#and you guys aren’t together 10 years prior so

[moominsuki]

my favourite bakugou x you trope is the one where he randomly gets thrown 10 years into the future by a villain with you (or to spice things up, his current gf/ “situationship” who isn’t you) by his side and they discover that bakugou is a number 1 pro hero now who’s very established, agency and billboards - the whole nine and he’s chuffed, he really is.

he tries to keep a low profile as he doesn’t want to alter the future and change the past but he sees you across the street - decade older, very pretty you donning a wedding ring on your finger and he’s sick, practically throwing up when he also sees a baby in your pram that he’s sure isn’t his…

until he sees his future self exit a building and scoop you up into his arms, then leaning down to pick said baby from its seat - and the baby is the spitting image of bakugou.

he has to hide behind the alleyway bin to alleviate his breathing.

#this is my favourite trope #and you guys aren’t together 10 years prior so #katsuki NEVER cheats so he wonders how you both came about #he’s had. a THING for you but you’re beautiful and nice so he didn’t think much #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.

[sugartitstownley]

HC’s for Post Option C Trikey

Hey, everyone! This is nothing too formal or well written— just some thoughts put down. All mistakes are mine because I didn’t reread this at all. Trigger warnings for mentions of violence and canon compliant themes. Here’s some Trikey + a bit of Amanda/Mike/T friendship.

Michael and Amanda’s divorce is rather amicable despite years of prior arguing.

Neither want to admit their marriage is over—both worried about the kids’ reactions. But they know it’s in everyone’s best interest.

Amanda moves out of the house, opting for a beach front property like she once asked Michael for months before.

Mike decides to stay at the house for now, even if it reminds him of what a lonely, washed-up jock he really is.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s never home. Instead, he spends his time at the movie studio, threatening actors and crew alike (because old habits die hard, right?).

If he accidentally hits too hard and the actor just doesn’t wake up…well, who can blame him?

The rest of his time is spent in the company of Franklin, Trevor, and Lamar.

“Jesus, sugar tits. You finally have time for us outside of kissing Solomon Richards’ ass.”

“Oh, bite me, T,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as he slides into the backseat of Franklin’s car. “I’ve been busy doing my job on set.”

“Well, sorry! I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a huge celebrity.”

Franklin slams on the brakes, the car coming to a halt in front of the stoplight. “Man, if y’all two don’t shut the fuck up, I’m dropping you both off.”

In hindsight, maybe things don’t seem that different between him and Trevor after The Big One. But he knows something has changed.

Trevor’s insults and quips don’t pack as much punch; they don’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

And Michael? Well, he stops regulates how many times he calls his former running buddy a psycho.

Their tentative friendship rebuilds for the most part, but there’s still an added component that neither party wants to speak aloud. That, or maybe it was a returning feeling resurfacing from their youth.

Either way, Michael tries to let it go and focus on making himself semi-happy for once. However, he doesn’t factor in until later that maybe he’s been so damn unhappy for the last 10 years because of a certain murderous, incest-loving hipster.

Michael feels his heart jump out of his skin as he turns around to see Trevor leaning against the glass outside of his house. He watches Trevor give a small salute before walking over to let the taller man in.

“You can’t knock on the front door like a normal human being?” Michael asks, his voice dripping with mild annoyance. “What am I saying? Of course you can’t.”

“For your information, pork chop,” Trevor starts, walking straight past Michael to look through his fridge, “I do this to keep you young— keep you on your toes.”

He watches Trevor pull out the soup container they made a few days prior while hanging out. Like a reflex, he opens the drawer and pulls out two spoons while they wait for it to heat up in the microwave.

“Yeah, whatever. What are you even doing here anyway?”

“Can’t a guy come see his best friend without there being a reason? Not all of us are looking to gain something from their relationships, sugar.”

Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, T. When are you going to let it go? Just once I’d like to spend time with you without thinking of our past. I said I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Trevor’s eyes find his, and surprisingly, there’s nothing but understanding in them. They hold each other’s gaze a moment too long until the microwave’s beeps fill the quiet room.

Their companionship settles into a routine that even surprises Michael himself. Food will be cooked together, movies will be watched, bikers will be shot (you can’t blame Mike for getting involved sometimes most times— it’s in his blood).

The taller man’s presence becomes so normal in Michael’s life that even Jimmy and Tracey aren’t surprised to see Trevor walking throughout the house when they’re visiting.

If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d say the kids even missed their uncle— enough to visit the Rockford Hills house even when Mike himself wasn’t there.

“Argh! This game fucking sucks!”

Michael’s lips twitch into a small smile as he heads up the stairs towards Jimmy’s room. The sight in front of him doesn’t surprise him all that much considering Trevor’s cursing could likely be heard from across the street.

Michael stops at his son’s doorway, watching him and Trevor furiously tapping on controllers to try and shoot the on-screen targets.

“Uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up, cringing at the screen. “You’re standing too close to the bomb, you’re going die if you don’t—”

The blood of Trevor’s character splatters across the screen before Jimmy starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Shut the fuck up, kid! C’mon, Mikey. Let’s go do something actually worth our time.”

Michael chuckles, reaching over to fist bump Jimmy, before leaving the room with Trevor.

He’s not sure when it happened—or why— but every time he looks at Trevor and his kids while they’re together, he can’t help but think of them as a family.

Sure, Trevor is already family. His kids call him Uncle T for a reason. But that’s not what Michael means. He sees them as his family. Trevor, Michael, Jimmy, and Tracey— a family.

It could be the people of Los Santos getting inside his brain with their comments and assumptions. Every time the pair go out with the kids, there’s at least one person who calls them a “two-dad family.”

For some reason, though, it doesn’t bother Michael like it used to. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore, like he’s cheating on Amanda.

After realizing that, it hit him harder than Martin Madrazo’s baseball bat. He loves Trevor. He’s in love with Trevor, and he probably always has been. Why else would he feel like he’s doing something wrong to Mandy every time he’s with him?

He doesn’t want to even think about telling his friend, but he also knows he wants to be done keeping secrets from him forever. And apparently, he’s done keeping secrets from everyone.

“Dad,” Jimmy starts off nervously from his side of the couch. “So, like, can I ask you something?”

Michael shoots him a weary look. “If this is about me buying you that new game, I already told you no Jim.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s more, ya know, personal.”

The silence drags on as Michael waits for Jimmy to continue, but he never does. “Spit it out already.”

“Look, are you and Uncle T, like, closer than you were before the divorce? You know, closer. Because, like, that’s totally cool with me. I have gay friends now, and I guess it’s better than you staying with mom and cheating. Maybe you and uncle T can, ya know, keep each other alive and shit but—”

“What? Jim! No! Trevor and I aren’t…”

Jimmy interrupts him. “But you want to be?”

“When did you get so observant all of a sudden? You sound like a fuckin’ psychologist.”

“Well, pop, you raised me in Los Santos.”

Jimmy, much to Michael’s embarrassment, prodded at him until he agreed to talk to Trevor about the “issue.”

It takes Michael another month, plus one more terribly uncomfortable conversation with Jimmy, to confess to Trevor.

“Christ, T. I think it’s possible that maybe…”

“I’ll be dead by the time you finish your sentence, sugar.”

Michael sighs. “Have you ever thought that there might be more to this?”

“More—” Trevor groans. “Can you just say what you mean for once in your life?”

“I love you, you asshole.”

Horns honking and police sirens can be heard from outside as the room becomes eerily quiet. Before Michael can truly panic, Trevor leans forward so fast that Mike’s sure he’s about to slam his head into his nose, but the searing pain never comes.

Instead, Trevor’s lips push against his while his hands tug Michael’s hair to bring him closer.

It’s cliché. It’s really fucking cliché. But, for once, Michael feels like he’s doing something right for a change.

“I love you, Mikey.”

After that, not much changes really. The only difference is that, now, when Trevor comes over after a long day of doing God knows what, Michael gets to sit on the couch wasting away with his boyfriend’s head lazily rested on his shoulder.

Or, sometimes, between his legs.

Telling Franklin and Lamar ended up being easy. Neither was all that surprised. In fact, Lamar even tried to start a bet once about when they’d “stop sucking as people and start sucking each other,” but Franklin put a stop to that real quick.

Other than that, Frank was supportive.

“I’m happy for you, dog. Maybe now you’ll stop being so miserable.”

Michael smirks. “I don’t know, but I think this is a good start.”

Telling Amanda and the kids was…interesting.

Jimmy, of course, knew already. But he was surprised that his dad actually grew the balls to do it.

Tracey was a little more shocked; she always thought the jokes about her dad and Uncle T were just that— jokes. Plus, she worried that her dad had been cheating before with him, but they assured her that wasn’t the case.

Tracey tried to act a little stubborn just in case her mom wasn’t okay with the relationship, but she was secretly happy for them.

Amanda, having found her own happiness outside of Michael, took it rather well too.

“This just started, right? You weren’t…together…during our marriage?”

“No, Mand,” Michael reassures her before sparing a glance at Trevor who is across the room talking to Tracey and Jim. “I only just realized it.”

“Well, I always wondered why on Earth you would stick by his side through some of the shit he has done,” Amanda says, her voice growing softer. “And now I know.”

Michael lets his gaze move back to his ex-wife’s. “I’m sorry I was such a prick to you.”

“I wasn’t perfect either.”

He’s about to respond when he feels a hand land on his shoulder. He looks up to see Trevor hovering above him while looking at Amanda.

“Hey,” Trevor points a finger at her. “You better accept his apology or I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of the year.”

Michael watches Amanda actually crack a smile towards Trevor. “He was always really miserable. But, lucky for me, he’s your problem now.”

Michael scoffs. “Hello, I’m right here!”

“Yeah, we know. It’s hard to miss you, pork chop.”

Despite Trevor’s remarks, Michael can hear the man’s smile as he walks back over to join Tracey and Jim, and that makes the sides of his lips curl into a small smile too.

“I’m not going to say I understand it completely,” Amanda admits. “But if you’re happy, then I’m glad.”

“I am. I think I finally am.”

#trikey #michael de santa #michael townley #trevor philips

[passerine-writes]

Silent Sparks - Volt 9

Warnings: There's a lot happening and it's all angst, sad Mic and Aizawa, PTSD, mentions of self harm and su*c*de attempt, depression and anxiety, mentions of stalking, the large dashes will mark off where the attempt takes place and a summary will be at the end for any of those not comfortable reading it Word count: 3042

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts Masterlist

Volt 8 | Volt 10

Everything was going great in the Yamada Aizawa household. However, Tsukare knew things were too good to be true. He knew he would mess up. He knew something would happen.

And that something was depression. He slowly started isolating himself more, started being more secretive and started resorting to unhealthy coping mechanisms. None of his family members were stupid, they knew something was wrong, they just didn't know what.

"'Ryo!" Mic called from the living room, the eleven year old heard him clearly from his bedroom and quickly went to where his Pops was. His dad sat beside him on the couch, the two had their casual clothes on and their hair pulled back into messy buns. "We wanted to check in with you, we're worried." Onryo tucked his bottom lip between his teeth nervously, not even knowing where to start. "What's been going on?"

"I-I don't wanna talk about it." Mic slowly nodded his head, thinking the worst of what could be happening to his younger son.

"We know you don't want to but sometimes you have to talk about it. Would you like to start seeing Chiyo more frequently?" Tsukare could understand where they were coming from and overall respected that they were offering alternatives.

"Yeah, I should probably start seeing her weekly again." He fiddled with his sleeves, keeping them pulled over the palms of his hands, not wanting risk them raising up and revealing scars.

"Alright, I'll talk to her at school tomorrow. You know you can talk to us if you want, right? We won't get mad or anything, we just worry about you and want to make sure you're okay." He nodded stiffly, already feeling guilty about making his parents worry.

"I know, I'm sorry for worrying you guys." Mic stood up and offered a hug, Tsukare gratefully accepting one.

"You don't apologize for that, little listener. We're your parents, it's our job to worry." Onryo lost at his attempt to not cry, hot tears now soaking Mic's shirt. Aizawa stood and hugged his husband and youngest child. Shinsou came down and awkwardly joined in, also worried about his brother.

"Onryo, I know you aren't looking forward to it but we have to go." Tsukare rolled his eyes but got up and went with his dads to the car.

Doctor week.

He knew this was coming but still hated it. Most of the week he had doctors appointments to make sure everything was okay but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Especially since at eleven years old, that meant going to a real cardiologist for the first time. Granted they were a year late but better late then never. Even more so since he blacked out and almost tumbled down the stairs a week prior.

"Hello Tsukare, it's nice to meet you."

"Hello Tsukare, it's nice to see you again."

"Hello Tsukare, how are you doing today?"

It was all the same, so much of it was repetitive but terrifying. Each doctor meant risking them finding out about his secret. All the questions were similar. Asking about symptoms and signs. Patterns, routines, the list went on.

Monday was the cardiologist.

Tuesday was the neurologist for his ADHD.

Wednesday was his yearly check in with a pediatrician.

Thursday was therapy.

Friday was a rest day, and Saturday was back to school to get his catch up work.

However, things started looking up after that. His depression became easier to manage after he decided to try a low dose of medication and stuck with therapy. Him and Hitoshi started spending nights together again until the early morning when the two couldn't sleep.

He wished he realized it was just the calm before the storm. After seven months, his meds stopped working, he slowly started isolating again, he relapsed for the first time in four months and felt lost. Then the storm truly hit, and it was worse then a level five hurricane.

The family was interrupted by a knock on their front door. Everyone now very confused and slightly on edge.

"Can I answer it?" Onryo asked, for some reason he loved getting to the door first and the parents allowed it. He got enough control of his quirk and enough comfortability with speaking that they saw it as a good thing. So they gestured to the door, watching as he somewhat bounced over to it. It was also the first bit of excitement they saw from him in a while, so they didn't want to deny him of it. Tsukare came face to face with a woman who had long, dark brown hair and looked exhausted and just all sorts of out of it. "Dad?" He called into the house, Aizawa instantly stood and rushed over, confused by the woman who stood in front of them.

"Hello." Aizawa greeted the mysterious woman. She smiled and it was sickly sweet, something about it being off.

"Hi, I'm so sorry to come unannounced. I'm Onryo's mother, I've come to take him home." She made a move to grab the boys wrist, luckily her wrist was grabbed by Aizawa.

"Onryo, go back inside, go get your Pops." He could tell by the change in tone this was serious and quickly scampered back to the living room with stress induced tears in his eyes. The blond raced over and the children watched from around the corner to the entryway silently.

"I don't know who you think you are lady, but you're not taking our son anywhere. If you'd like to come in and talk then we can, but if you try to touch him again, it won't end well." She nodded and followed the pro's in, the three sitting at the kitchen table while the kids eavesdropped from one of the entryways.

"How did you get our information and address?" Aizawa got straight to the point.

"I did some digging and got in touch with some people." The twelve year olds got bad feelings in their stomachs.

"What do you want?" Shiroka tilted her head to the side as though it was obvious.

"I want my son back. I came on his birthday and everything." The two looked at her perplexed while Onryo felt sick to his stomach.

"Lady, his birthday was two months ago. And he's our son. We have officially adopted him. You signed your rights away. If you'd like to have a relationship with him in the future then that will be up to Onryo if he'd like to pursue one." She rolled her eyes, her sweet façade dropping.

"He is not your son. I gave birth to him. We share DNA. I'm bringing him home with me." The two were now on the defensive and Shinsou noticed his dad didn't have his scarf. Slowly, he snuck over and grabbed it, ready to toss it to him if needed.

"He is very much our son. You don't even know the first thing about him. Sure, you gave birth to him but you don't even know when his birthday is. We're going to have to ask you to leave, now." She glared as Yamada spoke.

Right as she went to try and find Onryo, Hitoshi tossed the scarf to his dad and watched amazed as he effortlessly tied the crazed woman up and dragged her out of the house.

The youngest sunk down against the wall, silently crying with his knees tucked to his chest. He was scared and felt defeated. His arms burned for a release, everything overwhelming him. He jumped at the sound of the door closing harsher then normal, every nerve in his body in overload.

——————————— (Skip to the next line if you don't want to read the details)

It only got worse from there. Anytime he went outside during the day time, he'd see her watching him. He never went outside alone but she would still follow from a distance. She tried breaking in. Making false police reports. Anything and everything, so he decided to do the only thing he could think of.

He spent over an hour writing three notes, leaving them on the kitchen counter. He grabbed some orange bottles, put his shoes on and left. He had this planned out. If he was dead, then everyone would have less problems. His dads would be less paranoid, the cops would have less work, his birth mother would leave everyone alone. He had thought about ending it all before, but tonight he was going through with his plan.

He climbed the fire escape of the tallest building he could find in the area that was close enough to walk to. It was twenty stories high. All he knew was the pain would stop soon. The bullying at school would stop. He wouldn't be making more issues for everyone in his life.

His feet hung over the busy streets of Yokohama that looked so tiny to him, he wasted time getting there and he knew if he didn't act soon then it would've all been for nothing. He can hear the cop cars driving around, more hero's on the streets then normal. He was about to push himself, until he heard someone appear next to him. He looked up to see Hawks, the number eight hero at nineteen years old, sitting next to him.

"Wanna tell me what you're doing up here?" Tsukare looked forward, teary eyed and snot nosed in the middle of december. "It's pretty cold up here, maybe we should head on down to your parents." Meanwhile, Aizawa and Mic were listening in over the ear piece the young hero had in, relieved to know he had been found before he could act on anything.

"They'd be better off without me."

"Why do you think that?" The hero slowly inched closer to the kid.

"They just would be, they'd have less to worry about and less to deal with. It would be easier for everyone. I- I wouldn't feel like this anymore and she would stop harassing us, my dads would stop having to worry about me and they would have less of a packed schedule with their hero work and teaching. Me just being around, it makes it harder for them, I know it. And my brother wouldn't have to worry about anything going on in my life." Hawks frowned a little behind the collar of his coat. "I want to try and fly, just like you, even though my quirk doesn't let me fly. Just leave me alone, please, I can't do this anymore." Onryo sobbed out and Hawks caught sight of how his eyelids drooped a little, until the hero remembered that the kids parents said his medications were gone.

"Let's get down there first, okay? Then maybe one day I can take you flying." Quickly, before the kid could register what was going on, he picked up the twelve year old bridal style and flew down to the street. "I got him. I think he took pills, his parents said his prescriptions were missing." An EMT took Tsukare and laid him on a stretcher, checking his vitals as he was loaded into the ambulance.

Three members of the family followed a nurse down the dreary hallways, each one anxious to see Tsukare. As they walked in, their hearts sunk. An oxygen mask was placed on his face, an IV in his arm, and bandages were wrapped along his forearms. He looked pale, dark circles contrasting starkly to the pasty skin tone. Shouta and Hizashi sat on his left, while Shinsou sat across, not wanting to overwhelm his brother when he comes to.

——————————

(Shiroka started stalking Onryo, Tsukare attempted and Hawks found him in time, taking him to his family where he was taken to the hospital)

When Onryo woke up, he was in a cold white room. The bandages on his arms were changed and his throat was sore. He shot up at the thought of wearing a t-shirt until he realized he was in a hospital gown. Then he felt the mask and pawed it off frantically, verging on hyperventilating. He immediately started crying when he saw his family, the three hugging him and showing him gentle affection while a nurse walked in.

"I'm glad to see you're awake. Your throat will be sore for the next day or so, we had to pump your stomach. Do you know why you're here?" Onryo nodded stiffly, already know what's going to come next. "Alright, we changed the bandages on your arms, thankfully you didn't need any stitches. However, we will need to place you in seventy two hour, inpatient psychiatric care." He gripped his dads hand tightly, fear consuming his body, the beeping on the heart monitor frantic.

