#x: right where you left me

[shellibocs]

that one post about me liking height differences etc etc

#x: right where you left me #ines cousland #amara owens #ines is like 5’7 #amara is 5’4 #and I hc their love interests to be Tall LMAO #and amara fights kassandra can u believe #x: now i can see brighter days #x: two slow dancers

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hi there, hope you're doing well. I would love to request a fic where the reader is Sirius' wife who reunites with him after he escapes from Azkaban, takes care of him e.g. feeding him and grooming him, and helping him get better. Cheers!

Right Where You Left Me

Request: I would love to request a fic where the reader is Sirius' wife who reunites with him after he escapes from Azkaban, takes care of him e.g. feeding him and grooming him, and helping him get better.

Hi! I’m so sorry for the wait, it took me forever to get to this request, and even longer to finish it. I’ve been in a bit of a slump, but I feel better. I love this request, thank you so much for sending it in! I hope you enjoy it :)

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of azkaban and sirius’s treatment there, mentions of death, vague mention of nudity, let me know if i missed anything)

—

When you received the Patronus from Remus telling you Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, it brought you to your knees. 

You thought about him every day. But you could only ever picture him in the days before he was arrested. It hurt too much to think about him rotting away in prison. But hearing that he got out? That he was out in the world and could be anywhere by now? The fact that he was suddenly much closer to you than you thought he would ever be again?

It terrified you.

You married Sirius right after school ended and the war was beginning to pick up. He proposed on a whim, telling you that the rest of your days weren’t guaranteed, and he didn’t want to live through another day without you tied to him. You would have always been by his side, but this was tying more than just your lives together—it was your souls. When Harry was born, you were named his godparents. All was well for a while. Calm, even. Of course, the calm didn’t last. 

It wasn’t long after your marriage before that night in Godric’s Hollow came, and Sirius was taken away from you. 

But it wasn’t just Sirius. 

It was James, Lily, and Peter—even Mary. Marlene was in the weeks before, and Dorcas too. They were ripped away from you, far before you were ready to let them go. Remus was the only one who you kept in touch with after that night. You clung to each other in the weeks after, seeming to be the only people in the world the other could find solace in. But as the years passed, your visits and letters became few and far in between. 

Then—after all that time—another Patronus came. 

Sirius had come to Hogwarts, and he’d proved his innocence to those who mattered. It was Peter who had betrayed everyone, and he was still alive. 

And, while Sirius had you and Remus on his side, he was still considered a fugitive. The Aurors were after him, and he needed to be kept some place safe where they wouldn’t come looking. Luckily for you, the flat you bought was outside of Wizarding London. Sirius had always loved the feeling of places untouched by magic, so after you married, you moved in together in a quiet area on the outskirts of London. It was his idea to use magic to ward it so that people looking for you would have a hard time, and after so long away from the Wizarding community, not many people would think it was worth it or even remember to come looking for Sirius in hiding with you.

After twelve years of solitude, you couldn’t fathom the idea of your husband coming back to you. You couldn’t fathom the idea of him being part of your day to day life again. All you could do to keep yourself together was tidy up and prepare for Sirius’s arrival.

You couldn’t believe it when Remus finally brought him home to you. 

Your boy—who was a man now, or at least the shell of one—was sitting right in your living room. The only home he had ever known outside of Grimmauld Place or Hogwarts, and he couldn’t have looked more out of place. 

Neither of you spoke when Remus eased him down onto the couch, before coming to your side. You’d always pictured that by some miracle if Sirius ever came home to you, you’d rush into his arms and he’d hold you like no time had passed. You spent years missing his touch, wishing you could hug him just one more time. But now he was right in front of you, and you had no idea how to act. You didn’t know if he even wanted you to touch him. You couldn’t take your eyes off Sirius, eyes wide as you looked him over. 

Time had not been kind to him. 

You could see the man you once knew bleeding through, but so much of this version of him was unknown to you. Sirius kept his eyes on the floor, but would occasionally glance up at you. You knew he was seeing a stranger, too.

“I have to go back,” Remus whispered, turning your attention to him. “They’ll know what’s happened back at Hogwarts if I don’t leave soon, and too many people know what’s happened already. I’m sorry. I’ll come back as soon as I can, yeah?”

You could hardly hear him, but you quickly nodded, giving him a squeeze. “Be careful, Remus. I’ll take care of him while you’re gone.”

“I know you will,” he murmured, squeezing you tight.

He let you go, kneeling down next to Sirius who was watching you both with a look full of anxiety. Remus placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, his touch light and gentle.

“I have to go, alright? But you’re safe here. I promise. It’s just Y/N.”

Just Y/N, Sirius thought. He just nodded, a conflicted look on his face. Remus stood up, giving you one last look of sympathy, before walking out the door. He left a deafening silence in his wake.

It took you forever to get your feet to move. But when you did, you were falling. You landed on your knees just in front of Sirius, peering up at him through teary eyes. You could see him take a breath, stilling as you got closer.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Sirius swallowed hard. He gave you an almost imperceptible nod, and you gently reached your hand up, your fingertips hovering over his face. Taking a breath, you cradled his cheek in your palm. You could feel the stubble along his jaw, and the sharpness off his cheek. His skin was cool, far from the usual flush you remembered from all those years ago.

“You’re really here,” you murmured, your voice catching in your throat. “Oh, love. You’re so beautiful.”

Your words pulled a pained whimper from Sirius’s chest. He nestled his face into your hand, a few stray tears pooling in your palm. You were quick to wipe them away, leaning in close. He tilted his head down, resting his forehead against yours. He took a deep breath, taking you in.

“I pictured your face every day, and I still think I’ll never get tired of looking at you. How could I? You’re right here in front of me, as beautiful as the day I lost you. But you’ve always been the pretty one in this relationship, haven’t you?”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. “In my dreams. But it’s good to see your sense of humor is still intact.”

The next few moments were quiet, nothing but the sound of sniffles and shaky breaths reaching your ears. 

Finally, Sirius forced himself to look around. He’d braced himself from the moment he walked in to see all that had changed since he left. He’d expected you to move on and live your life without him, and he’d expected the flat to reflect that. It was honestly more of a shock to him when Remus told him you still lived there than anything else. But as he looked around and took everything in, he realized how wrong he had been. 

“You haven’t changed a thing,” he said, looking at the art on the walls you’d picked out together when you first moved in.

You glanced around as well. You wanted to tell him how you didn’t have the heart to change anything. And although seeing him in everything around you felt like you were being stabbed, you just couldn’t get rid of anything. Getting rid of it would mean getting rid of all you had left of him.

And you would have rather been stabbed a thousand times than do that.

You shook your head, pointing to the spare room. “Actually, Remus lived here for a while. He pretty much flipped that whole room. Said something about you having too expensive a taste for him to have to endure for extended periods of time.”

“Merlin, I bet it looks like grunge threw up in there,” he mused, making you smile and nod.

You stood up, offering him your hands. “Are you hungry? We need to get you fed and cleaned up, love.”

Sirius looked down to the robes he was wearing. They were tattered—resembling rags stitched together more than they were resembling clothes. His hair was greasy and matted to his head, and his face and body was caked in dirt. He had almost forgotten just how dirty he was, a flush spreading across his cheeks as he gave you an embarrassed look. 

“It’s alright, darling,” you said softly, taking his hands in yours. “We’ll take it at your pace. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Reluctantly, Sirius nodded. You smiled, gently leading him up off the sofa and into the kitchen.

—

It took ages to find him something to eat. 

You nearly keeled over when he told you that pretty much the only thing he had been given to eat for the past twelve years was bread and water. It was what he’d grown accustomed to eating, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach anything else. You had to choke back tears when you finally suggested soup—one of the first things he learned to make on his own without magic. It took a while, but he managed to get most of it down. 

You made small talk while he ate, telling him little things he’d missed while he was gone. You left out the most painful details. You could tell him about those later.

Finally, he couldn’t stall anymore. 

He let you take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom, his eyes on the floor as you shut the door behind him.

“Shower or bath?” You asked, turning the water on to let it heat up. “A bath might be easier. You look tired, and I don’t want you falling over or something.”

Sirius just nodded, and you assumed he was alright with you choosing for him. You let the tub fill up, making sure the water wasn’t too hot before you turned the faucet off. You turned back around, frowning when you saw Sirius looking back at you with anxious eyes.

“It’s ready,” you said softly, stepping out of the way.

Sirius watched you for a moment, fidgeting back and forth on his heels. Just as you opened your mouth to speak again, he beat you to it.

“Can you turn around?” He asked, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I don’t mind if you stay, but could you…could you maybe turn around for this part?”

You quickly nodded, stepping towards the door. “Of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted me in here—”

He was quick to speak, his voice shaky. “I do! But this is just a little weird, you know?”

You nodded, backing up to the doorway and turning to face it. You could feel the heat creep up to your cheeks as you heard his clothes hit the floor, followed by the sound of him climbing into the tub. You had seen Sirius naked a thousand times before. He was never ashamed of his body, he never shied away, and you had seen plenty of him in your years of knowing him. This version of him made your chest tighten, and all you could do was stand there and hope he wasn’t feeling the emotions you were. You waited another moment before talking over your shoulder.

“Do you need anything, love? I’ll wait outside if you want me to. Unless you want me here. I’m happy to do whatever you want, it’s up to you.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “Uh…could you maybe help me? My hair is matted and I don’t think I can fix it on my own.”

There was probably a spell you could have used—some sort of detangling charm to help get the mats out. But Sirius had gotten used to not being able to use magic, and you didn’t feel like using it either. The truth was, you preferred it this way.

It was an excuse to get close to him again and spend time with him.

It was an excuse to take care of him.

You nodded, turning around to grab your brush. You kept your eyes on his as you sat down on the edge of the tub, trying your best not to let your eyes wander. You set your brush on your knees, reaching for a cup off the ledge of the tub to dip down into the water and fill up.

“Tilt your head back for me, love,” you directed, smoothing your hand over his hairline as he tipped back far enough for you to pour the water over his hair.

You repeated the process a few more times before setting the cup down and grabbing the conditioner. You smoothed it through his hair, gently tugging at the knots with your fingers before you grabbed your brush. It was silent while you worked, making slow but steady progress. Eventually, Sirius shifted, and the water sloshed just over the side of the tub.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder with guilty eyes to see if he splashed you.

“Don’t be,” you replied quickly, smoothing a comforting hand across his shoulder before moving back up to his hair. “Are you alright? Getting cold?”

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, before deciding against it and closing it. He just shook his head, growing silent once more. You knew there was something he wasn’t saying, and you didn’t want to push him. But you hadn’t made much progress with his hair, and you didn’t fancy sitting in silence for the rest of the evening.

You set your brush down, gently smoothing your palm over his hair. “Sirius…you can tell me anything. You know that, right? I know this feels strange, but it’s still me you’re talking to. Alright? It’s me. There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here to listen.”

There was another splash as he shifted, twisting around to face you. He was going to say that he’d tell you another time, and that he didn’t have it in him to say it just yet. 

But then he looked into your eyes.

And you were looking at him with such sincerity and warmth that he couldn’t help but spill. You watched his eyes fill with tears, and you quickly reached for his hand which he gladly let you take.

“I saw Harry,” he finally choked out.

You felt your breath catch in your chest. A deep sorrow spread through you, filling your gut with dread. You could feel your own tears stinging behind your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. It wasn’t the time for them.

“He looks just like them, doesn’t he?” You breathed, squeezing Sirius’s hand. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Remus promised he’d say hello for me once he got to Hogwarts.”

“He knows who you are?” Sirius asked, his voice full of surprise.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me where he was when they came for him. The bastard said I was “in no shape” to look after him, and it was too dangerous for me to get involved. I tried so many times to get him to tell me, but I knew he had already pushed me and Remus to the back of the list as far as who could be around Harry…I didn’t even catch a glimpse of him until he was eight. Merlin, you have no idea how angry I was when I found out they had given him to Petunia and her sorry excuse for a husband.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched. You could see the anger brewing inside him, watching as he took deep breaths to calm himself. But he didn’t let it out on you. He just squeezed your hand, tightening his grip.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Did you try and go get him?”

“Dumbledore threatened to have my magic taken away if I didn’t leave the matter be. He didn’t tell me anything about Harry or where he was kept hidden away. He just brought me a picture of him, and promised that when it was finally time for Harry to go to Hogwarts, he’d let me see him. Remus had to keep an eye on me till he was sure I wouldn’t do something stupid before that time came. He’d been waiting as long as me—he’s just better than me at patience, I guess.”

“You never were very good at being patient,” Sirius mused, but you could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, trying your best to mean it. “Anyway, I met Harry for the first time in Diagon Alley. Dumbledore finally let me see him under the condition that it be in a public and magical place—but I wasn’t allowed to tell him about you.”

Sirius frowned, and you could feel your chest tighten. You ran your thumb along the back of his hand, your eyes in your lap.

“I wanted to tell him—so badly. But Dumblefore wouldn’t let me. All I could say was that I was a friend of Harry’s parents, and that I was there to help him get ready for school. I finally told him I was his godmother last summer when I took him for school supplies again. He spent the afternoon asking me about how I knew his parents. He kept pressing for every detail about them and how I knew them, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I told him everything about James and Lily I could remember. It just about killed me—”

Your words caught in your throat, cutting you short. Sirius reached his other hand up to reach for yours, his brows furrowing in concern. You looked up, giving him a sad smile.

You swallowed, choking back tears. “He’s so like them, Sirius. He’s got James’s ridiculous hair, and Lily’s fire. I can hardly look at him without seeing her eyes staring back at me. It’s so fucking unfair.”

A pained sound was pulled from Sirius’s throat, and you stopped yourself from talking about James and Lily any further. You grabbed the brush again, burying your nose in your work as you tried to ignore the sorrow you caught in his eyes before he turned his head straight.

“Tell me about it,” you prompted, changing the subject. “Tell me about him.”

Sirius was quiet a moment, like he was trying to find the right words. “He was…beautiful.”

You smiled, nodding for him to continue as you worked the knots out of his hair.

“He’s got this little witch by his side who quite honestly scared me—”

“Hermione,” you finished for him, grinning. “She’s a wonder, isn’t she? Ron, too.”

Sirius nodded, wringing his hands. “I’m glad Harry has someone. They seem like good friends. He’ll at least have them by his side to keep him from getting into too much trouble. He’ll certainly have a better shot than we did.”

You chuckled, smoothing your hand over his hair. “Remus told me he’s doing really well. It was a big year for him, but…he’ll be alright. We’ll see to that now.”

Sirius stiffened, turning around to face you. You paused what you were doing, setting down the brush. His eyes were lowered, his voice quiet as he spoke.

“I told him he could come stay with me, at least once it was safe to and he was able. I wasn’t really thinking about where that would be. My first thought was Grimmauld Place, but I don’t think I can stomach having him there. It’s not right. But I didn’t think to ask you—”

“Sirius, love,” you interrupted, gently cupping his cheek. “This is your home. You can invite whoever you want—you don’t have to ask my permission. And Harry will always be welcome here. If it’s what he wants, he can come stay with us. It can be his home too.”

His eyes softened, and his shoulders fell as he let out a breath of relief. “Merlin, I missed you.”

You could feel yourself growing emotional again, but you refused to let it show. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak without your eyes welling with tears. You just cleared your throat as you leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder.

“Tilt your head back for me again, darling,” you managed to whisper, rinsing his hair out. “Almost done. We’ll get you cleaned up so you can rest, alright?”

—

Not long after, you had Sirius clean and out of the tub, bundled up under the pile of blankets you had dragged over to your bed. He looked a bit ridiculous buried under them all, but it made you smile seeing him comfortable, and he was very happy to oblige you. 

You laid next to him, under a considerably less amount of layers. “Warm enough?”

A warm laugh came from next to you as Sirius rolled over to face you. “Yeah, I think I’m all set, darling.”

You smiled, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. Out of habit—one you didn’t even know you still had—you reached for his hand under the sheets. You used to always wind down every night like this, cherishing the time you had together. You never knew how much longer you’d be able to do it with the war raging on, and you both got quite used to doing this each night. 

Sirius stiffened in surprise when he felt your fingers reach his, but he quickly recovered once he realized what you were doing. He let you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

“This bed is so soft,” he murmured, tilting his chin down to look at you. “I forgot how soft it was.”

You tried not to let your mind wander, thinking about the sleeping conditions he would have had in Azkaban. He would tell you one day about what it was like there. 

Neither of you were prepared to talk about it just yet.

“Do you wanna sleep somewhere else? I could make up the couch—”

“No, love,” he said, squeezing your hand. “This is good.”

You nodded, resting your head against the pillow. Another silence fell over the room. You shuffled to get a little closer, absentmindedly tracing your thumb along the back of his hand. Sirius let out a heavy sigh, drawing your attention up to him. You waited for him to speak, lying still until he looked down and his eyes met yours. There was a pain in them you couldn’t describe.

“Did you think I did it?”

You sucked in a breath, your grip on his hand tightening. You could feel his eyes on you as you frowned, bring your joined hands up from under the sheets to rest on top of the blanket.

You had been waiting for him to ask you this.

You knew he must have spent the past decade wondering what you thought happened. He’d sat in that cell all alone, thinking his wife thought he was a cold blooded murderer who had killed her best friends. 

The world thought he was a killer. Why wouldn’t you?

You dropped his hand, gently reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm against yours, a pink flush spreading. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? You didn’t know. You caressed his cheek, giving him a sad smile. You could see his eyes welling with tears.

“No,” you finally said, your voice sure. “I didn’t think it was you. I didn’t know what had happened, but I didn’t think it was you.”

Sirius let out a breath, his voice cracking. “Really?”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

“You would have died before ever hurting James—and you would have done a lot worse to save him. There wasn’t a single part of me that thought you could have killed James and Lily. I just couldn’t fathom it. There was no one in this world you loved more than them, and I knew that it couldn’t have been you. I didn’t know they had made Peter the secret keeper last minute, and I didn’t know where his body was if he was supposed to be dead, but I knew you had absolutely nothing to do with it. I think Remus knew it too…deep down. He thought I was crazy with the theories I was coming up with to try and absolve you. But he never truly blamed you—and eventually, we stopped talking about it all together. It hurt too much to keep trying to solve the mystery. It was easier to let it go.”

Fresh tears spilled, and Sirius was quick to wipe them away. Your heart ached at his kindness, even after all these years. All these years of solitude when you had left him behind, and yet, he was the one consoling you.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, composing yourself the best you could. “I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder to get you back. I’m so sorry you had to suffer there all those years while I got to just keep living my life. You don’t know how sorry I am. Please forgive me, Sirius.”

Sirius quickly shook his head, his palm resting against your cheek. “None of that, pretty girl. It’s not your fault—”

“But it is,” you tried to say, but he just kept shaking his head.

“Well, I don’t care—it doesn’t matter…I don’t blame you. I never blamed you, darling. So stop blaming yourself. I’m sure you’ve spent long enough doing that, and I won’t watch you torture yourself. Don’t you think we’ve both been through enough torture?”

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. He was so strong. It shocked you, just how strong he was. He had been through so much, and yet he still carried himself like the man you knew. He still let other people lean on him even when it should have been him doing the leaning. It was remarkable, really.

“Since when did you get so wise?” You asked, and you had mustered a grin that made him smile too. “Where’s the stubborn man I once knew?”

