#anyways. if Simon gets his ring back and uses it to bring his arm back I'll kill Geoff Thorne with my own bare hands

[green-lanterns-c0ck]

Isn’t Simon supposed to be like the only Lantern with impossible healing powers or something?

Yes! Unfortunately, the current plotline also involves the Central Battery going BOOM once more, so Jo and Hal are the only Lanterns who still have their rings and Miracle Worker Best Boy Simon has to use a badass mech-suit.

#and since we have all read Hal's post-Crisis origin story in Emerald Dawn we all know he can't heal people #joking. I know no one's read that #anyways. if Simon gets his ring back and uses it to bring his arm back I'll kill Geoff Thorne with my own bare hands #green lantern #simon baz #asks #anonymous

[lethalchiralium]

canon happiness series lore:

if simon ever dies, he would make price promise to be a father to his daughter and keep you happy.

ghost made price swear on the little cross he wears after his first meeting with mellie that price has to protect both his daughters and keep you happy.

price breaks his promise every day by keeping simon alive. he couldn’t die when he has two beautiful children waiting up all hours of the night for him, simon couldn’t die when he was all you had.

UNCANON LORE:

if simon did die, price would move in and immediately be at your side. he’d take care of the funeral, he’d take care of the girls, he’d sit with you when you needed to sit under the shower spray and cry.

it would be years later that the lines would get blurry, the girls older and their memories hazy of their real father - only winnie remembers simon. mellie only knows price as her dad, the one who walked her and her sister to and from school, the one who showed up to career day, the one cussing out the principal for not disciplining the boy who had hit winnie. mellie wouldn’t remember the days where she clung to her real father, crying whenever anyone dared to take her from him.

he would sleep in your bed. his arms around you and your back to his chest. you didn’t know that you subconsciously face away from him, because you always faced simon when he slept and now he’s dead. if you face away, you won’t feel the pain when price leaves too. price’s presence doesn’t replace simon’s, he just creates a new mold to fit into - being the loving father and doting husband that simon was. just now, he wears a silver wedding ring and you still wear the gold one from many years ago.

you would have a son. a little creature that simon was so scared to love, but john cradled that boy in the delivery room like the most precious thing in the world. john’s little boy murmured in that little blanket and all you could feel was simon’s fear. simon had rubbed off on you more than you thought. you loved your son, he looked beautiful but you were so scared that that little boy would become something that price could still be - lifeless, a bullet to a heart with only his best friend to comfort him as he went.

price would love him anyway. he loved you anyway. he had retired right after simon was killed, so taking care of all of the kids would be no hassle. even as little oliver got older, he was just like his sisters, which in turn meant he was just like simon. loving, caring, emotional. price took pride in the girls and his son. god might have taken away his best friend, but He gave price a chance to see simon again.

you told price once that you hoped you went before he did so you never had to live without him, and you did. peacefully, on a wednesday afternoon in your sleep. winter grace, melody ivy, and oliver simon were by your side, captain john price held your hand and told you that it was okay. your babies were grown, kids of their own; little kittens and big dogs to keep them company. that he would be okay, that simon was waiting for you.

he had passed two days later of a broken heart. the woman who gave him a family, even if you didn’t mean to, had given him the one thing he wanted in life and now you were gone. only melody was with him, helping him pick out photos that he wanted to use for your funeral. she had asked a question about simon when she found a photo of him and you, price couldn’t utter a word. her whole life she believed price was her father, you wouldn’t correct her as it would bring up too much pain. only winnie would talk about him. he told her what flowers you wanted, that he would like white tulips when he goes. melody only laughed, saying, “dad, you’re not goin’ for a while.” price made sure that melody knew you were to be buried next to lieutenant simon riley, that price’s grave stone be smaller than the lieutenant’s. he wanted to be buried next to you, and to make sure that you got your favorite flower every month and that the cross that you wore when you died be kept by winnie. he had promptly gone upstairs to take a nap and simply never woke up.

mellie kept his wishes. she, winnie, and oliver attended the joint funeral - burying them together next to their mother’s lover and their dad’s best friend. the two children named by simon riley and the one named after him stood over the gravestones, all three children grieving a different parent. captains mactavish and garrick, as well as colonel vargas and his husband former sergeant major parra would stand with them. the four soldiers left dimes on price’s grave. three soldiers left dimes on riley’s, but only one placed a quarter. captain mactavish.

those men would watch over the riley girls and the price boy, walk the girls down the aisle and hold oliver’s son when he was born. they would take care of any of their needs, did anything they asked.

the 141 was buried together, and when they joined their friends in the afterlife, everything was finally alright. your hand held onto simon’s, price’s hand on your shoulder. a little boy was on simon’s hip, one who looked exactly like him and you. the son you lost. and that little boy squealed at the arrival of every one of his uncles, a little boy that was full of happiness.

you had a good life.

———

yeah i just rambled for thirty fucking minutes. what did you expect from me. i’ve cried over this. now i want to write a price family fic because FUCK that’s why

also if you know the coin rule that we do in america, good on you.

also oliver’s name will make more sense in the lover chapter of happiness

#i’m sad and i needed the thoughts out of my head before i exploded #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #happiness series #captain price x reader #john price x wife!reader #john price x reader #simon riley x you #captain john price

[enqmind]

 Picture this.

 You’re over at your friend’s place, the one who dragged you out of work for a shotgun wedding at the Registry Office with the Scot floozy you kinda liked and kinda hated.

 She wants you to help her new friend, John’s coworker’s new… Honestly? You weren’t sure. You couldn’t see a ring but she had a matching set of tattoos to his that looked concerningly fresh for a newly pregnant woman. Anyway, her pick out some knitting patterns for the baby.

 Being a, the solid mate you were and b, a compassionate soul who was happy to befriend Simon’s fragile looking new belle and provide her the emotional support that you were fairly sure he wasn’t capable of giving (you did get the impression that he did at least try, which was a mark in his favour) you agreed and lugged over your collection of books and patterns.

 One of them is a vintage book with knits for the whole family. You knitted a christening shawl for the McTavish bairn from it. (One that didn’t get used, but it was hard to be too mad. They had one from John’s family already.)

 “There’s one thing in here I’m not actually sure about,” you hum, flipping through the baby section.

 “Go on.”

 You flip back to the offending knit. A housecoat with copious amounts of looped trimming.

 You turned it to the other two, the front door opening and a couple of large bodies (and a wee ickle baby one) coming inside.

 “I can’t decide if I think it’s kinda sexy or very silly.”

 Your friend tilted her head in thought and your newer one scrunched up her nose.

 “I don’t know either.”

 “Yeah, I’m also a bit torn.”

 You turn it back.

 “I can’t tell if I think it might be sexy, or the model’s just sexy and it’s colouring my view.”

 “Oh, she’s definitely sexy,” the expectant mother said firmly.

 “Agreed. Oh, hi John!”

 Your friend’s bright smile at someone behind you made the body moving behind you something to ignore.

 Even the hand on your shoulder wasn’t a concern. (This was why you kinda hated him, to be honest. Very touchy feely.)

 Your comfort evaporated when bristles touched your cheek and an unfamiliar voice hit your ear.

 “Let me have a -”

 Your brain ran the fight/flight/freeze/fawn roulette and landed on option one.

 You moved shockingly fast, bringing the book up to the face over your shoulder as hard as your knitter’s arms could.

 There was a pained grunt and a crunching noise as the body behind yours staggered back.

 Now was the time you froze.

 As your friend stared in horror and your new friend’s breathing broke into a nervous laugh, heavy steps came through the house at speed.

 “Wha-" Simon's voice began harshly, before immediately breaking into confusion. "What?"

 You turned slowly to watch the towering Manc try to work out why the (not quite as) large man next to him was clutching his nose like he’d just been punched by Mike Tyson.

 John joined the confusion.

 “Captain, what happened to your face?”

 Oh god.