"Is it necessary? Are there any alternative options?" The nurse froze at the looming stare of the scruffy man, hurrying away to get someone else.

I'm sorry.

"What are you apologizing for?" Aizawa asked cautiously, not wanting to push his now crying child further over the edge of emotions.

For worrying you guys and trying to die. I just thought it would make everything easier for everyone. You and Pops and Toshi wouldn't have to worry about me and my meds and Shiroka. And I wouldn't feel like this, Dad I'm so tired of feeling like this. I want it to stop.

"We'll help you stop feeling like this little listener, but we gotta be completely honest with each other from now on. Even when we don't wanna be. We got so scared when we found your notes, we know it's hard but we don't wanna lose you. We love you, kiddo. You're our son and nothing is going to change that." Onryo sniffled and wiped his eyes.

I started getting bullied, for being different. I tried telling the teacher but she didn't believe me.

When did this start happening? How come I didn't know?

Cause they think you're scary, so they worked hard to hide it from you.

"We'll be talking to your teacher and we'll get that sorted out. You probably won't be going back to school for a little while though." Tsukare nodded at his dad, still feeling guilty.

"Where's my baby? Is he okay! Honey!" Onryo almost hurled on the spot, everyone else jumping to the defensive at the sight of Shiroka. "Oh honey, my poor baby, what happened to you?" She tried to cradle his face but he slid to the other side of the bed, sneakily hitting a button. "Stop being so fussy and tell me what happened to you." He went to sign she grabbed his hands. "None of that, use your voice honey." He shook his head and let out a breath of relief when several nurses ran in and got her out, granted she was dragged out screaming but it still brought him some relief. Thankfully he acted quick enough to hit the emergency button before she noticed.

"Hello Tsukare, I'm sorry about that. If I knew she wasn't allowed in here I would have put it on your chart. I'm here to check your bandages and vitals." Onryo stiffly nodded and let the doctor sit at his bedside. The parents and his brother watched tentatively as the woman changed his bandages, the blond crying at the sight of the angry red lines and multiple faded scars. Onryo almost cried at his secret finally being out. "I think you already know but this does mean you'll have to be in our seventy two hour psychiatric care." Tsukare shook his head vehemently and the doctor looked perplexed, not used to a child being so adamant about refusing help.

"He doesn't want to go because you don't care." Everyone looked to Shinsou in shock, not expecting him to speak up. "You've never been in foster care, you've never had to go through shitty families and centers until you found one that actually cared for you. You weren't traumatized at a young age. And when he was in here from the abuse, you didn't do anything to get him out of there. You only noticed something was wrong after he tried to kill himself and even then you don't care about the why. Locking him up for three days isn't going solve anything when you know how shitty they treat you in there. But you don't care, because it doesn't happen to you and you aren't in there." His voice remained monotonous and void of emotion, effectively freaking out the doctor even more. She looked at the parents quizzically, wondering if they'd really allow a child to speak to her like that until they shrugged, the dark haired hero nodding.

"Bring us an AMA, you're not putting our son in that hell hole. You can give us regimens to follow and whatnot, but we won't let him stay in there." She sighed and left the room, and Tsukare let out a sigh of relief. Eraser ran his fingers through his sons hair, ruffling it and just looking at him. "I'm sorry that I couldn't stop this."

I didn't tell you guys what was going on. I didn't want to give you guys any more trouble then I already do.

Aizawa just hugged him close, holding him tightly, scared of letting go. All he could do was blame himself, logically he knew it wasn't his doing but he still felt guilty that this even happened.

For the next three days, the family slept in the living room, deeming it an easy compromise compared to the psych ward. The parents invested in a lock box for all medications for the foreseeable future, hid any and all sharps away and had Onryo surrender his sharps as well. They hoped they didn't miss anything but put faith in their son to be honest.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #denki #kaminari #denki kaminari #kaminari x oc #tsukare #onryo #tsukare onryo #erasermic family #shinsou #hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #Eraser Head #aizawa #shouta #shouta aizawa #present mic #yamada #hizashi #hizashi yamada #dadzawa #class 1 a #angst #slowburn #series #lgbt #gay

[therkildsenbjerre7]

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[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

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

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

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

word count: 19.5k 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you’re such a -”

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

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

Bed.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

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

“How ever will I handle it?”

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

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

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

He sounds too peaceful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“27.”

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

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

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

“Take your time, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach flips. 

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

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

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

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

Which has loaded. Hooray!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

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

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Vincent is speaking again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he?’

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

“Said what?”

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

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

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

“And we didn’t finish.”

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

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

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

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

You hate Harry.

 ~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

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

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

It seems like he sighs a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What idea were you getting?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

[hamsterclaw]

Open Chest

Namjoon and you were in medical school together, but you haven't seen him since you moved away for work. Until he turns up at your hospital for a fellowship.

Pairing: Namjoon x F!reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, smut, fluff, angst.

Word count: 15k total over 3 parts

Warnings: Sexually explicit content, explicit language, mentions of blood and medical procedures.

Part 1

I pushed open the door and slid into one of the chairs around the conference table, making eye contact with my friend Mel before taking a sip of my flat white. It was early autumn. I half-listened as the night team went over the patients and the plan for the day. I’d worked the weekend prior and knew my patients pretty well already.

After handover Mel caught up with me outside the unit. ‘Good weekend?’ she asked.

‘Would have been better if Chan had stayed at home,’ I muttered, dropping my empty coffee cup into the bin. Dr Chan was one of the attendings and notorious for being clinically excellent yet incapable of behaving like a decent human being.

Mel rolled her eyes. ‘Let me guess – he stayed in and pissed off all the nurses?’

I laughed. ‘That’s standard for him. He also pissed off half the staff in the ER. He was only there for 30 minutes before I convinced him to go. For his safety and mine. How was your weekend?’

Mel grinned. ‘I met up with Tae.’ I alco-gelled my hands as we passed through the unit doors.

‘Sounds fun,’ I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘It was,’ Mel smirked. ‘Tell you about it later’. Tae was Mel’s newest boyfriend, an incredibly good-looking yet unbelievably cocky orthopaedics fellow. Despite his general fuckboy demeanour, he was kind and funny and, as Mel put it, incredibly kinky in bed. I had no doubt she would fill me in later.

The rest of the morning was spent reviewing patients, organising scans and contacting other teams for consults. I was at the hub waiting for a call back when I sensed a shadow over my screen.

‘I’m here for the chest closure,’ said a voice. I looked up, slightly panicked as the bedside nurse and I were only halfway through getting things ready for the closure. My eyes met a pair of brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The eyes crinkled up at the corners, and I knew if I could see behind the surgical mask, I would see twin dimples on either side of a devastatingly handsome smile.

‘Namjoon?’ I stuttered.

‘Y/N,’ he replied.

Holy fucking shit. If there was anyone from my past I was not expecting to see, it was Kim fucking Namjoon.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, my eyes running from the top of his ash-grey hair to the thin silver chain round his neck to the expanse of tan chest exposed by the V-neck of his standard issue blue hospital scrubs, down his long legs to the white Nikes on his feet.

I hadn’t seen him in 10 years, and whilst I had spent those years in the depths of paediatric intensive care, apparently Namjoon had spent those years becoming the fucking hot older brother to the scruffy nerdy lab partner I had in medical school.

I flushed as I realised that whilst I had been looking him up and down, he had been doing the same to me.

‘I’ve just started,’ Namjoon replied. ‘I’m the new cardiothoracics fellow.’ His eyes met mine. ‘So you’re an intensivist?’

‘Well my neuroticism had to be good for something,’ I joked, standing up. I paused, looking at him and trying to decide what to say.

‘The patient,’ I blurted out, immediately wanting to kick myself, ‘I’ll take you to them. We're just getting drugs ready so it’ll be another 15 minutes before we can start.’ It looked like Namjoon was going to say something else, but I was already heading towards my patient, and so he fell into step behind me.

‘This is Namjoon from cardiothoracics,’ I told Nina, the bedside nurse, ‘he’s here to do the chest closure.’

Nina gave me the same panicked glance I had given Namjoon. ‘Our drugs aren’t ready!’ she squeaked.

Namjoon chuckled, holding up his hands. ‘Don’t worry guys, I’ll be doing it with Francesco, so we can’t start yet. I just wanted to see the patient beforehand.’

Nina and I exchanged a glance. ‘I’ll get prescribing, then I can help you draw them up,’ I said.

I turned to walk back to the hub, pausing by Namjoon.

‘It’s lovely to see you,’ I said, realising too late how close I was standing to him. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes. Had he always been so tall? He looked down at me, eyes crinkling at the corners.

‘Likewise,’ he said, and I felt myself flush again. What was wrong with me? I beat a hasty retreat to the nearest free computer. Today was turning out to be an interesting day.

************************************************************************

I pulled off my scrub hat, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was five past one and we had just finished the chest closure. My stomach rumbled. I had got home at 11 the previous night, and apart from the flat white I had bolted in handover, I hadn’t eaten since 6 the previous evening.

Namjoon and Francesco had finished the chest closure and disappeared, whilst I had remained by the bed until the surgical drapes came off my patient. It was just as well – it hadn’t been difficult to pay attention during the procedure, but as the patient was relatively stable, I had found my gaze wandering to Namjoon more often than was probably acceptable in normal societal interaction.

Mel paused next to me. ‘Lunch?’ she suggested.

‘Sounds good,’ I replied. ‘I just need to order this chest X-ray.’

Mel glanced over, then her vision snapped to a point behind me.

I turned. Namjoon was standing there, loupes and hat off. His scrub hat had left a little pressure line across his forehead, and his hair was slightly mussed. I looked at him quizzically.

‘Lunch?’ he said. I tilted my head at him.

He looked at his feet. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘would you like to grab some lunch?’

Mel was already picking up the phone. ‘I’ll order the X-ray. See you after lunch!’ she chirped.

I looked at her and she smiled back. ‘Sure,’ I said casually. ‘Have you got yours with you or do you need to buy something to eat?’ I knew the answer already. Having spent a lot of weekends studying with Namjoon in medical school, I was aware that his culinary skills were feeble at best. Namjoon snorted and we both laughed, and for a moment I felt the years fall away.

‘Let me introduce you to the hellhole that is the staff canteen,’ I said. Namjoon held out his arm, and I gave only the briefest of pauses before placing my hand in the crook of his, surprisingly firm, arm.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ I told Mel, who only smiled sweetly at me. ‘Take your time,’ she said innocently. ‘There’s nothing else to do this afternoon anyway.’

I let go of Namjoon’s arm as we left the unit, leading him down the stairwell to the canteen. ‘The options are dire at best,’ I warned.

Namjoon smiled at me. ‘I think you know I eat everything,’ he replied, holding the door open for me as we entered the noise and heat of the canteen. His words triggered a flashback to the last summer before graduation, when he and I had been two of only a few students left on campus during the summer holidays.

I looked sharply at him, but he was perusing the options under the heated lamps, a moderately appalled look in his eyes.

‘There’s sandwiches in that fridge,’ I suggested, pointing. We settled for jacket potatoes and nabbed an outside table. Namjoon pulled off his surgical mask, as did I.

‘Wow,’ he said, and the warmth in his gaze made me feel strangely trembly. ‘You look the same.’

‘Tired and stressed?’ I suggested lightly, smiling at him.

‘Pretty,’ he countered. ‘And also tired.’

I stabbed my plastic fork into my potato to hide the awkwardness I felt at his compliment.

‘You’re the pretty one now,’ I joked. ‘What’s with the K-pop idol hair?’

He ran his fingers through his short ash-grey hair self-consciously. ‘Is it too much?’

‘No,’ I said, sincerely, ‘it suits you. It’s a good look.’

Namjoon scoffed, stuffing his mouth full of beans.

‘We have a lot of things to catch up on. How do we even begin?’ I wondered.

‘I guess we’ll have to keep meeting up,’ Namjoon replied, dimpling at me. ‘I’m here for the year.’

Over lunch, I found out that Namjoon had worked in London after our graduation, then moved back to Seoul, where he had been working when he had accepted the cardiothoracics fellowship he was currently on.

As I returned to the unit, I logged onto the computer beside where Mel was tapping away at the soft-touch keyboard. Mel glanced over. I could feel the tips of my ears turning red.

‘Yes?’ I mumbled, tugging at my surgical mask awkwardly.

‘So….he’s a bit of a snack, isn’t he?’

I laughed. ‘God, Mel. Isn’t he?’

‘Fucking gorgeous,’ Mel laughed. ‘How do you know him? And do you have his number?’

‘Hold up! What about Tae?’ I spluttered.

‘Well, if you hadn’t ditched me for lunch, I would have told you about the latest thing I’ve discovered about Tae, which is that he doesn’t mind sharing,’ Mel smirked.

‘Fucking Taehyung,’ I said drily, ‘a saint among men.’

Mel chuckled. ‘Isn’t he? Don’t worry though, I saw the way cardiothoracics man looked at you. I don’t think I could compete.’

‘His name is Namjoon,’ I replied, tamping down the faint thrill I felt at the idea that Namjoon would have looked at me a certain way.

‘OOOOOOH, Namjooooooon,’ Mel hooted, bursting into giggles.

‘Fuck’s sake Mel, this is an ICU. Keep it professional.’ I scolded. Our eyes met and we both laughed.

Then something occurred to me. ‘Wait! How did you find out Tae likes sharing?’ I asked, intrigued.

************************************************************************

I next saw Namjoon when he came down to the PICU with a patient he had operated on. He stood next to me and we exchanged a smile as we waited for the anaesthetics team to transfer the patient into a bed. ‘How’ve you been?’ he asked.

‘Yeah good,’ I replied, blinking up at him. ‘Been to the canteen lately?’

Namjoon shuddered visibly. ‘I can’t believe you took me to that place. I pick up lunch at the supermarket before I come in now.’

I snorted with laughter. ‘It wasn’t that bad!’

‘It was worse,’ Namjoon said flatly.

Pointed throat clearing caught our attention. ‘Are we ready for handover?’ asked the cardiac anaesthetist, Tom.

‘Yes, sorry,’ I replied meekly. Namjoon nodded slightly, lifting a hand in apology.

After handover, I was heading to a computer to order investigations when I heard shuffling from behind me.

‘Lunch?’

I turned and Namjoon grinned at me. ‘I have a spare salad,’ he said casually.

I looked at the wall clock. ‘It’s barely 11 am!’

‘So?’ Namjoon asked. ‘I’ve been operating for the past 3 hours.’

‘I can’t,’ I say regretfully. ‘I’ve got a tonne of jobs to do from handover.’

Namjoon’s face fell.

‘Maybe a coffee later? I’m on a long day,’ I said quickly, before I could overthink it.

Namjoon smiled. ‘I’m on call from 5. Text me when you’re free?’

‘Sure,’ I said. He looked like he was about to say something else, then he reached out and touched my neck.

I looked at him quizzically. He held up a scrap of white plastic. ‘Your apron,’ he explained, ‘this was stuck to the back of your neck.’

My neck felt warm where he had touched me. ‘Occupational hazard,’ I muttered.

‘See you later,’ Namjoon said. I watched as he tossed the scrap into a pedal bin on his way out, his easy gait and broad shoulders evident even in hospital scrubs.

I clapped a hand over my face. What was I doing? I had no idea whether he had a girlfriend or fiancée, and here I was, developing a crush.

‘Keep it together, Y/L/N,’ I said sternly to myself.

‘Y/N,’ called a nurse, and I headed in her direction, grateful for the distraction from standing there fantasizing about Kim Namjoon.

************************************************************************

I leaned back in my seat, laughing. The on-call attending was Dr Black, who was possessed of an inappropriately morbid sense of humour that I could definitely relate to.

‘And so, I said, I don’t mean to be rude, but can somebody do some fucking CPR on this kid,’ he said.

‘You didn’t say that,’ I countered.

‘Yes, I fucking did,’ chortled Dr Black gleefully. He paused and looked over my shoulder.

‘Can I help?’ he asked politely. I turned.

‘Yes,’ said Namjoon. ‘I just came to see if Y/N was free for a coffee.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Dr Black replied. ‘We work them pretty hard on PICU. I am not sure that’s allowed.’

I snorted. ‘This is Namjoon, the new cardiothoracics fellow, Dr Black. Namjoon, this is Dr Black, an elderly attending.’

‘I’m not that old,’ said Dr Black indignantly.

‘And yes, I am free for coffee, does anyone want me to pick them up anything?’ I asked, getting up.

Dr Black ignored me. ‘So you’re cardiothoracics are you?’ he asked, nodding to Namjoon.

‘Yes, here for the year on fellowship,’ replied Namjoon politely. ‘I’ve just started.’

‘Settling in ok? How do you know Y/N?’

‘We went to medical school together,’ I explained. ‘Then we lost touch until he started here.’

‘Well, welcome,’ said Dr Black, smiling kindly. ‘Don’t listen to anything Y/N says about me.’

Namjoon laughed, ‘I won’t.’

‘And on that note, let’s go Namjoon,’ I said, pulling on his arm to get him to move. Namjoon allowed me to guide him down to the coffee shop tucked in a corner of the hospital.

‘Seems like a nice guy,’ Namjoon remarked as we settled in with our coffees.

‘Yes, he’s great,’ I replied, ‘most of the attendings are, apart from one.’

‘Which one?’ asked Namjoon.

‘Oh, his name is Dr Chan, you’ll know him when you see him. He is great clinically but is a total dick to basically everyone,’ I explained.

‘Even you?’ asked Namjoon, his jaw tensing.

I paused, looking for the right words to explain. ‘He is an indiscriminate dick,’ I said lightly, sipping my coffee.

Namjoon’s expression darkened. ‘I’ll look out for him,’ is all he said.

I sat back in my chair, sighing. ‘How’s your day been, busy?’

Namjoon started to reply, and my gaze dropped to his beautiful hands holding his coffee cup. He had always had lovely hands, long fingers, well-delineated veins. My gaze travelled up his arms, defined biceps just visible under the shortish sleeves of his scrubs top.

Suddenly I realised he had stopped talking. My eyes snapped to his.

Namjoon smirked. ‘Are you checking me out?’

I met his gaze steadily. ‘Yes, you’re a straight hottie,’ I replied, and we both laughed.

‘You were always the hot one, Y/N,’ Namjoon said. ‘How many guys did you date in medical school?’ He paused. ‘At the same time?’

I laughed, flushing slightly at his reference to my past history of overlapping. ‘I guess you’ve made up for lost time since med school?’

Namjoon grinned at me, dimples flashing. ‘What are you talking about? I looked good in a lab coat.’

I snorted. ‘The problem was never the way you looked, Namjoon. It was the way you shouted out answers in every pathology class. The way you participated so enthusiastically in every PBL seminar. Admit it, you were a total nerd.’

Namjoon smirked. ‘Got in your pants, though,’ he said quietly.

I leaned over to smack him on the arm. ‘Rude!’

And just like that, I flashed back to his attic bedroom in a shared house we had to ourselves for the summer. The way he had looked over one lazy day and how, unable to help myself, I had kissed his dimpled cheek. One thing had led to another and the next thing I knew we were in his rumpled sheets, his warm breath on my neck, his hips rolling against mine…

Namjoon looked at me, tilting his head to one side and flashing the dimple in his left cheek. ‘Good times, huh,’ he said, voice low, that familiar deep tenor making my stomach flip.