Sirius shrugged. “He’s still in here somewhere. Just needs a little practice. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll meet him again soon.”

You scoffed, breathing out a laugh. “That’s alright. I kinda missed him.”

Sirius chuckled, and your smile widened. This felt easy—this was good. You were so worried that, after all this time, you wouldn’t know how to act around each other. You were so afraid that Sirius would walk around the flat like a ghost of the man who once called it home. But he didn’t. It only took him a few hours to start cracking jokes, brushing his fingers against yours. 

It wasn’t perfect—neither of you expected it to be. 

But it gave you hope. Sirius was going to be okay. You both were going to be okay. And you’d get there together.

—

A/N - Hi! Again, I'm so sorry for the wait. I honestly don’t love the outcome of this, but I figured I’d finish it anyways. I loved this request, and I just kept coming back to it and adding it. Hopefully this is what you were looking for, sorry if it’s shit. Thanks for the request :)

#sirius black #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #the marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter #right where you left me #taylor swift #folklore

[velvetcloxds]

if you're too shy- send me a character and a scenario and I'll write a little baby blurb for it

Enemies to lovers kinda thing where reader or spencer admits feelings accidentally, like a slip of tongue maybe.

I'LL KEEP YOU WARM | S.R.

word count: 1.6k (stop)

warnings: one-bed trope, fem!reader- also I didn't literally have them say ily but he does admit to not hating the reader and in fact caring for the reader which is basically ily in enemies to lovers

You had spent nearly an hour next to Spencer considering the very creative and unprofessional things you’d planned to text Penelope in the morning once you could charge your phone on the jet, all of which would surely be forgotten in the morning, but it was a very good distraction from your current situation. You and Penelope had a general disagreement about the status of your relationship with Spencer Reid, your partner for the last few months. You were sure without a single doubt that he absolutely hated you, Penelope believed that what felt like hate was really pent-up tension that needed to be released- by putting the two of you together in one room with only one bed, she had clearly decided it was time for the tension to be released.

You were lucky the case had taken so much out of the team, neither of you thinking too much of the little double bed you were stuck in, just skipping through the shower and crawling under the questionable sheets. Spencer was asleep by the time you got into bed, and you were quite grateful he didn’t have to witness the sight of you shivering in the skimpy Bambi pajamas that should’ve been thrown away ages ago. How were you to know on the night you’d be there it would all of a sudden be cold? Basically, the sleeping arrangement wasn’t all that encouraging to sleep, you were cold, in the bed with someone you found alarmingly attractive that just so happened to hate you, and being in said bed with him meant you had to leave your comfort stuffed animal in your go bag.

You were careful when you rolled over, knowing you’d be much closer to Spencer than you should be, balled up still, holding an extra pillow against your chest and the neon sign just across the street made for good lighting in the supposed to be dark room. He was much prettier like this, you decided, quiet and unconscious, perfect to look at without being met with some dismissing comment or gesture that you’d replay for the rest of the day. Like this you could appreciate the little dimple that dipped right beside his lips even when he wasn’t smiling, or the little beauty marks you wouldn’t see if you weren’t looking for them, or the fact that his hair smelled like pomegranate- you were always sure it was something fruity, never sure which fruit but now you knew, you’d think about him every time you smelled pomegranate.

Your head dipped further into the pillow when he moved, sighed as if something interesting was happening in his head even asleep, of course it would, his hair fell over his eyes, and you had to clutch the pillow tighter to stop yourself from reaching forward and moving the hair away from distorting your view. You wondered as you wondered before what had made him so very set in his distain for you, you’d been very encouraging of all his quirks and habits, in fact you thought they accommodated your own surprisingly well. Yet he’s been acting a proper nightmare since Hotch reassigned the two of you to the same car, as if all of a sudden, your very existence was a thorn in his side and you wished you could remove yourself for his sake but Hotch was adamantly against the paperwork of it all.

“Why do you hate me, Spencer Reid?” you sighed, the question too quiet for even you to hear but you had to put it out there for even a second, shifting into the little cocoon you’d created by tucking the blanket under your bum and around your feet, but you were interrupted. Spencer was still moving, another sigh, much less dreamy this time as he tried to tug on the blanket, probably just as cold as you were, one more tug and you realized he was trying to pull it away from where it was tucked under you, his eyes opened with a disgruntled question.

“Y/n?” it sounded like a mixture of surprise and realization, like he’d somehow forgotten you were there in the first place, or like he’d assumed you’d find some other sleeping arrangements after your shower- you’d tried, Emily wasn’t fond of sharing or rather wasn’t fond of kicking you off the bed through the night and JJ was stuck in a single bed, not like you’d ask Derek or Hotch though the thought had definitely crossed your mind.

“Sorry,” you whispered almost on instinct, moving forward completely accidentally and his tired gaze focussed instantly. “Sorry,” you whispered again, and when you allowed him to take more of the blanket his hand brushed over your shoulder. The shiver it created was both due to the sudden touch and the sudden warmth. “Sorry,” you tried to move back, save him from the cold of your skin.

“You’re freezing,” he noted, and you wanted to explain yourself, apologetic even for your own disdain of the weather but he didn’t give you much time, gently stealing the pillow from your grip and chucking it across the room, silencing your indistinct questions by pulling you against him. “I was waiting for you to get out of the shower and I must've fallen asleep," he explained, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself when he gently guided your head to rest against his chest, on his pillow, in fact, you were sure this was some sleep-deprived hallucination that you’d have to scorn yourself for conjuring. “I assumed that you hadn’t packed for the cold even though I always tell you to.”

“It was supposed to be sunny,” you argued, and he scoffed a soft sound, you felt it against your ear, and you didn’t know what to do about that either. He dragged a finger up your arm, flicked the frilly pink sleeve of your shirt, and shook his head, you felt that too. In fact, you could feel him breathing, could feel his pulse right through his long-sleeved shirt.

“I told you it wouldn’t be,” he fought, and you had to see him, couldn’t let him scorn you with your face buried between his pecks, so you tilted your head back, trying to ignore that it forced your bodies to shift closer somehow.

“And you know more than the weathermen now?” he shrugged, and the roll of your eyes was the closest you’d ever come to taking him on for his attitude towards you, it was also his signal that you were done so he tightened his hold, fighting a smirk when you didn’t fight him. He was warm, impossibly warm considering the room, you wished you could steal every ounce of warmth right from him, and the hand that slid up his arm under his sleeve to wrap around his wrist had a mind of its own and you’d be embarrassed were you not so desperate. “Sorry,” you realized but he stopped you before you could pull away, fingers circling your arm to keep you still.

“Stop apologizing,” his tone was odd, you couldn’t read it, you could rarely read him to begin with but enough to know just how far to stay away from him that day, but this was new, rushed, forced, like he didn’t think it through which isn’t a characteristic the man holds. “I don’t mind, I don’t want you to be cold,” he explained and he made it sound just as logical as one of the little facts he’d share with the team, as if cuddling someone you disliked was entirely logical as well.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? Why would I want you to be cold?” why on earth was that such a silly thing to expect of him, you shrugged, you didn’t know what to say, like you’d ever for a second considered that the man cared enough to even think about what you feel let alone care about how you feel. “I don’t want you to be cold,” he was softer when he repeated it and the grip he had turned to something so soft there wasn’t even a word for it, like he’d realized what he was doing and in a second it became less about keeping you warm and more just about keeping you in his arms. “I care about you, why wouldn’t I care about you being cold,” Your thumb brushed up and down his skin, too comfortable.

“You care about me?”  he’d never admit to anyone, let alone himself how much it pained him to hear the surprise in your voice, the genuine disbelieve you’d feel towards such a simple statement, such an obvious declaration, you were his partner, his teammate, his friend, his- well you were someone he cared about, and he’d made a proper mess of things if you thought otherwise.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t hate you,” you bit your lip, of course he’d heard that, even in his sleep he’s a proper pain in the behind, hear all, know all. “It’s late,” he decided even though he had no clue of what the time was, he just couldn’t talk about this anymore. “We’ve had a long day, you should get some sleep.”

“Spencer." Why you wanted to explain yourself you didn’t know, it’s not like he hadn’t given you copious amounts of evidence proving he disliked you, so why would he expect you'd thought he felt anything else. “I’m sorry,” he scoffed, squeezing you lightly.

“Stop apologizing to me,” his chin rested on the top of your head, the most foreign feeling yet it came so naturally to him, just like leaning into him felt natural to you, like your bodies knew what to do when your minds didn’t. “Get some sleep,” he relished in the feeling of you melting into him, like he was giving you permission to do so. “I’ll keep you warm,” and he did, even when he’d convinced himself to fall asleep, he was sure to keep an arm around you in whatever position you’d shifted to, to keep you warm, only to keep you warm- even when the sun came up, even when the cold fled the room. In the morning he’d wonder when the cold had fled from his heart.  

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #monique's writing events #monique's event days #right where queue left me

[natlovesls2]

Right Where You Left Me

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Warning: no use of y/n, swearing, some angst, all images used are not mine and are from pinterest, possible grammatical errors, mentions of blood once or twice, randomly changes pov, brief mention of mental illness (and the slight misunderstanding it/ disregarding it), I'm American (I think that should be a warning 🤷‍♀️ ), a little rushed, there might be more that I missed, feel free to correct me

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Lando living in the past or literally Taylor Swifts RWYLM

Quick note: italics are flashbacks and normal font is present time

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Lando sat on the bar stool at the restaurant you both had frequented during the relationship, a place of sentimental value. He stared at the table where it had all happened– where your relationship had started and where it had ended. The table next to the window that overlooked the bustling streets, where on that rainy day he had mustered all his courage and asked you to be his girlfriend. The small table that barely fit both of your food and was often uncomfortable to fit at. The table with the mix-match chairs because the original were old and Lando had broken one of the chairs on your first date. The same table that he continued to seek out despite its lack of hope. 

He looked up from his menu and stared at you, admiring how your face filled with concentration and indecision despite frequently eating there. You would sit there staring at the menu for minutes, occasionally asking for his opinion on what to order, asking the waitress for more time when she approached to take your order. It was the same routine every time the two of you went out, he knew you would eventually sigh and order some type of pasta. 

“Okay, okay– I’ll just get the soup of the day,” you said, catching him off guard. He quickly looked up from his own menu, brows furrowed in confusion at your choice of food. 

“Soup?” he asked, tilting his head as he asked, watching as you nodded and looked at the window being hit by a steady stream of rain. 

“It’s cold outside,” you said with a shrug and a soft smile that reminded Lando of all the reasons he had fallen for you. He watched as you smiled at the elderly couple beside you and the way you quickly stood up to help the man when he dropped his silverware. 

“How long have you been married for?” you asked the couple as you placed the silverwave back on their table. The dinner went on with you occasionally making conversation with the elderly couple, smiling widely at them. You would turn to Lando a few times, whispering about wanting to be exactly like them when you both got older. 

“Marry her, don’t let her get away,” the older man said to Lando, patting him on the back as he and his wife left, causing Lando to chuckle.

“He’s not wrong… I shouldn’t let you go,” he said, nervously playing with the food on his plate. There was silence– not an awkward unmanageable silence but the thoughtful, yet comforting type. He glanced up from the table, noticing your small smile and it gave him enough courage to finally ask; “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say… umm– will you be my girlfriend?” he whispered, quickly averting his gaze back to his plate. 

“If you’re not joking right now, I would love to be your girlfriend.”

The couple that approached the table and sat there brought him back to his senses, forcing him to turn away, reminding him that the table and its memories no longer belonged to him. The table had been snatched from him, you had taken it and destroyed every last bit of it. Using its worn wood to make a boat which you had used to sail away from his life– metaphorically of course. 

He supposes he doesn’t know the exact point in which the relationship started to deteriorate. One moment you both seemed to be hopelessly in love with one another, and the next you were distancing yourself from Lando and your shared friendships– playing it off as being busy focused on your work and studies. He could still somehow vividly remember the day you left– still feeling the weight of the night suffocating him.

“Let’s just go and have dinner, if you still feel bad we could leave early,” Lando whispered as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his head against your back. 

The drive to the restaurant was silent– the type of silence that made anyone feel uneasy. The type of silence that would push you to nervously pick at the skin around your nails until it bled. 

“Do you want me to order for you?” Lando asked, looking up from his menu to see you staring down at your hands as you continued to quickly and nervously pick at your skin. “Hey are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine– you wouldn’t mind ordering for me would you?” you asked him, your voice sounding distant and void of emotion as you finally noticed the small pricks of blood– carelessly wiping it off on your jeans.

“I don’t mind at all… are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think we should break up,” you impulsively said, nervously running your hands along your thighs in order to stop the urge to continue to pick at your skin.

“If this is because of your… issues then we can work through it together. You don't have to struggle alone,” he whispered, desperately attempting to save the relationship, which he thought was stronger than ever. 

“That's not what this is about, Lando–”

“Then what is it? Because I don't see why we have to break up. I love you and I thought you felt the same way.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? I’m not going to sit back and watch you destroy this because you’re going through a mood” he reaches over the table to grab your hands in his own, as an attempt to calm you. 

“I don’t… I don’t find joy in this anymore– it has nothing to do with my mental health. We aren’t the people we were when we first got together, Lando. I want more than this– I know I want more than this” you responded, moving your hands out of his own.

“And I can’t give you more?”

“I’m sorry” you abruptly stood from your chair, walking out of the restaurant. Lando stayed there for what felt like an eternity, body frozen with shock and slight embarrassment. 

He felt the eyes of their waiter, who you had become rather close with over the years, sympathetic eyes that made contact with his own as he attempted to keep himself together. 

“Haven’t seen you here in a while, you want the usual or something new?” Alex, the waiter who had witnessed the whole relationship, asked. 

“You still remember my order?”

“Of course I do,” Alex let out a small laugh, “You and… you practically lived here before you stopped coming.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. I’ll take the usual then” Lando turned to look at the table once more, envying the happy couple that now claimed the weathered table as their own. 

“I don't mean to overstep but I’ve seen her come with some guy. I think it's time for you to move on– I mean, clearly she has”

Lando nodded, slowly turning away from the table watching as Alex sadly smiled at him before walking towards the kitchen. You had been here with another man– moved on, as Alex had put it. He struggled to look straight ahead, the table in some weird way had a sort of magnetic pull on him. It urged him to take one final look at it– it wanted to taunt him with what ifs and happy painful memories. The sound of cheers finally pushed him to turn towards the table once more. Watching as the couple that sat there promised to marry one another– the table had issued one final blow. A reminder to Lando that you would never want that with him, he would never be able to promise himself to you at that damned table– it now belonged to someone else.

 He supposed it never really belonged to him to begin with. He had been stupid to think that a table would be the glue that would forever hold your relationship together. Of course, he would be lying if he said he didn't still love you or yearn for your affection. If you ever thought you were wrong about your decision that night, he would take you back in an instant. But as he sat there in the suffocatingly happy atmosphere, he couldn't help but think that perhaps the table wasn’t as important as he had thought it to be. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on– to start over.

“Hey,” said a voice from beside him. 

He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as he turned to look at the source of the soft voice, “Hey.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 au #right where you left me

[goldsbitch]

Could we dance in the past?

part 2 to I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

right where you left me - Taylor Swift Before love came to kill us - Jessie Reyes

warning: Present time, the past....alcohol and typos

Charles did all he could to appear normal and not give away that he was shaking on the inside. He was used to masking his true feelings, can't let other drivers know you're nervous, ever. Years of training and overused trick with digging his nails to his palm paid back. His latest girlfriend didn't seem to notice.

Life's good and I'm gettin' paid, mm But I think about you everyday, oh no (still) When I miss you I medicate (pour up drink, drink)

They went home earlier than planned, but Charles could not spend another minute locked up in the same space as Y/N without acting out or worse - getting up to talk to her. It was surprising that his lame excuse worked and hadn't caused any alarms with his girlfriend. He tried his best to look chill, laughed at the jokes he would have, listened attentively, contributed to the conversation, kissed his so called love on the cheek and took her home, where he made her feel good, as he normally would. Only once she fell asleep, only when he was really sure of that, he allowed his mind to roam free. He had to get up and leave the bed their currently shared. If he had been a smoker, this would be the moment to drag out half of pack. In the end, he opted for a glass of his favorite drink, or at least something that would resemble that. As he sipped his faux Moscow mule, he cursed the day Y/N showed him this drink.

For a moment at least I know You were mine and it was beautiful

"Ok, ok, listen, listen Charles," Y/N insisted, waiving her drunker finger around with a drunken sassy demeanor. "Yes, mon chéri," he replied, so alcohol flowing through his system one could be surprised he was still lucid. "I absolutely hate this...this thing," she pointed to the contents of her glass. "Oh, come on! You can't leave me alone in this celebration!" he moaned like a little baby. It was right after one of his biggest achievements in racing yet, but he was just too young to celebrate publicly, so there they were, two teenagers discovering the limits of alcohol in Y/N's empty apartment. Charles was over the moon when he found out that her parents were out of town, already being high on the post race hormones. Sometimes the starts just align. "I'm not going to leave you alone, you're stuck with me. But! We have to stop pretending like this tastes good," she nearly threw her fancy glass containing her dad's whiskey. "I mean, it is absolutely horrible," Charles admitted and made Y/N laugh. One of his favorite things. He got closer to her, one narrow kitchen counter parting them. "So what will we do?" "Let's get creative," she exclaimed and started to google around and sent Charles over to the fridge for a variety of ingredients that did not go together in any situation. "We need to find our signature drink. I want to walk over somewhere one day and be like...one martini, dry," she played a parody of her older self. "Yeah, you're right. Because the whiskey is definitely not it," he agreed and spit the rest of his out. "That's like few hundred euros you spit there, buddy," she whispered. Charles's eyes went wide and immediately started to apologize and offering to pay back. He was not amused when she laughed at him and brought it up when he went to the toilet, saying that he did not have to pay for the toilet paper. When he came back from the bathroom, he managed to bump right into Y/N, who though that the best thing to do was to jump at him from a corner. This resulted in her spilling her Moscow mule on both of them. Charles found it funny at first and took it as a great opportunity to take his shirt off, with a little hope that it might actually impress her a bit. He had worked out a lot lately. This had totally backfired the minute he noticed that Y/N was also soaking wet. He had already noticed earlier that she was not wearing a bra and tried not to imagine what she would have looked like without her loose t-shirt. His imagination could have gone on vacation now, her nipples were poking through and the t-shirt hugged the shape of her breasts tightly. Once again, as he had been times before with this girl, he was speechless and frozen. The internal battle being that he wanted to be as respectful as one could be, but his dreams were also becoming real right before his teenage eyes. She seemed to be drunk enough not to take care. He peaked several times and cursed himself when he heard the diplomatic words coming out of his mouth, informing Y/N of her situation. She thanked him dearly and covered herself by wearing his hoodie. This image made Charles's situation ten times worse, especially when he saw the little blush on her cheek. For a moment he imagined that she was his and only his. Took him two years before he washed that hoodie again.

But I wanna hold ya Like it's June in the west end Back when you were my best friend Before love came to kill us

It was always hard, seeing Y/N. He thought with time and age it would get easier, but all those talks about talk about time healing wounds did not align with his experience. He somehow got over it, had several girlfriends after her and discovered he really was the relationship type. But she just shined in colors brighter than anyone else. They understood each other. Charles was aware of that when he was young, but underestimated the rarity of that kind of a connection. Years had passed - and it didn't seem to matter.