 You just assaulted your friends’ partners’ boss.

#call of duty #john price #cod john price #price x reader

[captain-mj]

Can we have eboy ghost and jock soap??? Pls???????? I have your thigh bone and I will beat the shit out you with them.

Yes you absolutely can!! Also, they're college age in this because I refuse to write high schoolers. They meet at a party.

Soap had no idea why he decided to go to this concert. He had never heard of the band, but he had needed to get drunk and this seemed like a good idea.

The place was packed.

Lot of people wearing dark clothing and sunglasses. Several of them had tons of gothic makeup on that made them look earie in the flashing lights. Soap had worn a jacket that he kept zipped up and jeans.

This was a bad idea. He felt like he stood out and not in a fun way.

Whatever. Just find where the alcohol is. Just find where the alcohol is and get wasted.

Soap notice a man with a skull mask. It was plastic and only covered the top part of his face, the bottom half exposed to show where they used black makeup to make it look like his mouth stretched to his ears.

His eyes caught Soap, a stunning green and Soap could see the flash of teeth when he grinned.

"Need something?" Accent was clearly from Manchester, but there was something in it. An underlying current of cold.

"What are you offering?" Soap tried to seem confident, still working to blend in.

The masked man tilted his head a little before laughing. "You're new. Can tell. You reek of fucking poser. And what's with the accent?"

Soap paused, getting whiplash. "Uh..." A hand fell on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin.

Tall. This guy was fucking tall. "Tommy, stop being a dick. And you look like a loser wearing that mask."

"Get fucked, Simon." The guy hissed and stalked off.

Soap quickly pulled away and looked up. Shaggy dark hair, earrings and thick makeup around his eyes. The black shirt he wore hung tight to him and the rings he had on looked rather nice next to his tattooed arms. "Don't let him be mean to you. He's a pain in the ass." Same accent.

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately," Simon said it with the biggest fucking sigh, "he's my little brother. So don't be mean to him either. Hate to have kick your ass." He was smoking something and it definitely did not smell like a cigarette.

Soap was standing in front of one of the hottest guys he ever met after getting insulted and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. "Thanks for helping me out."

Simon shrugged, like this was something fun for him. If he was anything like Soap's older sisters, it might be. They made eye contact and Soap's stomach flipped.

"He was right though. You clearly don't really come to scenes very often. What brings you here tonight?"

Soap hesitated before sighing. "Had a break up recently. Wanted to get my mind off of it."

"Ah." Simon took a drag again before smiling. "Don't take anything else here. Mostly cheap party drugs that barely do anything." He said that while offering the joint to him.

Soap really shouldn't. It's not that he was above occasionally smoking weed or anything, but he didn't know this guy and had no clue if it was laced.

"Sure." He took it from him anyway though he kept it light, his eyes flicking over to see if there was some trick

Simon just took it back and they traded it back and forth before he eventually led Soap away from where they were as it got packed. His hand ended up on Soap's lower back somehow.

"So. When you're not trying to get over a break up and going to parties, what do you do?" Simon looked so genuinely curious and Soap liked the attention.

"Promise not to call you a poser?"

"Love. You are a poser." Simon laughed. "Won't hold it against you though."

Love? Love?

"I'm a football player. In college. The local one."

"Oh. I go there."

"I wonder how we've never met."

"I don't hang out with football players and I definitely don't dress like this. I also don't talk to strangers." Simon rather obviously looked him up and down. "Makes sense. You have a football player build."

"You're pretty fit yourself..." Soap decided to skip over the comment about not hanging out with football players.

Simon stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and Soap stared back. Such dark eyes. It felt like he got lost in them.

"Ever heard of shotgunning?"

"No. Can't say I have." Soap blinked up at him and Simon grinned.

"Want me to show you?"

Soap nodded before really thinking about it. Simon took a drag and then kissed him. Soap froze up but opened his mouth, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. Simon kissed him for way longer than necessary.

"Fun?"

"Y-yeah. Think we can do this again sometime?"

"Hmmm.... Still don't hang out with football players... But I guess I can make an exception for you." Simon had barely pulled away. Their noses were still touching.

"Maybe I can convince you to come to one of my games?"

"A bunch of guys throwing themselves at each other and kicking a ball around...." Simon said it so disparagingly, but that wasn't a no. Soap kept smiling at him and he sighed. "Maybe. You're lucky you're pretty." He pulled away.

Pretty?

"Forget about who you came here to forget?"

"Yeah. I think I did."

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #simon riley #I swear they act cringe on purpose #I made them a little cringe #It's an eboy x jock fic its gotta be

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four

I grab a bag of chips from a takeaway on the way to the bar that night, even though my stomach is doing that odd, nauseous gurgling thing it always does whenever I’m anxious. It’s a cloudy night, the grey sky like an omen of the coming season as the humid days prepare to draw in and the sharp, biting winds of autumn will come screaming through the city again. I didn’t bring a jacket. Goosebumps rise on my arms with the late evening wind. The chips taste too vinegary, too floury in texture. I tip the bag into a bin outside the bar. 

I think I’ve been here before, but I can never really be sure as all the bars and the clubs and the pubs in this town have all smeared together in my memory into an incoherent goop. I have too many strange and muddled flashbacks of being out of my mind drunk for the last two months of first year. Images of Marnie and her orange lipstick and sharp little teeth swim through my mind as I push through the doors into the milling crowd and the smell of warm beer. Dean Cullen and his grey face drifts in and out of the crowds, biting too hard on my lip when he kisses me, jaw clenched and sweat in his hair. 

Gabriel spots me from his spot near the door and waves me over, and in an instant I am back in my body. “Evie, darling, you came!” He’s with Simon and Michelle and another man who introduces himself as ‘Paul The Boyfriend’. They’re all standing because all of the seats are taken. I stand around chatting to them, but all the while I catch myself doing a quick scan of the crowd to see if I can see Jude, or Astrid, or…

“Oh, there’s Jen.” Says Simon, and we all whip around to look. Michelle has a tight smile on her face. “She’s with Pamela.”

“Wonderful.” Gabriel drawls. I scan around but don’t see what everyone else is seeing. I can’t find her, that is until she gets a little closer and I realise that I was looking for the Jen I’m used to, not this new one, complete with all of the things the last year have done to her. 

She’s thinner than she used to be. Her hair is brown, she’s wearing jeans and a pair of beat up converse, clothes so outrageously plain that I couldn’t have ever imagined her even touching up against them in a shop before. She has no ring in her nose, no bangles on her wrists, she’s not even wearing her usual red lipstick. This is not Jen, this is a weird, diluted version of the girl I used to know. 

I’m so caught up looking at her that I hardly notice the person with her who is winding her fingers through hers. She’s a short, slight woman with a crop of black hair and light eyes. Her mouth is thin and downturned at the corners, the kind of mouth that doesn’t ever break into a full on grin. This must be Pamela. 

“Hey guys.” Jen seems lethargic. Her eyes aren’t really focussing on anybody in our little group, just Michelle, who she pulls into a lacklustre side hug. Michelle cups Jen’s face with her hand as they draw apart and her forehead wrinkles up. “How are you doing, Jenny?” 

“Great.” She replies, her smile wavering. The hold she has on Pamela’s hand is tight, anxious. I feel strange and out of place, but I step forward around Simon and Gabriel to greet her anyway. “Hey Jen.” I say. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Like Jude had, she does a double take, blinking rapidly as she gives me a quick look over. “Oh, Jesus. Evie. I didn’t expect to see you here.” We don’t hug, but she reaches her free hand towards me and I squeeze it, and we exchange one or two pleasantries until it becomes impossible to ignore the fact that she’s too distracted or too exhausted to talk to me, and I can’t pretend I don’t feel some relief. Perhaps tackling conversations with both her and Jude in one night would be too much for me to take.