I was saved from answering when his bleep went off. ‘You should get that,’ I said, hastily getting up. Namjoon gazed up at me, hand on his phone to answer his page. He looked like he had more to say but I was already putting my surgical mask back on to leave.

************************************************************************

It was heaving. I kept my eyes on the monitoring as I pushed the ambulance trolley with our latest admission through the hospital corridors, heading to PICU. I was back from my second retrieval of the day, having collected a collapsed baby from a nearby hospital to admit to PICU.

As we arrived on the unit, the consultant of the day, Dr Sycombe, looked up. ‘You’re back,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘Is the baby ok?’

‘Yes, pretty stable,’ I replied, pushing the trolley into the allocated bedspace and turning to her as the ambulance tech and the nurse started transferring the pumps and monitoring over.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ Dr Sycombe asked.

‘No bad news allowed,’ said Seb, the ambulance tech, voice testy. I just waited.

‘Well the good news, is that you can come in a couple of hours late for your shift tomorrow.’ The nurse, a calm dark haired petite woman called Lucy, was already putting the pieces together.

‘Where are you sending us to next?’ she asked, voice resigned. It was 6pm and another trip meant we were all going to finish late. The only question was how late.

Dr Sycombe told us and there was a collective sigh of relief. The hospital was 40 minutes away, which meant we were likely to be back at base only a couple of hours past the end of our shift time.

‘I’ll just get a quick snack before we go,’ said Lucy.

Seb was already on the phone. ‘I’ll get Matt to refuel the ambulance whilst we transfer this little one over.’

‘I’ll take care of handover,’ I said, nodding to Lucy and Seb whilst we started transferring the patient over into his new cot.

As I set up the ventilator, Angela the bedside nurse turned to me. ‘Oh, that cardiothoracics fellow was asking after you earlier,’ she said, setting up a pump. I glanced over.

‘Which one?’ I asked.

Angela chuckled. ‘The one literally everyone swoons over whenever he turns up? The tall one with the shoulders.’

I laughed at the idea of everyone lusting over Namjoon. ‘He was such a nerd in med school,’ I told Angela.

‘Oh,’ squealed Ruby, another nurse who was helping. ‘Do you think if I ask him for help with my cardiac course, he might give me some tutoring?’

‘What kind of ‘tutoring’?’ snorted Angela, raising an eyebrow. We all laughed at that, and then it was time to leave.

I got back in record time – it was before 11 when I left the unit. I strode through the deserted car park, already thinking about the pizza I was going to order after my shower. I pressed on the ignition, waiting for the familiar rev of the engine, and was greeted by silence. It took me about 10 tries to accept that my car wouldn’t start.

I grabbed my phone, ready to look up the number of the roadside assistance service I paid for, when a car parked in the space next to mine. I looked over automatically, shielding my eyes against the glare of the headlamps.

‘Namjoon,’ I squeaked. He gestured to his window, making a rolling down motion. I rolled down my window.

‘You ok?’ he asked.

‘Oh yeah,’ I replied, ‘I’m ok. It’s just my car won’t start. Do you have any jumper cables?’

‘No. Are you back in tomorrow?’

‘Yes, such a pain! I’m going to call the AA,’ I replied, waving my phone.

‘Well why don’t you let me give you a lift and you can sort it tomorrow?’ he suggested.

‘I live an hour away. I can just get a cab.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, unlocking his doors. ‘It’s late. I live 5 minutes away, just stay over at mine and I’ll drive you back in tomorrow.’

I hesitated, but the idea of a hot shower and something to eat was too tempting. ‘Are you sure?’

By way of reply, Namjoon reached over and pushed his door open. I grabbed the small overnight bag of toiletries I left in my car for contingencies and got in.

‘Wow,’ I said, admiring his leather seats. ‘Nice car.’

Namjoon looked over at me. ‘Yeah, it’s a lease, I figured I’m here for a year, might as well get a nice car whilst I’m over here.’

‘Have you had dinner?’ I asked, settling into the seat. His stomach growled in response. I reached over and patted his abdomen.

‘Guess not,’ I said, giggling. I paused and we both looked down at my hand resting on him. His taut, firm abdomen. Oh my god! What was I doing? I jerked my hand back like I’d been scalded.

Namjoon smiled at me. ‘Nothing you haven’t felt before,’ he remarked, pulling the car out of the car park.

‘You weren’t packing those before,’ I replied. ‘Namjoon got buff.’ I meant it to be teasing but when our eyes met, his gaze was heated.

‘Like what you felt?’ he asked lightly. I looked away nervously.

‘I think I am disinhibited with hunger,’ I told him, picking up my phone. ‘Pizza?’

Namjoon insisted on letting me shower first while he waited for the pizza. His flat was small and cosy, and his bathroom surprisingly luxurious. I got undressed and was just about to run the water when he knocked at the door.

‘Yes?’ I squeaked, grabbing my towel as though he was about to walk in.

‘I’ve got some pyjamas for you,’ Namjoon called through the door.

‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, wrapping the towel around myself before pulling the door open. I reached out a hand and he paused, eyes dropping to my exposed shoulders briefly.

‘Here you go,’ he said, handing me a bundle of clothes. I thanked him and shut the door.

Namjoon

Namjoon got crockery out of his kitchen cupboard for dinner. The sound of the shower running in the background was unusual enough to distract him. He was used to living alone and hadn’t had anyone over in the last couple of months.

His thoughts wandered to Y/N and how she had looked when she opened the door to take his clothes, her hair up in a loose bun, her cheeks flushed and her shoulders bare. She looked more stunning than any fantasy he had had about her since medical school.

She had always been beautiful, but more than that she had been a loyal friend to him throughout medical school despite all her foibles. She had been a serial dater, often dating multiple guys at once, drawing them in with her sparkly eyes and dark sense of humour.

She got away with it because she was light-hearted and kind, always willing to help anyone in need. It was no surprise to him that she got into paediatric intensive care -- her mix of kindness and cynicism made her the perfect personality type for it.

He remembered the first time they had had sex, in his attic bedroom. They had technically finished medical school, their exams over and results out -- and had a shortened summer holiday to be able to start on their first placements right after graduation.

‘An end of an era’, they had called it, the last time they would spend together before taking up jobs on different sides of the country. She had looked over at him, and he had smiled, showing her his dimples that he knew she loved. He hadn’t expected her to lean over and kiss him, but once she did, he knew he was lost. All he could think was ‘finally’. Finally, after 5 years of her dating everyone in sight except him.

‘Namjoon?’ the uncharacteristically shy voice pulled him out of his memories. His gaze snapped to her, dressed in his clothes, an impish smile on her pretty face.

‘I can’t believe you still have this?’ she marvelled, tugging at the material of the soft T-shirt he had given her, their old graduation T-shirt with the names of the entire year on the back.

‘It’s my favourite sleeping t-shirt,’ he confessed, loving the way she looked up at him. ‘You look great in it.’ She laughed then, lifting a leg slightly awkwardly in his old basketball shorts that were too long for her.

‘I’m sure I do. Oversized men’s clothes are a good look for me,’ she said sarcastically, smiling at him.

‘Especially if they’re mine,’ Namjoon said, so quietly he wasn’t sure if she heard.

The doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it!’ she called, skidding across his living room to the front door.

************************************************************************

I wasn’t sure if it was too hot in Namjoon’s living room or if it was just his proximity. He had showered and changed into a variation of the clothes he had given me – an oversized tee and grey sweatpants. We were sprawled on his sofa watching an old Cantonese film – I remembered Namjoon being a huge film buff in addition to being an avid reader, it was one of the many things we used to have in common.

He nudged my thigh with his socked foot. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

I grabbed his foot. ‘You’d better have changed your socks since work, Namjoon.’

He smiled. ‘Are you kidding. It was a real sacrifice letting you shower first – I normally can’t wait to get changed. My feet get so sore standing all day.’

I squeezed his foot and he moaned dramatically. ‘That feels so good. Give me a foot rub.’

I paused, torn between incredulity at his demand and the desire to please him. Namjoon waggled his eyebrows.

‘I did rescue you from a 1-hour cab journey. Or a 1 hour wait for the AA,’ he said teasingly.

‘Oh, so I owe you?’ I asked lightly, rubbing my thumbs over his feet.

‘You don’t owe me anything. You always were amazing at back rubs though.’

I pressed my thumbs into the arch of his feet, turning to face him.

‘You always were a big baby,’ I teased. Namjoon just grinned, dimples on full display as I rubbed his feet before moving up to his calves over his sweatpants.

In some ways I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but in others I think I knew exactly what I was doing. I massaged up his calves lightly as the movie played in the background. I didn’t speak Cantonese, but I had watched it enough times to be able to follow what was happening.

Namjoon hummed in appreciation as my hands moved up his legs. As I got to his thighs, I took a breath. The man had sure filled out since medical school. Even through his loose sweatpants I could see the definition from what could only have been the thickest thighs I had ever seen on a man. I kept my eyes on his thighs, not daring to look up, worried about what I might see on his face.

As my hands wandered up to mid-thigh, I heard him suck in a breath.

I looked up to see his eyes on me, pupils dilated, his gaze dark. As I dropped my eyes I focused in on an unmistakeable bulge in his groin.

‘Fuck,’ he swore. ‘I can’t play this game with you anymore.’

I looked up at him again, kneeling between his legs. ‘What game?’ I asked innocently.

He chuckled then, low and husky. ‘You always were a tease.’

In one swift movement he sat up, cupping a hand behind my neck, under my hair. ‘You look so fucking good in my clothes,’ he said, bringing his face so close to mine our lips were millimetres apart.

I smiled then. ‘Show me your fucking dimples, Namjoon.’ He grinned at me and I leaned forward, kissing his left cheek, letting my tongue flit against his skin. Suddenly he turned and his lips captured mine. I sighed with pleasure. His lips were so incredibly soft.

Namjoon

Namjoon wanted to pinch himself. He couldn’t believe what was happening – the last thing he had expected when he had left work that day was to end up with Y/N, the girl he had had a crush on for years, between his thighs, giving him the best massage he had ever had.

She sighed against his lips, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as she turned fully to him. Namjoon could have held back, but the final straw was when she reached out with her other hand, tucking it warm against his waist. He kissed a path across her jaw, down her slender neck, pausing to flick his tongue against the hollow of her collarbones. She moaned then, and the sound made even more blood rush to his dick.

Suddenly his hands were around her waist, and she arched back onto his sofa, pulling him down with her. Her legs spread to accommodate his hips, and she gasped as he ground his pelvis against hers.

Y/N

It was getting so hot. Namjoon’s lips felt so warm against my neck I whimpered at the sudden loss as he pulled away.

‘Can I take this off?’ he asked, hands firm around my waist over his t-shirt.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, pretending to think about it. ‘Can you take yours off?’

In a millisecond he reached behind his neck, shucking his t-shirt in that way men do that is so incredibly sexy. Kim Namjoon with his shirt off was a sight to behold. His bare chest with a silver chain between his collarbones was broader and deeper than I remembered, and his shoulders! I wanted to kiss all along the width of them.

I realised he was watching me again. ‘Are you checking me out again?’ he asked, smugly.

In response I ran a hand down his flat stomach. ‘Is that a problem?’

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and instead of replying, he bent over and nudged at the hem of my t-shirt with his nose. Pulling it up to the curve just under my breasts, he licked a stripe up my torso. Then he pushed the soft material up further and looked up at me delightedly. ‘What? No bra?’

I covered my face, slightly embarrassed at the way he was looking at me so intently, my nipples exposed and tight. ‘Oh my god, Namjoon.’

Again, he didn’t respond. Instead, I felt warm breath on my exposed nipple, then a long lick. ‘Oh,’ I cried, unable to help myself.

‘You still like this?’ he teased. My hands went involuntarily to the back of his neck, holding him to me as I arched into his mouth. Painfully slowly, he licked around my breast and suckled. My hips rose involuntarily, grinding up and onto him.

‘Namjoon,’ I gasped, trying to get more friction where I needed it the most.

‘What?’ he hummed, his fingers playing with one nipple whilst he suckled happily at the other. I reached down, cupping his erection with my hand.

‘I need you,’ I whispered into the shell of his ear. Namjoon jerked involuntarily at the sound, temporarily taking his mouth off me.

‘Show me,’ he said, hands pulling at the waistband of my/his shorts, helping me lift my hips. His knuckles brushed against my clit as he wriggled my shorts off, making me jerk. I moaned at the contact, hands reaching out to touch him.

‘Take yours off,’ I said, and no sooner had I finished my sentence when his sweatpants were off, tossed to a corner of the room, revealing his gorgeous cock and his incredible thighs. He was so hard it looked painful, and I swallowed at the sight. He curled a hand around himself, looking me in the eye.

‘Let me see you,’ he said, and I spread my legs for him. Before I realised what he was going to do he dipped his head between my legs and licked. A fresh flood of wetness gathered between my folds as he ran his tongue along my entrance, his nose nudging my clit.

‘You taste so fucking good,’ he moaned, as he pulled back to suck at my clit. I nearly came off the couch at the sensation, letting out an inordinately loud keen of pleasure.

‘Namjoon, please fuck me,’ I pleaded. He chuckled, low and husky, his tongue at my entrance, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me.

‘You’re so needy, baby. Do you want me to stuff my cock in this cunt?’

‘Yes,’ I cried, ‘Joon, please.’

‘Then cum for me. Cum for me and I’ll do anything you want,’ Namjoon promised. With that he pushed two fingers inside me, hitting the exact spot I needed, who knows how he remembered after all this time. He licked and sucked my clit like a starving man, moaning his appreciation as the two fingers he had worked into me stroked and pleasured. I could feel the tightening low down in my pelvis, the pressure building.

‘Namjoon, I can’t – I’m gonna…’ I never finished my sentence as he growled against my core and I came, riding his face.

‘Good girl,’ he said, kissing my thigh as he pulled his fingers out. ‘You look so pretty when you cum.’

He licked my cum off his fingers and left the room briefly, returning with a condom. He stood over me, breathless, one hand on his length. ‘What do you want, baby? A promise is a promise.’

I looked up at him through my lashes, smiling sweetly. ‘I want to taste you.’

His eyes darkened as he looked down at me. He sat down on the couch and I got off to kneel between his thighs. He sucked in a breath as I licked up the underside of his cock and cupped his balls in my hands.

‘Y/N, don’t tease,’ he warned.

I smiled and paused just long enough for him to cock an eyebrow at me as I leaned forward and took as much of him as I could into my mouth.

‘Fuck,’ he breathed, as I looked up at him, my lips around his cock. I licked him again and plunged deeper, trying to get my nose right up against his taut abs.

‘That feels amazing, baby,’ he murmured. Suddenly I felt his hand in my hair. ‘Stop. I’m not cumming until I get inside you.’

He lifted me into his lap and then his fingers were in me.

‘So wet,’ he murmured, amazed. ‘You’re still so wet for me.’ He lifted up the condom. ‘Put it on me, baby.’

I ripped the condom open, and as I unrolled it on his hard cock, he leaned forward to suck at my nipples again. I moaned at the sensation, then I lifted my hips, sitting on his dick.

I took him in to the hilt, gasping. ‘You’re so fucking big, Namjoon.’

He panted, the expression on his face strained. ‘You have no idea how good you feel, love,’ he replied. ‘You’re taking my cock so well.’ I braced my hands on his big thighs, taking a bit of time to adjust. It had been a while since I’d had sex, and I wasn’t flattering him, Namjoon was bigger than most.

Namjoon rested his forehead against my chest, nestling between my breasts. ‘Can I move?’ he stuttered out.

I nodded. ‘Yes please.’ He gripped me to him, moving me under him onto the couch and lifting one of my legs to his hip.

‘You feel so amazing, baby,’ he breathed out, pulling his cock out, leaving just the tip inside me then snapping his hips back to meet mine. His mouth was on mine, one hand holding my leg against his hip, the thumb of his other hand stroking against my clit. I cried out at the sensation.

‘Can you give me one more?’ he asked. ‘I think you can.’

I didn’t reply, lost in the feel of his cock in me and his thumb against my clit. He swore again, voice a deeper register than I’d ever heard from him. The combination of his deep voice against my ear and the friction from his thumb as he thrust into me was a heady mix, and suddenly I was cumming again, arching against him as he snapped his hips. I felt the smile on his lips against my neck.

‘You’re my good girl,’ he crooned, stroking my neck.

In response I shifted my pelvis, taking him deeper. ‘I am good, Namjoon, but you’re even better. Can you cum for me?’ I whispered into his ear. He groaned, and his hips stuttered, losing his rhythm.

‘Fuck!’ he cried, with a particularly hard thrust that shifted my whole body up as he came.

I shifted so his head lay between my breasts and wrapped my arms around him. He was so warm, his weight pressing me into the cushions, my legs propped apart by his pelvis. I closed my eyes.

‘That was amazing, Namjoon,’ I said quietly. He said nothing, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep.

Namjoon

Namjoon lifted his head, not wanting to crush her. He raised his upper body up, looking at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. He got up to get a warm washcloth to clean her up and when he came back, she had turned on her side, one hand tucked under her face. ‘Y/N,’ he said, softly. She didn’t stir, and the easy cadence of her breathing told him she had fallen asleep. He picked her up and carried her to his bed, settling her under the fluffy duvet. She hummed a little and reached out to him as he let her go.

‘Namjoon?’ she asked, eyes closed, voice soft.

‘Yes baby?’ he asked.

‘Cuddle,’ she yawned. He had intended to sleep on the sofa but there was no way he was turning that down. Namjoon slid into bed next to her, arm around her waist, her back against his front. He pressed a kiss into her hair as she sighed, snuggling into him.

Y/N

I woke up not quite knowing where I was for a second. I shifted slightly, realising there was a warm male arm around my waist and instantly the events of the night before came back to me. The night before? It was still dark. I squirmed my hips and realised there was a cock nestled intimately against my ass cheeks.

A velvety voice against my ear sounded faintly amused. ‘I don’t know whether to tell you to stop or carry on, but if you keep squirming like that, we might have a problem.’ The grin on my face threatened to split it in half as I rocked my hips against him again, then worked my hand between us to palm his rapidly hardening cock.

‘I don’t see a problem here,’ I purred.

Namjoon laughed huskily. ‘I guess I don’t either.’ His big hand slid up my torso to cup my breast. ‘Are you sore, love?’ His voice and his hands were rapidly making me wet.

‘A little,’ I said. ‘But I want you.’ Namjoon hissed at my reply, lifting my hips up, his fingers slipping between my folds to make me ready for him.

The delicious friction of my nipples against the cool sheets and his talented fingers had me spreading for him. His hand came up to cup my cunt, spreading the wetness with his fingers. He licked up and down my folds as I moaned.

‘Can you take me?’ he asked.

I turned my face towards him. ‘Fuck me, Namjoon,’ I replied, reaching out to stroke him. He fumbled towards his nightstand, tearing into a condom and unrolling it over his length. And then he was inside me again, and we both hissed at the sensation of him sinking in to the hilt.

‘How did we go so long without doing this?’ he asked.

I giggled, reaching back to cup his balls. ‘You could have had me anytime, your ass looks amazing in scrubs,’ I teased.

Namjoon

Namjoon looked down at her smooth back, marvelling at the view as she arched beneath him. She let out a breathless moan, and unbelievably, his cock grew even harder.

‘You’re so fucking good at this,’ she cried. He ran a finger down the line of her spine, and she shuddered.

‘Joon,’ she moaned.