Trends change, rumors fly through new skies But I'm right where you left me

He loved his girlfriend. He must have. The note was there simply in case she woke up when he was on his fake midnight jog. Occasional midnight run was something he did from time to time, so it was not suspicious. To sell it properly, just in case, he put on his running shoes and a hoodie. Strangely similar one to the one he gave Y/N that one Moscow mule night.

She must have stopped going to their usual café spot. It had been weeks since they talked, Charles took the events that happened at her prom to heart and decided that it was time for him to get over his best friend. He was sure you'd be friends again, sooner rather than later, but he needed some time to process. Or at least he thought, this was all very new to him, nobody to talk to about it and nowhere to get some decent advice. But that was what all the songs he blasted for hours on end seemed to agree on, so he tried that. No contact. He caught himself taking the roads that lead pass the spots he knew you might be, whenever he was back home. His body playing tricks on him. He always peaked into the café window - what if... After sometime, the realization that Y/N had stopped coming there hit him hard. Suddenly, the possibility of you two never talking again started to look a little too realistic. No word from her, which was odd. She would always be the one to bombard Charles no matter how bad it got.

Help, I'm still at the restaurant Still sitting in a corner I haunt Cross-legged in the dim light They say, "What a sad sight"

And with days adding up to their friendship hiatus, he started to literally occupy that café, way more that when the pair hung out there together. There were only two waiters there changing their shifts back and forth. What Charles didn't know was that they put a bet on how long it would take for the girl that used to accompany the young man, whom they'd known by his name at that point, to come back with him one day. Young love, they used to reminisce of their own first heartbreak whenever he left the door.

They expected me to find somewhere Some perspective, but I sat and stared Right where you left me

He imagined this is what it felt like to have an heart attack. She finally sent him a message. And with that one text, he threw away all the work he tried to accomplish by keeping his distance and ended up right back where he started. Madly in love.

It's gettin' late And I should go

He knew he shouldn't have. Was old enough to know better this time. Understood that it was all super toxic for him and that he was in a much better place now. Oh, and then there was the fact that he had a girl back in his apartment. And it wasn't Y/N. But still, he casually jogged right back to the bar they'd left not even two hours ago. Surely, she'd be gone by now. He'd just check it out, have one last Moscow mule of the night and call it a day. That would have worked just fine. Hadn't it been for Y/N, standing alone in front of the bar entrance. Charles saw her getting shocked the moment she noticed him and dropping her cigarette. He slowed down and stared back at her. As if to make clear that him being here was not an accident this time. And also to finally look at her gorgeous, now adult, face without having to hide it.

So under the mask of the moon Could we dance in the past? Before love Before love came to kill us

part 3

#song fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #ferrari f1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #chalres leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #charles leclerc x y/n #taylor swift #jessie reyes #right where you left me #before love came to kill us

[spamgyu]

Cherry // Wonwoo one shot

DESCRIPTION: His past was constantly haunting his thoughts, and he knew he deserved it. But he also didn't think that his past was much closer than he thought. PAIRING: Wonwoo x Reader GENRE: Angst

by popular demand, this is second part to champagne problems

"Hey did you get my Slack?"

His coworker looked up from his computer, meeting his eyes as he stood at the doorway of his office.

Lunch had finally rolled around and him and the friends he made in his department had made it a habit to spend their break together every Friday. It was his team leader, Jeonghan's turn to pick the restaurant and Wonwoo had taken the initiative to ask him where today's meal was going to be at.

Jeonghan was typically quick with his replies, but as his message remained unseen by his coworker, Wonwoo decided to head over to his office and ask him in person.

It was Friday, anyways. The emails and tasks can wait for Monday... or at least later after he had some sort of food in his stomach.

"Shit." Jeonghan slapped his hand on his forehead. "Completely forgot to let you guys know. My girlfriend is bringing lunch today."

Ah yes, the mystery girl his team lead claimed to be dating.

It had been a year since Wonwoo joined the team, and like the other two on their team, he had yet to meet the girl that had always been Jeonghan's topic of conversation. He had always talked about her but kept most of the details about her in secret – earning teasings from Joshua that the girl probably didn't exist.

Jeonghan was very private with his personal life, rarely allowing his work friends in on who he was outside of the company building.

Like a true Libra.

"Are we finally meeting her?" Wonwoo cracked a smile. He and the rest of their small team had always been quite curios of Jeonghan's significant other. Especially with how highly he spoke of her – as if he worshipped the ground she walked on.

They had always joked that he resembled the heart-eyes emoji anytime he spoke about the woman that had brought the light into his life.

And of course, Jeonghan didn't care for these light hearted comments; agreeing with them. He was clearly in love and no amount of teasing could embarrass him.

Jeonghan chuckled. "Maybe. Are you guys leaving soon?"

Wonwoo shrugged. "Haven't decided where to go."

"I'll be sure to introduce you guys to her." He smiled.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He knew that voice from anywhere.

Though, the last time he's heard it, it didn't sound like this. It sounded broken, riddled with pain and tears.

At least, the last time he's heard it in person.

He could still hear it when he was alone with his thoughts, when there was stillness in his life, in his dreams. That voice was cheerful and bright in his head, replaying all the times she had called him "baby" and peppered his face with kisses.

Wonwoo felt his body grow cold – his ear zeroing in on where the source was coming from.

He was hoping that his guess was wrong.

It can't be.

Falling behind Joshua and Seungcheol's steps, Wonwoo slowly put one front in front of the other as they made their way to Jeonghan's office.

They had left for lunch shortly after his conversation with Jeonghan nearly an hour ago, unable to catch a glimpse of the so called girl of Jeonghan's dreams. Being equally as nosey as him, Joshua had somehow convinced Seungcheol to rush through their meal so that they could at least say hi to her.

Wonwoo felt the rice bowl he ate make it's way back up, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth as her voice grew louder with each step he took. He wanted to make a run for it. He wanted to make up an excuse.

But somehow, he couldn't.

It was almost as if her voice had hypnotized him, his brain unable to fight his legs from moving forward.

"Oh, they're here." Jeonghan smiled, standing from his seat to greet his department members standing at his doorway.

The girl's back was still turned when Wonwoo caught sight of her, sitting on the chair opposite of Jeonghan's desk.

She didn't need to turn around for him to know who it was. Her hair may be much longer this time, but he knew that figure.

He knows the way she sat, her posture, her style.... That scent.

Chloe eau de parfum. Her signature scent.

She still used it.

It was as if he was transported back in time – his knees buckling under him.

Reaching for the napkin by her plate, she wiped her lips before turning around to greet the three men her boyfriend had told her about.

"Y/n." She smiled, bringing her hand out to shake theirs – starting from Seungcheol's end.

Wonwoo sucked in a deep breath once she got to him, pulling his best smile as he felt her touch again. It was brief but it was more than enough for him – feeling her hand fit into his.

Just like old times.

He thought the pain he felt that god forsaken night was the worst he could ever experience in his life – but this was far worse. It felt as though he could feel and hear everything all around him as he watched her make small talk with the two men by his side, all while Jeonghan's arm casually slung around her hips.

Wonwoo wasn't listening to a single thing they were saying. He was far too busy battling his mind's attempts to put him in fight or flight mode.

All those times Jeonghan spoke about the girl he hopes to marry, claiming he knew she was the one the second he dropped her off after the first date, the girl he had recently moved in with, the girl he had bought a puppy for as Christmas present – it was her.

It was the girl he had broken all those years ago.

Wonwoo absentmindedly reached up to the black fabric around his neck, pulling it loose away from him as he felt his airway grow tighter – his chest heaving as the air around him became thin.

"You okay?" She eyed him.

He blinked back his thoughts, sending her a smile and nod. "Yeah." He coughed.

"You look like you saw a ghost." Joshua added with a chuckle.

He did.

Ghost of his past.

The one that haunted him every day for the past three years.

Any time he ordered coffee, he thought about how she was the one that had recommended him that soy milk was a far better option than whole milk. Whenever he would go out for groceries himself, he would remember all the times she would walk alongside the cart as he pushed it – allowing her to talk him into steering away from the list they had put together.

There wasn't a single day when he didn't think of her. Everything he did, it always came back to her.

Wonwoo couldn't help but think if she had done the same with Jeonghan.

Did he also prefer iced soy lattes despite the nearly freezing temperature because she had shown him that it was better than burning his tongue?

Did he also laugh at all her sneaky attempts to put snacks into their grocery carts?

Did she also wake him with her cold toes in the middle of the night, seeking warmth from his legs because no matter how much he cranked the heater up – it wasn't enough to raise her body's internal temperature?

Did she also take him around to her parent's home to show off the paintings they have collected over time? Especially the one he had bought for them for their 15 year anniversary?

Did Jeonghan know about him?

"Alright, I gotta go." She clapped, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It was great seeing you all."

Y/n's eyes lingered on his, a warm smile on her lips.

All the pain, the anger, the suffering behind her eyes were gone – she had forgiven him.

It was great seeing you. It was for him.

Wonwoo didn't know if this was much worse than her being angry at him. In his head, he chose to believe that she still saw him as a villain – the man that ripped her heart out and stomped on it.

Because in his head, he was the villain. He still and will always beat himself up for what he had done to her.

To them.

He was the monster that took their perfect relationship and destroyed it.

Wonwoo didn't know how, but she found a way to move on. While he had yet to forgive himself for his mistakes, stuck in the past and clinging on to the only thing he knows – she had not once turned back.

Just like that night.

Y/n kept moving forward and left him all alone to wallow in what they once were.... and what they could have been.

"I'll call you after work, baby." Y/n bid Jeonghan goodbye as placed a kiss on her temple.

Baby. A simple pet name that carried so much weight.

She once called him that.

That title was once his.

That sweet voice, the one that was music to his ears, calling someone else the words he wished he heard every day.

The heart buried deep in his stomach had fallen out, shattering into millions of pieces. He couldn't suppress his emotions any longer, he felt as though his chest was going to burst.

Wonwoo hurriedly excused himself to his office, leaning against the now shut door – finally letting out the sob that threatened to escape his throat just a few seconds ago.

This must have been what she felt when she had found out that he had sinned against her.

He deserved it. All of it.

This was the bed he made himself and he had no choice but to lie in it

#wheewwwwww alright okay here is the second part of champagne problems #i had to make sure it wasn't similar to right where you left me/mingyu fic i wrote lol #hopefully i made him suffer enough for yall lol #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo x oc #wonwoo x y/n #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo angst #spamwrites

[ateotd-izzy]

right where you left me - stiles stilinski x fem!reader

“did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?”

summary: you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to go on a date, considering your last was when your then boyfriend broke up with you. so imagine the surprise when you see him at the restaurant too.

“time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it”

notes: i feel like i write too many cute and happy fics on here so here’s a change of pace, sadness and angst.

“she’s still 23 inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be”

☾

you brushed the front of your dress as you exited your car. you could see the restaurant’s front door from the parking lot as you took deep breaths.

agreeing to meet up with a man you barely knew for a fancy dinner date was not something you had exactly expected when you moved to a new city, but it was happening.

a fresh start had been what you needed after everything that happened, but you still weren’t sure if a date with a work colleague was exactly the best idea.

you stepped into the restaurant, the building much warmer than the cold breeze that blew outdoors, and carefully fiddled with a few stray hairs until you were soon being escorted to the table where your date was sitting.

seeing you approach, he slowly stood up with a smile to greet you.

“hi,” you gave a small wave as a waiter pulled your chair out for you. you turned your head to look back at the waiter. “oh, thank you.”

you took your seat and your date, a young man named isaac, just wouldn’t stop smiling.

“what?” you asked, puzzled slightly as you scrunched your eyebrows.

“nothing. i’m just glad you’re here,” he looked down at the menu on the table in front of him, picking it up. “do you want to order?”

your eyes drifted around the restaurant as you answered. “yeah, sounds good.”

then your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a familiar face sitting at a table not too far away.

“stiles, this place is fancy,” you chuckled as the two of you were seated. “this is not our usual kind of restaurant.”

stiles didn’t say anything. he just adjusted his tie and put on a smile.

you and stiles had been together for five years, having began dating back when you were 18. and you were positive the two of you were meant to be.

you looked down at the menu, where some of the meals you could order were things you had never even heard of.

you then looked back up at your boyfriend, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of the empty wine glasses sitting on the table before you.

“you’re unusually quiet,” you spoke and he seemed to snap back to reality, meeting your eyes. “you okay?”

“yeah, i’m okay,” stiles then picked up his menu and started looking at the drinks.

soon the two of you had glasses of red wine in front of you and were waiting for your food to arrive.

stiles was still acting a little strange, giving mostly short, curt answers to your questions and seemingly zoning out every so often.

“so, what’s with the fancy restaurant, stilinski?” you asked curiously, a part of you hoping that he was going to propose to you that night.

stiles shrugged a little. “i just thought a change of pace would be nice.”

you reached out and put your hand on top of his. “well i think it’s great. we should do this more often.”

“uh, yeah,” stiles cleared his throat. “um… about that-”

before he could start talking, a waiter appeared beside your table.

“your meals.” two plates were placed down before you.

“so, what are you thinking about getting?” isaac asked you and you turned to look at him again, tearing your eyes away from the man just a few feet away.

“i’m not too sure,” you forced out a small, breathy laugh. “there’s a lot to chose from.”

“i’m thinking maybe steak,” isaac told you, still looking down at his menu, and your eyes flickered over to that other table again. “you can never go wrong with steak.”

“some of these pastas sound good,” you forced yourself to talk to isaac and not be distracted by him.

“oh, i love pasta,” isaac lowered his menu to look at you. “i can make great spaghetti and meatballs.”

you smiled and looked back to your menu when a waitress approached your table.

“hi,” she smiled brightly. “are the two of you ready to order anything? otherwise i can come back around.”

“oh, drinks would be great.” isaac nodded and turned his head to you. “uh, you good with red w-”

“i’ll just have water.” you cut in, before slinking back into your chair a little. “sorry. i don’t really drink wine.”

“oh, well, we have other drink options if you’d like,” the waitress spoke but you shook your head.

“no, thank you. water’s fine.”

“okay,” the waitress smiled after taking both your drink and food orders. “i’ll be back with your drinks in just a moment.”

“thank you,” isaac then looked back to you as the waitress headed in the direction of the kitchen. “oh, hey, did you hear about what happened with james yesterday?”

james was another coworker who isaac was friends with. you kept more to yourself and only really spoke with your best friend, kira.

“no, what happened?” you asked and isaac began to tell a story of some event the day before.

but you could keep your eyes on the man sitting in front of you, and instead kept looking at the man laughing with a red-haired woman just a few tables away.

looking so happy.

as you began to eat, stiles pushed his steak around with his fork.

“are you sure you’re okay, babe?” you asked as you finished your food and wiped your mouth. “you’ve barely said anything all night.”

stiles didn’t reply, or even meet your eyes. you had started to worry something was wrong.

“um, not quite,” stiles lowered his fork, sitting it next to his plate of mostly untouched food. “it’s just…”

you crossed one leg over the other as you brought your glass of wine to your lips. the dim lights reflected off of stiles’ still full glass of wine as he struggled to find the right words.

“stiles?” you spoke and he lifted his eyes to meet yours again.

“i don’t think…” stiles took a deep breath. “y/n, i think we need to break up.”

the entire moment seemed to stop as your wine glass slipped from your hand and dropped onto the table.

the glass shattered and red stained the white cloth on the table. the sudden loud noise drew a silence from the room, a number of heads turning to look.

but you paid no notice, your eyes trained on stiles, who was now struggling to keep eye contact with you.

“what?” you had to choke the word out and the silence that followed was almost deafening.

“we need to break up.” he repeated quietly and that’s when the tears began to brim in your eyes.

you didn’t get it. it had been five years. you loved him more than anything and everything had been seeming fine. what the hell changed?

“so, isaac, we barely know each other outside of work,” you started creating small talk after your food arrived. “what kind of stuff do you do for fun?”

“well, i like reading,” he told you. “books mostly, but i used to love reading, like, superhero comics when i was a kid, and i still do.”

“oh, i love comics too!” you smiled, but it quickly dropped when you heard his laugh from that table.

your head turned and you looked over again.

“something wrong?” isaac asked and you shook your head.

“no, no, don’t worry,” you waved it off and sipped your water. “so you like comics? what about movies?”

you did your best to keep the conversation going, and while some topics actually lasted a while, most conversations fizzled out after a short time.

it was like the two of you couldn’t really connect.

then you glanced back at stiles at his table.

what a coincidence that he would be here of all places. especially after you moved.

then you turned your focus to the woman with him. red-hair and a bright smile.

you could only really see the back of her head, just glimpses of her face when she would turn.

but as she pushed some of her hair back, it felt like a part of you died when something caught your eye.

your heart sunk in your chest at the sight of the shiny engagement ring on her finger.

it had only been two years since you and stiles broke up. two years. and yet she was the one with the ring.

you were with stiles for five whole years and as much as you wanted one, there was never a proposal.

“y/n, are you sure nothing’s bothering you?” isaac asked and that was the moment stiles noticed you.

he had been laughing at something his fiancé had said when his smile slowly dropped and his eyes connected with yours.

that solemn look on his face was enough to transport you back to that restaurant. but a part of you was always there.

“why?” your voice asked softly as the tears threatened to spill.

the wine had began to drip down from the table and onto the carpeted floor beside you.

stiles didn’t say a word, which just started to make you angry.

“stiles, why?” your voice was wavering and stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. he held his hands together in front of his mouth before sighing.

“i met this girl,” he started and you could physically feel your heart break in your chest, snapping into two.

“a different girl,” that’s when you started to cry, but you did your best to keep your voice as steady as possible. “did you cheat on me?”

“no! no, i would never,” stiles’ eyes went wide before his face sank. “i just… whenever i talk to her, ever since we first met, i get this feeling. and it…”

his voice trailed off.

“go on,” you sniffled, feeling the mascara run down your face.

“it was something i hadn’t felt with you in a while.”

you stared at him. you just sat and stared.

“and it’s not that i don’t… look, i love you, y/n,” stiles reached out to grab your hand, and you were too frozen to move. “but i don’t think i’m in love with you anymore.”

those words sent your entire world crashing down. all those plans and dreams you had felt like they were just fading away, the product of your heart being destroyed by the only person you had ever trusted with it.

after almost a minute of dead silence between not only the two of you, but majority of the restaurant, you managed to find your voice again.

“what’s her name?” you asked shakily. you didn’t want to know how they met, or when. you didn’t want to know how long it had been with him thinking about doing this. you just wanted a name.

“uh, her name’s lydia,” stiles mumbled and you forced a smile, your lips trembling.

“pretty name,” you nodded and looked down at the wine-stained tablecloth.

not a word was shared between the two of you until stiles inhaled deeply, slowly standing up.

then he went up to one of the waiters, paid the bill, and left you in the restaurant. alone.

eventually the restaurant fell back into its original chatter, though there were some whispers of “what a sad sight.”

your hands found their way to your face, your elbows sitting on the table as you cried.

you sat at that table until the restaurant closed.

after dessert and then paying, you and isaac started leaving the restaurant.