Pretty swiftly Jen and her girlfriend absorb themselves into the heaving crowd around the bar to get something to drink while Izzy’s band takes to the stage and starts doing sound checks. The rest of us find an empty spot on the floor near the middle. The bar is full, so I find myself pressed shoulder to shoulder with Paul, who, out of the awkwardness of being stuck with the person that everybody knows the least, keeps throwing varied compliments my way so that we’re not left with absolutely nothing to say to one another. “You smell nice.” He says at one point. “What’s that perfume?”

“Uh, soap.” I say. 

“Which one?”

“Like the Dove body one.”

“The purple one?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, I can’t really remember.” I do another scan of the crowd from this new vantage point, still looking for Jude, who is usually a full head above everybody else in a room making him easy to spot, but I don’t see him. I’m completing one final check over my shoulder when my eye is caught by a swoop of light blonde hair moving through the crowd and towards the bathroom. Astrid. I excuse myself and muscle through towards the back of the room, ungracefully bumping a few bystanders on the way. Where there’s an Astrid, there must be a Jude. 

I’m somewhere among the throng of hipsters in galaxy print leggings near the back when the lights dip down suddenly and spotlights illuminate the stage. I have to stop myself from cursing. I can barely see a thing now, and Astrid has already disappeared into the toilets. I gaze up toward the stage and watch Izzy wrangle the microphone from the stand and wind the wire around her wrist. The band gives no introduction, but just launches into their first song, and the bar is filled with the twang of electric guitar and the crash of the drum kit. Izzy has a clear, bright voice with more volume than I would have ever expected from merely speaking to her, and I’m briefly taken by the sight of her beneath the lights, the way that they reflect off her warm, strawberry blonde hair. She is a presence to behold, and obviously she has found a home in front of a crowd. 

I cheer for her with enthusiasm as the first song ends, and then I excuse myself and push all of the way out of the crowd to an empty patch of floor at the back. It is sticky under my shoes. I’m almost certain I’ve been here before. Something in the smell of it brings me back to a fuzzy memory I don’t wish to summon in its entirety. I spot Astrid again, she’s very striking, difficult to mistake, all long limbs like a gazelle, standing at least four inches taller than the man who is speaking to her. She is not in a hurry to leave, and stands with him with a drink in hand and smiling pleasantly. She certainly didn’t look like that when I saw her earlier and interrupted her mid argument. Embarrassment blooms in my chest at the thought. 

He’s not far from her, Jude, that is. I spot him right at the back by the window, sitting alone on a steel welded bench and his foot is tapping on the ground out of sync with the music. He’s doing this leg bouncing thing he does, a nervous tic I’ve seen before once or twice, and his arms are crossed over his chest. He is looking at Astrid as she talks to the other man. I go over and stand in front of him. “Hello.”

He glances up at me. “Evie.”

“Surprise.”

“I knew you were here somewhere.”

“Well, here I am.”

We look at each other for a beat. Two. “Do you want to sit down?”

I do. I squeeze onto the bench next to him, and the sill from the window digs into my spine. He looks at me, very tall, very close. He has to speak loudly. “Are you enjoying the set?”

“I think so. Although I’m not very good at knowing when music is supposed to be good.”

He looks at me like I’ve just said something weird, and his mouth does that little facetious quirk on one side, a smile creeping up his face. Only men can smile like that. “You know that it’s not objective, nobody gets to say what’s good music and what’s not.”

“Yes but there’s cool music and not cool music. I think I’ve spent most of my teen and adult life trying to figure out what ‘cool’ is and what the right CDs are to buy, and actually, I’ve always somehow been wrong. Maybe I should just accept that I’m not a music person. Or maybe I’m just cursed to be uncool forever.”

“Never.” He says. “You just need to figure out what turns you on.” I go to respond, but I notice that his eyes have flitted right over my head. I turn around to see Astrid in his direct eyeline, laughing along with the other man. Her laugh is very perfect, it sounds like tinkling bells, and carries over the music. “That’s a friend of hers?” I venture. 

“No, that’s a random man.”

“Oh.” I quickly do a scan of Jude, trying to figure out how he feels about that, but according to his blank expression, he doesn’t feel. His leg is still bouncing. “Does your girlfriend often talk to random men?”

His eyes return to me. “Yes, I mean, they talk to her, and she talks back sometimes.”

“Do you mind?”

“When someone is that kind of pretty, it’s just what happens.” He says. “If I let myself get all bothered every time another man looked at or spoke to her I wouldn’t be doing very well, would I?”

“I suppose that’s what it’s like, being a pretty girl.” I muse, and Jude gives me an odd look. “Yes, I suppose.” He says. “But it’s probably not easy, to be honest.”

I scoff. “You know, plenty of people would disagree. What about all those free drinks and club entries? The perks would be crazy.”

“It can’t be worth it.” He leans forward with his elbows on his legs and his knee finally stills. “Yesterday I drove us to the chipper, got out of the car to pick up the order, took about two minutes, and when I came back there were two guys practically hanging onto the car window trying to talk to her. They were dickheads to me too, when I asked them to move off, acting like I was the one flirting with their girlfriend. I think they all just want a piece of her, like, a few seconds of her time. They just want her to look at them, like that’s enough somehow, just, like, the gaze of someone beautiful.”

“How does that make you feel?”

A glance. “It makes me feel bad for her.”

“And that’s all?”

“Do you want me to say that I’m jealous?”

“Well, you don’t seem the type.” The words have only left my mouth when I have to look away, face suddenly hot. Moments from our last, horrible conversation invade my mind and I cringe at them, all the bits where I accused him of being jealous of Liam and Dean, and claimed that he sabotaged my relationships with them in order to make himself feel superior. A year and a bit on from that it seems insane. I think I was insane back then, but the whole year is shrouded in a strange haze now, like I sleepwalked through it. I don’t really know who that girl was. 

“Hm.” He says. “I can be, I suppose.”

“But not of that guy?” I gesture to Astrid’s companion, who looks like a stag party escapee. Late twenties, maybe. Bootcut jeans and pointy brown leather shoes. “No, not of him. Something tells me he isn’t going to seduce her tonight.” We share a laugh then, but still, I can’t help but wonder what’s so interesting about this seemingly bland stranger, and why she or anybody would prefer to speak to him than Jude. Astrid’s loyal boyfriend sits rather forlornly on this worn out bench cushion, letting condensation from the window dampen the back of his hair, fidgeting with a hole in the knee of his jeans, his leg starting up its bouncing again. It’s a bit pitiful.

I’m about to say something else to him, but at that same moment Izzy’s band launches into their loudest and most raucous song yet. It sounds like the sound guy might have even cranked up the speakers. “Wow, that’s loud.” Jude bellows. I agree, but I can’t even hear my own voice. He gestures for me to come outside. I nod, and then we get up and head towards the balcony upstairs. I see him try to signal to Astrid where he’s going, but she’s so wrapped up in her conversation with the brown shoes man that he doesn’t even see him.  His shoulders slump a bit as we pass her by. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #tw: alcohol

[literallydying00]

Ghost headcannons

Parring: Simon ‘ghost’ Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: basically just mentions of nightmares and if I missed any please tell me!

No Y/n used || no pronouns used

a/n: Hey, so I just posting this till I can get the other stuff posted and i’m posting this first because I kinda feel bad for taking so long but whatever. Anyways hope you enjoy :))

———————————————————————

Simon normally didn’t fall asleep until late or sometimes, he didn’t at all. Then you came around. When you got together he started sleeping more and felt comfortable enough to at least try and sleep. Some nights he just sits with his arms wrapped around you and lets his mind run.

Some nights Simon still has bad nightmares about his family and work. You will normally find him in the bathroom because he isn’t ready to show such a vulnerable side of him. When he hears your voice after a nightmare, telling him that it is going to be alright and that you are with him, he almost always finds comfort in your voice. He feels bad for waking you when he comes out so he makes tea for the both of you (even though you are normally passed out when he comes back).