‘God, I love the way you say my name,’ he groaned. He pulled out, flipping her over, then re-entering her, his rhythm changing to a slow grind. Her eyes flew open, and the sight of her gorgeous eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips nearly sent him to the edge.

‘Joon,’ she cried again, the need in her voice making him feel positively feral.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he promised, grinding his pelvis against hers as he dipped his head low to mouth at her breasts. Her arms came up, wrapping around his neck.

‘Joon,’ she wept, her hot breath against his ear. She didn’t seem capable to forming any other words, and he growled as he felt her tightening around him.

‘Cum for me,’ he murmured, his thumbs pressing so hard on her hips he was worried he might break her. She gasped and tightened, and he kept thrusting through her orgasm until he felt her muscles relax. She pressed kisses against his neck and chest, her hands smoothing over his back.

‘Fuck!’ she hissed. ‘How are you so good at this, Joon?’

Namjoon grunted. She clenched around him and suddenly her tongue was laving the sensitive spot on his neck, lips pressed to the hollow in his collarbones.

‘You’re so fucking big, Joon,’ she moaned, wrapping her legs around his hips to rock against him. The feel of her legs circling his hips, pulling him tight against her was so erotic it pushed him over the edge. Namjoon cried her name as he came, filling the condom. He collapsed on top of her and she let out a breathless squeal.

He lifted himself up instantly. ‘Did I squash you?’

She wound his arms around him. ‘I don’t mind,’ she insisted. They lay there for a few minutes, his dick softening and slipping out of her. She pulled off the condom, knotting it and tossing it carelessly in the general direction of the bin.

Y/N

I left to use the bathroom, and when I came back, Namjoon was sprawled across the bed in the same position I had left him in. I got into bed next to him, pulling the covers over us.

‘What time is it,’ I asked.

‘Too early,’ he replied, pulling me closer. ‘We have a couple of hours before we need to get up.’

I cupped his cheek. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I told him. His eyes met mine.

‘Yeah, thanks for the ride,’ he smirked.

‘You’re gross,’ I laughed. ‘When did you become a fuckboy?’ He waggled his eyebrows comically at me.

‘Since I learned that girls don’t like it when you talk about the Kreb’s cycle all the time.’

‘This girl does,’ I joked. ‘Tell me all about it.’

His laugh rumbled in his chest. ‘Go the fuck to sleep,’ he said, dropping a kiss on my head. And so, I did.

Namjoon

Namjoon walked onto the ICU rapidly, side by side with his consultant, Francesco. He had been called down for an emergency cannulation onto ECMO. They didn’t need to be told where the emergency was – they could see a collection of people around a cot, the theatre scrub team having made it down before them.

‘Francesco,’ called Dr Sycombe, her eyes widening with relief as she saw them. ‘We need to get this baby on ECMO. We’re just getting a line in.’

Namjoon looked over at the cot and saw Y/N, fully scrubbed, wielding a needle and an ultrasound probe as she frowned over the head end of the baby, her brows drawn together and her gaze fixed to the ultrasound screen despite the noise and movement around her. Getting a central line in, in a small baby, could be tricky at the best of times, let alone when there was an audience of people waiting impatiently around you.

Francesco began scrubbing up and Namjoon waited to assist him to get his gown on before getting scrubbed himself. He glanced over at Y/N, realising that she had got the line in but was waiting for a suture to secure it.

Loud swearing caught his attention. ‘What are we waiting for? Get on with it.’

Namjoon bristled as he realised the words were directed at Y/N, by a furious looking male attending. This must be Dr Chan. ‘I’m just waiting for a suture,’ Y/N explained, her voice steady, one hand holding the line against the baby’s neck as she waited. ‘The one we had dropped on the floor and I can’t use it.’

Dr Chan huffed angrily, turning to glare at the nurse who had returned with a fresh suture. He snapped sterile gloves on. ‘Move, I’m taking over.’

Y/N’s gaze shot to him. ‘We’re in, I just need to suture it.’

Dr Chan nudged her out of the way with his shoulder. ‘Go and speak to haematology and get the blood ordered.’

Y/N stepped back, nearly stumbling as he moved into her space and began suturing. Namjoon couldn’t believe his eyes. Placing a couple of sutures would take less than 30 seconds. There was no actual need for anyone to take over. How obnoxious was this guy?

Y/N took a breath then turned, pulling her sterile gown off. She looked up and noticed him watching her. He was too far away to say anything to her. The corners of her mask moved up as she gave him a weak smile, and then turned, heading to the nearest sink to wash up.

Y/N

I stopped by the sink, trying to calm down as I snapped my gloves off and started washing my hands. My hands trembled as I washed them, a combination of the adrenaline wearing off from the resuscitation and fury from the way Dr Chan had treated me. The absolute icing on the cake was having Namjoon witness it all, and I flushed with humiliation. I dried off my hands, trying to suppress all the emotions I felt as I dialled the number to order blood for the patient.

Job done, I returned to the bedspace and looked around for anything I could do to help. I could see Namjoon and Francesco, fully scrubbed, dissecting down vessels in an open version of what I had just done on the other side of the neck.

Dr Chan snapped his fingers at me, catching my attention. The man was on a mission to be as vile as possible today, apparently.

‘Yes, Dr Chan?’ I gritted out, fighting to keep my expression neutral as I fought my inner rage at being summoned like a dog. I could see Namjoon and Francesco exchanging a glance.

‘Use your words, Dr Chan,’ retorted Nina, the bedside nurse. Dr Chan was notorious for behaving like a brute when things got stressful, and most senior nurses, like Nina, were accustomed to having to rein him in when his behaviour got particularly bad.

‘I need some goddamn fentanyl,’ Dr Chan glowered. I grabbed the keys off Nina, who smiled gratefully at me as I nodded and walked to the controlled drugs cupboard to get it.

Having signed out and drawn up the fentanyl, I returned to the bedspace, watching the perfusionists as they primed the ECMO circuit with emergency blood. As the patient went onto ECMO I turned off some of the pumps running infusions that were no longer needed whilst Namjoon and Francesco waited for the cardiologist to check the position of the cannulas they had just inserted.

‘Good flows on the circuit,’ called the perfusionist.

‘Good means on the art trace,’ said Dr Chan.

‘Happy with the cannulas?’ asked Francesco, looking at the cardiologist.

‘Yes,’ grunted Andy, the cardiologist. ‘Perfect.’ There was a collective sigh of relief.

‘Good effort, team,’ said Francesco. He was the exact antithesis of Dr Chan, an incredibly talented surgeon in his late 50s who managed to always behave impeccably. For a moment I envied Namjoon. I couldn’t imagine Francesco ever snapping his fingers at him.

As if sensing my thoughts, Namjoon’s eyes met mine. I sent him a thumbs up and a smile. ‘Good job,’ I mouthed, forgetting he couldn’t see my lips through my mask. He seemed to get the gist, though, eyes crinkling at the corners before he turned his attention to securing the ECMO cannulas.

After work, I was waiting in the car park for the AA to arrive and see to my car when Namjoon pulled up next to me. He got out of his car, hand rubbing the back of his neck, looking almost shy as he walked up to me. ‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hey,’ I replied, smiling up at him. I gestured to my car. ‘Just waiting for the AA to arrive.’

‘Yeah? Once they’ve fixed your car, do you want to grab dinner? I figured you might know where’s good around here.’

I looked down, trying to stop the silly grin that was threatening to spread over my face at his words.

‘Doesn’t dinner usually come before the incredibly hot sex?’ I asked lightly.

He laughed then, his voice dropping a register as he replied.

‘Are you propositioning me again, Y/N?’

‘Hell, yes I am,’ I said instantly, and we both laughed. He looked at me for a moment then kissed the side of my mouth.

‘You’re stunning,’ he said quietly.

I fidgeted with my hair. ‘You like hat hair?’ I teased, referring to the way my hair had flattened from wearing a scrubs hat for most of the day.

‘Oh yeah,’ replied Namjoon, and the ridiculous expression on his face had me leaning forward to kiss him again.

‘Whoa,’ said Namjoon. ‘These scrubs are not good at hiding boners.’

My gaze dropped to his crotch instantly, and he chuckled. ‘You can see later, if you want.’

‘Now who’s propositioning who?’

©hamsterclaw 2021

#bts smut #namjoon x you #namjoon fanfic #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader

[jaybird-redhood]

propinquity

wc: 2.2k

pairing: jason todd // gn reader

The first thing you think when you see him for the first time is that he has the cutest smile.

That’s a lie, the first thing you think it that he is so incredibly in shape, and it looks great on him, but the smile thing sounds better in your head.

He's moving into the apartment across from yours a month after you moved into yours. Weird, because the two people in your building closest to your age are 2 and 63, respectively.

You suppose that some wicked twist of fate must’ve brought this upon you for missing your cousin’s birthday party last week, because the guy standing across from you is crazy hot. And looking right at you. And you are in the huge neon Wonder Woman t-shirt that your best friend got for your birthday last year.

Yeah. Karma.

“Nice shirt,” the guy offers, holding in a grin. “You’re really making it work.”

“I-”

“See you around, neighbor.”

And with a shut of a door and an awfully charismatic smirk he’s gone.

The next time you see him is a week later, and this time- luckily, you think- you’re dressed somewhat put together. You run into him while unlocking your door.

"What's got you in a twist?" he asks.

"Um," you start, "I just. Ugh I have so much to do. Like 3 hours of homework, a lecture tomorrow that I cannot skip, and I'm completely out of bread and eggs and can't even you to the store until, like, Thursday at best."

Once you start rambling you can't seem to stop. You slouch against your door. You're not entirely sure why you're telling a stranger all this, but he seems to be listening, so you suppose that’s a good sign

"I get the feeling," he offers, and you look up at him. "I'm majoring in English Lit and my classes are kind of kicking my ass."

You give him a small smile, "Glad to know someone in this building is struggling as much as I am."

"Jason," he says, and he reaches his hand out to you. "My name."

You shake it and tell him yours.

As you both turn back into your respective apartments you think that he maybe isn't as intimidating as you thought.

~

The next day goes by with a really boring lecture and another 3 hours of work you need to do.

The ride home from uni isn't that long, but it's long enough for you to contemplate all the ways that your life went wrong after moving to Gotham. And, maybe as payback for thinking mean things about the city, rain that you think should belong to a category 3 hurricane starts to whip around your car 10 minutes into your drive.

Your clothes are dripping water in literal puddles by the time you get back to your apartment.

Groaning, you start fishing for your keys in your purse while walking up the last flight of stairs.

When you get to your door you stop. Right in front of it there’s a grocery bag. Picking it up and looking inside you see a loaf of bread and a small carton of milk.

You pick it up smiling.

“Jason?” you ask, knocking on his door.

No response.

You shrug and turn around. Remember to thank him the next time you run into each other; you think.

~

That next time doesn’t happen to be that long and thank goodness for you.

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” he says to you.

You’re sitting on the floor outside of your door looking rather pathetic, and he’s giving you the most awful smirk you’ve ever seen. (Not that it looks bad on him though. You seem to think that nothing could really look that bad on him)

“I swear I’m usually more put together than this,” you sigh to him. “You moving here jinxed me!”

“Yeah yeah. You’re locked out, aren’t you?”

You give him your best withering I’m going to kill you stare, but it must not be working because he just laughs even harder at you.

“This is completely not my fault it’s just I lost my second set of keys like right when I moved in and then today when I got home, I accidentally left them in my car, but my second set of car keys is in my apartment so now I can’t get them out, stop laughing at me!”

“God you’re a mess,” Jason says- finally finished laughing at you and maybe taking a bit of pity on how disheveled you look. “You couldn’t call anyone to get you in?”

You shake your head.

“My friend is the only other person with a set, but they’re out of town, and our landlord is being a dick and telling me it’s my fault in the first place, so I need to deal with it. I’ve been sitting out here for like an hour.”

“All I’m hearing is that it is your fault and now you’re just moping about it feeling bad about yourself.”

You tilt your head against the door so hard that it makes you wince a bit.

“Ok fine,” he says crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Wait right here.”

He goes into his apartment and comes back out with a skinny metal thing you don’t recognize.

You look at him in confusion and he just motions for you to scoot out of the way as he sticks it in your locks and starts to pick it.

You sigh in relief.

“Thank you thank you thank you. For everything. I swear I will get my life together, so you don’t feel like you have to keep cleaning up my messes.

“I don’t mind,” he says with a small smile, “Take your time.”

And with that he opens the door to your apartment and turns back to his.

“By the way, you should really get better locks. That was way too easy.”

You make a note in your head to get that done sometime. As you’re lying on your couch that night, you’re AirDropped a photo on your phone. Saving it up you see it’s a piece of paper with neat handwriting on it: a phone number and a smiley face, Jason’s name at the bottom.

You smile too and add the number to your contacts.

~

Over the next few weeks, you and Jason start talking more, both over text and through the various times when you run into each other outside your doors.

Each interaction is better than the next, and you soon start to realize that Jason isn’t just some hot guy with no brains. He’s sweet and charismatic, has a whole wall full of bookshelves, could probably quote any classical novel by heart, has incredibly good taste in music, and best (or worst) of all, would make incredible friend material.

It’s just that as you become closer friends, you start to realize that that might not be all you want.

It’s a stupidly cold Friday morning when he texts you, and you’re covered in blankets and wrapped in sweatshirts in your bed. Movie at my place tonight?

You text back your approval and a quick be there at 6 before getting ready for classes.

The day goes by slower than you hoped.

It might be the anticipation of seeing Jason again, or more likely the hours of lectures you have to sit through, but you’re elated when your final class for the day gets let out.

The hours in between are a blur.

A blur which leads to the two of you sitting on his couch watching Romeo and Juliet together, a blanket thrown over your bodies.

You have the obligatory bowl of popcorn resting on your legs, and every few minutes Jason reaches across your lap to take a handful.

The way you’re laying half on top on him is completely deliberate, as to take as much of his body heat as possible. Your landlord had turned off heating 3 weeks prior to ‘save money’ or some other bullshit.

Jason’s not complaining though.

Once your popcorn bowl is finished and your head is in his lap, he runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. It might be the nicest feeling you’ve ever felt.

Throughout the movie you exchange snide comments about the plot back and forth. You start trying to say funny things whenever you can just to hear how sweet his laugh sounds to your ears.

By the end of the movie, you’re only slightly in tears, or so you tell yourself.

“Are you crying right now?” Jason asks incredulously, wearing a teasing smile.

“It’s not my fault,” you half say half moan, “Leonardo DiCaprio just has that effect on me.”

He just laughs and pulls you upright until you’re sitting on his lap.

His eyes are a shade of blue green that you’ve never seen before, although you could swear their getting greener by the second.

You watch his gaze drop down to your lips before staring you right in the eyes again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God yes,” you tell him, and kiss him right back.

~

The next week is somewhat uneventful, even though you and Jason had been meeting each other almost every night, rotating apartments based on whose house was warmer each particular night.

Tonight is your night, and you’ve been waiting the whole day to show him the film you had rented to watch together.

The walk up to your door is easier than usual, and you have a bounce in your step that’s making you feel even more elated than normal taking out your keys to unlock your apartment.

You open your door and your bag drops. The keys clatter when they hit the hardwood, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“You’re bleeding on my carpet,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

There Jason is, bleeding quite profusely, and using your kitchen counter to keep himself vertical. He’s wearing what looks to be a torn half of a domino mask and an extremely hot leather jacket.

(Not that this was the time for noticing his fashion choices, but you filed that thought away for later.)

What really catches your eye though is the huge red bat symbol on his chest, and the red helmet next to it sitting on your counter.

He shifts a little to the side before stumbling through saying, “Um, so, I know this isn’t ideal and I’m really sorry to put you in this situation, but I seriously do not feel like bleeding out tonight and-”

“Oh my god this is great,” you cut him off with. “I thought you were a hit-man!”

“Wait what.”

“Shit no that’s not what I meant- kind of, hang on we should probably stop you from dying before having this conversation.”

You walk over to him to get a better look at his wounds.

“God Jace, you look like death warmed over.”

He just stares at you.

“You have a bunch of stuff in your bathroom, right?”

At least this elicits a reaction. He grimaces in pain but gives you a nod of his head in conformation.

“Ok I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

He gives you a look that says seriously, where would I go.

3 minutes later you’re back with a needle and thread, and some sterilizing spray.

“This should be fine,” you tell him, “I took a first aid class last year with my friends and passed with flying colors according to the nurse.”

“Just try to keep them tight and neat. I trust you,” he says, and your heart pounds just a little harder.

You respond with a nervous laugh but take a deep breath and start working.

~

An hour and a half later you’re done.

The combination of pain meds, bandages, and a whole lot of stitches eventually led to you and Jason laying in your bed together, both completely exhausted.

He turns his head to face you.

“Could we maybe go back to the hit-man thing?”

“Oh uh. Well I saw a bunch of shirts covered in blood in your laundry in the bathroom, not to mention all the weirdly specific first-aid you had,” you tell him.

“And also the assorted guns and knives you have hidden all over. I guess I just assumed? But the whole Red Hood thing is so much better,” you reassure him.

“You found all my knives?”

You smile up at him.

“I love that that’s thing you chose to focus on.”

“And you’re really not mad that I didn’t tell you about the whole vigilante thing before?” he asks.

“Jay, I had already resigned myself to life forever with some shady hit-man that also happened to be incredibly good looking. Red Hood is ten times better than that. I’m not going to run away from you just because you’re incredibly intimidating and probably could kill me. I see that as an added bonus,” you say, with as much charm as you can muster without yawning.

“Just. Be careful, ok? I’d hate to make this a routine.”

He responds by pulling you closer to his body.

“I promise,” he whispers into your head. “You really to remember to get better locks by the way, breaking in was still way too easy.”

You let out a small laugh and finally you let yourself give into sleep.

#luce writes #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #red hood x gender neutral reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #dc imagine #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #jason todd #red hood #dc

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers: May 15th Part 1

It’s been longer than usual since our last answer session, so I’m answering a ton of questions today! It’s so big I split it into two parts. Thank you for the patience on getting a response to these.

Thanks for reaching out to us with your questions and kind words ^^!

Sorry if this has been asked before or isn't something you can say but is there anyway for Cove to confess in step 4? I wanted him to confess in step 3 and followed all the steps to make him do it but ended up texting my family instead of Cove at the end.

Yeah, Cove can confess in Step 4!

Hello! I heard that Cove is on the spectrum, albeit undiagnosed. As someone who is ND, this makes me UNBELIEVABLY happy. I literally was brought to tears! Thank you for that!

Out of curiosity, will Cove be diagnosed in Step 4? I have a strong feeling y’all won’t make it a HUGE deal/make it out to be negative, so I’m not worried about that whatsoever! I’m just curious just he’ll off handedly mention it? Or will it just not be touched upon at all (which is ok!)?

Either way is ok, I’m just curious!

I’m happy it made you happy! Admittedly, Cove simply being someone with autism that grew up not being diagnosed was something I included for myself. I didn’t really think anyone would notice or ask about it, aha. But players did start to have questions about his traits, so I started to talk about it outside of the game. It’s great to see it get such a positive response and now I do feel like having it be a non-topic may have been the wrong choice and bringing it up would’ve been good in terms of having positive representation for that. I don’t know if I’ll find a way to mention it in Step 4 now, with how far along the game is, but I am at least thinking about it when originally it wasn’t something I really even considered.

Hey!  Just wanted to say thank you for Our Life.  It's been a bright spot and a needed escape in what's otherwise been a crummy year.  I know you just did a Q&A post but I figured I'd ask anyway.  Was just curious about Step 4.  Will it be similar to the other Steps in that it consists of several different moments or will it just be one long sequence?