“i had a nice time tonight,” you told him, holding your bag close to your body. “no matter how distracted i seemed.”

the two of you had stopped on the footpath outside the door, so it wasn’t hard to notice stiles and his fiancé as they left the restaurant too.

you froze again, staring at stiles and his unreadable expression on his face.

“um,” isaac looked from your face, then followed your gaze to see stiles. “i’ll call you tomorrow. goodnight, y/n.”

“bye, isaac.”

as isaac walked away you looked down at your shoes as stiles’ fiancé kissed him.

“hey, lyd, why don’t you go to the car,” he handed her the keys. “i’ll catch up in a minute.”

“no problem,” she smiled, kissing his cheek before walking away, her high heels clicking as she went.

there was a silence as you looked up to watch her.

“hey,” stiles spoke to you, taking a few steps so he was standing beside you. it had been so long since he was this close.

“hi,” you mumbled before sighing. “so that’s lydia.”

“yeah,” stiles nodded. “that’s her.”

“she’s pretty,” you said softly. “really pretty.”

“yeah, she is,” a faint smile ghosted on stiles’ lips and you looked down.

“are you in love with her?” you asked and there was a quiet moment on stiles’ end.

“yeah, i am,” he answered and it was like you were in that restaurant all over again, sitting beneath the dim lights and feeling your heart breaking in your chest.

all those emotions had come back a second time and realizing he would never be able to love you like that made you want to cry.

“congratulations, by the way,” you told him. “when’s the wedding?”

“a few months,” he replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his pants.

there was a silence between the two of you for a moment.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” stiles spoke and you shrugged.

you were still in that restaurant, the moment constantly played over in your head. the exact moment he told you that after five years, he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

he wasn’t in love with you anymore.

a part of you wished he would take everything back. decide he didn’t actually want to be with lydia. that he would come back to you, and you would gladly fall in love with him all over again, because you never really fell out of love.

then, once again, stiles left you alone at a restaurant.

you watched as he walked down to the parking lot and climbed into the driver’s seat of a car, kissing lydia after he closed the door.

of course in your mind, that was you he was kissing. the two of you were still happily together, the way things were supposed to be.

in your fantasy, stiles had proposed to you that night at the restaurant and the two of you got married, and there was only happiness and love between the two of you.

but as you watched the car pull out of the parking lot, reality hit you in the face again and you were ripped from your delusions as the car disappeared around the corner.

so you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, finally walking to your car.

a/n: just wrote this whole thing in one sitting in 3 hours (it’s currently 3:38 am)

tags: @brvceyamada

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #dylan o’brien #dylan o’brien x reader #taylor swift #isaac lahey #evermore #stiles stilinski oneshot #angst #rwylm #right where you left me #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction

[wrongplacerighttime]

right where you left me

hi!! this one was…..a lot. it’s heartbreaking and angsty and sad…however (!!!) has a happy ending and i had the BEST time writing it. i think i went through 8,000 emotions in the process.

tw: smut!!!, mentions of alcohol use, sad harry, sad fmc, post-break up, mentions death of parent(s), the very taboo subject of cheating (please if this is not something you're comfortable with don't read this. i write for me and others who like these things, however I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable, but i enjoyed writing this and I hope others do too!!), (as always lemme know if i missed any)

wc: ………..13k.......IM SORRY. I thought about splitting it up into two or three parts but couldn't find a good place to split it up. so instead you just get one loonnnngggg fic lmaooo

this is my first time attempting to write something from third person POV. please let me know what you think and if you read this entire self indulgent story then i love youuuu so much. 🩷

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 𖥸· ─────── · ·

BRYAR

The silence of the apartment rings through Bryar’s ears. She wipes the tears staining her cheeks and stands from the bed, padding through the hallway to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, squinting as she does, her gaze travels to meet her own eyes in the mirror. Her eyes are sensitive from laying in the dark, and the crying she's been doing for the past four days doesn't help her appearance either. Sighing, her breath feeling heavy in her lungs, she tosses around the idea of finally taking a shower while staring at her disheveled hair.

The memory of checking the time is already gone from her mind but she remembers that it’s late. She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment longer. Eyes trailing from the circles under them up to her messy hair on top of her head. Part of her mind is contemplating whether or not she should’ve left the only man she’s ever loved. The other part of her mind knows she needed to because he never changed, nothing ever changed like he promised it would. However, she knew she would never love anyone that intensely ever again. Her eyes meet her own once more, and she lets her mind wander to the moment it all came to its tumultuous end

—

Bryar is standing in the middle of Harry’s apartment, her bag packed and hanging from her shoulder. She was dressed in the same outfit she waited all night for him in, the one she had carefully planned out for this day, the day he promised that he would be entirely hers, no interruptions. It was her birthday, after all. They were supposed to go to dinner. She waited all day for him at his place. He never showed. Never texted. Never called. She knew it would happen. It happened a lot recently. Things used to be so different. It never used to be this way. She never had to beg him for his attention before.

She knew he’d be coming home any second. It was late… a few minutes after midnight, the usual time he would come home from the bar he went to with his friends. The reservation they had at a restaurant in town was long forgotten. She called to cancel it after he didn’t come home. She didn’t move from her spot in front of the door. Not even when she heard the keys jingling in the lock. He swung the door open, his phone to his ear and laughing loudly at whoever he was speaking to on the other end. He was looking towards the floor, but when he noticed her there, with the bag hanging from her shoulder and the animosity behind her eyes, he stopped talking. Stopped everything. He didn’t even say goodbye to his friend, just hung up and put his phone away into his pocket.

“Bry, what are you doing?” He asked, confused. She scoffs, shaking her head and looking away from him into the apartment she knew she would be seeing for the last time.

“You forgot. Again.” she crosses her arms over her chest, biting the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly. He looks at her for a moment…taking in her appearance, the way she was dressed…then he realizes. His eyes grow wide and he shakes his head slightly.

“Baby…I am so sorry. We were supposed to go out tonight. It must have slipped my mind, I’ve been so—” She cuts him off.

“You’ve been so busy. Yeah, I know. That’s what you say every fucking time, Harry.” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m sorry. I just need to leave.” She puts her hands out in front of her, not wanting him to come closer to her.

“Okay…I understand." He says, not necessarily wanting to let her go when she feels this way. However, he understands that she's upset and doesn't want to be around him. "Do you want to do something tomorrow instead, it’s Saturday and—” Again, she doesn’t let him finish.

“No, Harry. I’m leaving you.” She sneers and he visibly flinches at her words. He shakes his head again.

“W-what?” He stutters, his eyes growing wider as he takes a step towards her. She ducks around him to the door, and he grabs her arm, forcing her to spin around and face him. Her eyes are angry and filled with tears, hating how her body betrays her like this when she’s upset.

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s been this way for a while, H. We make plans and you forget. I don’t know what’s more important than me but—” It’s his turn to interrupt her now.

“Nothing is more important to me than you.” His tone was firm, and he meant it. To him, he was telling nothing but the truth. He looks down at her, searching her eyes. He grabs her chin between his thumb and index finger and she jerks away from his touch. A look of hurt crosses his features as she steps back, putting distance between them. He had never intended for this to happen. He doesn’t even know how he allowed something this important to slip his mind. She had never shied away from him like this, never dodged his touch like it would burn her if he got too close.

“It doesn’t seem like it.” she whispers. “It’s my birthday, and you forgot.” Her voice trembles with the words.

“Bryar. Baby, please. Don’t do this. I’m sorry, so unbelievably sorry.” He falls to his knees in front of her, capturing her hands between his own. “Don’t leave. I know this is unforgivable, but please don’t leave.” he begs, literally on his knees for her, his voice quieter and full of more pain than she’s ever heard. She resists the urge to pull her hands away from him, wanting nothing more than for his touch to be comforting like it used to be, but now it just feels dirty.

“Harry…please.” She whispers, begging him to let her go. He looks up at her, his eyes flit around her face. He brings her hands to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, shaking his head once, eyes brimming with tears.

“I’ll change. I can change.” He stammers, and she shakes her head, swallowing the knot forming in her throat.

“I want to believe you…but I can’t sit around and wait for you to change anymore.” She gives him a somber look, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as well. “I really wanted this to work. I just don’t think it’s going to.” She turns her back to him, walking towards the door of his apartment. She doesn’t look back. If she looks back she knows she’ll run to him and apologize for even thinking about leaving him.

Once in the hallway, she leans against the door, sobbing quietly into her hands, knowing this was for the best…but realizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. On the other side of the door, Harry leans his forehead against the wood, his shoulders shaking from the sobs wracking his body. He stood from the floor and ran towards her as she left, but the door slamming in his face kept him from running after her. It all ended so quickly. He didn’t expect any of it, didn’t expect his entire future to collapse with the slam of the door.

—

Bryar shakes her head as if the memory will crumble and the pieces will become lost in the corners of her mind. She shoves it behind the metaphorical door, the one she reserved for the memories of him. She sniffles once and walks to the shower, turning the knob to a temperature that will hopefully wash away the bad memory. Standing under the shower head, she lets the water run over her face, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall. The amount of energy it sucks from her is tenfold. Quickly washing her hair and body, she rinses the suds away and steps out, wrapping the towel tightly as the cold air comes rushing in and creates goosebumps on her skin. She wishes that the memories of him could be washed away that easily, down the drain with the tears she shed for him.

Standing at the sink again, she glances up at the mirror. Her appearance is…better. Still, her cheeks are hollow and the bags under her eyes are a deep shade of purple. She brushes her hair, her teeth, and throws a t-shirt over her head, one that smells like him, making her way back to her room. The bed still has a lingering heat from her body, the sheets soft on her clean skin. She pulls the comforter up to her nose and pulls her knees to her chest. Sighing, her eyes feel heavy, and she drifts to sleep, knowing her dreams will be filled with the memory of him, the future she always imagined with Harry nothing more than a failed plan.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better, though she had a feeling this pain would last a lifetime.

—

Four Years Later

It’s been nearly four years. Bryar has moved on…or so she likes to believe. She never thought trying to forget him would be this hard. She tells herself she doesn’t think about Harry all that much anymore...but that’s the biggest lie of the century. She still sees his face on every passerby on the street, she’s convinced she smells his cologne everywhere. She plays pretend, pushing the memories of him away, locking them up behind a wall in her mind. If she continues to tell herself that she’s moved on, that she’s happy…maybe one day it’ll be the truth. The truth is that he fucked her up forever. Every corner of her apartment still reminds her of him, even after she tucked all the memories in a box and shoved it in the back of her closet.

“Baby, have you seen my tie?” Sam, her boyfriend, comes striding into the room. She sucks in a breath, his voice pulling her from her mind. She half smiles, and he pulls her to his chest in a tight hug. “You look stunning.” He whispers into her hair and she smiles. Sam has been there for her for the past two years, giving her a hope she didn’t realize she needed. They met at work, and from there the rest is really history.

“Sorry, no. I haven’t seen it.” She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing and breathing in his cologne. She turns back towards the mirror, pushing an earring into her ear and smoothing her dress with her hands. “I’m pretty much ready though, I can help you look.” She leans her back against his chest, staring at him through the mirror as he runs his hands down her arms. They have an invitation to attend the wedding of a couple of Bryar’s friends. It’s been awhile, and she hadn’t seen Celia since right after Christmas a couple of years ago when she brought Derek home to meet her friends and family. Life got busy, Bryar got a new job, Celia moved across the country, and things just never seemed to work out when they came to town. Luckily, Derek agreed on a wedding close to Celia’s hometown, and when Bryar got the invitation she was over the moon.

Bryar walked out of the bedroom and through the hallway and to the living room, searching every surface in between for Sam’s tie, her eyebrows knitting together when she can’t find it, either. She swore she had seen it on the coffee table. She kneels on the floor, peeking under the couch. Perhaps it fell onto the floor and got kicked under there. She spots the shade of maroon that matches her dress, reaching under, saving it from the dust bunnies living under there. The light catches something when she moves the tie and she squints, only able to make out the shape of a square. She reaches under again, feeling around for the object and when her fingers graze the cool surface, she slides it out. The back of a polaroid picture stares back at her, and she’s not really sure where it came from.

She flips it over, her breath catching in her throat. Looking back at her from the little square, is Harry. He’s laughing and sticking his tongue out, and she is in the picture too. Laughing with her eyes squeezed shut, head leaned over on Harry’s shoulder. They looked so happy. She brings her hand to her mouth in surprise and she just stares at the picture. The memory of the night it was taken comes flooding back to her, hitting her like a sucker punch that steals the breath from her lungs.

—

SIX YEARS AGO

The cheap bottle of white wine on the table had just a sliver left in it. Bryar’s glass was nearing empty and Harry’s was still half full from the first pour. He had abandoned it about an hour ago for something stronger, he said.

They were sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, a vinyl spinning quietly on the record player across the room. Harry stands, making his way towards the shelf to switch it out for something different. Bryar watches as he crosses the room, bringing his glass to her lips and claiming it as hers.

“Why are we even sitting on the floor?” She asks, slightly slurring her words while a laugh escapes into her glass. She looks around, the room spinning slightly, effects of the entire bottle of wine she drank hitting her almost all at once. Harry looks at her over his shoulder, smirking.

“I don’t know. I think we were going to do a puzzle or something and then we started talking and forgot.” He mutters, looking through the old records to play trying to choose one he thought she would be in the mood to listen to. Bryar had pulled out an old photo album, the one that somehow survived the fire that her parents did not. She told him memories from her childhood, ones that were clear and the ones that were a bit fuzzy around the edges. She was beginning to forget the way her mother’s voice sounded and the way her dad’s hand felt in hers, his scars she would run her fingers over while her little brain would ask how he got them. Harry finally chooses a record and smiles to himself, carefully putting it on the turntable and setting the needle to the eighth song on the track list. He saw the longing in her eyes when she spoke of them, wishing he could take her pain and wrap it in barbed wire so it couldn’t escape and hurt her any longer. Bryar hears the opening notes of the song from the guitar playing through the speakers. She smiles at him and narrows her eyes.

“Really?” She asks as he saunters back over to her.

“What? Don’t wanna listen to Dan Fogelberg?” He teases and she shakes her head.

“Not that. Just funny that you picked this song.” She states as he sits down next to her again on the floor. She listens as the lyrics of the song Longer play through the speakers. He tilts his head, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of her apartment. He waits for her to tell him more. “It was my parents' wedding song, that’s all.” she shrugs and he pulls her into his side. She sighs, leaning over on his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head.

“Maybe it could be our wedding song one day, too.” He mumbles against her hair and she smiles. “I wish I could’ve met them.” He whispers to her.

“Maybe.” she whispers back. “I wish you could have met them, too.” She says, her mind beginning to go down the road of “what-ifs”.

Harry reaches forward, opening the drawer of the coffee table and rummaging through her things that have collected in the drawer over time, little trinkets and pens and post-it notes. Bryar giggles while watching him, and he reaches further into the drawer and pulls out her old polaroid camera.

“Wanna take a picture?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows and she laughs.

“I’d love to but that thing is probably dead and the film probably isn’t any good.” She grumbles. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I used it.”

“Well let’s see…” He mutters, flipping the switch on the top. The light turns green and he glances up at her, smirking. He brings it up to his face, looking through the viewfinder. “Smile.” He says in a singsong tone. Bryar gives him a cheesy smile, and the flash goes off with a click of the button. The camera spits out a square film and Harry pulls it out and sets it on the table. She leans her head on his shoulder again, sighing. He holds the camera out in front of them, and starts singing the lyrics to the song playing in a silky voice, trying to imitate Dan Fogelberg and this makes her laugh. She falls into a fit of giggles from his singing and the amount of alcohol she’s consumed, and he smiles, sticking his tongue out and snaps another picture, the moment they’re in right now permanently etched into time. Once her laughing subsides she looks up at him through her lashes. He brings his face down and touches his forehead to hers.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you more.” He whispers back, kissing her softly.

—

“Bryar, did you find my tie?” Sam yells down the hall, pulling her from her memory. She wipes the single tear that fell down her cheek quickly before standing and tucking the picture into the coffee table drawer. She makes her way back to the bedroom, tie in hand. Sam is standing in front of the full length mirror, buttoning his white shirt. She holds it out, wiggling it in his face, his icy blue eyes narrow at her and he smirks.

“You’re amazing. Where was it?” He asks, plucking it from her hand and situating it around his neck.

“Under the couch. Must have fallen and gotten kicked under there.” She states while making her way to her closet to retrieve her shoes. Carrying them by the straps to the bed, she sits, crossing her leg to slip on the first and fasten it. She repeats the action with the other at the same moment Sam finishes tying his tie. She stands, walking across the room and grabbing his jacket. She stands behind him, holding it out for him to slide his arms in the sleeves. He smiles softly at her through the mirror.

“Ready?” he asks, spinning around on his heel and pulling her into him. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to meet hers. He kisses her softly, lightly ghosting his lips over hers. She smiles against his mouth, her nose brushing against his. She nods, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room before they don’t make it out the door.

The drive to the wedding venue isn’t long, but it’s not short either. She sits in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, his hand resting comfortably on her thigh that’s exposed from the slit in her dress. The radio is playing quietly, the silence between them comfortable. She watches the scenery out the window, thinking of her parents and admiring the beginning of the leaves changing colors. Autumn was always her mothers favorite season. Celia picked the perfect time to get married, like Bryar knew she would. Celia was a bit of a perfectionist, in the best way. Bryar was sure she must have researched when the trees would be at their peak vibrancy for the most perfect fall wedding, and autumn has had always held significance to Bryar since losing her mom, feeling her presence with her the most during this time of year.

“Bry?” Sam says her name while clearing his throat, pulling her from her thoughts for the second time today. She turns her head towards him, watching as he keeps his eyes on the road. Her heart squeezes a little every time he calls her by the same nickname that Harry always did. She never had the heart to ask him to call her anything else. It is just a nickname, after all. However, it never sounds quite right coming from between Sam’s lips.

“Hm?” She hums, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He squeezes her thigh in response.

“I love you.” He says, tilting his head towards her and glancing at her for a quick second. He smiles, and she smiles back, dropping her gaze to their hands together. She hadn’t told him about her parent’s yet, the timing never felt right. She makes a mental note to talk to him about it soon.

“I love you.” She says quietly, returning her gaze to the window. Does she? If she loved him her mind wouldn't keep drifting to her past and comparing him to Harry. She would open up to him more, right? It's not that she doesn't trust him, he just seems to brush her off sometimes. She feels guilty.

“Something on your mind? You’re awfully quiet.” He teases her, she shakes her head.

“No. Just admiring the view.” She reassures him.

The rest of the drive is quiet. They pull down a long gravel road towards the extravagant wedding venue. Bryar’s mouth drops open and her eyes widen when she realizes how big the building actually is. She looked up pictures, of course. However, the pictures didn’t do this place justice. The windows are tall, glass, floor-to-ceiling and framed in black. The bright white walls stand out against the red and orange and yellow trees surrounding it. It’s evening, the sun setting in the distance creating a perfect golden hue over the property. Sam pulls the car into a parking spot and quickly steps out, striding to Bryar’s side and opening her door for her. He reaches his hand down for her to take for balance as her heels meet the uneven gravel. She grabs it, swinging her legs out of the car and standing, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress down. They walk into the venue, arms linked together. The ceremony doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, but they’re serving champagne. Bryar and Sam make their way to the bar, grabbing two glasses, she looks upward taking in the high vaulted ceilings along the way. After they secure two glasses in their hands, she spots a group of people she knows across the room and they make their way over to them.