He loves tea. Don’t tell anyone but he enjoys more floral/herbal teas but he will always fold for green tea. Tea is like his addiction I swear, he drinks it everyday. He finds drinking herbal teas embarrassing because of his reputation so if anyone (especially on his team) finds out, he would simply parish.

he loves musicals and again don’t tell anyone. going along with this, a personal pet peeve of his is when he is trying to watch the musical and someone else is singing to the song. I don’t know why it just irks him. His favourite musical is probably phantom of the opera.

To everyone else around him he is considered cold,harsh and sometimes emotionless, around other people he is Ghost. When he is around you however, he is Simon. You have him domesticated, he will cook for you if you ask, give you a massage if your mussels are sore, watch your favourite movies/read your favourite books so you can talk to him about them and he will understand, will run a bath for you if he thinks you need one, and will buy almost anything you ask.

Simon has super horrible ears because of his job. Even with the headphones, the sound of explosions,gunshots, and other extremely loud stuff is bound to damage his ears. I think he has tinnitus (ringing in ears caused normally by hearing loss) and wears hearing aids most of the time to stop the ringing.

When the both of you are cuddling in bed he will wrap his whole body around you like a weighted blanket. He does because he says if something ever happened you would be safe. He also refused to let you sleep closest to the door because again its to keep you safer.

When he is driving he always has his hand on some part of your body, most of the time its your thigh.

He loves to lay his head in your lap because it helps him relax. When lays his head in your lap please play with his hair, it literally brings him so much comfort and he will fully fall asleep after a while.

For date night, you both probably just cook dinner together and have a nice dinner date while you talk about anything and everything. The night normally ends with you two watching a movie while you’re cuddled into his side and him carrying you to bed.

His music taste is either metal or classical music and there is no in between. He loves Everlong by Foo Fighters so much though that you think he never stops playing it (I mean me too). He will listen to your favourite songs as well just to make you happy when you hear them as you are listening to his playlist.

He is surprisingly good a poetry and still writes poems sometimes. When he is away if you ask him to send you new poems, he will write a bunch of poems about you and send them back home for you to read. You have kept every single one of them and he gets happy when he remembers you have them all and genuinely love them.

He barely ever wears his mask around you anymore because he knows you will never judge him and you love him. He struggled to show you his face for the first time because he was SO scared of commitment and he knew once he took off the mask, there was no going back.

He has a motorcycle and regularly takes you for late night drives in empty streets where he knows the two of you can just live in the moment together.

Simon is not a fan of pda but every time you go out he holds your hand to keep you close to him. When he holds your hand he ALWAYS does the thumb thing because it helps ground him and so he knows you’re still there with him.

Speaking of public, you have mayor scary dog privilege. Tell me if you saw a big, scary, menacing looking figure with a skull mask just looming beside someone you wouldn’t immediately back off that person💀

Anyways hope you enjoyed reading and i’m surely going to post more hcs of this beautiful man when I have the time <33

#call of duty #cod mwii #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #mw2

[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

[clearlydiamondz]

New Partners

Erik Stevens x Black!Reader

---------------------

(Y/N) and Erik are partnered up on a mission. After getting stuck together, things get a little heated between the two.

Warning: Cursing, SMUT, 18+ Content, Semi Fight Scene, mention of infertility, self harm

---------------------

(Y/N) looked around the table with men as she rolled her eyes. So many men sitting here with their pride so far up their ass, it was showing in their face. She knew they had a problem with her being here, but it was more that just that. She was one of the best assassins this organization had to offer. They were intimidated by that. Who wouldn’t be. 

You were on of the girls that escaped the Red Room. That’s right. You were a black widow, trained along side the infamous Natalia Romanova. Better known as Natasha Romanoff. After loosing you’re home from S.H.I.E.L.D, you joined this organization. Just one thing threw it off. You were the only women here. Even though you irked something in their head, they couldn’t help but find you sexy. The only person in here who’s never given her a hard time was Erik. 

Erik was to himself. He didn’t speak to no one unless it was call for for a mission. He was just to himself.

“Good morning everyone.” Your boss Ricky came in as you put your phone away. “I’m going to keep this meeting short and simple. We heard a big deal going around the streets that some of the alien space craft parts from the attack on New York in 2012 is floating around the black market. We will be attending a bidding so that we can get those parts in our hands. Each of you guys here have been handpicked by me because you are  one of the best that we have here.” he said. 

After going her case file, she saw that was playing the role of Isabella Hardaway.  The wife of Simone Hardaway. She looked at all the information that was given to her. 

After the meeting, she was walking to her office when she felt someone tap her shoulders. She turned around seeing Erik standing there with his arms cross. It looked as if she just came back from a mission considering he had all of his tactical gear on. 

“I am going under as Simone Hardaway. Meet me at my office to discuss details before you go on lunch..” Was all he said before stepping away. She turned around walking back to her office and shutting the door. 

--------------------

Before her lunch break, she walked to Erik's office knocking on the door. She heard a come in before walking into his office. The first thing she noticed was the interior of it. Everything was black and gold. It smelled good in her, kind of like Pine Cone. And he had a lot of Wakandian artifacts. The only reason she knew about it was because back in the red room she would read all types of articles and books about Wakanda. 

“You have a very nice office..” she trailed off. 

“Let’s just talk about the mission, yeah?” he said. She nodded. 

“Sure.”

Erik was a cutie. She was always attracted to the guys who didn't say much. Due to some research, she knew it was always the niggas that didn't talk a lot knew had to handle business.

And there was nothing more than she wanted for him to handle her...

----------------------

(Y/N) rode the elevator back to the quarters that same night. It was time for them to start the plan and she was only a couple of  minutes late. As the doors opened, she walked into the building and instantly everyone's eyes were on her.

She ignored their stares as she went to the tactic room grabbing the gear that she needed. As she was signing out her equipment, Erik came beside her leaning against the wall. 

“You’re late.” he simply said as she looked up at him giving him a fake smile. She closed booklet before looking at him standing up fully. 

“Sorry but I have to look the part of a billionaire.” she said then looked at herself. “It just doesn’t happen sweet heart.” she finished before walking out the room. Erik turned around as she walked past him, looking at her backside as she walked outside the door.  

There was no hesitation that Erik wanted to have his way with her. She was fine, smart and witty. She’s been working here a little over two years now and this was the first time he could actually talk to her. Even the first time on a mission. 

They received their instructions sitting in the back of the limo, riding to the place where they were doing the bidding at. (Y/N) was looking over the notes she had tucked into her clutch before Erik spoke up. 

“You shouldn’t hide the notes in your hand bag.” he said in a suggestive tone as she looked at him. 

“I’m not. I just bring it with me so that I could go over everything before the mission.” she said folding it and tucking it under the seat. He shook his head chuckling. She looked at him raising an eyebrow. “Oh wow.. he actually laughs. Someone record this.” she said shaking her head.

“Anyways...” he trailed off turning around and looking at him. “There are somethings that you need to know about this place. It’s heavenly guarded. Metal detectors everywhere. So.. those weapons you have is useless.” he said. 

“Yeah I figured that out. But that’s why I have this.” she pulled her dress up to see a knife strapped to her thigh. Erik wasn’t really focused on the knife, more of how full her thighs looked. Damn, he wouldn’t mind being in between those thighs and getting lost. She pulled it back down, Erik not making it noticeable that he wasn’t paying attention at all. 

“A knife. You are going up against a bunch of men with guns... and your defense is a knife?” he asked pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh.. you have a lot to learn my friend.” 

-----------------

They inserted the hall, their arms linked with each other. “Their holding the parts on the 5th floor but it’s heavily guarded.” They heard in their coms. 

“We need to make our presence known a little bit, then we can sneak off.” she told him as he nodded.

“Ah, you must be  Simone and Isabella, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” An Italian man walked up to them. Erik reached his hand out for him to shake.

"Ah, you must be Giovanni." Erik said to him as (Y/N) shook his hand.