Step 4 is shorter than the prior Steps because it’s just an epilogue rather than a full arc of a story. It’ll consist of scenes that all happen in a set row one after the other. There won’t be a collection of Moments to choose from. But it’ll still be very sweet and fun.

¡hola!, you see, first I want to say that I love Our Life! (°◡°♡) and I have 2 important questions, would Cove cry watching titanic? and what is the saddest part according to him? (sorry for my english) 

Titanic would make him cry. He’d probably think the parts showing people who aren’t able to make it to the life boats/are choosing to stay and go down with the ship were the saddest.

Hello, I wanted to ask how much you earn with creating games? Like is it possible to make a living? Thank you >< <3 

How much I earn varies a lot month to month based on Steam sales, Patreon backers, and how many projects are in full production at the time. It’s also hard to say how much I make historically, since that also changes dramatically year by year. But I do earn enough to work on these games full time! I really appreciate all the support that allows me to do that.

Hey!! I was wondering for the 18+ Our Life moment, will there be an emphasis on safety/comfort for all involved? I feel like there  would be just going off of what the rest of the game is like, but I wanted to ask 

Yes! Cove is a nervous boy himself and also super cautious about doing anything the MC doesn’t like, so clear consent from both is absolutely needed for anything to happen. It’s a conversational sexy times Moment with stops/starts so the two can talk about how they’re feeling, rather than a heat of the moment just going for it kind of thing.

Hey!! I was wondering how long the wedding dlc would be? Will it be broken up into moments, or just one big event? 

It’s one long series of scenes all in a row rather than a collection of Moments to pick from. It’s the shortest and the least expensive of all the DLCs. It’s not super crucial to get and those who aren’t into big weddings can totally skip it without worry.

HELLO AMAZING DEVS 👋 i am hopelessly in love with the worst guy ever (jeremy king) and because of this i have a really stupid question: does he really hate people who are nice to him? TvT he’s too cute to be mean to istg it’s a miracle JB held the urge to be consistently nice to him bc just look at his FACE he is so cute! thank you for jeremy’s route it’s so lovely (and awful bc he’s scum 11/10) it gave me so much laughs LMAO i hope you guys have a good day!! 

Haha, thank you. He doesn’t hate them but he’s certainly not pleased with them. Jeremy is either uncomfortable with or annoyed by people being sweet on him, depending on how they approach it. He’s far more comfortable with jerkiness. It lets him relax and he can be himself without it being a problem, since he’s also a jerk. He feels a level of guilt being such a little punk to kind people, not enough to be a better person but still.

Has Cove dated or been interested in someone other than MC? 

Nope! He stays single over the course of the game if he’s not with the MC.

Is Step 4 more mature? Or it's gonna be set in similar atmosphere as Step 3? 

Step 4 is a similar atmosphere as Step 3. Though, it’s actually kind of less mature-topic heavy than Step 3 since it’s just a ‘hey, let’s check in on the gang to see what they’re up to’ style epilogue rather than a story arc with serious issues.

will there be new music for now and forever?? or will the old our life music be reused? 

It’s gonna be a brand new soundtrack. We’ll be opening up a job position for that soon.

Hi, is it okay if we use the assets in Our Life (like the sprites) for fanworks or fan content content, like edits? 

Sure! Just as long as you don’t use the assets made by those artists to make money.

Quick clarification on Step 3 choices: I hope I didn't come off rude (because I LOVE the game, really!!), I was just curious because the intro threw me off at times. For example, you could choose how you felt about Elizabeth in Step 2 (Dinner), but during the Step 3 intro, it says that you got closer to Liz and I didn't get a choice in it. 

For the example, it can’t be helped that you’re closer to Liz in Step 3 than you were in Step 2 because she’s inherently closer to the MC regardless of whether you liked her or not in Step 2. Her feelings are out of your control and the game isn’t so dramatic that you can push her affection away and not let her bond with you, haha. But ‘being closer’ can still be relative. For some people maybe that means you’re best buds now and for others it might just mean you’re not fighting all the time any more. If there’s other parts you want to mention, feel free to let us know.

Did the illustrator for Our Life change? 

We have many OL artists! The main artists who set the game’s style haven’t changed, but there’s multiple other artists who help finish assets.

So Miranda's type is confident and outgoing, huh? So...does that mean Terri's her type?? 👀 

Haha, sorry for the late reply on this. As you might’ve seen in our post yesterday- yeah that is her type.

Hey! First, I just want to say I've really enjoyed how detailed OL got with gender identity and sexuality and how respectful the topics were handled! It's been so wonderful to play since the experiences could be close to my own (I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up at parts). Second, I was wondering, would future games explore the topic of polyamory? I'd love to see more visual novels allow room for that and I saw you've explored the topic before.

Keep up the amazing work! ♡

Thank you! We do want to include polyamory in at least some of our future projects. Floret Bond, which might be what you’re referring to when mentioning how we’ve explored the topic before, is on hold unfortunately. So right now I’m not sure when something might release or what will be the first game of ours to come out with poly relationships (we might do something else before FB is done). We’ll have see how things ends up coming together.

Hey um. I feel like im not allowed to ask this on the private discord cuz people will yell at me but why is there so much focus on OL2 and not finishing OL1 stuff? I like the new people but i kind of want to finish cove's story and get derek and baxter stuff first. didn't people pay for it? 

I’m sorry, I don’t understand entirely what’s making that situation a concern. There’s a channel in the discord for critique where no one is allowed to comment back. People can voice things they’re worried about without any way for others to push back on it. And the two teams working on the OL games are different. We try to post pretty often about how we’re hiring brand new people to start on Our Life: Now & Forever. The OL1 team is all still working on OL1 like normal. There’s only more updates on the Patreon for OL2 because the expansions to the first game are mostly script-based at this point while OL2 is just starting to get all its art, which means there’s a lot more to show off as previews.

Also, there was a Kickstarter for the first Our Life, if that’s what you mean by people paying for it. But one of the stretch goals was to start Our Life 2 early, before fully completing Our Life 1, so that the new game could be out sooner. It wouldn’t make sense to stop doing OL2 work because that would be going against what backers were promised. Maybe you didn’t get the full story before and hopefully this clears it up!

Hello! I know it's up to every player but.. What is your recommendation for playing order? Did you ever had any timeline  events planned? 

I didn’t make the events with a planned timeline. The events got made simply as I had ideas for them and then I just kind of organized them from left to right on the screen in an order to space out more dramatic ones between more lighthearted ones. Any order the player wants to go with is totally valid!

Hi! It's Step 4 a paid dlc or update? And how long it's planned to be? Ps. Love the game! 

The Step 4 epilogue is free! The Cove Wedding DLC does cost money, though. Those are planned to be shorter than the usual Steps/DLCs.

Will we have options for what sort of job the MC might have by the time step 4 takes place? 

Yeah, you can. It’s not super exact or detailed, but there are options about it.

Is there a pandemic in Our Life world, or is it just in a better timeline with no pestilence? 

Our Life is pandemic-free! That didn’t exist when we began working on the project and it’s not something we’d like to feature in this story now that it has unfortunately come along, aha.

Hi, you said that you can play tic-tac-toe or hangman with Cove in Boating if you're sick/scared but I keep getting tic-tac-toe. Am I doing something wrong?

After being sick/scared you have to continue to be upset/unwell. If you calm down and decide to just chill you’ll end up playing tic-tac-toe.

Hi, GB Patch! Since Lee was initially commissioned to only appear in two Steps does this mean she won't appear in the Wedding DLC? I really like her character so it'll be a little weird to not have our cousin at our wedding, aha.

She is gonna be in Step 4/the wedding DLC after all! We’re still working with her creator to make sure it fits with what they wanted.

Is Sunset Bird based on a real place? Asking for a friend, not trying to move there or anything. 👀

It’s based on small beach towns in So-Cal, but not one specific town you could go see in real life, I’m afraid. It’d be nice if it was real, though.

—– —– —– —–

We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ   Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life: Now & Forever #ask #gb patch #gb patch games #xoxo droplets

[shades-of-stony]

Time Travel Stony Fanfic

Character from the Future travels to the Past 

A Shadow Hanging Over Our Fate by CaptainDean13

Summary: The Avengers get sent back in time to WWII where they run into the Howling Commandos... complete with Bucky and Steve. Little hard to explain that away, especially when you are trying to keep some major secrets. Secrets like how you ended up in the future and why the hell Bucky is now a scary (reformed) assassin with a metal arm, not to mention that you married your friend's son.

Note: A 1000/10 READ. THIS IS SO FREAKIN’ GOOD THAT I READ IT 3 TIMES SINCE I FIRST FOUND IT LAST YEAR. It’s a nice and well written time travel fic with the howling commandos and past Steve and Bucky!!

A New Way For Us by ann2who

Summary: They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

Note: This is where Tony went back in time to fix everything that went wrong and prepare for the arrival of Thanos! Due to an unexpected twist of fate, he found himself getting closer to Steve of all people!  

Two More Miracles (To Be A Saint) by queenpenthesilea

Summary: “Get up, Stark, you sleep too much. You said you would teach me paper football.”

Tony’s eyes snapped open. No. No. Had it all been a dream? Had he just imagined five years – five years - of an idyllic life, complete with a beautiful, wonderful daughter? He pushed himself up, looking around; he was on the Milano – he was on the fucking Milano, and either this was a really weird version of hell or everything had been a dream. Or, a little voice whispered, something had gone horribly, horribly wrong with the infinity stones.

Note: A nice and juicy post-Endgame Time Travel fanfic!! Though, this one held a few what ifs. 

Saving the World is a 12 Step Program by janonny

Summary: Tony and Steve fall to pieces when Thanos’ wins.

Then they pick themselves up, and find a solution. They also find something infinitely more precious in the process.

-

“It’s going to sound pretty outrageous,” Tony admitted, rubbing a hand over his brow. While he had put on some weight and wasn’t as gaunt anymore, he was still easily tired nowadays.

“More outrageous than talking racoons and a purple villain traveling through space to collect magic stones?” Steve asked drily.

Note: This is another post-Endgame fanfic but with a twist and different take on the whole time travel!

Oh, Snap by wedelia

Summary: Peter wakes up, and he’s simultaneously five years too early and right on time.

Or, Post-Endgame Peter goes back in time and accidentally-on-purpose gets Steve and Tony together before the initial snap happens. And, oh, yeah—he also recruits a former-Air-Force-pilot-turned-galactic-hero, has lunch with Black Widow, and somehow befriends Nick Fury. This changes things.

Note: It’s Peter who time travels this time around!!

If We Never Got This Second Chance by Pookaseraph

Summary: When Tony and Steve’s son from the future, Jake Jensen, arrives at Avenger’s Tower, the two of them are forced to confront some hard truths: Tony that he might not actually become a horrible father, and Steve that he might not be able to set aside his discomfort with sharing a child with another man. When they both get a second chance at a first try at fatherhood, it’s up to the two of them to learn from their own future's past.

Note: Anyone up for some future son time travel? Enjoy this nicely written fanfic of Stony’s future son traveling and meeting the past versions of his parents! Past versions that are not even together yet! Things are about to get weird for Steve and Tony. 

Your Name on Every Wall by Sineala

Summary: The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

Note: A unique plot where Steve travels to the future and realizes what he is missing on!

Together, At Dawn by RoseGoldAmpersand

Summary: Steve returns the Infinity Stones to New York and finds himself in conversation with Tony of the past. More mature and willing to listen to Tony he realises that what he previously thought were taunts was actually Tony flirting with him.

In light of this new discovery and alone in Tony’s workshop after the battle of New York, one thing leads to another...

Note: ohhhhh, some juicy smut anyone?

  Don't Look Back, You Can Never Look Back. by iL0Vsuperman

Summary: Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and, now, superhero.

It’d only been a few months prior that he’d revealed to the world he was Iron Man and life couldn’t be better.

That is…until he stumbled upon an old abandoned Hydra lab and kinda set off one of their machines by accident. A blast of blue light later and he found himself in the same lab…only it is seventy years earlier and it is full of Hydra agents.

Cue the entrance of the Howling Commandos led by Tony’s childhood hero, Captain America.

Suddenly, Tony is living out a dream. He’s joining up with the Commandos in the search to get Tony back to his right era. It’s the adventure of a lifetime and, at first, it’s amazing…but then he and Steve connect in ways more than just friendship and he finds that he is torn between wanting to stay with him or go back home.

In the end, whatever the result, he loses.

Note: Tony meets his childhood heroes-the Howling Commandos and Captain America! 

The Future is Yet in Your Power by FestiveFerret

Summary: "Now." Wong leaned back in his chair. "What would you do to save this world from Thanos' attack? What would you sacrifice?"

"Anything," Steve said. "Anything at all."

Wong considered him for a moment, expression unreadable. "There's one thing, maybe."

Note: This is nice fanfic about Steve putting everything on the line to hopefully make a change. 

The Good or Bad Thing by petreparkour for SeetheSea

summary: “It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.“

Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

Note: Future Tony and Steve accidentally traveling in the past!

  Character from the Past travels to the Future

hold the things you wanna say by SailorChibi

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay.

He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really.

What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always.

This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

Note: ANGST! READY YOUR TISSUES.

Twice Upon a Time by TsaritsaElena

Summary: Tony Stark has never had an easy relationship with his father, but when Howard Stark circa 1983 time travels to the future in a freak accident, things get even more complicated, especially since Tony is dating his dad’s idol, Captain America, and Howard doesn’t know. As they work toward a solution that will restore Howard to his own timeline, will Tony get a second chance at a father-son relationship with his dad, or is he in for more of the same unforgiving treatment from Howard? Time travel, Avengers missions, and a secret project of Howard’s: things at Stark Tower are about to get a little crazy.

Note: SOME MORE ANGST AND HOWARD TRAVELLING TO THE FUTURE. 

The Future Is Ours (Whether We Want It Or Not) by ann2who

Summary: After a hit from the Time Stone, Steve switches places with his future self.

Note: Another of Steve traveling to the future! Though this time, it features both timeline! Both POV of the past and future! 

Ordinary Men by RiaRose

Summary: "Aren't you at all happy to see me?" Howard shot back, holding his glass out and pointing with his index finger. At Steve's stony face, he dropped his arm. "Want a glass?" he tried, picking up an empty tumbler, "This is good stuff."

"Tony doesn't skimp on - well - anything. And no, thank you."

"Was that Tony?" he queried, gesturing toward the hallway the other man had disappeared down. Steve nodded but didn't give any more information, so Howard repeated his earlier question, "Aren't you happy to see me?"

It took Steve a moment to answer. Howard could see his jaw working. 

"No, not anymore."

OR

In which Howard travels to the future and just messes up everybody's day, Steve is conflicted, and Tony is a piping hot mess, as per usual. It's not going to be easy, but Steve and Tony have to somehow navigate through Howard's arrival and the strain it puts on their relationship.

Note: From the summary alone, you can tell that THIS WILL BE ANGSTY. 

To Have My Time Again... by WilmaKins

Summary: It's been two years since Siberia, and Tony Stark is still dealing with the fallout - personal and political. Life is quite complicated enough, without Bruce falling through a wizards roof yelling that Thanos is coming.

Thor and Loki are stalling, but time is running out. The fate of the universe is at stake. Steve Rogers is back in the picture. Really, the last thing Tony needs is for their plan to go horribly wrong and bring Howard Stark forward in time.

But his Dad *is* standing in his office, whether he likes it or not.

So, it looks like Tony will have to fix that mess too.

Note: There is just something about Howard-travels-to-the-future fanfics. 

Howard Stark Meets The Avengers by SerlinaBlack

Summary: Howard Stark unknowingly travels to the future with his son and wife. Luckily the heroes of the future were somewhat ready for it. Unluckily , they don't seem to like him very much

Alternative summery: when will Howard learn? Not now lmao.

Note: ANOTHER ONE.

#stony #stony fanfiction #stony fanfic #stony fic #stony fic rec #stevetony #stevetony fic rec #steve and tony #steve and tony fic #superhusbands #stevetony fanfic

[kiwicubs]

Good Old-fashioned Loverboy

three teens who figured it out. . .sorta. . .yeah definitely figured it out

words: 1412

yamaguchi x reader x tsukishima

No exams, no homework and no practice which was honestly a miracle for the team. Just a regular Friday night for the Karasuno boys and their managers. The 3rd years are planning to go to the cinema, the 2nd years are working together to find an arcade that Tanaka and Noya haven’t been banned from, and two groups of 1st years are doing something different. Yachi, Hinata, and Kageyama were heading to the park for two things; taking photos and volleyball. While Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and you were heading to town for karaoke.

“This would’ve been much easier if we had picked a place beforehand.” you groaned out to the boys on either side of them. The trio just got off the train and realized none of them had direction to the Karaoke Plaza.

“I can proudly say that it’s not on me this time. Tsukki was in charge of directions for this one. . .” Yamaguchi mumbled out not wanting to take the blame for the lack of directions.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima grumbled out, ears lightly tinted pink. It sorta drifted from his mind during the train ride especially with you and Yamaguchi leaning against him, debating on what songs to sing when they got there.

Y/N could only laugh at Tsukishima’s unfortunate call out by Yamaguchi. To save Tsukishima from further embarrassment, they just searched “Karaoke Plaza” and found one about a 10 minute walk from the train station.

After looping around twice around the block, they finally get to the plaza and Y/N payed for the room while Yamaguchi gathered snacks, drinks for them and Tsukishima paid for those because he messed up on the directions.

“A good Karaoke Friday with my boys!” you exclaimed excitedly, walking into the room holding the basket of treats that Tsukishima had you carry.

“Tch. . . it’s not that exciting, nerd” the tall blonde muttered out

“Tsukki, you’re in class 1-4 with us so you’re also a ‘nerd’ along with us” the green headed boy shot back as if it was second nature.

You set down the basket on the middle table near the book and controls while the two others got comfortable and fixed. Once getting their bags and jackets off, Yamaguchi looked for the small tambourines and Tsukishima decided to get the TV going.

Looking through the book, Y/N found the song they were looking for, ‘Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy’ by Queen, it’s been a song on constant repeat for the manager especially when down in the dumps about their crushes. Punching in the American song code into the controller it starts at the song’s second chorus.

Say the word, your wish is my command~

You’ve known these two boys for four years now and it’s been quite the ride for you. You met them during junior high orientation week and you’re happy you did meet this pair. Complete opposites to one another but fit together as if they were final puzzle pieces.

Tsukishima Kei was a tough person to get talking to at first but slowly his tough facade chipped away. The tall blonde boy who is often seen with a frown or a condescending smirk on his face was smiling in the present of someone other than his closest friend.

Yamaguchi Tadashi was shy at first meet and isn’t the biggest people person but had no problem when snickering at others along with tsukishima. For some reason he had no troubles talking to you, he was the first to greet and the first to exchange numbers.

Two generally closed off kids meet another and open up. Sure they had their rough moments but that’s what made them them. You made it easier though and so you became the last actual piece of puzzle that formed the trio.

Two years in, you realized that you started to develop feelings that weren’t just platonic towards the boys. It was confusing and a nightmare figuring it out. You always tried to shove it deep down but it got hard after sometime.

Even more when you notice Tsukishima taking a liking towards Yamaguchi and seeing Yamaguchi giving the same. But you never notice how they looked at you when you looked away. Three friends who didn’t know what to do or say.

C’mon and Get It~

You didn’t know what came over yourself when you noticed Tsukishima glancing at Yamaguchi with a look of affection in his eye.