They mingle with her friends, ones she hasn’t seen in quite some time. She introduces Sam to them, and the men fall into conversations of sports teams and work while the women are talking about the books they’re reading recently or the shows they’ve been watching. Some talk of work, what the next fiscal year will bring their companies and how successful they were throughout this year. Bryar smiles, sipping from her glass while watching Sam get along with the people she used all to spend all of her time with.

Out of no where, the air in the room shifts, making Bryar feel uneasy. She’s not quite sure why this feeling suddenly hit her, maybe the open doors are bringing in a chill. She looks around, eyes flitting across the room at the groups of people mingling, spotting Celia’s mother and they lock eyes. Bryar gives her a smile and a small wave, making plans to go and speak to her. Glancing around again, she quickly catches what appears to be a head of brown curls that she’s all too familiar with and her stomach drops. Before she can confirm if it really is who she thinks it is, they disappear around a corner and are out of her sight.

It couldn’t be him, right? These were her friends, not his. He didn’t really know Celia that well, right? Celia wouldn't have invited him knowing Bryar's history with him, would she?

She feels a hand on the small of her back, snapping her from her panic. She turns her head to see Sam standing beside her. Her eyes soften and she forces a smile onto her face, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Two lines form between his eyebrows as he pulls them together, concerned.

“Hey, are you okay? You look pale, like you saw a ghost.” He asks, leaning down to whisper into her ear. She pulls back, looking him in the eyes again and nodding once.

“Yeah…I’m fine.” She lies. She would know Harry anywhere. Even out of all the people she’s mistaken for him on the street, she figured out quickly it was never him. But she knew that was him. She had memorized the way his hair laid on his head and the way he moved through a room ten times over. It was etched into her memory. Her eyes flit across the room once more, feeling the anxiety and dread creeping into the pit of her stomach. Sam’s voice pulls her back down to earth for the second time in less than five minutes. She has got to get it together.

“I think it’s time for us to find our seats.” Sam mutters under his breath and Bryar nods again, tipping her glass up and downing the rest of her champagne. Her eyes scan the crowd, looking for Harry again, just to be sure...but there’s so many people and she’s not any taller than Sam, who can see over most of the crowd himself. She chews on the inside of her lip, the metallic taste of her own blood touching her tongue. She mentally curses herself, tearing the skin from between her teeth and trying to remind herself to not do it again.

Sam finds a seat right in the middle of the row of chairs a little further back, they could see the altar from here and not have to worry about being in anyone’s way. Bryar’s heart beats quickly in her chest, feeling her body temperature rise as she searches the room.

It wasn’t this hot before, was it?

Her heart stops, her breathing stops, her vision goes blurry. It’s as if her chest has caved in on her. Because there, across the room with someone that’s the complete opposite of her, is Harry.

She can’t tear her gaze away. It's a cruel form of self sabotage, wanting to look away but forcing herself to watch the way he leans into her and whispers in her ear. The woman's head turns to look at him and she’s smiling, and it gives away the one thing she didn’t want to accept, because Bryar used to look at him exactly the same way. They aren’t just friends, he brought her with him as his date. Bryar tears her eyes from the unknown girl and her breath catches in her throat when she looks at Harry. He’s changed. His face is broader, more defined with a hint of stubble growing. He’s grinning down at his date, before planting a small kiss to her temple and Bryar feels her heart breaking. The room is too hot. She feels dizzy. She stands abruptly, looking down at Sam, who’s looking up at her with confusion for what feels like the hundredth time since they left the apartment.

She has to get out of here, preferably before her lunch ends up on the floor in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I have to…I need to…” She can’t seem to get the words out. “Bathroom.” Is all she successfully says. She doesn’t wait for him to reply. She steps around other people in the row, and when she’s free from the confines of the chairs, she practically breaks out into a sprint. She quickly covers her mouth, feeling the nausea setting in before she’s thrown into another memory of Harry.

—

SIX YEARS AGO

The streetlights cast shadows around the darkened room, the rain pattering on the window. Harry’s hand trails down Bryar’s exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She sighs with content, her eyes drifting closed. She would stay like this forever if she could…she’d give up everything to be here with him always. He was her forever. She knew that. He knew that, too. He never wanted to be anywhere else.

“Hey…” he whispers, trying to get her attention. Her eyes flutter open, the exhaustion showing on her face, but the good kind. She smiles tiredly at him. He brings his hand up, brushing the strands of auburn hair out of her face and running the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Her heart feels like it’s bursting with love for him and can’t hold any more than it already does. However, every day, he does something to prove that she somehow can love him more than the day before. He smiles, tracing over every feature of her face with his gaze. There was nothing that could make her stop loving him, she knows that.

“I really love you, you know?” She says, and his grin widens. Trailing his hand to the back of her neck, he pulls her closer to him, their bodies meshing together like they were made only for each other. He fists her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling slightly to tilt her head upwards to him. He captures her lips with his, kissing her in a way that makes her belly do somersaults, the butterflies feeling more like a stampede. She could never get used to the way he kisses her. Always like it’ll be the last. He pulls away and brings his forehead to hers, nudging his nose against hers.

“I love you.” He says, looking into her eyes the best he can being so close. “You’re it for me, Bry. You’ll always be.” She blushes, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. He turns his head slightly, kissing her temple with such gentleness it makes her heart flutter. “My sweet girl.” He mutters against her skin. His hand runs down her hair flowing behind her on the bed, twisting a strand around his finger before she feels herself slipping into sleep.

“Stay with me forever?” She whispers, so quietly she’s not even sure he heard, not even sure she spoke it...maybe she only thought it in her tired mind. Her consciousness drifting slowly, sleep threatening to pull her under.

And for a moment, he pauses. He wanted nothing more than to spend forever with her. He would cross every ocean if it meant he had her always. He feels her muscles relax, her breathing beginning to steady. He’s sure she’s asleep. He’s careful not to wake her. He closes his eyes, preparing to fall asleep as well as he squeezes her against him, trying somehow to get her closer. She feels him, all of him, his warmth consumes her. Somewhere in the distance she hears him, just barely.

“Forever.” he whispers back to her.

—

Bryar shoves her way into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her. She grasps the marble countertop, the cold surface stinging her hands and bringing her back to reality. Her breathing is sharp, stinging her lungs with every breath. She quickly makes her way into a stall, bracing against the wall for support, convinced she was going to empty her stomach contents in a matter of seconds. She still feels dizzy. It wasn’t Bryar beside him, and it never would be her again. She leans against the wall of the bathroom, the cool tile soothing her rising body temperature. She feels clammy, sweat forming at her hairline.

This was the worst possible outcome. She wasn’t expecting him to be here at all, not even a warning from Celia. She can’t go back out there. She can’t watch him dote on the girl he brought. Can’t watch him kiss her temple like he used to do with her, the one gesture he reserved for her and only her, the one that used to make her heart soar, the one smallest gesture just happened to be the one that Bryar has felt homesick for since the day she left. She only has a few minutes before the ceremony starts. She can’t miss Celia walking down the aisle or she’ll never forgive herself.

She straightens, taking in a long breath before drawing it back out. She goes back out to the mirror, staring at herself. Her chest is blotchy from the anxiety she’s feeling. The nervousness takes over, but she pushes through it. Her hands are shaky as she reaches for the door handle.

Bryar makes her way back to her seat by Sam. He cocks an eyebrow at her and she smiles nervously. As she sits he turns his body towards her.

“Seriously Bry, what is going on?” He asks, concern lacing his question. She waves her hand at him, dismissing him.

“Just the champagne hitting me I think.” She lies and Sam doesn’t believe her for a second. Something is going on, something he doesn’t know about. His eyes search the room but he doesn’t see anyone familiar. He watches her, she keeps her gaze towards the floor, picking nervously at her nails and his eyes narrow. She glances up and across the room. He discreetly follows her eyes, looking the same direction and seeing a man sitting with his girlfriend. He doesn’t recognize them, but it’s obvious to him that Bryar does. He makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

Bryar is having what can only be described as an existential crisis. But there’s no time for that. The large doors in front of the aisle open, and the wedding party starts to make their way to the front of the room. The chatter around the room dies down, withering to nothing as the music begins to play. Bryar turns her head to watch as they walk, thankful that she doesn’t have to look forward and watch Harry anymore.

—

HARRY

Harry and Xena make their way to find seats to watch the ceremony. He decided at the last minute to ask her to attend this wedding with him. They had only been on a few dates. They met at the bar he frequents with his friends. The same friends that encouraged him to ask her out. Encouraged him to finally move on. Bryar wasn’t coming back.

He and Xena have got on quite well so far. He enjoyed her company, more than he liked to admit. She wasn’t Bryar though, and he knows it’s unfair to compare them. She didn’t deserve that. So he tries his hardest to push Bryar to the back of his mind.

“I’m so nervous to meet your friends.” Xena leans in, whispering in his ear. He pulls back and smiles at her. She looks up at him through her lashes and it kills him, the way she looks at him like that. His grin grows wider and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“You’ll do great.” He whispers encouraging words in her ear, pressing his lips to her temple as his eyes close. He does it out of habit, a small gesture to ease her nerves. For a brief moment, his mind flashes to her, his Bryar. His eyes open and he’s pulled right back into reality when he sees Xena’s blonde hair. A reality he’s forced to accept. He sighs, running his free hand down his own face.

After a few moments, he hears the doors open signaling that the bridal party would be making their way in any second. He turns his head to watch behind him as the wedding party makes their way to the altar. His eyes search around the room, eager to place familiar faces to introduce Xena to after the ceremony. He catches the movement of all too familiar auburn hair. He barely catches a look at the side of her face before he can’t see anything but the back of her head. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs under his breath.

He can’t believe she’s here. In the same room as him for the first time in four long years. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew she would be. Celia is one of her best friends. Harry’s eyes widen slightly when he realizes she’s not alone. Her head turns a little and he can see more of her face again. She perches her fingers under her chin, gazing at the man beside her and smiling. His heart drops to his stomach. He remembers that look all too well. She used to look at him that way. He tries to look away but he can’t, his memories catching up to him.

—

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Harry was nervous for a date, and this was the first time he ever recalled feeling this way. He had just met this girl, Bryar, at a coffee shop a couple of days ago and she was absolutely stunning and she captivated him with her words from the moment she spoke to him. He would’ve been a fool to not ask her out after the conversation they had. He was surprised she had even agreed. They exchanged numbers, and agreed to meet at a sushi restaurant downtown.

He admired the way she spoke. The way she got a little too excited about something in their short conversation, they way her cheeks flush in embarrassment when she realized she was rambling to a stranger. He asked her out right then. No way he was going to pass up the opportunity.

The walk to the restaurant is short, but it feels eternal because he’s so nervous. When the sign comes into view, he sees her standing there. Hugging her body for warmth in the cold winter air. He picks up his pace, speed walking towards her so she doesn't have to wait any longer for him. When he approaches, their eyes meet and she smiles widely.

“Hi!” She says almost like she didn’t believe he was standing in front of her.

“You didn’t have to wait outside for me.” He states, a small laugh escaping between his words. She shrugs.

“It’s okay. It’s just a little chilly.” She reassures and he smiles at her, walking towards the door side by side. He holds it open for her, and he hears her hum when the warm air inside envelopes them. They were seated and once the first date awkwardness subsided, they stayed there most of the night. Talking about anything they could think of.

He talked about his job, she talked about her dreams and ambitions, she was in her final year of college and how excited she was to be finished with her Master’s degree. What childhood pets they had. Where he was originally from (hence the accent) and why he moved to the States. They shared childhood stories of friends and siblings and parents. Everything laid out on the table, figuratively speaking. The more she spoke the more he admired her. She had her hand under her chin and watched him speak, a smile creeping up on her face at the way he articulated his words and thoughts.

The waiter approached the table and informed them the restaurant would be closing soon, and both of them looked at each other with wide eyes, Bryar bursting out into a fit of laughter. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard in such a long time.

“I don’t really want this to end.” She admitted, catching him by surprise with her honesty. He was thinking the same, too nervous to say it.

“It doesn’t have to.” He says, his eyes meeting hers. She tucked her lips into their mouth, suppressing a smile. He signed the check and they stood, walking towards the door.

He wasn’t expecting it, the way she grabbed his hand and laced her fingers between his. He hesitates for a moment before closing his hand around hers and he feels his heart already swelling for this girl. Bryar. He knew, in that moment, that she was going to fuck him up forever. Having just met, his heart already belonged to her, and that was dangerous...and for some reason, he didn’t care.

They were inseparable after that.

—

Harry feels a hand slide into his, snapping him out of his memory. Xena has her head tilted to the side, worried.

“Where did you go just now?” She whispers, and he shakes his head.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” He reassures her. But was he fine? Bryar was right there. He’d been dreaming for another chance to speak to her. His breathing picks up, and he turns away. He can’t keep looking in that direction because all he was doing was staring at her. He had to get out of here, fast. He fists the material of his dress pants, turning to face the front of the room instead. He couldn’t leave yet even though he wanted to. He couldn't run off and steal the moment away from Celia. The attention would be on him and the last thing he wanted was for Bryar to see him, if she hadn’t already.

So he faces the front, breathing rapidly through his nose. Hoping to not draw attention to himself. Xena places her hand on his knee, and he closes his eyes.

He was so fucked.

—

BRYAR

She looks over at Sam with adoration, trying to keep her breathing at an even pace. She knew if she glanced to the left she would see Harry, and that made her anxious. The flower girl was walking down the aisle shyly, and everyone was cooing and smiling at her. Bryar kept her eyes trained on the doors as they shut, preparing for Celia to walk through them for her grand entrance.

The doors open and everybody stands. There Celia stands with her dad by her side. She looks ethereal. Bryar feels tears brimming her eyes and she swipes at them before they can fall down her cheeks.

But now she has to turn and face him again and she’s not sure what will happen when she does. Her mind races, ultimately unable to avoid turning around. She looks up at where Derek stands, and sees that he’s swiping at his own eyes, seeing the love of his life walking towards him filling him with unspeakable emotion.

Bryar’s eyes flit over to Harry. His back is facing her, but his plus one is still turned to watch Celia. Bryar’s eyes meet hers for a brief moment and she holds her breath. Surely Harry has told her about Bryar, the girl who broke his world. His heart. The girl smiles at Bryar and Bryar forces herself to smile back, a passive smile. Of course, this girl never did anything to her. She didn’t even know who she was, never seeing her before this moment.

The officiant speaking causes their gaze to break, Bryar averting her eyes forward. She tried to focus on the words, but her mind is still racing. Sam rests his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. She peeks over at him, and he leans in to whisper in her ear.

“I can’t wait for this to be us one day.” He says, nudging her once with his nose and kissing right beside her ear. She smiles, but her heart constricts behind her ribs. They had talked about their future together before, briefly. Bryar preferred to live in the moment after Harry. With Harry she was always looking forward instead of in moment, and she realizes that’s where most of her disappointments lie. In the future. The future is not predictable.

The ceremony lasts all of 30 minutes, and then the guests are dismissed to the ballroom for cocktail hour while the newlyweds and their wedding party take pictures together. Sam guides Bryar through the doors, a hand on her back so she knows he’s right behind her. The ballroom is decorated from floor to ceiling, flowers hanging out of vases and spilling into the table in beautiful arrangements. Bryar finds hers and Sam’s names at a table with the same friends they spoke to at the beginning of the evening. Sam leaves her to go to the bar and get drinks for the table.

Bryar engages in conversation as best as she can. They are talking about something that’s out of her realm and only adds when she feels it’s appropriate. Sam is walking towards them, carrying six drinks somehow and she finds herself giggling at how he’s able to carry three cups in one hand. He raises his eyebrows at her, blowing out a breath. He hands them out, holding them until the respective person takes it and then sits Bryar’s in front of her last.

“Thank you.” She says and he leans down, pecking her lips.

—

HARRY

Harry grabs Xena's hand, his fingers lacing with hers as they make their way into the ballroom, the lights from the ceiling twinkling and reflecting on the windows. They find their table, seated with a few people Harry knows and he pulls Xena’s chair out for her to sit.

“Drink?” He asks, running a hand through his hair and she nods.

“Just something light for now.” She requests and he nods, his hand lingering on her chair as he walks away. He waits in line behind a slightly taller man with dark black hair. The man turns to look over his shoulder and Harry recognizes him as the one that Bryar is here with. His eyes narrow, a bit of jealousy fueling his mind, but he shakes it away. Someone comes up behind Harry, navigating around him and getting the attention of the man in front of him.

“Sam! Hey man. I didn’t know you knew Celia and Derek.” The man takes Sam’s hand in his, shaking it, obviously someone he knew as an acquaintance. Sam smiles a little.

“Oh, I don’t really. I’m here with my girlfriend. They’re more her friends than mine.” Sam informs the stranger and he nods.

“Oh right, Bryar. Tell her I said hello.” The man responds and Sam nods. Harry looks down at the floor, kicking the toe of his shoe against the hardwood. He bites his cheek hearing her name. Sam and the unnamed man part ways after a bit of conversation, promising to catch up later in the evening after the ceremony. The line moves forward and Harry listens as Sam orders drinks for what seems to be his entire table.

“…and then I need vodka cranberry.” He finishes the order on Bryar’s drink. Harry would know, he’d ordered that for her at least a hundred times, the only other drink she enjoyed besides the cheap white wine from the grocery store. He looks to the side, his eyes narrowing, the jealousy bubbling up in his chest.

“Forgot to make it a double.” Harry mutters under his breath, and to his surprise Sam turns around. She never orders a single shot. Ever.

“What?” Sam asks, cocking his eyebrow and Harry looks over at him, shrugging.

“Didn’t say anything.” He shakes his head once, denying that he said anything. Sam looks at him for another moment, like he’s trying to place where he’s seen him before, before turning back around to the bartender. A second later, Sam is juggling all six drinks in his hand and nodding once at Harry before finding a path to his table. Harry orders for himself and then for Xena, dropping a tip in the jar and winding around chairs and tables back to her.

He slides into his chair, sipping on his beer and his mind slips into a memory.

—

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Bryar leans over the table, pool stick in hand and aiming at the cue ball directing it to the eight ball on the table. If she sinks it she wins. Harry stands behind her, a hand protectively resting on her back. Last thing he needs is someone looking at his girl with their drunken eyes trailing up her body. Not that he would blame them for looking, but his jealousy doesn’t let them get away with it if he catches them. Her hips shift slightly against his hand and he smirks.

Watching her intently, he admires the way her hair falls over her shoulder and tucked behind her ear, the tip of her tongue sticking out a little in concentration. She takes the shot, and sinks the eight ball, winning the game with ease. She straightens, jumping a little and turning to face him. The excitement in her eyes makes them twinkle and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to hers to kiss him.

“I won.” She grins, giggling a little and he pecks her lips again.

“You won, baby.” He mutters against her lips, pulling her a little closer to him.

“Get a room, you two.” Celia groans beside them and Bryar snickers, turning her head to face Celia and sticking her tongue out. Her temple touches against Harry’s chin and he dips a little lower to plant a small kiss there.