"Oh wow, you're even beautiful in person." he winked at her. Deep inside, she was disgusted. But she had to play along with the roll.

"Oh stop, you're making me blush." she playfully said as he smirked at her.

"Well the bidding is going to start an hour so make yourselves comfortable." he said. They were left alone as Erik whispered in her ear.

"We need to get back there before they start bidding." he said as she nodded.

"I memorized the floor plan of the place. There is a hallway on the left side of the building behind the bar. It should direct us back there." she said. They saw the entrance was blocked by two guards standing there with AK-47s.

"Yeah, but those big ass niggas standing in the way." he said as she smirked at him.

"Well, all we need is a distraction." she said to him as he leaned back in the chair. "What do you mean you have a plan?"

"Just follow my lead..."

- - - - - - - -

She walked to Fabian tapping his shoulder. He turned around about to snap until he saw who it was. "Oh, Mrs. Hardaway. Is everything alright?" he asked placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Actually, one of your guests here have been incredibly rude to me. A-And it's just making me and my husband a bit uncomfortable and I really just don't appreciate it." she said shaking her head.

"Who!?"

She pointed in the direction where a man by the name of Rodney stood. She knew who he was. Rodney was one of the dudes that ran a drug ring on the West Coast near Compton. He was a hot head that didn't mind popping off on anyone at any minute.

Mixed with Giovanni, who didn't think with his head but his fist. If this was going to be a distraction, she didn't know what was.

"Aye, what the fuck Rodney!" Giovanni yelled walking over to him. "Why the fuck you're being a bitch!?" he exclaimed as Rodney eyes went wide with pure anger.

"Nigga who the fuck are you calling a bitch, bitch."

And they fell right into place. The two guards standing at the door ran to the commotion as Erik walked calmly to the back door. She followed as they ran down the hallway.

"See, easy work." she said to him as he shook his head.

"No you're just lucky that the two of them don't know how to control their emotions." she responded as she shrugged.

"Same thing." He followed her as the posted behind a wall. She turned her head to see more guards standing at the entrances. She turned to look at Erik putting up five fingers to tell him that there were five guards.

She dug into her purse grabbing the penny electricity lock before turning around smirking at Erik. She flipped it around the corner before she heard the groans.

"Yo.. you're fucking crazy." he shook his head as she smirked.

"Okay, well look where it got us." she said walking down the hall. She picked up the guns only to see that they were digitally activated. "What kind of..." she whispered looking at this.

"Yeah we can't use these." Erik said looking over her shoulder.

"Whelp the only form of weaponry is my knife so let's get this thing rolling." They grabbed the key card opening the door letting themselves inside. Erik shut the metal door before he walked in shutting the metal doors.

"I have a feeling that Ricky only sent me on this mission for the if it goes wrong because it seems like you got this figured out." Erik said leaning against the table. She dug into her purse grabbing a pair of tweezers before she chuckled. "

"I've seen you're record file, you have some pretty impressive stunt work under your feet." she said as he tilted his head to the side.

"So you stalked me?"

"No, I was just making sure that Ricky didn't put me with an idiot. And he has not." she said cutting the wires to the safe. She heard the air exit the safe before Erik opened the safe. He grabbed the piece as (Y/N) looked at it.

"That's it? It literally just looks like scrap metal." she said as he nodded.

"Well, this is what we need so-"

"Hands up!" Both of them turned around to see a guard standing at the door. "Put it down and step away from the safe." he said as she looked at Erik. He placed it on the ground before the guard walked further inside.

"Alright, lift your dress up."

"Nigga what the fuck?'

"Excuse me?"

"I'm the one with gun here, lift it up." he said as she nodded.

"You don't have to do this? I mean-"

"Shut up! Lift it." she nodded, faking pouting. She lifted up her dress before grabbing the knife aiming it at his arm than throwing it making him drop the gun.

"What the-" Erik punched him the nose the nose before flipping him on his back, grabbing his arm and bending it before she heard a crack. Before he could scream, Erik punched him again in the face as his eyes went shut and he laid limped on the floor. She grabbed the wreckage before smiling at him.

"A bunch of men with guns.. and you bring a knife?" she mocked him as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah yeah.. okay. You can handle yourself. I like that." he said licking his lips as she raised her eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that. You lookin at me with some, 'I wanna fuck you' eyes." she said as he smirked.

"Maybe I do."

"Boy bye. You wouldn't know what to do with all this even if it came with instructions. Now come on." she said walking out with a sway in her hips.

"Damn..."

- - - - - - - - -

They were outside walking to the limo when the agent on the phone started talking. "Change of plans you guys. They found that there has been a breach with the stuff. So you guys have to stay in character. We guys got you a hotel downtown." they heard as Erik mumbled a 'shit'.

"Well let's get out of here before they think of something?" he said, she agreeing. They got into the car before the limo driver pulled off.

They made it to the five star hotel and settled into their rooms before she sighed. "We don't even have clothes." she groaned as he shrugged.

"I sleep naked anyways." he said walking into the bathroom. 

“By the way, they have the room wired just in case something goes left!” she yelled out for him but he didn’t hear her. She smacked her teeth before taking off her shoes. I mean she did too, but sleeping next to him. She wasn't going to lie, she was a bit intimidated by him. But oh well. 

As she waited for him to get out the shower, she went through some paperwork she bought with her before she stripped from her gown laying it on the sofa that was in the living room. She grabbed a whiskey glass from the bar before pouring herself a glass of crown royal that Erik purchased. She drink a little more before she felt herself have a little buzz. 

  She had a wet rag wiping the make up off when he stepped out of the bathroom. She didn’t even notice the shower stopped running. He had the tower wrapped around his waist before looking her up and down. She noticed the scars that sat over his body. 

Damn that shit looked sexy... 

He wasn’t hiding that he was checking her out. His eyes traced over her frame. His tongue traced his bottom lip as he looked up at her. He looked further down noticing the scar above her abdomen. 

“What happened to you?” They both said at the same time.

“I said it first.” she said quickly, as he rolled his eyes. 

“Do you want the simple version or the extended version.” he said crossing his arms over his chest. “Extended version?”

“It’s just something that I did to myself to remind me how many people I killed. You know, never make me loose sight of who I really am. Also to remind myself of what I can become.” he responded honestly. 

“You did that to yourself?” she asked, shocked. He nodded. “And you call me crazy...” she said as he chuckled. 

“And you?”

“Do you want the simple version or the extended version?” she asked him. 

“Extended.” 

“So, I grew up in the program called the red room.” she started. 

“Oh yeah. I heard about that shit. That’s why you’re so good at what you do.. huh?” he said as she nodded. 

“Yeah, well anyways. At your graduation ceremony, we had this procedure done. They told us it was just tying tubes so you don’t mess up and get pregnant. But turns out, they took... everything.”

“Ohh...” he trailed off. “That’s-”

“Yeah, It sucks. I want my life to be more than just this. I want to have a kid one day but that’s never going to happen so.. yeah.” she responded.  

“Damn, I’m so sorry.” She didn’t want to end so awkwardly, so she used a little bit of her dark humor. Something she did to avoid having to dig into her feelings.

“But on the bright side, I don’t have periods. The sex is amazing, well depending on the person I’m fucking.” she responded as he squinted his eyes. 

“Why you say that?”

“Well, if their clean, I don’t need protection. And sex is best when it’s raw.” she winked at him.  His eyebrows raised with a sense of caution. He didn’t know if that was a sign or something, but he took it as one.

“Well, I need to get going into the shower.” she walked passed him, walking into the bathroom before turning around and shutting the door. Apart of her wished that he would turn around and follow her inside but she knew he would never do that.

She stripped naked before turning the water to a comfortable temperature. After that, she stepped in letting the water drip down her skin. The water pressure in the shower was no joke.