“Maybe it‘s time to let go” You thought with a sigh before pushing Yams towards Tsukki

Ooh, love~

Yamaguchi was too into his thoughts to hear the sudden sigh from beside him before being pushed towards his best friend, Tsukishima Kei.

His eyes widened from the fast change. Cheeks growing warm from the sudden burst of his personal bubble and the closeness. Looking at each other, it was as if the childhood friends were thinking on the same line.

“Maybe it’s time we finally tell them”

This wasn’t going to be some impulsive decision on their half or at least that’s what they’re telling themselves. Though it’s not like the two didn’t talk about this before with each other. The boys figured out at the end of junior high that they not only like each other but you as well.

So lost in the song you didn’t see the look the friends gave one another. A look that was soft but hesitant yet full of hope and affection.

Feeling a sudden tug at your hoodie, you're pulled between the middle block and pinch server. At the same time the two sing with genuine voices.

ooh, loverboy~

What’re you doin’ tonight, hey, boy?~

Standing there frozen from the line, heat moved to your cheeks and a silly smile slowly appeared on your face.

Write my letter~

Feel much better~

And use my fancy patter on the telephone~

The music is still playing on in the background and hearts racing for the sudden silence between the trio. Tadashi and Kei took a shot in the dark doing this, not really sure if you even like them back but they didn't care. The worst that could happen is you not feeling the same towards the two.

“You know it isn’t funny to mess with me like that, you guys.” you muttered out though your voice held no malice just a tinge of confusion and caution.

“We aren’t joking, idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Just hear us out, please?”

The room didn’t hold an awkward feeling if anything it was calm but loud at the same time.

“We realized that both of us hold feeling for you, y/n” Tadashi sounded so nervous getting his sentence out, “We’re honestly taking ou–” he gets cut off by the tall blonde

“What Tadashi is trying to say is that we both like you and if you don’t feel the same that’s okay, we could just ignore what just happened and move on.” he sounded so uninterested but the speed he spoke at gave away what his tone did not. He was nervous. 

“I–” you began to speak but was cut off by Tadashi

“Like Tsukki said, if you don’t feel the same that’s okay.” 

“Not like it would be the end of the world–” Kei gets a nudge in the side, tch, “Watch it, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

“Can I speak now?” you asked softly and gave a smile. The two players give you a nod. You shuffle a bit before clearing your throat.

“Before I was interrupted,” you eyed Tadashi playful, “I was going to say that I like you both as well.” you kept your gaze a bit low, too nervous to look them in the eyes. Taking in a deep slow breath, you gathered enough confidence to look towards Kei, “I like how you take the time out of your day to check on me when you feel like something is wrong,” grabbing his hand before turning towards Tadashi and taking his as well before continuing

“And I like how you let me call at the terrible hour of 3 in the morning just because I couldn’t sleep or I really wanted to talk about something you had no knowledge prior to.”

“So if you need to hear it one more time, I like both of you, Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

One Month Later

“Hey Stingyshima, Yamaguchi, why is there a picture of the two of you and Y/N cuddling in the group chat?”

The pinch server could only laugh at his blonde partner because he was the one sent it by mistake.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki”

#yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #short writing #x reader #haikyuu x reader #gn!reader #hq #hq x reader #tsukkiyama x reader #gn!mc #writing in one pov gets hard for no reason #at least for me #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

[escapewriter]

Lover

pairing : vernon x reader

synopsis : love makes you do crazy things, except this wasn’t really crazy for him. he’s just a man in love who’s willing to do it all for you.

genre : fluff, like a lot of fluff, humor

word count : 3.6k

warnings : none

posted : 2/17/21

a/n : ty ty to @woozisnoots for beta reading. i really needed it or it would’ve sounded so awkward so tysm alex <3 and HAPPY VERNON AND SEOKMIN DAYYYY. tell me why this took me almost a month to write even though its like... eh. neway, I HOPE YALL ENJOY, it has that princess and the frog vibe.

TAGLIST : @vibecheckvernon @beomiebear5 @lightoflife @skylions-den @noniesgirl @woozisnoots

won’t let me tag : @pandora1834

send me an ask/dm if you would like to be on the taglist

pieces of love masterlist // playlist // main masterlist

‘Letter 355’ was written in big letters on the front of the envelope. You sat on the bed as you tore the sealed flap open. Vernon has been writing you small notes ever since your 6th year anniversary. This is the first real letter you’ve gotten because before, it was simple post-it notes, and as your 7th year together approaches, you can’t help but wonder what he has planned this time.

You took out the paper, unfolded it and scanned his messy handwriting. You smiled as your fingertips touched the ink on the paper. You began to read:

Ma Belle,

I hope you will have a wonderful day today. Are you surprised you’re getting a letter instead of a post-it note? You probably are lol. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the messy handwriting, I had to leave early this morning and didn’t have time to write neatly, or spell correctly so if you see some typos, you didn’t (cue the clown emoji).

Also, a heads up, I may be returning home late due to the guys wanting to hang out, so if you need me, call me. And yes, I’ll text you if I have to stay at one of their apartments and I’ll text you when I leave. I know the drill ;)

Please be safe today, and you know MY drill don’t you? It’s the exact same thing I said above, HA! So, text me when you leave the house and when you arrive at work. I can’t wait to see you again (even though we live together). I love you Ma Belle. Just 10 more days!

Love, Vernon

You smiled at the nickname he had given you as you felt the familiar rush of fireworks erupt in your stomach, hugging the letter close to your chest. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have a man like Vernon. He took time out of his day for almost a year just to write you a letter every morning so you could wake up happy. He is an absolute crazy man for doing this.

You folded up the letter and carefully placed it back in the envelope. You went to your desk, grabbing the photobook on the shelf and opened it, seeing where you kept all his notes for the past year. You flipped to a page and inserted the letter in an empty slot. You closed the book and placed it on the shelf once more, looking at it as you thought about how he was capable of doing something like this for a whole year, who knows what he has planned for your anniversary.

~

Vernon has a lot planned actually. He is going to keep writing you letters every morning before he goes to work, but on the day of your anniversary, it’s going to be a little different and he couldn’t wait for that day to come.

He walked alone, glancing into the stores that he passed as he waited for the call. He turned around and began to head back to where he came from before, feeling the buzzing of his phone. He looked at the screen and answered.

“Hey Shua, are you guys done?” He bit his lower lip a bit, hoping they got what he had asked for. He heard his friend sigh on the other end of the line.

“Hell yeah we got it.” Letting out a breath of relief, he nodded as he listened to Joshua tell him to return back to the car so they could go and eat. Hanging up, he walked quickly back to meet up with his friends.

He could not wait for the day to come.

//

You saw ‘Letter 360’ taped to the refrigerator when you reached the kitchen to prepare yourself breakfast. You had only received small notes like before ever since ‘Letter 355’, so you were a bit taken aback because you simply thought that he wrote a long letter due to his busy schedule that day. You weren’t sure what to expect of this though as he told you the night prior that he would be home before dinner.

You tore the flap of the envelope and took out the paper, quickly unfolding it as you began to read his messy handwriting:

Ma Belle,

Did you sleep well last night? I hope so because then I’ll feel bad for not being able to be there with you to make you feel better :( But!!! I hope this will make your morning a bit brighter if it wasn’t already. Inside the microwave are some pancakes that I made Mingyu bring for me because I would’ve burnt them. But they’re probably cold so you have to heat it up. There were 4 in total but I was hungry and ate one hehe.

Anyway, I’ll see you in a few hours, Ma Belle. Stay safe at work and text me! I love you!

Love, Vernon

You felt the warmth creep up in your chest as you grinned, rereading the letter again. Although this made you incredibly happy, you couldn’t help but think about what you could do better for Vernon in this relationship. You never want him to feel as if he was the only one putting effort.

After making a quick decision, you put the letter back in the envelope and brought it to your room, placing it in an empty slot of the photobook. You went back out to the kitchen and heated up the pancakes Vernon had mentioned, deciding that you will make a small trip to the store after having breakfast.

~

Unknowingly, you walked down the same path Vernon had the day he went out with his friends secretly without telling you. You passed multiple stores as you racked your brain for some sort of idea on what to get him. You already had your anniversary gift planned out for him, but that’s a secret that you have been keeping from him since day one. You just hope he doesn’t go searching for the photobook.

You walked slowly, glancing into stores to get some sort of idea before stopping in front of a jewelry store. You hesitated knowing that Vernon never wanted you to spend so much money on him, but look at where you are. You decide to tell him it’s an anniversary gift instead of just giving it to him tonight so that way he wouldn’t get mad at you. Yeah, that’s a better plan.

As you enter the store, your eyes immediately go to the locked glass cases of beautiful jewelry. Maybe you should’ve thought this through because you had no idea what to get him. Looks like guessing is the best bet for you.

//

You made it home from work just before Vernon got home. Quickly, you went to your room and took the box out of the bag and placed it behind the photobook. You disposed of the bag, making sure that Vernon wouldn’t spot any evidence of the fact that you spent a lot of money on him.

You were now in the kitchen, looking to prepare something for dinner before the front door opened with your boyfriend coming in with bags in his hand. You smiled and quickly met him at the door, grabbing a few bags before kissing his cheek.

“You bought dinner? I was planning to make something for you.” He smiled warmly and led you to the dining room, placing the bags on the table. He quickly kissed your cheek before holding one of your hands.

“Ma Belle~” The teasing sound of his voice echoed in your ears as you smiled widely, shying away a bit before you felt the tips of his fingers move your head to face his again, “You don’t have to cook for me tonight. Let’s just relax and enjoy the food I bought, how does that sound?” You stared into his hypnotizing eyes, the warmth in your chest rising as you nodded your head with a smile.

“Okay! Let's get some plates!”

//

You woke up to an empty bed, confused as to why Vernon wasn’t next to you. Sitting up straight, you looked at your night stand, searching for the familiar post-it note or envelope. You thought that maybe it was something similar to the letter 5 days ago where you found it taped to the fridge.

You stretched out your arms, yawning in the process as you heard your phone buzz on the table. Unplugging it, you opened your messages and spotted a familiar name. Boo Seungkwan.

‘You home?’ You didn’t know why he was texting you at this time, he was usually asleep. And he knows that it’s your anniversary with Vernon today, so you were confused as to why he was asking if you were home.

‘No. I’m with Vernon.’ Obviously you lied to try and get out of any sort of event he may have planned just so you can eat a small breakfast and get ready for the day. You just have to find Vernon’s note.

‘Bullshit. I’m with Vernon right now.’ Your eyes widened, a scowl appearing on your face as you questioned why Vernon was with Seungkwan instead of you. ‘Why are you with Vernon? Where are you guys?’

On the other side of the phone, Seungkwan was panicking. He knew that you weren’t with Vernon because Vernon was with Joshua setting up everything for your anniversary.

He looked around the room, thinking of an answer to come up with before Chan walked in, “Seungkwan? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be distracting them for Vernon?” He tossed his phone to the younger, eyes filled with fear and uneasiness. Chan read the messages and laughed, “Vernon will kill you if you don’t pull this off. Good luck!” Seungkwan groaned as he decided to just show up at your home and keep you occupied.

You stared at the messages, expecting him to answer but received nothing. You sighed and just locked your phone, mind now set on looking for the letter. Every step you took to look into a room, your fingers were crossed in hopes that you would find any sort of evidence that Vernon has left for you. Plopping onto the couch, you thought that maybe he just forgot to write today, but it didn’t make sense since he wrote everyday for a whole year without forgetting. Even in previous letters, he would count down the days until it was your anniversary. It just didn’t make any sense.

You heard the doorbell ring, an ounce of hope in your heart as you thought that it could be Vernon. He has a key to the house. You sighed and got up from the couch as you went to the front door, unlocking it with a click and opening it.

Your eyes met Seungkwan’s and it immediately turned into a glare. “I thought you were with Vernon, hm?” He grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

“I lied.”

“I can see that.” You stepped to the side, making way for him to enter your house. You watched him sit on the couch as you closed the door and locked it. “What are you doing here, Seungkwan?”

“Uhm— Did you eat breakfast?” You saw his hands wipe down against his jeans, a nervous habit he had that you picked up on throughout your years of friendship.

“No I didn’t. And you avoided my question—”

“You haven’t eaten?” He stood up abruptly, determined to keep you distracted until lunch time, “Come on, lets cook some breakfast for you!” He turned towards the kitchen with you following closely after him after rolling your eyes and just letting it slide, thinking that maybe Vernon put him up to this.

//

Seungkwan sighed in content after finishing up his food, his eyes moving to meet your hard ones. “Seungkwan,” His eyes went to look around the room, just as long as they weren’t at you, “Seungkwan, stop avoiding eye contact.” He looked back at you, his lips pursed and throat feeling dry. “I have so many questions, but I won’t even bother at this point.” You shook your head and took your plate and his, bringing it to the sink and began to wash them.

As you were washing, you heard your name fall from his lips, “I can wash them, you have to go get ready.” Your head shot up, eyes looking to the side but your head staying in place.

“Get ready how? Where are we going?”

Seungkwan got up from his seat and stood next to you, “Don’t play dumb. Do you want your letter or not?” Your eyes lit up, nodding as you turned off the water and quickly went into your room to wash up and get ready.

“Thank you Seungkwan!”

//

You sat in the car with the radio gently playing in the background. A comfortable silence fell upon you and Seungkwan, who was in the driver's seat. You remembered to bring your gift as you looked at the large bag sitting on the floor between your legs. You checked the time on your phone, seeing that it was almost lunch.

“Wow, if Vernon planned a lunch, I’m glad you ate most of the breakfast food.” You out the window, giggling with Seungkwan.

“That was the whole point of me eating all the food. I had to keep you busy for a few more hours.”

You sighed and nodded your head in understanding, turning your head to look at the side of his face, “Where are we headed to anyway?”

He glanced away from the road to look at you for a split second before lifting up his hand, his pointer finger placed on his lips as he made a ‘shh’ sound. “It’s a secret.”

“Well can you tell me if it’s far? I kind of want to take a nap.”

“Go for it, but don’t get mad when I wake you up.”

//

Your eyes fluttered, feeling the cool breeze against your skin as goosebumps rose. You opened your eyes, seeing your boyfriend standing next to you with the car door open. He flashed his gummy smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Ma Belle~”

You looked down at the floor as you placed your hand in his, stepping out of the car with your bag and present in hand. “Where have you been Vernon Chwe?”

You smiled cheekily at him to which he shrugged with a teasing smile, “I’ve been doing things.”

You began to smile, looking at your interlocked fingers as he led you to a familiar area. You scanned the place, seeing the light of the sun reflect off the little lake that you knew all too well. Your hand tightened in his grasp causing him to stop walking and to turn to look at you, “What’s wrong?” You pouted, puppy eyes boring into his as he smiled softly.

“You took me here? I thought this place became private property and people weren’t allowed to be here.” He laughed softly and brought up his hand, placing his pointer finger against his lips.

“Shhh, we’re not.” Your eyes widened as you hit him with your bag and he laughed, “I’m kidding, I talked to the owner and they were fine with it, come on, let’s go.”

He brought you over to a picnic setup, the tall tree providing you shade that can cool your down from the scorching sun. You both sat down on the blanket, looking out to the lake with the mini table in between. You sighed in content, your eyes never leaving the shining lake, “Vernon this is incredible. I’m so happy you were able to get us in here.” You looked over at your boyfriend, a smirk on his face as he held up the missing letter.

“I know you’ve been wondering where the final letter was but I don’t know if I want to give it to you just yet.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “You have to eat with me first and then I’ll give you the letter, okay?” You smiled and nodded your head happily, the thought of what could possibly be in the letter consumes your mind.

//

You finished your food with a toss of your napkin to the plate, your eyes immediately going to Vernon who was laughing softly. “I know what you’re going to ask, but first let me open my gift, please?” He pouted in which you rolled your eyes in response.

“Fine.”

You handed over the bag, biting your lip out of a nervous habit, watching him take out the tissue paper and spotting the box and photobook. He took out the photobook, looking at you with an unsure expression before opening it. Raising his eyebrows, he found every note he has written to you, and next to it is a note you have written in response.

He took a deep breath, flipping through all the pages, trying to be as slow as possible just to tease you, but no luck, “Vernon you can read it at home.” You whined next to him as he slightly glared at you,

“Hey, I just want to appreciate you.” Still, he listened and put the photobook back in the bag and then took out the box. He opened the top carefully and stared at the piece of jewelry laying inside.

He head lolled to look at you, another pout on his lips, “I told you not to buy me anything expensive.”

You giggled and nodded your head towards the bracelet, “Dig a little deeper Vernon,” He rolled his eyes at your remark of quoting the song before taking out the chain. He turned the small heart-shaped charm over and found your name next to the words ‘Your Evangeline’ engraved in it.

His grip on the chain loosened as he handed it to you, holding out his arm, “Put it on for me?” Quickly you wrapped it around his wrist and locked it in place, beaming with happiness. “I love this, I just— it’s beautiful.”

“Can I read the letter now?” He sighed in defeat as he failed to stall everything a little while longer.

“Way to ruin the sentimental mood.” He handed you the letter, watching you bounce in excitement as you prepared to rip it open.

“Wait! Read it up there, next to the lake. Pretend I’m not here, like how you would read any letter in the morning, okay?” You nodded standing up and scurried over to the lake, thinking about how weird it was that he asked you to read it at this spot. The thought left your mind the second your eyes scanned ‘Letter 365’. Your heart pounded in your ears as you ripped the flap open and pulled out the paper. You began to read:

Ma Belle,

Happy 7th year Anniversary! Can you believe it has been seven years we’ve been together? It feels so amazing. I’m sorry you had to read this through a letter, but I feel like writing it out conveyed my feelings better than when I just wing it. So, I hope you prepare yourself because this is going to be a ride full of cheese and cringe.

I remember our first date here. It was very cheesy and seemed too extravagant for a first date, but we have known each other for a few months before I asked you out, so I call it a success. Anyway, I’ll never forget the look on your face when you saw the little fairy lights light up just at the snap of my finger. You said it looked like fireflies and reminded you of Princess and the Frog. Anyway, getting back to the point, the point is, this little lake holds a place in my heart because it was all those months of me silently pining after you to finally be able to take you here, it made me realize that I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Oh! Which reminds me of our first here, when we danced to the soundtrack of the movie. It’s random, I know but I don’t think you remember that. You probably won’t remember me proposing to you either, would you? Turn around Ma Belle :)

You slowly turned around, the blanket and picnic table gone, all that’s left in front of you is Vernon down on one knee holding up a small box displaying a beautiful ring. The arm holding the letter drops, your free hand coming up to slightly cover your mouth now agape. From his shaky hands to his beaming smile, the love you had for the man in front of you intensified.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, “So, do you remember now?” The water in your eyes that have been threatening to spill finally let go as you nodded your head, “Ma Belle~” That damn grin on his face made your knees shake, “Will you be my Evangeline and marry me?” Your legs collapsed, your knees hitting the grass as you hugged Vernon tightly, whispering ‘Yes’ into his ear.

The amount of love you felt in your heart took over as you cried silently against him. He pulled away, laughing softly as he wiped your tears and brought your hand up, slipping the ring onto your ring finger. “Hansol Vernon Chwe, no wonder you wanted to open my gift first.”

