at 2 episodes. I'm serious when I say: Too bad. Because this is the best Sonic animated thing there is! And the only Sonic cartoon I enjoy with a rewatch. (Which is depressing because Sonic has like 7 cartoon series and this 2 ova episodes is the best ones) The animation is a feast to the eyes, the ost is super good. "Look a like"" is such a yam. Sonic is at his best here, an impatient, rude teen, that doesn't save the day to be a superhero. But does it because he feels like it. (THANK you princess Sara) there is such a 90s vibe but it aged so well! Metal Sonic is cool as heck and we get Knuckles here too! Is this very canon to the games? Not really, it takes a different route from its story of its game Sonic cd. That being said, I don't care because for what it is, it's good! I didn't get bored any second. Is it perfect? No offcourse not, it still sucks that Amy Rose isn't present here, despite Sonic cd being her introduction. Would have loved it if Amy was here. I tried some digging but couldn't find any reason to why she was removed in place for Pricess Sara, I can only assume they added Sara to appeal to boys who like cute bratty anime cat girls? 🤔 I can't really think of any other reason why Sara is here. Eggman is at times silly too and him wanting to marry Sara who Is a teenage girl is an uncomfortable 'joke" but outside òf that, Sonic ova Is a super enjoyable anime. And the only Sonic title that I put on my lost as good animated video game adaption.

8/10.

#Sonic X #Sonic ova #sonic animation #Sonic prime

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hiddenpxpercuts · 1 year

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Was that [ZAYN MALIK]? Oh no no, that was just [GABRIEL], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [HALF BAD: THE BASTARD SON AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF]. They are [TWENTY-FIVE] years old, use [HE/THEM], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

Gabriel's parents divorced when Gabriel was very young, and he was forced to live in both France and Switzerland at different times. At around 15 years old Gabriel's mother was murdered by her boyfriend Finn while in the middle of a heated argument. His grandmother blamed Raf (Gabriel's Father) for the death of her daughter, and this too led to a heated argument that caused the kitchen to catch on fire. Gabriel led his younger sister Michele out of the fire as Raf held back his grandmother, who was killed in the process. Gabriel, Michele and Raf then traveled and lived all across Europe for a year until they eventually settled in the United States. There, Gabriel was forced to resort to thieving in order to support his father's painting and drinking habit. After his giving ceremony Gabriel quickly discovered his gift as a shapeshifter. He was exceptionally powerful, especially for being a male, but this backfired on him. After experimentally turning into a Fain version of himself, Gabriel was stuck and couldn't turn back. He spent weeks in Miami trying to return to his Black witch form but couldn't. After returning home, Gabriel told his sister he had heard of a Witch named Mercury in Switzerland who could possibly help bring his powers back. As he and Michele were getting ready to leave for Europe again, Michele was murdered by a gang of white witches. Her death was devastating to Gabriel, but he had no choice but to leave for Switzerland anyways. Raf stayed behind in the United States.

Gabriel is described as being very cool-headed and gentle. He smiles often and can make situations light even when they're not. He is also sarcastic, but not cruel. He is extremely loyal, loving, and selfless. He is talkative at times, which sometimes can get on the nerves of other people. He loves to read literature and poetry, and even sometimes writes himself. He can be violent or mischievous, but only in situations where he is required to be or if he feels like he is doing the right thing. He does not feel personal guilt for stealing, as shown in Half Lies, but he does not have a kleptomaniac personality type. He also enjoys climbing and partaking in almost every kind of outdoor activity as long as it involves being close to nature..

Gabriel is described as being very good-looking. He has shoulder length brown hair, with bits of lighter colors in it. His eyes are hazel, and as a Black Witch has flecks of gold in them. His skin is olive. After he regains his powers back, and becomes a Black Witch, Nathan comments that there's something different about him versus himself as a Fain, but can't put his finger on it.

#hw: intro #sometimes the bad times are the good times: gabriel boutin #death tw

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baffling-bisexual-quack · 3 years

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Thor: change is inedible

Bruce: don’t you mean inevitable?

Thor, spitting out coins: No I do not.

#thorbruce #thruce #thunderscience #gammahammer #brucethor #thor #bruce banner #revengers #incorrect revengres quotes #incorrect avengers quotes #shitposts #ahhhhhh sorry ive become the quotes generator dictator #that name's almost as cool as the divorce force #im awesome #but i could also see this happening #like thor doesnt get midgardian money #like that charlie chaplin scene in the great dictator where hes trying to eat the money #yeah like that #im an idiot bye

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songbirdstyles · 3 years

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screw my brain (’till it hurts)

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

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

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

word count: 19.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you’re such a -”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

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

Bed.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

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

“How ever will I handle it?”

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

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

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

He sounds too peaceful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, Harry!”

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“27.”

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

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

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

“Take your time, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry takes forever in the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

Which has loaded. Hooray!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

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

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Vincent is speaking again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he?’

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

“Said what?”

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

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

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

“And we didn’t finish.”

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

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

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

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

You hate Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

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

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

It seems like he sighs a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His face reddens.

Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What idea were you getting?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Course I could -”

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

“So where were they?”

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

“Oh, you dick -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you -?”

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

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

“You assho -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You -?”

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

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

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

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

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

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

Who are you to disobey him?

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

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

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

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

“What the fu -?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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