While she was in her own little world, lathering her body up, she didn’t even notice that Erik came into the bathroom with her. He took the towel off placing it on the sink before putting his hands on the glass. She still didn’t notice that he was in the bathroom with her. Erik wanted that.

He slid the door open, (Y/N) turning around in shock to see him standing there. Dick standing tall and him breathing hard. (Y/N) was stuck. Here he is, one of the sexiest man she has ever laid eyes on, is butt naked in the shower with her. Something took over her as she wrapped her tiny hands around his dick slowly stroking it up and down.

“You want this dick, (Y/N)?” Oh his voice was deep deep. “Once I start I ain’t going back. I plan on ruin your little ass.” he said as she looked up at him.

“That’s what I want..” she whispered to him. She leaned forward placing a kiss in his chest before making her way down, placing kisses all the way until she was face to face with the monster.

His dick was just as beautiful as him. Long and thick, a vein very noticeable and his tip leaking out with ore cum. “You want this pussy?” she asked him, putting her hand down there rubbing her clit in a circular motion. “She stay wet and ready to take some big dick like this..” she whispered kissing along his dick. He clenched his jaw as he leaned against the shower wall.

“Keep talking like that. Watch me fuck that mouth of yours.” he warned her as she smirked. She wrapped lips around the tip, swirling her tongue around it collect all of the syrup he had to offer. Sweet but tangy. She liked it.

She slowly made her way down his dick as he closed his eyes throwing his head back. “Yeah... you know what you doin. Show me what ya little freaky ass got.” he said to her. She wrapped her other hand around the base stroke it as she sucked him properly. It was nice and slow. For her sake, this man was big. Way too big to fit in her mouth. She don’t even know how she managed to get this much of him.

“You’re so big Erik.. you sure it’s gonna fit in this tight ass pussy?” she asked him as he chuckled.

“You should be asking yourself that question. I’m digging in that shit no matter-ooh.” his sentence was cut short when she started to stroke him faster while sucking his dick. “Show off then. Little nasty bitch, I love me a nasty bitch. Play with that pussy. I want the shit dripping down my chin when I eat that shit you hear me?” he said as she nodded.

“Yes sir.” Oh that made his dick jump. She noticed the little peak of excitement before smirking to herself. She focused her attention on his dick before letting him fuck her mouth. Her hands were on the floor as he grabbed her hair keeping her still as he attacked her throat.

“Fuck! Your shit is dangerous ma!” With a final thrust, he came all down her throat. It came out of no where and she coughed. She wasn’t no bitch though and swallows it.

“Swallow all that shit.” he directed her. He saw her swallow it before smirking. “Stick ya tongue out.” she stuck her tongue out before he grabbed her by the throat pulling her to her foot. Within a split second, he had his tongue down her throat. He sucked on her tongue, tongue gliding along each other as she moaned.

“I know, I’m finna play in that pussy right now. I know she’s wet.” (Y/N) stuck her tongue out once more as he looked at her confused until it finally hit him.

This is just one nasty bitch... yeah he definitely keeping up with this one.

He spat in her mouth as she smiled bringing him into a soul crushing kiss. “Go put your leg on the counter, I’m hungry and I want some of that pussy.” he told her as she smiled in content. She opened the glass door before stepping out. He followed her to the counter as she placed her leg on the counter stretching out. He walked behind her wrapping his arms around her waist. She felt his hard dick rubbing against her thighs as she leaned back against him. With his other hand, he rubbed her ass then giving it a slap.

She gasped then moaned as he smirked at you. "You like that, don't you?" he said as she nodded. His fingers traced around further before he was rubbing her clit from the back.

"You got this wet just by sucking my dick?" he asked her a she nodded.

"Yes.. I love sucking dick." she told him as he smirked.

"Yeah, slutty ass." Unexpectedly, he dipped his finger in her pussy as she gasped. Damn this nigga have some thick ass fingers.

"Shit you tight.. you sure she can take all this dick." he said rubbing his dick against her ass as she nodded.

"Yes I can take it- ooh." she moaned closing her eyes throwing her head back. He curved his finger hitting her G-Spot as she moaned.

"Fuck daddy, Right there. Shit!" she gasped out as he kissed her shoulder. His pace went faster as she felt a pressure in her abdomen. "I'm going to cum.." she whispered.

"Yeah, let me get that." he said as she smirked. A couple of seconds later, she came all over his fingers. He kept going like nothing ever happened. She was overly sensitive, and he could tell bu the slight shake she had.

"Fuck... Erik wait." she gasped as he shook his head laughing.

"Nah, all that fucking teasing you did. Keep your leg up. Don't fucking move." He bent down gliding his tongue along her folds as she fluttered her eyes shut.

Erik moaned as her wetness dripped down to his tongue. He thought it was damn near impossible for someone to be this wet but here she is like a faucet. He stood up as she placed her foot on the ground. He turned her around lifting her up and sitting her on the counter. She bit her lip looking at him as he shook his head.

"It doesn't make any fucking sense how wet this pussy is.." he said to her. He grabbed his dick rubbing his tip along the fold as he sighed in pleasure.

"Stop teasing me.."

"Don't tell me what the fuck to do." he grunted at her. He teased her a bit more before entering his slowly.

"Fuck..." she whispered out as he stretched her out. "Fuck you're filling me up."

Erik on the other hand went silent. He was in complete shock about this. He slowly started to thrust as she gripped the counter top for support.

"Good ass pussy, this my shit here. You understand?" he said as she nodded.

"Yes.. oh my god." she groaned. She put her hands between their bodies, rubbing her clit in circular motions. "Faster please." she moaned a nodded. He started to fuck her faster, the sounds bouncing off the bathroom walls.

"Fuck..."he groaned picking her up. He walked out into the room, pushing her against the wall, thrusting faster into her. She let out a loud scream before he kissed her to muffle the noise.

"Fuck baby... you beating my shit up."

"Like I'm suppose to. You hear her, making all that fucking noise." he said a she nodded.

"Talk to me."

"Yes, I hear her!" she moaned.

"Yeah, she like that shit. Slutty ass pussy.." he grunted. She bit his shoulder in attempt to keep her from screaming.

"I-I think I'm about to cum." she whispered as he smiled. "Let me feel that shit." With a tight squeeze, she released all on him as she hit her head against the wall.

"FUCK!" she groaned. Her body shook once more as he carried her to the bed. He flipped her on her stomach before arching her back.

"We not done.. far from it." he said. Without warning, he thrusted fully into her, thrusting into her at a fast pace. She bit the sheet as she moaned. Tears rolled down her eyes as she let the pleasure overwhelm her.

"What happened to me not being able to handle yo ass? What was that shit you was talking?" he taunted her. Now it was her turn to be stuck. He grabbed a fist full of her hair, pulling her back to his chest. He laid his chin on her shoulder whispering in her ear. "Answer me when I'm talking to you? You got some good dick and now you can't talk?"

"Baby.. please." she whispered as he smiled at her. Oh that shit was wicked.

"Baby please what? I can already feel that pussy tugging on my shit. You about to cum again?"

"YES!" she screamed as he smacked her ass. "Stay just like that while I bust this nut all in your guts bitch." he grunted letting go of her hair. The pressure came quick again, and within a couple of seconds she squirting all over him and the bed. She lost balance falling into the bed with him following her.

It triggered his own orgasm as he let his cum drip deep inside of her. "Fuck!" he grunted out as she spasmed a bit feeling it.

"We ain't done..." he whispered to her as she groaned.

- - - - - - - - -

Meanwhile, in the control room, the entire team was in shock. At first they were confused.

"It's silent, why can't we hear them?" Ricky said as one of the tech geeks, James, started typing away.

"Everything seem to be connected. We don't know. We can hear the shower running..." he said as Ricky stood up biting his nail.

"Maybe we should-"

"Fuck daddy, Right there. Shit!" They heard that shit loud and clear.

"Uhhh...." James awkwardly said. It was silent for a few moments before the heard smacking noises. That's when they heard a loud scream.