He shrugged, looking into your eyes with that same teary smile before leaning in and placing a soft yet meaningful kiss on your lips. In that magical moment, you knew that this is all for you; he is all for you and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#caratwritersclub #newskynet #seventeen #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen au #vernon #vernon chwe #svt vernon #pieces of love #HAPPY VERNON DAY #HAPPY SEOKMIN DAY

[stardusttkachuk]

Santa’s Workshop

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fluff, swearing,

Summary: JJ picks up a holiday job, working as one of Santa’s elves. He doesn’t expect to meet another elf there, but isn’t disappointed in who he’ll be working with all season.

A/N: This is day 1 of starduststarkey’s 12 days of Christmas. Find other fics in my masterlist

Wanna be tagged? click here!

“You look fucking ridiculous,” John B says as JJ stands in front of the broken full length mirror that JB picked up from a junkyard.

“At least I have a job, asshat.” He fixes his hat on his head, grimacing at the way the tights hug his body. He’s uncomfortable in every place imaginable and is already dreading the 5 hour shift.

“Maybe if you’re a good elf, Santa will bring you a girlfriend this year!” Pope teases.

“You better shut the fuck up before this elf beats you to a pulp,” JJ threatens, fists raised.

Pope laughs. “I don’t think elves are supposed to be getting in fist fights.”

JJ huffs and rolls his eyes. Pope is right. He can’t show up to this job covered in bruises, that would scare the kids even more than he probably already will.

“Will you please drive me?” He asks John B. 

“Maybe you should ask Santa for a car,” John B says, grabbing the keys to the Twinkie.

“Why do you think I even took this job in the first place? Please. I don’t want to be seen in public like this.”

You set your bag in the provided cubby, checking your phone one last time before your scheduled session. When you had signed up to be one of Santa’s elves at the local mall, you were ecstatic. You and your best friend had been doing this for the last two years. But this year, your best friend ditched you for the hot chocolate stand. Really she ditched you for the cute girl who worked at the hot chocolate stand, and now you were stuck working with some kid named JJ Maybank. You crossed your fingers in hopes that he wasn’t some loser like the guy they hired last season.

“Santa arrives in 10 minutes! You better be out there in 5!” Natasha, the showrunner of Santa’s Workshop yells through the improvised locker and changing room. “Where’s your other elf?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. He hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Well when he gets here tell him he’s a dead man if he isn’t here 15 minutes prior to his shift.” She storms out, clipboard in hand. 

The first day is always one of the craziest. Things don’t settle down until a few weeks in. And by the time they do settle down, it’s already the week before Christmas and they get crazy again. 

“Hi. I’m JJ Maybank. I think this is where I’m supposed to be?” You hear someone say, likely talking to the nutcracker that’s posted outside the green room.

“In there. Find Y/N. You’ll know it’s her because she’ll be dressed just like you.”

You roll your eyes. At least he showed up. Ten minutes late but he did make it.

He passes through the curtains, blonde hair a mess under his elf hat. You’ll have to remind him to brush it before he arrives. You have an extra brush in your bag, but you know you won’t have time to make it look perfect.

He spies you easily, strutting towards you. “I’m JJ. Are you Y/N?” 

“That’s me. You’re late, by the way.”

JJ looks at his watch, eyes wide and mouth agape. “I’m five minutes early! That’s the earliest I’ve been for any job!”

“Natasha’s rules state all workshop employees must be present 15 minutes prior to their shift.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “It’s only ten minutes.”

“And if it happens again, you’re a dead man. So you better be here 15 minutes early next time.”

“Okay but why 15? Aren’t we just sitting around those 15 minutes until our shift starts?”

“It’s for costume malfunctions. Like your hair. It needs to be brushed. If you had been here 10 minutes earlier, maybe we would’ve had time to brush it and make it look better.”

“My hair looks fine,” JJ grumbles, though he does attempt to smooth down the ends with his hands. 

You lead him over to the cubby next to yours, gesturing to it. “Put your stuff in here. And that includes your phone.”

JJ places both his phone and wallet into the cubby. He then takes his jacket off and puts it on top of the two valuable items.

“No one is going to steal your stuff, if you’re worried about that. This place is heavily monitored,” you say. “And no one but Santa’s crew is allowed back here anyway.”

JJ is about to speak when an elderly woman with white hair tucked under her hat enters the room. “Looks like Mrs. Claus has arrived,” he jokes.

“That’s Natasha.” You grab JJ’s hand, pulling him out to Santa’s corner before Natasha has a chance to yell at him for his tardiness.

“So what exactly do we do?” JJ whispers, eyeing the line of children and their parents that seems to wrap around the entire display.

“We help the kids from their parents to Santa’s lap and then back out to their parents again. And don’t forget the candy cane before they leave.”

JJ grimaces. “You mean we have to interact with the kids?”

“Yes. Now smile and act like an elf,” you say.

“How do- ohf!” JJ grunts as you elbow him and immediately reach forward for the hand of a little girl.

“Hi! I’m elf Y/N! And this is my friend elf JJ! What’s your name?” You ask in a high pitched voice. 

“I’m Sophie,” she beams. She grasps onto JJ’s hand and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the face he makes. It’s clear he isn’t a fan of kids and you can’t wait to watch him interact with them for the next 30 days.

JJ pulls his booties on over the tights, chuckling to himself as the bells jingle. They jingle every time he walks. He’s grown so used to the sound now though. He’s grown used to looking absolutely ridiculous in his costume. He’s even grown used to the kids, which he thought was impossible.

But the way Y/N smiles when he coos at a baby or holds onto a preschoolers hand has helped him get over his dislike of the kids. He’d do just about anything to see her smile.

“Ready?” John B asks from the doorway, keys looped around his finger.

“Actually a friend is picking me up,” JJ says, grabbing his phone and wallet.

“What friend? You don’t have any friends besides us.”

“Well that’s very rude of you to think. I have plenty of friends. And her name is Y/N. We work together.”

“Work together or sleep together? Or both. Do you guys like, get it on in the costumes?”

“Ew, no,” JJ scoffs.

“Okay, you know elves is somebody's kink,” John B adds, shuddering as he does.

“I didn’t want to know that. I don’t want to think about that.”

“Okay but Y/N… you like her.”

“No. We’re just friends. We’re coworkers. We work the same shift and she offered to give me a ride, okay? Now can you make yourself disappear before she gets here? I don’t want her seeing your face.”

John B pouts. “Why not? I have a very likable face.”

“Just… please?” JJ asks, but it’s too late. 

The beat up Ford truck pulls up in front of the house. JJ knows it’s hers. On days when they work late and it’s dark outside by the time they leave, he walks her to her car. They once spent two extra hours after work sitting in her car and talking. She even gave him a ride home once, but he made her drop him off down the street. It was too risky for her to pull up to his actual house, especially if his dad was home. 

JJ knows John B is in the doorway when he exits the house. He watches as Y/N waves, a courteous smile on her face. JJ walks to the passenger side, hearing the familiar squeak of the old door.

“Who’s that?”

“John B. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s dating Sarah Cameron right?” she asks.

“Yeah. You know Sarah?”

“Everyone on this island knows Sarah,” Y/N laughs. JJ knows she’s not wrong. Everyone did know the Cameron's, especially after the huge scandal that went down last summer. People don’t typically forget about a murder and stealing of millions of dollars worth in gold.

“Right,” JJ laughs nervously. 

You tear your elf hat off as soon as you reach your truck. Today was a hard shift. Multiple crying kids, lines that wrapped all around the mall, parents who didn’t understand the concept of patience and waiting, and then there was the kid that peed on Santa Claus and made everyone wait even longer while Santa went to change. It was a nightmare. 

If it wasn’t for JJ, today would’ve been the day you quit.

But he insisted on stopping for dinner before you dropped him off, so here you were, sitting at a booth across from him, the both of you still clad in your elf costumes.

You probably looked ridiculous but you didn’t care. JJ was your sole focus tonight. He let you vent to him about the craziness of the day and when you weren’t talking he was telling you about the funniest wishes he had overheard while on candy cane duty. 

“All their missing socks?” You laugh, hand covering your mouth.

JJ nods, laughing harder. “He-He couldn’t understand why the dryer monster needed his socks more than him. He even asked if-if monsters were on the naughty list!” JJ bursts out laughing, as do you. If there was one thing that could cheer you up, it was this.

“Kids got a point,” you giggle. “Why does the dryer monster only take one sock and not both? Do you think he only has one leg?”

JJ nods, his smile wide. “Yeah, instead of one eye he’s got one leg.”

Your laughs die down slowly, but you can’t wipe the smile off your face. The smile that was forced all throughout the day was now a real one.

“I’ve missed that smile,” JJ says, reaching his hand across the table.

You blush but take his hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers through his.

JJ nervously clears his throat. “Do you think when this is all over, I can take you on an actual date?”

You’re not sure your smile could get any wider. “I’d like that.”

You both stare at each other for a while longer, before JJ can’t wait anymore. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, leaning over the table.

“I’d like that too,” you respond, meeting him halfway.

Tags: @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @serpentbaby @etoilesnoor @k-k0129 @maybanksbaby @talksoprettyjjx @canibeoneofthepogues @multifixx  @theonetheonlyalexbrown @glux64 @shy-1234 @sleepyhollands @cognacdelights @ilovejjmaybank @blueeyedbesson @cheshirecat107 @myrandom-fandomlife @makebank @ifilwtmfc @obxmxybxnk  @kookkyra @rafej-cambanks @blindedbypeaky @ahiae @repostcentral @midnightzonzz @blxndeprincess @dracosbbygorl @itsagurl @Poguesinablanket @amandaburris @tovvaa @sunnsettee

#jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fluff #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fluff #obx

[animebaby00]

I'll Never Stop Waiting (Armin Arlert x Reader) - One-shot

Instagram Request: Armin becomes separated from Y/N after an expedition and is unconvinced they're dead.

Warning: (Mild use of language)

*5 years prior

Ack, Y/N, Eren, Mikasa ! Wait up !"

A young, brown haired boy no older than 10 looked behind his shoulder, a girl with black hair trailing right behind him, "Come on Armin ! Don't tell me you can't run faster than that ! We're gonna miss the scouts' return !"

Armin clenched his eyes shut, legs wobbling underneath him as he came to a stop, panting for breath, "I - I know but -"

He could hear feet walking towards him and a hand on his shoulder.

"Eren, just stop and let him catch up will ya ?"

The boy looked behind him and stopped again, "Awe not you too, Y/N ! We're gonna be-"

"Late. I got it." You said flatly, waving a hand, "You and Mikasa go on ahead. We'll catch up with you."

"Hmmmm….okay. But make sure you hurry !"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Eren gave a toothy grin and ran on ahead with Mikasa trailing right behind him as you fully approached the panting blonde.

"You okay ?"

Armin looked up at you with one eye,."Yeah. I-I'm fine. But...you didn't have to do that. "

You shrugged, "Hey, Eren needs to be put in his place sometimes. Especially when he's not aware that one of his friends needs help."

Armin stood up a little straighter ," He's not a bad person."

"I'm not saying he's bad. I'm just saying he needs to act a little more aware and not act so...Eren."

Armin looked off "He'd probably explode if he heard you say that."

"Exactly my point. And let him. Maybe some of that explosion will break some of his skull and let more brain grow in."

At this, Armin giggled and took a few steps forward.

"Come on, we better get going," he shyly held a hand out, "Thank you waiting."

You smiled and gladly took his hand, squeezing it.

"I'm your friend. I'll never stop waiting for you."

~~~~~~~

Present*

It was bright. Unbearingly so even through closed eyelids. His head was pounding as the ray from the light above him pierced past the thin skin adorned with blonde lashes.

He blinked, he groaned, before he finally opened them fully to meet the wooden beams of a ceiling and a hanging, dome shielded lightbulb, and the faint pitter patter of raindrops were thumping against the roof.

He was inside. But how did he get here? God, his memory was so fuzzy.

"Armin !"

His eyes darted to the right, vision still plagued by whatever happened. But the lean, boyish outline, messy brown hair, and tone of voice was enough to help him identify the individual.

"E-eren?" He rasped.

"Oh, thank God…I'm so glad you're awake! Are you feeling okay? Do you-"

"Eren. Calm down."

That feminine voice. He turned his head to the left. Black hair. Red scarf.

"M-Mikasa ?"

"Mm. Are you okay?" She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I...I think so? Where am I? What happened?"

"You're in the infirmary." Mikasa said softly.

"Wha-?"

"The expedition didn't go as planned," Eren interrupted , "A giant group of titans began attacking 2 of our backup groups so we had to retreat. Christ….it was a goddamn bloodbath out there."

Armin's eyes widened, "H-how many…?"

"...27."

The blonde shuddered. So many people.

"How did I get here ?" He asked dryly, " I was on backup but we didn't…?"

"They called you upwards since you weren't being attacked." Mikasa explained, " But mid retreat it looked like your 3DM gear malfunctioned and you fell from the wall of a cliff. We found you and carried you back in a wagon."

Armin nodded. No wonder his body felt like it had been beaten to a pulp.

But something still didn't feel right.

...wait.

"Where's Y/N ?" Armin asked, looking between his two friends, " They were in the backup C with me. Why aren't they here?"

At this, Eren grimaced and looked off to the side while Mikasa buried her chin into the piece of red fabric around her neck.

Armin's breath hitched, "G-guys?"

"It was...really bad out there Armin." Eren admitted, running a hand over his face, "And honestly, we don't remember much. But in the midst of everything...we didn't see Y/N at all on the way back. We...don't know where they are…"

"W-what ?" Armin trembled, eyes widening.

Mikasa reached a hand out in noticing the blonde's troubled state, "Armin-"

"S-so your telling me," he quaked, face engraved with fear, "That Y/N...is out there," he pointed at the glass windows in the back of the room with a trembling finger, "B-by themselves ? Lost, in the dark and rain. Possibly surrounded by titans ? A-and possibly…" good god this word made him feel sick to his stomach.

"D...dead?"

Eren pressed his lips together and nodded while Mikasa looked down the bed, and Armin could have sworn he saw the outline of a few tears in her eyes.

Something inside him snapped, before he completely lost it.

"N-no…" he stuttered, shifting his legs upward, "No. No, they can't be…"

"Armin, please," Mikasa said desperately, "I know your upset but-"

"No ! I-I won't accept that ! T-they have to be okay !"

Armin shifted his body to the side and stood shakily from the bed, bones and muscles screaming at him to stop. But he didn't, and made his way to the door.

"Armin ! What the hell are you doing ?!" Eren exclaimed.

"I-It's not possible ! T-they have to be alive ! We have to help them !"

"Armin, lay back down" Mikasa argued, "You need-"

"SHUT UP !"

Both Eren and Mikasa froze, completely shocked by Amrin's outburst and we're even more shocked when, even in his state, he managed to hastily move out of the move and down the hall.

They were frozen from his actions, almost not even realizing what he was doing until the loud echoes of him calling out your name and words of refusal burst through the walls of the building.

"Shit...Armin !" Eren called, running after him. But Mikasa just stayed at the door, first clutched over her heart.

It couldn't be true. He didn't want to believe it.

You were his best friend. You were always there for him when no one else could be. You were always sweet, kind, considerate, and strong.

So very strong.

You didn't deserve this fate.

"Y/N !" Armin screamed, rushing past corridors, other soldiers, even other friends of his. And they all simply looked down at the floor upon hearing your name.

Armin didn't even pause in his hasteful movements as he arrived at a large oak door and pushed it open, revealing a dark sheet of night and rain. But that didn't stop him from moving forward, clothes and body becoming immediately drenched after taking only a few lunged steps away from the building.

"Y/N !" He cried, wiping at his snot and tear covered face, "WHERE ARE YOU ?!"

His eyes darted around desperately, hoping to see your face in the near pitch black, soaked darkness, wishing that maybe you had just gotten lost in a crowd or caught up with some old friends and weren't going to return until late.

The screams didn't stop,even as his throat grew raw, even as it stung everytime he swallowed his gasping, broken breaths. He prayed to Wall Maria that he would eventually hear the sound of your voice calling back to him, that you would run up with your own, watered down clothes, carrying that nonchalant smile that he adored so much.

But you never did.

~~~~~~~

A memorial was held for you a week later.

There was no report of the findings of your body or any news of the possibility that you were still alive.

Everyone was there, clad in their uniforms as the proceedings commenced in commemorating your services and honor that you put forth to the scouts. The weather was a drastic change from a mere 7 days ago, the dreary, cold, wet rain replaced with a warm sunset and a cool breeze.

Too calm of weather for the event at hand.

All stood tall as they watched the empty coffin slowly lower into the ground, the offering bouquets of flowers and lit candles put temporarily off to the side in waiting until the deed was done.

So many words were spoken, so many memories were shared, and so many tears were shed as your comrades spoke of you in lights that made you sound like the most wonderful and most pure bring on earth.

The crowd remained until nightfall until it slowly started to diminish by one to two people at a time, until there was only one person left.

Armin.

He was quiet the whole ceremony. He only listened, most of the words muffled in his distracted hearing, still only focused on the possibility of missing your voice if by some miracle you turned up at your own funeral, making this whole thing a cruel yet life-relieving joke.

But yet again, his please weren't answered.

However he still wasn't convinced.

They hadn't found any remnants of your uniform or any broken 3DM gear in the areas they searched a few days after the expedition. They didn't have anything solid.

They had no proof that you were dead.

Armin stepped forward, a bouquet of F/F's squeezed in a clammy palm. He gently laid them down on top of all the other offerings presented to you, feeling the tears as they began pooling in his eyes.

"Y/N… I promise…no matter where you are…"

He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, before reaching out to smooth them over the polished rock of your gravestone, whispering those same words you had told him long ago.

"I'll never stop waiting for you…

A booming voice sounded from the watchtower "CADET L/N SPOTTED IN THE DISTANCE ! OPEN THE GATES !"

#armin x y/n #armin arlert #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #armin x reader #separation #scared #oneshot

[foodbytesback]

Mocktail Monday #1- The Golden Delicious

This week’s drink is, admittedly, 90% an invention of necessity.  First, I offhandedly offered to host New Year’s Eve festivities for my friends, one of whom remarked that she probably wasn’t even going to drink. All this means that I knew that New Year’s would be the perfect place to debut the first of the mocktails I do for the site… the only caveat being that I had basically given myself 2 days to formulate something (A quick, post-NYE side note: I was the only person who ended up drinking at said party, yet also didn’t make too much of an effort to promote this mocktail.  Oops.).  I took to my fridge and pantry to see what I had to work with: apple cider, cardamom syrup (that I had originally made for a gin-based drink months prior that everyone ended up hating, because gin), a tube of ginger puree, and an ungodly amount of turmeric.  

Naturally, I decided to throw all of these things together in a cocktail shaker to see what would happen.

And it, much like pretty much any of the cursed bullshit I put on this blog… was actually pretty good.  The turmeric sort of serves the same purpose that a bitters would in an alcoholic drink, something that I think many mocktails seem to overlook.  And even without the turmeric, all the other flavors obviously work well enough together as a relatively classic fall/winter drink.

I do want to point out that I’m still not 100% happy with this.  The raw turmeric still tends to leave a chalky mouthfeel that no one seems to acknowledge on any of the sites I saw after googling “best way to add turmeric to a drink and not have that chalky mouthfeel.”  Also, since most of the solids get strained out, it’s hard to tell if the ginger puree is really doing anything.  The ideal solution to both of these would be to make a turmeric, ginger and cardamom syrup, but that would also be a little less useful for recipes that aren’t this.

Either way, I actually measured everything for once (That’s right, I bought a jigger and pony for this.  I did this, for you.) so you can make it yourself and adjust to your tastes.  More turmeric? No turmeric?  Your fate is in your hands. 