“Want a drink?” Harry asks, lips still pressed lightly to her skin and she nods.

“Vodka cranberry, remember to make it a do—” She starts to say, but Harry cuts her off.

“A double. I know. How you always want it.” He smirks, backing away from her before he turns away and makes his way towards the bar. He orders, looking over his shoulder at her while the bartender prepares their drinks. She’s already taking on her next victim in a game of pool, probably going to wipe the floor with them like the last unfortunate soul. There’s only one thought in his mind as he watches her, bent over the table to break.

He would marry her one day.

—

“Right, Harry?” his friend, Zack, asks from across the table. Harry blinks once, Zack raises an eyebrow waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention. Something on my mind.” He mutters, looking anywhere but at anyone at the table.

“Um…okay.” Zack says, turning back to the conversation.

The reception starts and the speeches and toasts to the bride and groom are all a blur. Harry doesn’t even get up to eat. He hasn’t really spoken to Xena and she hasn’t prodded him for answers either. The only thoughts racing through his mind were of Bryar. He just wanted to speak to her, he’d give up everything right now to be able to talk to her.

—

BRYAR & HARRY

Bryar and Sam are standing at a cocktail table outside of the reception area. Sam has been talking to them all night and Bryar tunes most of the conversation out, standing with one arm crossed over her middle and holding a plastic cup to her lips, chewing on the lip of it lightly. She’s leaning her head against Sam, eyes growing tired.

She turns her head for a brief moment, glancing around the room. Her eyes find Harry across the room, and it’s just become a habit as the night goes on. Her heart develops an ache that is so strong, she can’t believe how much seeing him has affected her. She lets her eyes linger on him a moment longer…what a mistake that was.

His eyes shift towards her, and their eyes meet.

She sucks in a breath, and she sees him swallow. It’s as if the entire world stops, everything and everyone in the room fades into the background, and it’s as if the only two in the room are Bryar and Harry. She wants nothing more than to run to him, throw her arms around him and sob into his shoulder, apologizing for leaving, for hurting him the way she did…but her feet are cemented to the floor. She knows she can’t. She loves Sam, and Sam loves her. As fucked up as it sounds, she feels like it doesn’t even matter because the only person she wants to love is Harry.

Her heart longs for him. She craves the way he used to say her name, the way he used to kiss her temple to calm her and remind her that he was right at her side, always. He stays where he is, his arm wrapped loosely around Xena’s waist and it pulls at her heart, constricting it in her ribcage. Harry can’t tear his eyes away and neither can Bryar.

He just wants to storm over to her and kiss her in front of the entire room. He doesn’t care about the consequences. He wants to grab her and tell her he doesn’t blame her for any of it. He wants to tell her that she’s still it for him, and he doesn’t expect her to come running back and give him another chance but he’ll always be waiting for her anyway. Seeing her tonight has only reminded him how much he's longed for her. But for whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to take that first step..

—

Four Years Ago

“...I just don’t think it’s going to.” Bryar says, her voice trembling on the words, she turns to walk away, and Harry brings himself to his feet, preparing to stop her from walking out the door. He doesn’t make it in time though, the breeze from the door slamming blowing back in his face. He feels the pang in his chest, the closing of the door making him accept quickly that this was real and she was gone. He leans his head against the hard wood of the door, allowing the tears to flow freely down his cheeks. They don’t stop, not even when the sobs take over his body, shaking and unable to breathe.

He’s not sure how long he’s been there. He doesn’t remember what time he even came home. At some point he turned his back to the door and slid down to the floor, staring at nothing. He finally blinks, turning his head and catching the time on the clock in the kitchen. Five A.M.

She had to come back, right? They were good together, she didn’t mean it. She was just upset. He would let her cool off for a couple days, and then he would try to talk to her. He pushes his body off the floor, muscles aching and screaming from leaning against the door all night.

He trudged down the hallway to his bed. It's unnervingly cold, the source of its usual warmth not present. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept without her. How could he sleep if she wasn’t there running her fingers down the expanse of his back, bringing her body closer to him for him to hold.

He tries to sleep, tossing and turning relentlessly for over an hour. When he’s had enough, he rises from the bed and decides to make a cup of coffee. The pang in his chest never goes away. His eyes feel sandy and he can’t fully open them. He stirs a little bit of milk into the mug, his motions slow and lethargic.

He turns memories over in his mind, combing through them to find the moment when everything started going south. Obviously, missing Bryars birthday was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final nail in the coffin. He didn’t realize that she’d been unhappy, it seems, for a while. She never gave him any hint, they hadn’t really had a fight in what feels like so long. But isn’t that when he should have noticed? Was she tired of fighting him? Fighting for him?

He needs to see her. Needs to apologize. He’ll never stop apologizing, if that’s what it takes. He throws on his jacket and grabs his keys, leaving his apartment without a second thought. He doesn’t think of anything but Bryar on the way over to hers. She’ll answer the door. She has to, right? She was just upset, maybe she’s having second thoughts this morning.

He pulls up, throwing the car in park and practically jumping out before it stops moving. He sprints to her door, bringing his fist up to knock, but he pauses. He doesn’t hear her moving around inside. It’s silent. Was her car even in the parking lot? He steps back, looking around the wall to the lot and spots her car in its usual spot. Was she still sleeping? He finally knocks, waiting a few seconds for the sound of her footsteps coming to the door, except they don’t. He has a key, he could just go in. He fumbles his keyring around, mindlessly searching for the familiar blue key she had made for him not long after they started seeing each other, but it's not there. He doesn’t remember removing it, but maybe he did. He knocks again.

“Bry, baby please open the door.” He says, not yelling but loud enough for her to hear. There’s no answer back. No sound of her coming to him. Not the familiar turn of the deadbolt.

Nothing.

They can’t be over.

He was supposed to marry her. She was supposed to be forever.

He didn’t think forever was supposed to end this way.

—

Bryar is sure that someone has noticed them staring at each other by now, whether it be his date or Sam, yet she can’t seem to pull her gaze away. He nods his head to the side once, and it feels almost as if her heart was pulling towards him, trying to break free from the confines of her chest. His eyes flit across the room, and her gaze follows. She notices a hallway in his direct line of sight. When she looks back at him, he’s looking at her. Waiting.

Now she has the biggest dilemma. Does she stay at Sam’s side or does she finally after four long years get to hear Harry’s voice again? She’s frozen in place. Harry watches her, his eyes pleading with her to go and he’ll meet her there. He sees her apprehension. He knows what this would mean for her if she chanced being caught with him in the hallway.

She turns to Sam, looking up at him as he’s deep in conversation and it’s hard to make out the topic when her heart is beating so loudly it fills her ears. She watches him for a moment, thinking of every moment he was there for her, pulling her out of the darkness and giving her light whenever he couldn’t. She loves him.

But not in the way she loves Harry. Harry’s the only person who sees her for her. She doesn’t have to pretend around him. She doesn’t have to be something that she’s not. Never had to conform to please him, and she felt alive with Harry. She looks back across the room at him, he hasn't moved, his expression is one of longing. Pleading.

“Please.” She sees him mouth the word so clearly, begging her to give him any of her time. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath for the first time this evening, the air filling her lungs.

That was all it took.

Everything that happens next is a blur. She excuses herself to the restroom, slinking further away from the group. Her heart is racing, the closer that she gets to the hallway her palms start to sweat from the fists she has them clenched in. Once she’s behind the cover of the walls, she runs. Her dress is flowing behind her as she sprints, but it feels like she’s moving in slow motion, like she can’t get to him quickly enough. She rounds the corner and there he is, standing at the end and her vision betrays her from the tears brimming her lashes.

She doesn’t stop running, not until she reaches him. She flings her arms around his neck, burying her face between his collar and jaw. His arms wrap tightly around her waist and she breathes him in, the scent that’s lingered in her dreams every night since the last, and his arms feel like she’s finally home. He’s there, every part of him taking over her senses and it’s like she can finally breathe after drowning for so long. He lifts her feet off the floor, pushing her into a darkened room and closing the door behind them. She pulls away, looking at him…really looking at him for what feels like the first time, and she’s unable to stop the tears from running down her cheeks. He grabs her face, his eyes searching hers. He’s so close and it almost feels like she’s dreaming. She feels weightless, the room around her spinning.

“Bry…” Harry whispers, and it sounds so beautiful coming from him. She doesn’t waste any time. She grips the lapels of his jacket, forcefully bringing his mouth to hers and she melts. His hands find their way to her hips, gripping and pulling her closer to him. His body melds into hers, pushing her against the wall. His tongue brushes against her bottom lip, begging to let him in and she does without pause. They need each other. He pulls away, their breaths ragged and shaking, from the kiss or from just being in the other’s presence. His forehead rests on hers, and he’s just taking her in. All of her.

“I’m not going to be able to leave without you after this.” He admits without remorse, kissing the tip of her nose delicately.

“I don’t want you to.” She says in a hushed tone. She pauses for a moment, looking up at him and studying his features. “But H, I think we need to have a serious conversation. It’s been so long, we never talked about anything and I take full responsibility for that. I left you, and I never intended to. Never. I’ve regretted it every day since.” Her voice trembles, admitting how vulnerable she’s been. Her gaze falls to the floor, shaking her head. "I didn't think you wanted me anymore."

“Baby, it’s not your fault. I promise. I will always want you. I said you were it for me, and I meant it.” He grabs her face again, forcing her to look up at him. “I am so sorry, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.” He cards his fingers through her hair, the tips of his fingers ghosting down her spine making her shiver. “I love you, Bry, I always have. I never stopped.” His eyes trace over every feature of her face, soaking in everything he’s been missing.

“I don’t deserve for you to forgive me so easily.” She whispers, and he shakes his head.

“No. None of that.” He kisses her again, unable to control the desire to feel her mouth on his. She sighs into the kiss, and he feels his heart pulling itself back together. “If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it’s me. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’ll give you anything…anything you ask for. Please just don’t make me leave without you.” He says against her lips. She grabs his wrists, bringing his hands to her mouth and kisses his knuckles.

“Take me home.” she whispers and he grins, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the room and down the hall, away from all of the people. Somehow Harry finds a backdoor and they sneak away into the night, laughing and running through the wet grass with their hands intertwined while Bryar’s shoes are in his other hand. Her head is spinning from adrenaline and nervousness. They find Harry’s car and she jumps into the passenger seat, Harry in the driver’s seat. He leans over the console and pulls her face to his once more, kissing her with everything he has. They drive away from the venue, her stomach in knots. Then she feels Harry’s hand snake over to her thigh, drawing small circles on her skin with his finger.

The drive to his apartment feels shorter than the drive to the wedding earlier in the day. They waste no time, practically sprinting into the building and up the stairs. He fumbles his keys and once the door is open, he pulls her inside. She doesn’t get a chance to take it in before he’s pushing her against the wall and kissing her again and again and again. The kiss is sloppy and wet, his tongue dancing with hers and teeth clashing together. He lifts her by her thighs, her legs instinctively wrapping around his torso. He forces himself away from the kiss, both of them breathing heavily and fast.

“Need you Bry.” He mumbles, dropping his lips to her collarbone and kissing lightly. “Always fucking need you.” Her eyes flutter closed and she hums. He knew how to make her melt with just his words, never forgetting what brings her to her knees.

“My girl. My sweet girl.” His lips travel to her shoulder, light touches leaving goosebumps on her skin, her body reacting like it’s never forgotten him. His tongue darts out, licking a stripe up to her ear and his breathing becomes heavy against her skin.

“Taste as sweet as I remember.” His voice drops an octave and Bryar audibly moans, forgetting that his words have always had such an effect on her. He pulls back, giving her a mischievous grin. His eyes have darkened and she down at him still holding her against the wall, her appetite for him becoming insatiable. She unhooks her legs, signaling for him to let her back down. Once her feet touch the floor she’s pushing his jacket off, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Her movements are frantic and shaky, fingers slipping over the buttons struggling to open them.

“Fuck it.” She says, fisting his shirt and ripping it open, buttons scattering around the floor. Her mouth waters at the sight of him. She pushes him further into his apartment, he smirks down at her, walking backwards until his legs meet the edge of the couch and he sits. She climbs on top of him, knees straddling either side of his waist and her dress rides up and around her hips. His hands find her hips, grabbing and forcing her all the way down in his lap. She groans when she feels his hardened length pressed against her center. He moves her hips for her, creating a friction so sweet she can barely hold herself up.

“Been waiting so long for this.” He murmurs, running his hands from her thighs up the expanse of her body. He pulls at the string on the back of her dress, making it unravel and it falls off her shoulders exposing her breasts to him. He dips his head forward and flicks his tongue against her nipple, causing Bryar to throw her head back, a quiet whimper escaping her lips while grinding her hips against him still. She lifts her hips, dropping her hands to the button on his pants. He lifts his hips slightly, allowing her space to pull his pants down just enough. She palms him through the thin material still covering him and he drops his head back with a loud groan.

“Need you so bad Har.” She whines, and that sets him off. He wraps an arm around her, picking her up and standing in one swift motion, carrying her to his bedroom. He lays her down gently, climbing on the bed to hover over her, his knee spreading her legs apart.

“Where do you need me, sweet girl?” He teases her by running a hand lightly up her thigh, trailing it back down. She sighs, grabbing his hand and putting him right where she wants him.

“Right fucking here.” she says through gritted teeth. His smirk grows wider, knowing she didn’t want to be teased. She’d gone without his touch for so long she felt starved. He pushes the lace covering her to the side, his finger swirling around her hole and the arousal that was already pooled there. Her eyes flutter closed and he watches her, studying her face as he slides his finger up, tracing small circles on her clit. She gasps, mouth dropping open, he inserts his finger to the knuckle and has her writhing beneath him. He thrusts his finger, hooking and finding just the right spot with ease. Her hips thrust upwards and he pushes in another, stretching her out and making her squirm under him.

“Being such a good girl for me, Bry. Always my good girl.” His voice is deep and he’s practically drooling watching her come undone from something as simple as this.

“Need more.” she begs between breaths.

“More?” His voice is low and gravelly as he kneels down, but he never takes his eyes off her. His fingers work her open slowly, her hips moving at a rhythm that matches his thrusts. She whines and cries and begs for more. “He never touched you like this, did he? So needy for something so simple.” he teases her, but she doesn’t want to think about Sam. Not right now. Even though he’s right, Sam never made her feel this way and she knows it. Harry can tell, the way her body is reacting to him makes it obvious she’s needed this for quite some time. He takes his fingers away from her and her breath leaves her lungs. She feels empty and the burning in her belly only heightens. The emptiness doesn’t last long, he brings his tongue to her dripping hole and licking all the way to her clit, flicking when he gets there. Her fingers tangle in his hair and he works his tongue on her clit while he brings his fingers back into play, pushing them into her. She feels the coil in her belly tighten, knowing that she’s about to let go.

“Shit, H. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—” she stutters out, her sentence breaking with a strained moan, and he works his fingers faster, lapping at her swollen bud. He shifts and stands over her, watching her unravel from just his fingers. He bends over, bringing his mouth to her ear and his warm breath tickling her skin.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you on my fingers, sweet girl.” he coos in her ear, his soft words are all it takes for the coil to snap and she’s clenching around his fingers, the ecstasy flowing through her.

“So pretty.” he murmurs as he watches her face contort into an expression of pleasure from above her. He brings his fingers up to her mouth, instructing her to open, and she does without question, tasting herself on him. He strips the rest of his clothes off, her mouth drooling at the sight of his cock finally springing free. A sight she’s been so desperate to see. He positions himself over her, tugging himself a few times before lining up with her.

He drags the tip of his cock down her folds once, collecting her arousal before he finally pushes into her, and its bliss. His chin drops to meet his chest, watching the way she takes him before throwing his head back again as he slowly works his entire length into her.

“Fuck, Bryar. Missed this. Missed you so much.” He grunts as he bottoms out and she writhes under him, her mouth hanging open from the overwhelming pleasure taking over her body. “S’like you were fucking made for me.” He stills for a moment, lowering himself so he can kiss her. She whimpers and whines into his mouth, grabbing his face with her hands not allowing him to pull away from her. She grinds her hips up, pressing their bodies together to try and create some movement.

“Go, Har. Need you to move.” she begs against his mouth and he pecks her lips again, shaking his head.

“Wanna savor it. Wanna go slow, feel all of you, baby. Missed you so much. Need to remember this.” She throws her arm around the back of his neck, holding him close to her as he drops his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking and lapping at her skin. He pulls his cock all the way out to the tip before he slowly pushes back in, setting a slow, torturous pace. So slow that it’s almost cruel. Bryar stifles a needy moan trying not to make him rush, but she needs him. Needs the way he used to be with her. She wants it to feel like they never missed a beat.

“Harry, please.” she gasps out as his hips meet hers again. His lips brush against her ear.

“Thought you were my good girl?” He nipped at her ear, and she was growing frantic.

“A-am.” she stutters, tears pooling in her eyes. “Being so good, just missed you. Need you.” she says breathlessly. She feels herself finally slipping. Slipping into that headspace she had only ever been in with him, only one she ever felt comfortable enough with when she was with him. The tip of his nose runs against her jawline, too gentle with her. He knows what he’s doing, riling her up and making her needy. He knows what she wants…he wants it too, finding it hard to resist falling into the familiarity with her, like not a single second has passed since the last time.

“Har, this isn’t fair. You’re being mean.” she cries between shaky breaths, feeling the tears starting to run. He pulls back, looking at her face once and seeing her expression, hearing her say he was being unfair flips a switch in him. He takes her by surprise and slams his hips into hers, causing her vision to go white and her mouth falls open again. He’s going hard, harder than he ever has with her and her thighs tighten around his hips and he feels her clenching around him.

“This what you want? Huh?” He says through a snarl, his teeth clenched together behind his lips. “This fucking mean enough for you?” He curses under his breath, bringing his hands to her thighs and pushing her knees to her chest, creating a new angle that somehow gets him deeper. She moans and writhes and her thighs shake in his hands, but she hasn’t said another word.

“That’s what I thought.” he mutters, looking down and watching himself disappear inside her, his head tipped to the ceiling and his eyes rolling back. She wraps her hands around his biceps, digging her nails into his skin. He shifts his weight, bringing her thighs flush with his torso and her ankles by his head, he kisses her skin there, and his movements never falter.

“Look so pretty taking my cock like this, Bry.” He grunts, and she’s falling apart. She can’t hold in any longer and she comes undone, the pleasure pulsing through her veins. She goes limp under him and her legs falling from his shoulders, her body exhausted from being worked this way. Her arms fall over her eyes and quiet moans fall from her lips. Harry grabs her wrists, pulling her arms above her head and keeping them captive there. He holds them together in one hand as he bends to kiss her, snaking his other hand down her body that shakes beneath him. He just needs one more. Needs her to cum one more time. His fingers dance over her hip, tracing lightly to her sensitive clit. He pushes his thumb against it and her body jolts and she cries out.

“H-Harry, no. Can’t. Can’t do it. Hurts." She can barely get the words out as he draws small circles around the bud. She looks up at him with wide eyes, shaking her head and pleading with him.