"Fuck baby... you beating my shit up."

"Like I'm suppose to. You hear her, making all that fucking noise."

"Should we turn it off?" James said about to push the mute button.

"Just put them on low. We can't risk not hearing anything if something happens." Ricky said, his face in utter disgust. "Jesus Christ..." he said walking away shaking his head.

- - - - - - - -

The next morning, they woke up to a loud banging on the door. (Y/N) shot up looking around to see Erik laying next to her snoring." She grabbed the robe that the hotel provided wrapping it around her body. She ran to the door to see guards standing outside of her door. She opened it.

"Oh well how can I help you gentlemen?" she asked smiling at them.

"We are reporting to all the guests that was at the bid last night. Some artifacts was stolen from us." she said as she gasped.

"What? Oh my goodness, who would do such a thing?" she asked.

"Well we suspect you two. You guys aren't really together are-"

"Everything alright baby?" Erik came into view as they looked at him in shock. Not because of his scars but because all of the hickies and scratch marks that was over his body. They took notice of the ones that you had on your neck.

"No, they are accusing of us of not being together! They think we stole some artifacts from that place. Well I tell-"

"So why were you the first ones to leave?" he asked as she scoffed.

"After that fight, we decided that it was out of control and unprofessional. We can take our business else where." she said rolling her eyes. "Y'all don't have any cameras or security. Just ghetto if you ask me."

"We did have cameras, they were all out."

"So you're accusing us of stealing? We don't need to steal."

"Do you want us to show our wedding pictures? Because we-"

"Actually Mrs. Hardaway, we don't have any more questions. We are sorry for bothering you." he said. She slammed the door in their face before turning around.

"I'm surprise you can even walk."

"Shut the hell up."

- - - - - - -

They made it back to the quarters for the briefing. After the briefing Ricky went to your office to talk to you and Erik. "First I would like to say congratulations. You guys did an excellent job." he smiled at the two.

"Well you know I always try my best." (Y/N) said smiling back to him.

"And another thing. If you know the room is wired, please be a little more quiet when you guys do the do. It's very uncomfortable." he said before walking out. (Y/N) eyes went wide as Erik chuckled shaking his head.

"I totally forgot that it was wired..." she said putting her hands in her face.

"To be honest... I realized half way through but I was like fuck it." he laughed as she threw a pen at him but he caught it. "While we're on topic, I need to finish up my report. But meet me in the quiet room in an hour. I want some more." he told her and with that he left.

Damn...

#smut #killmonger smut #killmonger x reader #erik stevens #erik stevens smut #erik stevens x reader

[regencyslxt]

Wrong Conclusion

1410 words.

Imagine reconnecting with Benedict after a less than easy split.

a/n: i'm not too sure how I feel about this one, but i hope you like it anyway! x

The doors in front of you brought back fond memories, the boxing ring sat inside was your home away from home before you left a year ago. You had chosen to flee instead of fight, something you are sure both Will and Simon will interrogate you about should they still spend their days here. You were very well aware that there were people inside, not many but some, as the candlelight gleamed through the windowpanes onto the street. Anxiety crept into your chest as your heart raced. What if they do not want to see me? Will they be happy I am home? Have they missed me? These questions replayed repeatedly in your mind. Questions that would be answered if you could just push yourself through those doors.

You took a deep breath, grasped the handles, and made your way inside. Your eyes took in the sights before you: the ring was still there but the ropes had been changed, the benches on the side-lines looked shinier. Have they been polished or waxed? Everything had seemed to be in better shape than it was when you left. But you were not here to judge the décor, you were here to see old friends or at least that’s what you told yourself. Telling yourself you were solely here for the purpose of seeing your friends once again made this less difficult than it needed to be. However, fate did not seem to be on your side as you glanced at the few people gathered around the bar. A certain man catching your attention, Benedict Bridgerton. You wish you could say you were happy to see him but as your eyes met and the look of shock and hurt made its way onto his face you couldn’t help but feel small in the place where you were once at your best.

…

“Where were you last night Ben? I missed you very much, I had to dance with Anthony and you of all people know just how much he despises the dance floor.”

“I was at home my dear, I am sorry I could not attend Trowbridge.”

“Oh, but your mother had said you were not home when she returned late last night.”

Silence surrounded you.

“Ben is something wrong? Is there something going on I need to know about?”

He held your face in your hands and stroked your cheek ever so gently.

“Of course not…You need not worry your pretty little head with my concerns, they are mine to deal with my love.”

“If you are sure.”

“I am. Now, I must be heading home before your mother scolds me for being here so late, I will see you tomorrow though yes?”

“Yes, you will.”

As he walked away your heart broke, knowing that the packed bags in your room said something entirely different.

…

“Are my eyes deceiving me or is Y/N Y/L/N standing before me?” Will bellowed and smacked Simon’s shoulder forcing his attention your way.

Your stare broke from Benedict and a smile graced your face.

“Hello old friend,” you said as you embraced him.

Simon made his way towards you and wrapped his arms around you, placing a kiss on your temple.

“Come on, I’m sure you have missed the boys,” he assumes as he drags you to where the three eldest Bridgerton men are sat.

“Hello Y/N,” Anthony says nodding to you. Colin tilts his glass in your direction in acknowledgement before offering you a glass of bourbon.

“Hello Anthony, Colin,” you reply taking the glass from Colin’s hand.

Benedict on the other hand was stunned. It has been a year since you last saw each other and in such little time you seemed to have changed for the better, you looked radiant and your knuckles were not bruised and battered like they always were when you were here. You were always making use of the punching bags despite it being ‘unladylike’. That was one of the many things he loved about you. Still loved about you. He stood abruptly, stalling the conversation you had started up with the other four gentlemen.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

You looked at him, an air of uncertainty forming around you both.

“Mr Bridgerton. May I ask how you are?”

He scoffs, “I am very well and you? You look as though you are happy.”

“I am happy to be back, I have missed London very much.”

“I am sure London has missed you too.”

You fiddle with the gloves in your hands unsure as to what to say next. You go to speak but he asks something before you can,

“May we speak in private?”

“Yes, I believe we have a lot to talk about.”

You looked towards Will and he gave you a warm smile. Benedict nodded and motioned in the direction of the separate room in the back. He offered you his arm as you began to walk and you took it with little to no hesitation. You both found yourself sitting across from each other, waiting for somebody to speak.

“I understand why you left.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his statement. You glance at him noticing his fingers tapping against his knee, a habit he had when he was nervous. Disregarding the new boundaries that may have been set, you placed your hands on his and moved closer to him.

“I understand that you felt you had to, that my being secretive led to you forming your own ideas of my activities. I just want you to know that I was never with another, I never was and I haven’t been since you left and if you allow me a chance to explain I promise you everything will make sense.”

“Benedict…I had to leave because we were drifting apart. You couldn’t tell me what it was you were going through or what you were doing, and I couldn’t bring myself to stay where I wasn’t wanted.”

“But you were wanted, I wanted to tell you I did but I just couldn’t. I wanted to keep it to myself for just a little bit longer.”

“What was it?”

“I- I was going to an art exhibition...”

“An art exhibition?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t just going to see art, I was making it. I was sketching and painting and learning from Mr Granville. To improve what skills I already had.”

You felt foolish. All the times he had cancelled plans last minute, or just didn’t turn up he was there. And instead of trusting him you had jumped to the conclusion that he was with another woman, that he had grown tired of you. Your eyes welled and he was quick to hold your face in his hands the same way he did before you disappeared.

“Ben I am so sorry,” you squeaked. Your voice barely there as you tried to hold back your cries.

“I should have spoken to you or waited until you were ready to tell me. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve. Maybe if I had we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“Nonsense, I should’ve been honest with you. This is my fault I let you get away and I can only hope that you are free from any other engagement or marriage, “he reaches into his pocket as he speaks and pulls out a small box. He opens the box and shows you the ring it holds inside. You cover your mouth in shock at the realisation of what he means.