[Also, in other, Dry January news, many Gen Zs are going “sober curious,” which, as a person who dabbles in being cringe as hell, is cringe as hell.  It feels like the Dry January equivlant of how 10 years ago we called any straight guy who dressed well and used deoterant “metrosexual.”]

The Recipe

 3 oz apple cider

¾ tsp turmeric

1 tsp ginger puree*

1 oz cardamom syrup**

~2 oz sparkling apple cider

*According to the package, this is equivalent of 1 Tbs of freshly grated ginger.

**Boil 1 cup of water, 1 cup of sugar and ¼ cup of cardamom pods together until the mixture has reduced to a syrupy consistency. Let steep for 3 days, then strain out the cardamom pods. 

Combine the (flat) cider, turmeric, ginger and syrup in a cocktail shaker.  Shake, then pour into a mesh strainer over a rocks glass (turmeric and brown sugar rim garnish and obnoxious round ice cube optional).  Top off with sparkling cider.

*WARNING: Turmeric-rimmed glasses may result in you getting turmeric stains all over your nose, as I found out about half an hour after drinking the one in the picture.*

#food #drink #mocktail #mocktails #dry january #apple cider #turmeric #hey look at me im one of those 'puts long essay before the recipe' bloggers now! #wait i had this queued for yesterday??? whack

[alwida10]

Yay, Loki episode four positivity (and a little bit of down-to-earth analysis) incoming! 😂

1. Perhaps I am a troll, or the former episodes have rendered me unable to approach the show like an adult looking for continuity, but I can’t help but like this episode. Most probably, because I watched Twitter slowly but steadily build up an anti-Sylvie shitstorm the episode now triggered. I couldn’t even focus on the other aspects. Because I pictured Twitter blowing up. Also, I almost couldn’t believe what I was watching. And this was the episode Tom looked forward to reading reactions on social media? Great god, you are a little troll, aren’t you? 😂

2. That being said, I don’t believe they are going for a romantic connection (but I wouldn’t mind if they did).

The episode focused a lot on relationships. Mobius's friendship with Ravonna (he gets betrayed). Mobius’s friendship with the hunters C-20 and B-15 (colleagues, so far no betrayal). Mobius's connection with Loki (they both complain about betrayal but was there betrayal? Loki fought Sylvie when he followed her. He only teamed up for real after she mentioned the TVA-people being all variants) and Loki’s connection to Sylvie. The show is about self, including ‘self-love’ and that’s something very confusing for Loki. My interpretation of him is that he doesn’t see what people could dislike in him and yet he only gets rejection. (‘Because I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?!?’, ‘that’s why you preferred Thor all those years?’, but answering ‘well, yes’ after Thor asks him if he thinks himself above humans.) and now, for the first time, he gets an ‘outsider's perspective’ on himself, or better Sylvie. In the second episode, he even asks ‘would I do that to me?’ She calls him a clown, perhaps like he called Thor an oaf. He sees how callous he/she can be, and then she shows him her hidden, vulnerable side that got hurt. And she is lovable. So he might be, too. Perhaps he is mistaking that for romantic attraction; validation can feel pretty overwhelming if you aren’t used to it.

3. Also, bwahaha! Validation! Mobius's questioning was shown as bad this time! It was clearly a manipulation and NOT a friendly banter. Finally! I can live with Möbius becoming a good guy as long as his former actions are clearly shown as belonging to the bad side! I was pretty shocked when he got pruned. It’s almost like they pulled a George Martin. X) but with the mid-credits scene and the pyramids scene not having been shown, I guess it’s less scary.

4. Anyway, my former criticism was (among other points) Loki being incompetent. So, while there is still much to desire in the competence sector, Loki did progress the plot a little this time by spoiling the variant thing to Möbius. Yeah, it’s not much, I am aware, but it’s more than nothing. Also, he fought two guards on his own while Sylvie and Ravonna had their moment fight. It’s not nothing. I wish Loki would have been the one to plot together with B-15, but well, yeah. I guess he was busy getting kicked in the crotch.

And while I am at it- no, I don’t have an issue with that. I didn’t see it being framed for laughs. Ok, perhaps the one point where he tries to talk himself out of it and it didn’t work, but there the joke was that it looked like it worked and not that he got kicked. It was a good attempt! Not like his attempt to mirror the old woman’s husband, which was cringy as hell. It’s not bad because it didn’t work.

Also yay! Sif! And an additional yay! Inclusion of myth!loki backstory! 🎉

Also, his verbal sparring session with Möbius was good. We knew he was lying when claiming to be the head of the mission, but the attempt was well done. Still a 3/10 in the competence sector, but it’s getting better.

4) Hunter B-15 or better - the fact that her prior enchantment was important again. It was a moment of “I combined the dots!” for me and I appreciate they did plan things over multiple episodes.

5. The acting was good! Both in B-15 part as well as Loki’s (obviously), Möbius’s and Ravonna’s. Especially Ravonna’s. Man, finally we have a face for the bad guys. Nice that most of the TVA people are good guys.

6. Another former complaint of mine was the missing sass! And voila:

So? Perhaps these are breadcrumbs, but I’ll still take them!

7. The episode was surprising! At the point Loki got pruned I was ready to say ‘called it! They wanted to replace him with Sylvie! Time to cancel Disney+’ but then they didn’t. I was surprised. And this way to Introduce kid Loki was agreeable with me. If they are both staying, I’m not feeling threatened. (IF they are both staying.)

8. Well, croki and the old Loki’s costumes are just epic, but that’s probably again my inner troll speaking. Hard to imagine him besides Loki with the Avenger’s outfit. 🤣

So yeah, I liked this episode best, so far. I hope they will show loki being badass at one point, but hey. There is still 1/3 of the season left. ;)

#tom hiddleston #tva loki #loki series positivity #loki series spoiler #loki show spoiler

[agentsoftie]

Sleepless Nights ( S.R )

summary: Reid and Y/N aren’t the most fond of each other. So what happens when they can’t sleep, have to share a bed, and be married.

pairing: Spencer Reid and female reader

a/n: AHH okay so here it is! It’s my first au so it’s probably not the best. But big thanks to @anepiphany! Ani baby none of this would be happening without you! Thank you for you tips and making me not go insane! Also pls tell me if I slept something wrong cuz like, your girl not the best when it comes to it. Also there will def be a loophole somewhere in my case and if you find one, just let it slide because life is filled with loopholes ❤️ also this is gonna be a two parter!

warnings: mentions of a case, little angst (like the smallest amount), fluff really though

remember to like and reblog!!

You were always the type of person that got along with everyone. And by everyone you meant everyone. You were a people pleaser, always changing your personality for someone. To the security guard, you were a sports junkie, always catching the latest games. To the guy who worked at the bookshop, you were the classical girl. And to the barista, you were the girl who was always late but always paid 3 dollars extra tip. But Dr. Spencer Reid was the only exception. 6’1 and standing tall. Mr. Eidetic Memory and 187 IQ but oh God how you cared for him. You loved him, you loved him more than all the moons in the galaxy. But him? He hated you, so naturally, you hated him too. As the saying goes, if you can't beat them, join them.

“Guys we got a new case,” Garcia says.

You walked into the room and sat to the seat closest to the front where Garcia would be since she was your best friend. Ironically that was the seat farthest from Reid.

“Okay, so this is Mira Normen and her husband John Normen. They had gotten married 2 months prior to their deaths. Mira was 25 years old and she was a teacher at the local middle school. John was 26 and he ran a local pet grooming business. As you can see, but not me for obvious reasons, they were both stabbed once in their chest and then once in their thigh. Mira was shot once in the heart and once in the head and John was shot twice in the heart and twice in the throat. The M.E. found a ring stuffed into both of their throats. And not the cheap kind, I mean a year's worth of salary for one of us.”

“Okay, so this guy’s rich,” You said.

“Yeah, no shit sherlock,” Reid said.

“Guys,” Hotch said in a stern voice “Garcia do we know anything else?”

“Yes actually. They were both last spotted at an event for rich people. So like something Rossi would go to.” She said, chuckling at the last part.

“You and I both know very well that I do not go to those kinds of events. I stay at home for god sakes.” Rossi says causing you and a couple of other people to chuckle.

“Why does this case sound so familiar?” JJ asks, breaking the chuckles.

“Well there was a case exactly like this a couple of years back if my memory is correct, which it always is. We tried to solve it but we just couldn't so it ended up as a cold case.” Reid said.

“And everythings the same?” JJ asked.

“Yep, everything. Well except the city.” Reid said.

“Great, well i think we got everything. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch says while getting up.

-------

You sat alone, like always. At first everyone was concerned, like they had done something, but they then soon realized that you just liked to be alone and this was really the only time.

“Okay, so I checked if anyone had moved in the years and I have 5 names. Thomas Maddison, Stephanie June, Eliza Honeycutt, Devi Paradise, and Klaus Hiller. And only one moved to our little town and that would be Miss Eliza Honeycutt.” Garcia said.

“Can you ch-” Morgan was saying but got cut off when she said

“Already did ‘Hot Chocolate’. Miss Eliza moved a total of 3 months after the case. Looks like it was due to a messy divorce. Her and Mr. Maddison had not been going strong for the last couple of months and it looks like they decided to call quits just before you guys came to town.”

“Can you-” Morgan started to say but then was again cut off by Garcia.

“Already got you babes. The address should be sent to your tablets.” Everyone was still looking at her, “that means look at your tablets.” She says while gesturing her hands making them look down.

“We got it babygirl,” Morgan said without being interrupted.

“Great! Now, this is the time I leave and let you amazing little people do your jobs!” And with that, she was out and so were you.

-------

It was 10 pm when you got to the hotel. You weren't exhausted but you definitely were not in the mood to solve a murder or multiple in this case. You all had checked in now was your favorite time of all choosing rooms. You never bunked with anyone unless Garcia, but that's if she ever came on a case. Emily and JJ were already gone, same with Hotch and Rossi. You were about to grab the key for the single room but Morgan got it before you.

“Sorry hot stuff, I need room alone this time.”

“What!? Why!?”

“I don't need to explain myself to you Y/N,” Moran says, and just like that he was gone.

You and Reid grabbed the keys without looking at each other and walked in the elevator. You both did not make any eye contact until you got into the room. There was only one bed. You immediately called room service but they said that there were no more rooms available so you two were stuck with that one.

“Okay, which one of us is gonna sleep on the floor?” you heard Reid say.

“Excuse me,?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh stop being such a baby Reid. We both know that if you don't sleep on a bed or something remotely similar you get all grumpy and get headaches all day. And if I don't sleep on a bed or something similar I get high on caffeine and get paranoid. So for the sake of the team, we are gonna sleep on the goddamn bed together!”

He didn't know you paid attention to him like that. Sure everyone knew that he would get grumpy, but headaches? No one, not even JJ. He didn't like to tell people about them fearing of being babied around even more than he already is. Although he did know that whenever you don't get enough sleep not only do you high on caffeine, but you have nightmares. You never told anyone except Garcia of course. He’d realized that you had nightmares after a group holiday to Rossi’s beach house, he heard you talking in your sleep and there were not good things being said.

“Okay geez fine whatever. Are you gonna go shower first, or am I”

“Me obviously,” you say while getting your clothes.

The water was hot when you got in, just how you like it. You started to soak your hair in the water needing to cool down a little and prepare yourself for the days ahead of you. All you could think about was sharing the same bed with him. With the guy, you're in love with but doesn’t know. And will never know.

After 30 minutes you got out of the shower and changed. You wore a pair of shorts and a loose flowy t-shirt which you had knotted after putting it on because it was too big. After you brushed your teeth, did your skincare, and brushed your hair.

“Finally, how long does it take?” You heard Reid say while you were walking out of the bathroom. He didn't look up until you sat on the bed turning the tv on.

“It takes 40 minutes Reid, it always takes 40 minutes. But you would never know because you've never had a girl stay over,”

“Oh, you're so funny aren't you,” he says in an annoyed way.

“Yeah, I am.” You said smirking while looking up expecting to see him annoyed but instead greeted with a small smile which was then washed away quickly by the sound of his voice.

“Okay, I'm gonna go take a shower now. Don't wait up.”

“ I won't, don't worry.” You say while he goes into the bathroom. You swear you saw him smile. It may have been small but it was there.

-------

“You waited for me.” You hear while turning off the tv. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was an absolute mess, and you could tell that he had to take a shower in not the hottest water.

“Ha, yeah no. You took like 10 minutes, did you think I was gonna fall asleep in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah well, that's what happens when you take up most of the hot water.”

“I'm sorry, you should have gone in the shower first.”

“You wanted to go into the shower first!”

“Okay and? Look, can we just go to bed or something? We have a long ass day ahead of us.”

You felt the bed dip and got chills all over. He didn't seem to notice, thankfully. You were cold, but not cold enough to want to layer up. You looked over and the time and it read 11:15. You tried to sleep, but you just couldn't. So again you looked over and read 11:39, and then it was 12:06. You felt like you were going insane.

“Why are you still up?” Reid said in a raspy voice while turning over to face you.

“Huh? Oh, um, I couldn't, can't sleep.”

“Ugh, fine come here.”

“What?” Before you could say anything he had wrapped his arm around you and forced you to nuzzle up against his chest. It actually felt pretty nice. You felt like you were on top of the world and that everything was going to be okay. You put your arm on him after processing what was happening. He then pulled you in closer and when you looked up at him you realized that he was knocked out, gone like a light in one of those horror movies. And before you realized it you were out too.

-------

“Y/L/N wake up,” is all you hear. The sun was barely out yet, so naturally, you just wanted to go back asleep.

“5 more minutes”

“Fine.” Although he didn't want to say anything or admit in this case. This was the best sleep that he’d gotten in a while. At first, he thought it was because of the way he slept but he then quickly realized that it was because of you. With your legs intertwined with his, one of your arms on his chest and the other in his hand. Your hair, so messy, yet so perfect at the same time and he would give anything to fall back asleep with you. He was in love. He was in love and was falling, falling harder than ever.

“Y/N, come on it's been 10 minutes. We need to go, get up.”

“What? Oh. Wait, fuck, what time is it?” You say in your very raspy yet airy morning voice.

“6:13, now we have to get ready or we will be late.”

You didn't want to get up, you really didn't. You wanted this moment to never end, but sadly time was not on your side for this one. “We never speak of last night, got it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Its agent.”

-------

“Miss Honeycutt, hi I’m Agent Y/L/N,” You say while sitting down for the interrogation.

“Hi yeah, why am I here?”

“Oh, no one’s told you yet?’

“Well yes the people who rudely (italicize) came into my home said something but I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh okay then. You're here as a suspect for multiple murders.” Her face was in total and utter shock. “There has been a murder recently that connects to a murder that took place back a couple of years ago. You lived there when it had happened and then you moved. And now you’re here because a murder played out exactly that same way as the one that took place in the past.”

“Look, I have a valid reason for moving-”

“Divorce I know.”

“Yes, well you don’t know the reason.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“I was cheating on him, Thomas. He found out and then immediately filed for divorce.”

“Huh, is that so. Well, you kno-” You were cut off by the sound of the one and the only doctor himself.

“Y/L/N can I please speak to you.”

“Um yeah.” You walk outside of the interrogation room to face him. “What is it?”

“I don't think she did it. The way she’s reacting to all of this is way too natural to fake and she still hasn't called for a lawyer to be present. Normally in these types of situations the un-sub mostly always calls for a lawyer or anyone in that case.”

“I know, I know, I know. But she mentioned an ex-husband that could help us with this case.”

“So what you're just gonna “interrogate” her until she starts to talk about her former husband, or just talk about that and only that as a whole?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“You amaze me Y/N,” this was the first time he said your name in conversation naturally and not because he was forced to for an undercover assignment and shit. Well except for this morning but you can't decide if that was a small little fever dream or actual life so it doesn't count.

“And I you Spencer.” He noticed, oh he noticed and his heart practically burst from his chest because of the serotonin he got when you said his name. It was like every time you said his name an angel got its wings.

-------

“Hey Garcia, could you dig a little deeper on our little Thomas Maddison?” You ask her.

“Of course pumpkin. Okay so here's what I got. Thomas Maddison born May 30th leaving him to be a Gemini and you know how I feel about those. He moved from our fun little town too, well, um,-” was what she said before being cut off by Emily.

“What do you mean by ‘um’ Garcia?” She said with a puzzled expression.

“Well, ‘um’ means he disappeared from the face of Earth. Completely gone. No new dental records, no new home, I mean, not even a simple receipt. It’s like he just clicked ‘erase all’ after the divorce.”

“Is that even possible?” I ask.

“Well yes, but you have to literally become a new person for that to happen.”

“Garcia look into anything in his life that could possibly lead him to have hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Reid said.

“Okay, so it says here in one article that he owned a local jewelry store that got burned down around that time of the divorce. The local paper wrote it off as an accident but everyone thought he wanted to skip town after the divorce so he would just take all of the insurance money. Which I guess is kind of true. Um but anyway, yeah that’s really the only explanation. His parents didn't leave him that much money in the will, and he wasn't a drug dealer.”

“Okay, thanks hun! You've been of more help then you know. Call Hotch and everyone else in. I think we got the profile.” You said before ending the call.

* literally 5 or 6 minutes later *

“Okay, so the guy we’re looking for is very popular with the people. He always tries to make everything about himself. Your classic narcissist.” Hotch starts off with.

“This guy hates love though. He never brings up the topic and hates it when people bring it up. And although he hates love, he looks like the guy who could pick anyone he wanted, although he relatively picks on younger women.” JJ adds.

“Yes, and this guy is going to be a white caucasian male. Most likely in his late 20 or early 30s. And he is going to have wealth and will show it off as often as he can.” Emily says.

“Any questions” you heard Hotch ask.

“There’s an event tomorrow just like the one that Mira and John attended. Will he be there? And if so, do you think he will attack again? And if yes then what will do?” You see an officer asking.

“Well yes, we heard of that and already planned everything out. Tomorrow night Agent Y/L/N and DR.Reid will be attending the event.” Rossi said.

You were in complete shock, and frankly so was Reid. You guys never agreed to this, and as much as I love black tie events, they aren't really my cup of tea when there can possibly be a serial killer there. Not to mention the guy I fucking love more than anyone in the world would be there, with me (italicize). Like now I have to look badass and sexy (italicize) at the same time, although that wouldn't be that hard you thought to yourself.

“Guys, can Reid and I please talk to you all in private.” You give Rossi and Hotch very unobvious yet obvious death stares.

“Yeah, now please.” He says.

* again like 2 or 3 minutes later *

“Um hello, last time I never agreed to this and by the look on Reid’s face, neither did he.”

“Y/N you heard, our unsub likes younger women,” Derek says,

“Okay well then just send in Emily, or JJ, or both in that case.” You say in an angry tone.

“Oh baby, you think we're young? Were flattered but no. Sadly out of all of us, you look the youngest, and are the youngest.” JJ says while laughing along with Emily.

“And for you Reid, you out of most people should know that the murders happened between young lovers who got married. And Derek doesn’t call you pretty boy for nothing. Rossi says following JJs statement.

“We really aren't getting out of this one huh?” He asks.

“No. Now it's late so I want you all to get a good night's rest and be ready tomorrow. Reid and Y/L/N you guys can sleep in a little but you'll have to be ready by 4:30.” Hotch says. And with that, everyone goes back to their rooms.

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep; slowly, then all at once” – John Green, The Fault in our Stars

Part two coming tomorrow!

#so lets hope you like it #thanks to ani though #none of this would be happening without her #so thank you ani baby 🥺💕 #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds #mira writes