“You can. Know you can.” he encourages her, feeling his resolve coming quickly. If he could just get one more from her, he’d let her be finished. He was just so desperate to feel her clenching around him one more time, he longed for the feeling for so long. He finally had her where he wants her and he’s not letting her be finished that easily. “You take me so well, just one more. Need to feel you one more time.” He kisses her temple as her head falls to the side…and her third comes not long after that, his fingers slowly petting over her clit makes it so easy and she cums hard. The moment he feels her tightening around him he lets go, his hips stuttering and her name falls from his lips over and over, his head dropping to her shoulder with heavy breaths.

They lay there like that for a moment, his weight on top of her as she lazily wraps her arms around the back of his neck. Their heartbeats are thundering in both of their chests, and he hums as her fingernails run over his shoulder. They’re both silent for what feels like too long, but finally Harry stands and he walks off to the bathroom, bringing back essentials to help her clean up. He goes to his closet, pulling out an old shirt for her to wear, one he’s seen her in countless times before. They settle in the bed, and he pulls her to his chest, breathing her in, and he feels complete. She feels at home. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

Bryar’s phone rings incessantly until it dies, and she can’t find it in her heart to care. The adrenaline that was coursing through her veins for the past few hours was finally fading, growing sleepy while wrapped up in Harry’s arms, and that’s all she ever really wanted. It was fate, seeing him tonight, and maybe she always knew in the back of her mind that they would find their way back to each other. She lifts her tired eyes to his face, from his tousled hair to the stubble growing over his chin. Smiling, she brings her hand up to his cheek. He opens one eye, peeking at her. She smiles shyly at him, and he smirks back.

“Hi.” She whispers and the smile on her face grows.

“Hi.” He whispers back, trailing his hand down her arm. He moves closer, kissing her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips. She closes her eyes, nuzzling closer to him and breathes out deep through her nose.

“I love you.” She mumbles.

“I love you, Bry.” He says into her hair, the familiar scent of strawberry filling his senses.

“Forever?” She asks for reassurance, even though she already knew the answer, her eyes falling closed, sleep consuming her mind.

“Forever.” She hears him say quietly before she falls asleep with his hand drawing shapes along her spine, the scene identical to ones they used to share countless times, many years ago. She feels comfort. She feels safe. And if you wanted to make the long story of their love short…for her, it was always going to be him, and for him, it would always be her.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 𖥸· ─────── · ·

taglist: @indierockgirrl (tagging you because you said you wanted to be tagged in everything and i just love you so much for that <3)

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x fmc #fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #smut #right where you left me #wrongplacerighttime #exes to lovers #normal!harry #normal!fmc #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles au

[thebloomingheather]

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Chapter 22 of Right Where You Left Me is up!

Lord. The past two months have been something. I've had a lot of life stuff happen, including a death in the family and a funeral for said death. Still I think grief and mental illness are uniquely complex yet universal experiences, and things that should be normalised. Life goes on and we have to take it one day at a time.

On a more positive note, we've reached the long awaited POV shift, and as you can probably guess, this is Eddie's time in the limelight. Chapter 22 is a 170-page document on Google Docs and is roughly 56k. It's absurd. Truly unhinged when I think of the start of this story.

Moreover, to me it's an exercise in endurance, a character study, too, because we've stayed in Buck's head all this time, and Eddie's perspective is challenging, refreshingly new, and overall an interesting place to be. Given how isolated Buck has been in his declining mental health, delving into Eddie's world means we get to spend more time with the other members of the 118 too.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always I dearly appreciate your engagement. Writing is a solitary endeavour and receiving your support, your encouragement truly keeps me going. It means more than I can say.

Also happy season 7 premiere! 🚒🍿

With the generous BTS and PR material from ABC, I think we'll have a lot to look forward to each week. 🥂🧀

Happy reading and take care. 💜

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #buddie 911 #911 buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buckley diaz family #bobby nash #firefam #118 firefam #911 abc #911 fanfic #buddie ao3 #buddie wip #station 118 #9-1-1 #911 firefam #911 fic #right where you left me #right where you left me buddie #right where you left me 9-1-1 #ryan guzman #oliver stark #911 fox

[fanfictionalraven]

Right Where You Left Me

Title: Right Where You Left Me

Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 7,309

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly. 

“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.

“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.

“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.

“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing. 

“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.

“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.

“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.

“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.

“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.

“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.

When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.

That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other.  There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…

“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.

“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.

“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.

“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“We don’t know,” she tells you.

“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.

“Well…yes,” she says.

“Have you called the police?”

“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.

“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”

“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.

“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.

“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.

“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.

“I want to help,” you tell them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.

“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”

“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.

The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.

“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.

“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.

“I wish I could say the same but…”

“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.

“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.

“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.

“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.

“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.

“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks. 

“Of course,” you agree, immediately.

***

Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.

Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.

“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.

“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.

“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.

“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”

“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.

“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”

“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.

“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all.  “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”

Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.

“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.

Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.

“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.

“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.

“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.

“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.

“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.

“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table. 

“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”

“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”

“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.

“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.

You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.

You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.

“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead. 

The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.

“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.

“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.

“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.

“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.

“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.

“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.

“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.

The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.

“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.

“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.

“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.

“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.

“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.

“I hope we can do better than them.”

“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.

“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.

The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.

The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.

“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.

“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”

“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.

The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.

“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.

“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.

“How much do you know?” He asks.

“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.

You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.

“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.

“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.

“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.

The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.

“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.

Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.

“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.

“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.

“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.

The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.

“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.

“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.

“What’s happening?” Mary asks.

“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.

“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.

“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.

“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”

“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”

“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something  I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.

“Why would you –,” Mary starts.

“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”

“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.

“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.

“Leave her out of this,” he growls.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.

“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.

“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”

“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.

“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.

“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.

“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.

“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.

**

Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…

“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”

“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.

“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.

“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.

“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”

“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.

***

Three months, five days.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment. 

You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.

“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.

“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.

“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.

“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.

“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.

“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.

“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.

Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.

“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.

“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.

“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.

“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.

“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.

“Gre...huh??”

“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.

“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.

“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.

“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.

“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.

“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.

“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.

“You were so mad when you saw me…”

“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.

“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.

“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.

“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.

“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.

“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.

“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”

“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.

“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, Dean kisses you once again.

You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.

I quit. -Y/N

****

Tags: @roseblue373

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #sam winchester #mary winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #cas #castiel #right where you left me #dean x waitress

[books-books-smolderinglooks]

1 day till more Wilmon moments to make us scream.. ❤️❤️

#young royals #wilmon #simon eriksson #wilhelm #prince wilhelm #wilmon countdown #of course this is where I left it!! 🥹😭 #wille takes a breath then - it was me in the video!! aaaaah! #we all screamed cried laughed like amazing!! #brave wille doing it because it's the right thing and also for simon and because he's.. wille most beloved genuine truly good.. 😭 #and simon SIMON and that smile! aaaah! will i ever be over this? neeeeej. 🥹😭🥰 #see you on the other side. 💜💜 #my gifs yr #wilhelm x simon

[velvetcloxds]

'Be my mistake' - Carlisle Cullen and "tell me"

If you're still doing it

COLD | C.C.

word count: 0.7k

warnings: a smidge suggestive

summary: cuddling with carlisle in the middle of winter is not as romantic as you hoped

Carlisle was cold, no matter the time of the year or the time of the day, he was freezing, a welcoming trait to aid your favourite guilty pleasure of cuddling him in the summer, but it was a nightmare in the winter and you thought he’d have put that together being so obsessively observant over your every move but alas, he was lovingly unaware.

You were in the kitchen, coated with so many layers it was almost impossible to move, you were paddling around in your fuzzy socks, cold hands fixing another cup of coco to aid your search for warmth. The Cullens were out hunting, it felt like they always were lately, you realized it was less in favor of staying fed and more in favor of allowing you some time with your partner, none of them all that fond of seeing their adoptive father acting so terribly whipped for someone their frozen age.

You were impatient as you waited for the milk to boil, not even aware of the pout that tipped into your lips as you looked out the open windows, the glass house of theirs not at all helping your case, you could hear the music streaming from Carlisle’s office, the open door a silent invitation for you to come to join him while he worked, you were never one to deny yourself some time balled up on his lap- but you were stalling and could only do it for so long.

“Sweetheart,” you weren’t expecting him to come to search for you so soon, biting the inside of your cheek to fight back an amused smile at how quickly he got used to you being around constantly, something feeling amiss when you weren't at his side.

"Over here," you breathed, not looking to find him just yet as you finally poured the steaming milk into a mug, it was more of a bowl according to Edward, but it was perfect for the winter, big enough to warm both of your hands while you held it. "I was coming up in a second, just needed to procure the goods," you explained and you weren't all that surprised when he planted himself behind you, touching you just as soon as his feet stilled, and you hoped he'd mistake the shiver that ran down your spine as a reaction to him and not the cold that ran through your body as it was pressed against his.

"Have you eaten something today?" a silent reprimand as he hummed his question, looking over your shoulder as you plopped a handful of tiny marshmallows into the chocolate goodness. You nodded in reply, bumping him with your bum for the silly question when he was really just trying to make sure you'd had something other than cups of sugar to sustain you. "Just making sure," he continued and when you turned around carefully with the mug in your hands and a raised brow he couldn't help a smile. "You've been spending more time in this kitchen than in my arms," he added, and had he any less restraint, you were sure he'd have paired the words with a pout, but he offered you a simple shrug instead.

"I have not," you argued, hoping he'd be distracted enough by the little sigh of approval as you savored your first sip that he'd not push you for the truth- a futile hope, really.

"Oh, you have, if I didn't know better I'd say that you were avoiding me," smart man, you realized, yet not smart enough to not let his thumb slip under the hem of your shirt while he brushed his hands up and down your waist. "Why are you hiding down here?" he wasn't one to dance around the point, eyes soft to encourage you to talk to him. You weren't all that keen to do so, you were freezing and it was definitely not something that could be helped by being held against him but being the old-fashioned fool that he is, you knew he'd be weary to cuddle you again if you told him what was wrong. "Tell me," he breathed and you couldn't stay strong under normal circumstances, let alone with him looking down at you like that.

"I'm cold," you admitted and it took him a second, eyes crinkling as he frowned. "I'm very cold and usually cuddles would be the very best solution for that but-"

"But you're freezing and your partner is frozen," he tried and you smiled, nodding guiltily, no reason to feel guilty at all with him being who he is but it still wasn't the best feeling telling the person you loved that you didn't want them to hold you. "The fire isn't helping?" he quizzed and you shook your head, knowing he had lit the fireplace and turned up the heat through the whole house as soon as the winds turned cold and still it didn't help. "Well, then there's only one other thing that I think might help," he was being vague, suggestive if you've ever seen it on him and your cheeks were burning at the simple thought.

"And what's that?" foolish question, he was already stealing the mug from your hands, throwing your blanket from your shoulders, and robbing you of a layer of warmth.

"A warm bath perhaps," it sounded like he was merely presenting an option, yet he was moving you into his arms, tucking an arm under your knees as he picked you up, already very pleased with himself as you giggled.

"Everyone will be home soon, Carlisle," you reprimanded but it was no use, the vampire set out to make it all better, and more selfishly, he knew you'd not deny him holding you when you were soaking in nearly boiling hot water.

"We'll close the door," he argued and you felt almost silly for not telling him sooner if this was his way of fixing it. "We have to get you all warmed up, sweetheart," he was placing you on the counter by the sink, warm water turned on and room-filling quickly with steam as he held a hand under the stream to make sure it was perfect.

"You're only doing this because I'm cold, huh?" you pressed, folding your arms around yourself as your body missed your blanket. "No other reason?"

"Well now, my love, who says we can't solve two problems at once?"

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x you #carlisle cullen x yn #carlisle cullen fluff #carlisle cullen one shot #carlisle cullen blurb #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen drabble #carlisle cullen fanfiction #monique's writing events #right where queue left me

[l5byrinth]

Right where you left me (1)

❝ Friends break up, friends get married. Strangers get born, strangers get buried. Trends change, rumors fly through new skies. But I'm right where you left me. ❞ - Taylor Swift

pairing: neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan x omatikaya!reader ( see a/n but aged up to fit the story ig )

summary: in which you were right where he left you

a/n: might make a part two if anyone asks for it <333 also there is mentioned that reader’s friend is mated so basically i think this is aged up, but i’m not sure about it yet

requested !

part one part two

A pain shot through your heart. An incredible intense pain. And there was nothing you could do about it. Nothing but sit there and watch as he talked to you. Sit there as he told you how he didn’t want you anymore.

What had you done? Were you not good enough? Thoughts raced through your head as you stared at him. You should’ve seen it coming, you really should’ve. But how could you, when you were so blinded by love. So blinded that you couldn’t see him slowly disappear.

“Y/n, I still love you. I deeply and truly do. But… I think we should stop seeing each other.” The sentence that broke your heart echoed in your head. Repeated in your head a million times in a haunting and taunting manner.

Neteyam had came up to you from behind earlier, wrapping his arms around you. You were talking to your close friend and was surprised by his sudden action, a giggle escaping your lips.

He had whispered in your ear that he wanted to speak with you at your usual spot. And you had agreed, not knowing what was bound to happen. With a smile you had excused yourself and went after Neteyam.

You had sat down on a rock, making yourself comfortable, while he was still standing. It was as if he was in a painful discussion with himself. After he had sat down across of you, he told you. He told you the sentence you had never expected and never wanted to hear. Especially not from him.

After he was finished with his rant, he looked at you with those eyes. Those beautiful, piercing yellow eyes you couldn’t get enough from. Those beautiful eyes that had turned into your home. But you felt that home crumble and fade away.

“I have to go,” He said, getting up almost immediately, not letting you speak at all. And with that he left. He just left. He left you no choice but to stay there forever.

So you were still seated on the rock, as if you were frozen in time. That’s when the emotions broke loose. Tears were streaming down your face. You were sobbing uncontrollably as you thought about your memories together.

The time you were braiding Tuk’s hair and he saw it. And he asked you to do the same with his, with the most adorable smile on his face. The long talks you had together while walking. The times you went flying, shared kisses and so many more.

All gone. All shared for nothing. All shared only for him to leave you just like that.

When you finally stopped crying, you decided to stay there. You weren’t planning on sleeping, not planning on doing anything in fact. You didn’t want to face anyone right now, afraid of what they would think or say about you.

A soft rustle was heard and you desperately wished it was Neteyam. Neteyam coming to you to apologise, telling you it was a sick joke or something. But you knew it was too good to be true.

Your close friend who you had spoken to before had emerged from behind the bushes. She brought you back home, comforting you along the way as you cried and told her everything.

She had brought you to your tent, where your parents were worriedly pacing back and forth. They hugged you and cried at the sight of you. You hadn’t realised you had stayed there for that long. Your parents told you how much they had missed you, how worried they were when you hadn’t come back home before eclipse.

During the upcoming weeks all you could think about was your memories together. Everything in your usual routine reminded you of him. Because almost everything you did was with him.

You smiled at the thought of that. Every day when you did your chores, you thought about him. You knew you had to move on, but it wasn’t easy.

And it didn’t help that you had seen him a few days ago. You were going to the healers tent, always helping out every once in a while when needed. And that’s when you saw him.

Neteyam looked like he wasn’t fazed by your breakup at all. He was still the confident, handsome na’vi he was before and during your relationship. He was laughing, talking to someone you had seen him help out before.

It killed you, knowing he was fine while you weren’t. Knowing he was joking and laughing, when all you did was force a laugh or fake a smile in every single one of the few interactions you have.

It killed you that you felt like you were entirely stuck in the past, regretting every decision you made, while he was out here having fun.

The days past and all you did was do your chores and that’s it. And whenever you hung out with your friends you just watched as they had fun with one another.

You were seated on a rock, sharpening a stick as you avoided all contact with anyone. Your face was emotionless, just as you were feeling from the inside. Footsteps approached you and your heart couldn’t help but skip a tiny beat. A tiny bit of hope that it was him blossoming in your chest. But it wasn’t.

You looked up and saw your friend, a bright smile on her face and her lover’s arm wrapped around her waist. It made you think of Neteyam and you. And the incredible pain got even worse.

She told you about how her and her lover had finally mated. She teased him about it and he did the same, laughs and giggles shared between them.

You were happy for her, of course. But your thoughts were entirely consumed by Neteyam and your memories. Of what you were before he decided it was for the better to separate.

That’s when you realised, you were still entirely stuck in the past, while the others made their future.

You were right where he left you.

part 2

#neteyam sully x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #neteyam angst #neteyam sully #taylor swift #right where you left me #taylor swizzle

[heartbreakprincewille]

Considering that this is Wille and Simon from S3 E1, I think it can be a parellel to the library scene from S2 E1 where they meet for the first time after the Christmas break, but this time it will not be a sad reunion💜

#AHHHH i stayed there dust collected on my pinned up hair I'm right where you left me and all that #I'm still stuck on this trailer #young royals #wilmon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilhelm x simon #yr s3 spoilers

[goldustwomun]

right where you left me (m.m.)

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: snippets of how you once met matt murdock accidentally, and then purposefully on the same day every year. 

warnings: smut; oral (m receiving); fingering (f receiving); p in v sex; angst; time jumps; giving november 9th by colleen hover xoxo; unedited <3

wc: 4.6k+

note: she’s baaaack! i’ve been barely motivated to get this done for the past month (????) but here it is! finally! it’s based on a request but i cannot for the life of me find it now xoxo and i’m not sure how much i will be writing given the fact that i’ve started uni (first year shit and all that), but i will do my best :) hope you all enjoy!!

It was a fluke that you had even shown up to the bar on the corner of 34th street, the border of Hell’s Kitchen and about as far as Matt would ever venture. You didn’t think he’d show up, knowing he had his own firm to take care of now, a life, a job, a potential partner or whatever it was he called them. 

You knew all of this, not because he had told you, but because a month earlier, when you’d been drunk out of your mind on a Monday night, weeping into an empty bottle of wine you’d opened and finished yourself, you’d opened your laptop and typed his name into the search bar, stomach clenching at every bit of information you found. 

And you knew – the pesky feeling had scratched at your mind until past midnight – that it had been almost a year and he had most definitely moved on from the almost one-night-stand the two of your shared, while you still felt him lurking in your bones, stuck like molasses on the edge of a spoon.

But it’s Matt Murdock, for crying out loud. 

Of course he would be the one you would never get over. How could you let go of the man who sensed your every worry despite only having met an hour prior, sent you swoon worthy upturns of mouths that had you wanting to kiss those cheeky grins right off of his face? The man who stared like he could really, truly, see you? 

You’d asked yourself all of that and more in the past thirty minutes, casually swirling the teaspoon in your stale cup of coffee, needing a clear state of mind as the jetlag had your eyes begging to shut. Coffee at a bar was never the right idea but you were desperate, in more ways than one. 

There’s no way he remembered, you reasoned internally, doing your best to not stare too intensely out of the glass window you sat by. Everyone, out there on the street, moved with a precision and purpose you’d lacked in the last year. You could feel yourself flailing in the dark, grasping at the ends of things and people and emotions you could never get a firm grip on.

So this, the coffee and the possibility of him, of more, was a last ditch attempt of soothing that phantom ache. 

If he showed up, even though you knew he wouldn’t, maybe you’d be able to get back that piece of your heart he took with him when he left the last time. You hadn’t realised it was gone until you were already in the cab, the airport your final destination, where you clutched your chest and felt a newfound emptiness, a lightness you never asked for, that hadn’t been there a day earlier.

One year ago, you met Matt Murdock by accident. You drank and laughed and blushed at everything he threw your way, and said thank you even when you could sense he was about to leave you wounded and alone all over again. You were beyond desperate, for reasons unknown to even you, for another drink, another joke, another hidden caress under the table, so you did what any sane person would in such close proximity to someone so God-like, so Devilish. 

“How about this, I’ll meet you back here in a year, and we can pick up where we left off?”

He chuckled into his drink, setting it down then shifting in his seat to face you, and the moment his knee knocked into yours, you knew you were a goner. “And where is it that we’re leaving off, hm?” He had a way of making even the most simplest of situations and sentences charged with an unfathomable tension.

“Well I think, and please, correct me if I’m wrong– but I think you’re about to ask me to your place and maybe, possibly… fuck my brains out?” You said it like a question, leaving enough room to label it as some unnecessarily complex joke if he seemed at all deterred.

Instead, he leaned closer, breath curling against the sensitive shell of your ear while his hand, large and calloused, gripped the bare expanse of your inner thigh. You snapped your legs shut instinctively, trapping his hand in between them, and he only smirked like that was exactly what he wanted: to be between your legs forever. 

“I’m not that kind of guy, sweetheart,” he teased breathlessly. Liar.

You shook your head, then remembering yourself, skimmed your nose up the line of his jaw until you were mimicking his position. “I think you’re exactly that kind of guy. And guess what?” you prompted, and he responded with a nick of his teeth against your skin– “I’m that kind of girl, as well.”

Looking back, none of it made sense to you and it probably hadn’t to him either, but in that moment of alcohol-induced lust, it was the sexiest thing you could think of given how dumb and foolish he had left you in such little amount of time. 

You left the bar soon after to catch a red-eye back home, to your normal, brutally mundane, everyday life of sleep, work, eat, repeat– no time for handsome strangers with wandering hands and inappropriate promises.

A chair scraped against the wood-panelled floors next to you, the sound irritating enough to paint a scowl across your face that you planned to aim at whatever idiot– 

Oh.

Oh. “Huh, funny bumping into you. Mind if I sit?” 

It took all of five minutes for the two of you to drag the other into the bathroom, thanking whatever God there was up there, looking down at the two of you pawing at each other, for the single stall. 

“That’s it sweetheart, open up for me,” Matt cooed, tugging your chin down as he painted his cock across your lips, hissing abruptly when your tongue skimmed out to lick at his weeping slit. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking up, forcing the entire head into your awaiting mouth, all hot and wet and exactly as he’d imagined it. Fucking heaven. 

Matt gathered your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as he thrust shallowly into you, mouth hung open in awe or shock, you weren’t entirely sure. But it was perfect, he was perfect, panting and gasping and entirely ruffled from your hands with his pants shucked down and his shirt half buttoned. 

You looked up through bleary eyes, the tears stinging them shut but you persisted, not wanting to miss a moment of him in all his annoying beauty, looking entirely like some sort of fallen angel with the halo of yellowed light around him from the flickering bulbs in the bathroom. 

“You’re doing so well, sweethe–fuck!” You swallowed around him, your nails dug into his bare thighs, whining around his length and pulling at the short hairs in admonishment but he retaliated with a sharp tug on your hair, halting your movements as he guided you to stand up, the hard length of him jabbing into your hips as he pressed his mouth roughly to yours. 

“Be good for me now, I’ve waited an entire year for this and don’t need you acting like a brat.”It was deliciously mean and exactly how you wanted it, so all you could do was nod with pleading eyes, whining your acceptance and submission. 

His tongue flicked out across your puffed lips, swollen and pink, and he moaned at the taste of him on your tongue. You almost lost it right then and there, unable to cope with the pretty sounds he was making as they scraped at your insides, as heat filled your belly. 

He was how you remembered, as attentive and giving as he had been a year earlier. 

When he slid in next to you, face already pulled up in a sardonic smirk and hand sliding up your thigh– surprising enough that you admittedly choked a little on your coffee, you’d eventually found yourself whispering, begging, for something hard, Matt, something hard and fast and a little mean. 

You don’t know where it came from, and from the conflicted look on his face, neither did he. He wasn’t a naturally cruel person, had that kind of warm, gooey smile that lit up the whole damn universe, but something flickered in his expression and he was, soon enough, gripping your wrist tight enough to bruise, urging you quietly in your ear to find the bathroom because he needed you now. 

Maybe later, when you tried to rationalise your actions, your thoughts, your feelings, you’d deduce it was because you needed to taint his perfection, even a little bit. If there was even a slight chance he could fuck himself out of your system and you’d no longer depend on him as whatever emotional crutch or midday fantasy he’d become, maybe you’d make it the rest of your life without needing.

“Please, please, Matt. Want you inside of me,” you whimpered into his probing mouth, fingers tugging at his short strands of hair, hot breath gasping like the air was running out of the room and he was your only source of oxygen.

“I dunno, baby, think you deserve it?” he taunted, that same look, the one that screamed desire and power and I fucking own you aimed at you had you nodding dumbly at him, eyes wide and desperate, and he forced himself to look away, spinning your around and pushing you into the marble counter of the sink.

“I want you to watch yourself fall apart,” he whispered, voice deadly, grip strong and unmoving. And you wondered if it was the Devil himself currently pushing down your trousers, hooking your panties to the side, sliding a finger through your slick folds once, twice, before ramming in with little to no warning. 

“Oh–” you all but shouted, agape and knuckles turning white as you were forcibly shoved forward. His hand, calloused and scraped but somehow soft and delicate at the same time, held onto your shoulder, while the other travelled up your front, groping and searching and taking, until it rested against your throat.

You were pulled back against him, could feel his muscles shifting through the thin material of his shirt as he pistoned his hips up into you, pulling you down with his hold on you as he dealt you promises in your ear. 

It was hard to hear, words getting lost between pants and groans and the ringing that had begun since he showed up, but you savoured every piece, every sound, anyway. 

“Fuck– fucking, fuck. You’re tight.” Matt shoved a hand down your front, plucking at your clit with an easy expertise that had your thighs quivering. You wondered if this was what he wanted to do a year ago when you’d trapped his hand in the same position, and with the way he seemed to throb inside you, somehow going faster and harder and deeper, you think it’s an appropriate assumption for your rather inappropriate position. 

“Just for you,” you promised, nodding and words tumbling out, tripping over each other until you weren't sure what was real and what wasn’t. “I haven’t– I haven’t been with anyone, not since we almost– we–”

The moment crashed down on you moments later as you realised what you’d admitted. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you felt him still almost instantaneously. The change in pace had you clawing back at him, urging him to continue and forget because your mind was scrambled and you were so close. 

“Matt, please. You stopped– Why’d you–” you begged around a sob, your voice hoarse and unrecognisable to even your own ears.

But he was pulling out, tightening his pants around his waist and then helping to pull yours up as well. Next thing you knew, you were being turned around, still flushed and pliant and throbbing with a need only he could fulfil.

He brushed your hair back, damp with sweat, as his hands cupped your face, the air shifting from borderline animalistic to something softer, sweeter, a side of him you hadn’t encountered yet between the first time and now when he’d been all cocky grins and charming words.

His thumb traced the ridges of your face, like he was trying to remember the impression of you through his touch, slowly putting together a portrait in his mind with every glide of rough skin. Then, he leaned down, kissed you all sweet that you wondered if you’d imagined the man from earlier. 

It was silent for a beat, then another, and when he finally spoke your stomach dropped. “You waited for me? The whole year you never–”

“It wasn’t– I didn’t–” you stammered, seizing up as every defensive thought and argument you could think of fought to be heard. “I didn’t wait,” you said eventually, exasperated and embarrassed. You turned to look away, ears burning. “Not for you, it wasn’t a choice. I was just– I’ve been busy and well, I’m busy right now. In fact, I’m here for work and– stop! Stop that!”

He was laughing. Whether it was because of your lame arguments or the way you never really finished a sentence– you weren’t sure but likely both. 

“What– why are you laughing?” you asked pointedly, shoving him back until he fell against the opposite wall, the space between you like a no man’s land you didn’t dare enter, not until you knew what was up.

“You’re just cute, that’s all,” he reasoned, that same stupid smile on his face that had you wanting to get on your knees all over again, even if the floor was grimy and the lighting in the restroom so terribly unflattering you were sure you couldn’t look anything that resembled attractive in it. 

Matt, on the other hand, looked stunning. It annoyed you that you noticed that, still believed it even after his sudden change in mood. 

“That’s not– I’m not–” you retaliated. 

“You're not– what? Cute?” he stalked forward, palm on either side of your hips as his lips puckered up in front of you and you instinctively leaned forward to kiss him. 

It took you admittedly long to process what you’d done because a second later, you pulled back, brows knitted together as you stared up at him, convinced it was a curse or a drug or something because why?

There was something about him, magnetic, an innate yearning you couldn’t let go of. 

“I think you’re fucking adorable, sweetheart,” he continued, smirking like he’d seen the emotions flicker across your face. “And you know, even if you didn’t wait for me, I waited for you.”

The two of you made another promise: next year, same time, same place.

You smiled to yourself as you left for the airport again, no longer worried you were a psychotic fool a little too addicted to a man she didn’t really know. Because he felt safe and comforting and like a home you never knew you wanted nor needed until you’d stumbled inside, and you think, maybe, possibly, he felt the same way.

He kissed you goodbye, said he’d take you somewhere nicer next year and maybe you’d get to finish what you started– again. 

And surprisingly enough, you were fine with it, with waiting and double-taking every time you crossed a brunette in sunglasses on the street. 

You’d make it work as long as you ended up in his arms a year later.

He showed up, but you wished he hadn’t.

You never thought you’d see the Matt Murdock stumbling and incoherent, hair sticking up in opposite directions, and reeking of alcohol so strong you’re surprised he hasn’t blacked out yet.

Not to mention the indistinguishable stench of someone’s perfume, the bruises climbing down the column of his neck and disappearing into his partially unbuttoned shirt. 

Yeah, you really wished he’d stayed home. 

“Sweetheart, baby, love– where are you going!” he called behind you, tripping over invisible cracks in the pavement and suddenly, you wondered if he was even blind because you followed you with a confidence, albeit, a drunken, slurring confidence, that you hadn’t expected.

So you stopped, worried he’d walk right into traffic, and he slammed into you, large palms circling your waist as you steadied him by his shoulders. It was cold, unbelievably so, and his breaths puffed like cigarette smoke in your face. 

Strangers walked around you, avoiding whatever was going on between you and your– whatever he was, like a plague. 

“I’m going home Matt, I have a flight to catch,” you answered calmly, words a little short, a little terse, and even in his state, Matt noticed as he nuzzled into your neck. You couldn’t help but shiver, missing his touch and mouth and presence over the past year. 

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if you got on a flight and knocked on his door. You didn’t know where he lived, had never made it that far into his realm or world, but Google was worryingly useful these days and you didn’t think he’d turn you away.

But then someone drops a stack of papers on your desk– “Need these edited and sent back tonight, thanks!”, and you're reminded why you never bothered getting his number or address or an actual date. 

Sometimes your life barely has space for you let alone a whole other person. 

“But I just got here. Please. Wanted to take you out, then take you home…” he trailed off, now sponging kisses into the little bit of exposed skin above the turtleneck you had on. And your eyes fluttered shut because, well, why wouldn’t they, and you let yourself enjoy it, him, for a moment longer before the wind picked up and carried with it that same fucking perfume you’d smelled earlier.

You pushed him back and he pouted like a kicked puppy. “Matt, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” you insisted, holding his hands in yours, between the two of you, so they couldn’t get closer to your skin, to where you really wanted them, because then you’d forget about where he’d been and why he’d been late and let him have his way with you.

You might have been touch starved for the past year but that didn’t mean you didn’t have any self-respect. Or at least, you hoped it didn’t.

“Hard? I can show you exactly what’s hard,” he mused and you scoffed at the line that probably would have had you giggling into his side had the night gone different.

“Fuck– grow up, Matt!” Your voice was getting louder, angrier, the exhaustion seeping in as your gloved finger pressed into a particularly prominent bruise on his neck. “You were with someone else, you prick!” It was like the drink drained right out of him as he stood straighter, sobering up almost instantly as if realising what he’d done. “I waited for two hours and you were messing around with some other girl or guy and–”

“I’m sorry, I–”

“No. You don’t get to be sorry,” you jabbed the bruise harder and he hissed, finally stepping back. “And– well– I don’t even get to be mad because we’re not dating either. We meet once a year and we apparently don’t even fuck but you’ll sure as hell go do it with someone else it seems–” He frowned but you kept going, needing to get it off your chest before you imploded. 

You sighed, hiding your shaking hands inside your coat pocket, hoping anyone passing by blamed the chilled wind for your tears and not the man in front of you. “I’m an idiot, Matt. I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not– I swear, Christ– you’re not,” he surged forward, wiping your tears and your brows jumped. “It’s me– I’m– this past year– it hasn’t been good, none of it has been good, and I thought you’d see it in me. I’m not a good person, sweetheart, not for someone like you.” 

Your chest ached. You felt something splinter, crack, break apart until you were melting into his arms, anything to get away from the pain of it all. You’d blame the blistering cold for it later, how you curled into his warmth and comforted his broken words in any way you could.

This time, when you left, you didn’t say anything about next year.

He could smell it on you. Someone new, different– male. 

He didn’t say anything, knew he couldn’t because you’d definitely look at him like he was insane and really, he was starting to feel it because all he’d thought about was you, you, you, and here you were, new hair, new look, fucking beautiful, and someone else’s. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said over the rim of his glass. Water, just water. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” you answered, and your mouth quirked like you were proud of your answer and the detachment in your voice.

Matt was proud of you too, despite it all. Something about the way in which you seemed to move about with ease, your heartbeat unwavering, no sign of the mess he’d left last time.

“So how’ve you been?” he asked finally, unsure of what to say. Because what could he even say? Sorry for fucking us up? Sorry for being an absolute prick of a human being and breaking your heart, but hey, I’m still reeling from it and it’s been a year but maybe my suffering will make it all alright?

Probably not. 

You hesitated. He heard the hitch in your throat, how you tried to clear it and chugged down half your mug of coffee. It was burnt and bitter but you downed it like it was something exotic and worth the five bucks you paid. 

Then, you lifted your hand, placed it on the table– the rustle of your shirtsleeve hinted at your movement– and you reached over with your other hand, held onto his wrist loosely, almost disinterested, and laid it on top of your hand.

He froze. He froze and he almost begged you to take it off, the words dying on his tongue but the ghost of them desperate to haunt the air around the two of you. 

“Engaged,” you cleared your throat again, like you were uncomfortable and he hated it. “I’m engaged.”

It took him a moment to realise you weren’t saying more, and it took another moment for him to realise that you didn’t owe him anything else. 

I’m not a good person. 

“That’s– that’s incredible, congrats!” The slight inflection of his voice, something that probably should’ve conveyed genuine excitement and an eagerness to know more– he cringed at how it sounded– like complete bullshit. 

“Thanks Matt,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “We work together and, honestly, he’s a real sweetheart so it was just– I dunno, easy? I guess that’s the right word, yeah. It’s easy being with him.”

Matt smiled wryly, stole his hand away and tucked it neatly on his lap. “Sounds like a charmer,” and he prayed you didn’t hear the sarcasm in his voice. 

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed, entirely too loved-up to notice what was happening right before your eyes. 

“So, does he know where you are right now?” he asked, suddenly curious. Like you’d said a year earlier, you weren’t dating, and any possibility of that becoming a reality had drained away the moment he’d shown up to the bar, drunk off of his mind and dishevelled from someone else’s hands. 

But you’d done things, said things– things that might have been meaningful enough that when it all ended, like it had a block away from where you both were sitting, it still hurt. 

So he needed to know if you’d told your fiance anything, if you still cared enough to hide it, hide him. Because if you did, maybe he’d hold out hope for once in his life. 

The heat rushed to your face and you craned your neck away, twirling the lone ring around your finger. “Not exactly,” you relented. “I told him it’s a business trip, this yearly conference– and that’s not a lie because the conference was yesterday, I just– I guess I didn’t want to tell him about this.”

“Why?” he asked, whispering like a secret.

“You know why Matt,” was all you gave him. 

You didn’t show up the year after, or the year after that. Matt sat in your booth alone, all night, until he had to show up at the office and explain to Foggy why he looked like he hadn’t slept.

“No, Foggy, it’s not that, I’m fine,” he’d insist when Foggy refused to accept any of his excuses. Like you hadn’t said anything to your fiance two years ago, he hadn’t told Foggy anything either.

Not because he was embarrassed or ashamed, but because he knew for a fact that Foggy would kick him in the ass for letting you get away. 

But that was a month ago and Matt had been walking around like more of a zombie than ever. Mugs strewn across his desk, possibly growing mould but he was afraid to find out. Papers scattered, transcripts of interviews he doesn’t remember conducting on papers he doesn’t recall signing.

Matt Murdock was a mess and the only cure was probably off making babies with some other guy.

The twang of the bell hooked onto the front door alerted him to someone knew. 

“Karen, we don’t have time for walk-ins right now!” he called, head in his hand as he was slumped over his desk. 

He was met with silence and he rolled his eyes at no one. With a huffed grumble, he stood from behind his desk and swung the office door open.

His walking stick clattered to the floor when he realised it wasn’t Karen. 

“Any exceptions to that rule?” you asked, timid and shy but entirely real. You were there, in front of him, mere feet away, and you were definitely not Karen. 

“I don’t know if my answer to that question is entirely appropriate for a married woman,” he replied slowly, even though he knew there was no ring on your finger.

“I’m not–

“--married, I know,” and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Then why’d you say that?” you countered, taking a step closer, and he parroted your movements, heart hammering in a way it hadn’t in too long. 

“Instinct. I wanted to make sure. Maybe you lost the ring, or someone stole it, that’d explain why you’re here, at least,” he reasoned. Another step.

“So you can’t think of any other reason for why I’m here?” You were a breath away, his strides admittedly, desperately, longer so he’d reach you sooner. 

“I can think of a few but I’d like you to tell me yourself.” His voice was low, afraid if he spoke any louder he’d scare you away, feel you evaporate out of his touch as he raised his hands to your face and yours came up easily to cover them, like you wanted to hold him to you and never let go.

“This guy he– well, he said he wasn’t a good person and, honestly, I’m a sucker for a lost cause–” Matt huffed out a laugh. “So I thought I'd give him another chance.”

His head dipped, lips brushing against yours effortlessly. When he spoke, his breath licked across your mouth, a promise of what's to come, and you nudged your nose against his, hurrying him along. 

“Where’ve you been, sweetheart?” he wondered aloud with the kind of reverence he reserved for confessions and church and a nameless priest. 

“Right where you left me.” And you pressed forward, cementing yourself to him. 

reblogs are much appreciated <3

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[roselandsrl]

Help I'm still at the restaurant

Still sitting the corner I haunt

Crossed legged in the dim light

They say what a sad sight

#lgbtq #romance #heartstopper #alice oseman #nick and charlie #charlie and nick #lovers #charlie spring #charlie x nick #nick x charlie #right where you left me #taylor swift debut #taylor swift #1989 taylor's version #i love taylor swift #i love you taylor #taylornation #evermore