“because I have had this ring in my pocket every day for the past year in the hopes that you would come back and bring my heart too, which has undoubtedly been yours since the moment I beheld you.”

The tears in your eyes are now falling down your face, but you pay them no mind.

“I would be honoured if you would accept my proposal to be my wife, and I know this may seem sudden but I have waited not so patiently for this day to come and I simply cannot let you slip through my fingers once again.”

“Oh Ben…I couldn’t possibly say no.”

In a moment, your lips were pressed to his, thankful that the upcoming marriage would allow you to do so whenever and wherever you pleased. He was going to be yours and you were going to be his and you were going to spend the rest of your lives making up for lost time.

#bridgerton imagine #imagine #x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regencyslxt #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #bridgerton imagines

[fishytrouble1]

Sidemen Awkward Dating

W2SxReader Fanfiction

Summary: You’re sat minding your own business at the park when a random stranger comes over to meet you. He awkwardly talks to you but you find it cute and endearing, What becomes of this meeting.

You had decided that instead of being stuck indoors that you would go to the park for a little while. However, when you got there it was so busy you searched for ages trying to find a quiet spot. 

After a while of searching you found a shaded quiet area under a big oak tree. You loved nature and always felt so at peace there, it was where you were at your happiest. When you had sat down and took a breath you just hoped that the day brought you more of the joy and happiness you were feeling in that moment.

As the hours went on you were so engrossed in the book you had brought with you that you didn’t even notice the loud noises of a group far to the side of you. They were getting progressively louder but you continued ignoring them, hoping that they would go away soon enough.

But it was just your luck they didn’t, in fact you could hear the complaints of one of them as the others kept egging them on to do something. What it was you weren’t sure on. Little did you know that it involved you.

A minute or so had passed before you heard someone stood beside you coughing to get your attention. You look up from your book at the person, expecting to see some obnoxious looking guy there but the person you saw took your breath away. 

What you saw was a young blue-eyed, blonde-haired man who was standing awkwardly. You were unsure what his purpose was until he started to speak.

“Ummm...Hi..I’m Harry. Look I’m just going to be honest here. My friends and I are part of this YouTube group, and we were doing a video where the group made one of us do awkward things in public. They know how awkward I get when talking to girls so they made me come over here and talk to you. However I’m more nervous over how pretty you are and that you’re just going to send me away.” He says in a rush getting more awkward as he talks, but you smiled at his awkwardness.

“Sorry, I ramble when I talk to pretty girls.” He says making you blush.

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask not quite believing what he had said.

“Well, i wouldn’t say t if I didn’t believe it was true. Plus you’re the only girl that hasn’t turned me away.” He frowns.

“Why would I turn away such a handsome young man such as yourself.” You flirt.

He smiles at you and offers you a hand up. You take his hand as he pulls you up but you lose your balance and fall bringing Harry with you.

“Well, I knew you thought I was pretty but at least take me on a date first.” You joke causing him to laugh.

You are staring into each other’s eyes and are about to kiss when you hear a group of people shout Harry’s name. You both turn to face the group he was with before you both laugh nervously at being caught in the act. You both rush to get up and you smile. He goes to walk away but you stop him by grabbing his arm.

“You know if you want to take me on that date, you’ll need my phone number.” You grab a pen and piece of paper from your bag and write your name and phone number down.

He takes it, “Y/N. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl.” He smiles and walks away.

You turn around to head home when your phone rings. You answer it, “Hello, Y/N speaking.”

“Just wanted to be sure I had the right number.” You turn around to see Harry beaming at you as his friends are laughing and clearly making jokes about what had just happened.

A couple weeks later and you and Harry had had several dates now alongside daily text messages. You had learnt about Harry’s childhood in Guernsey whilst he found out about yours down in Portsmouth as well as why you had both moved to London.

As the days went on you started feeling as though this man was always meant to be a part of your life and couldn’t imagine not knowing him. You were about to leave your apartment to go on another date with Harry when your phone rings and you see his face flash up on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up I was then leaving to come meet you?”

“Well I may have told the guys where we were going and they’ve decided to tag along. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just I find it hard to say no to people and I thought maybe when we get there we can just ditch them.”

“Harry, I don’t mind maybe it is time for me to meet the people who are the reason we started this in the first place.” You say ‘this’ as you haven’t made anything official yet and weren’t sure where you both stood in terms of it being a relationship.  “We’re also not ditching your friends, it’ll make them dislike me for dragging you away.”

He laughs and you say that you’ll see them in a bit. When you turn up, you see Harry stood with his back to you. His friends are facing you but you hold your finger to your lips to signal to them not to let Harry know.

You jump onto his back whilst saying, “Hello there Handsome I see we have some interlopers on our date this evening.” You giggle as the guys fake an insult before laughing along with you.

“Hey Y/N, meet my friends; Simon. Ethan, Vik, Josh, Tobi and, you probably know him as KSI, but we call him JJ. Guys this is my...This is Y/n.” You quickly hide your frown over the awkwardness of not being called his girlfriend but you smile at his friends.

“Hey guys, It’s nice to meet the reasons why I met this guy here. And just to let you all know I actually don’t know a KSI so apologies if that’s you but I’ve never heard of him before.” You say honestly. They all looked shocked but quickly get over it.

“So you’re his Y/N are you? If I was you Harry I would ask her to be your girlfriend before she finds someone better.” Ethan Jokes but only the other guys found it funny, you and Harry stood there awkwardly as he faces you and pulls you away from the group for a minute.

“Look, I was going to ask you tonight anyways, but then the boys gate-crashed and we weren’t alone. Things just became awkward. and then Ethan makes that joke, and I’m sorry if you’ve felt uncomfortable at all.” He rambles clearly nervous.

“Harry, calm down. Firstly I’m not uncomfortable, I never could be if I’m with you. Secondly if you were saying that you were going to ask me to be your girlfriend then my answer would be a resounding yes.” You tell him, he smiles and brings you in for a slow kiss. Your first one as a couple, you’d like to add. 

You’re broken apart by the voices of his friends laughing and making jokes. All saying either, “OOO” or “I knew it” or “Look it him, that’s our boy.” They made it an awkward ending but then again everything about yours and Harry’s journey had been awkward, right from the word ‘go’. It was however, a comfortable awkward though, and you wanted it for the rest of your life.

#w2s x reader #w2s #Harry Lewis #behzinga #zerkaa #tobi brown #simon minter #vikkstar123 #ethan payne #joshua bradley #tbjzl #miniminter #vikram barn #sidemen #sidemen sunday #awkward

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

🚨Warnings: Light p in v smut. Some angst. Lots of fluff. My grandfather’s name really is in the Smithsonian.🚨

Plain Gold Ring V:

Exactly Like You

“I know why I waited

Know why I've been blue

I've been waiting each day

For someone exactly like you” - Nina Simone

——————————————————————

Your last day in D.C. felt like the last day of your life. This life. Every article of clothing was packed. Every knickknack and tchotchke sent with the movers. You were ready for your next life. Did your next life include Andy?

The weather was beautiful. Sunny. Not too hot. You and Andy had planned on spending it outside seeing the sites. He had never toured any of the museums. You invited Jacob along. The second you said it you wished you hadn’t. You felt like a home wrecker even though Andy promised Jacob wouldn’t see you that way.

Andy was bristling with excitement. “He’s going to love you, baby.” You were not great with kids. You actively chose not to have them. You loved your nieces from a distance when they were little. Now that they are teenagers you feel a little more at ease with them. You are their cool rich aunt who spends an absolutely outrageous amount of money on them when you visit. You nearly fainted when Andy asked if you’d like to have children.

“Aren’t I too old for that?”

“You’re only three years younger than me. I know a lot of women who had their career before they had a family.” Your face snapped from terrified to anger real quick, “Not that you can’t have a career and be a mother. People do it everyday. Shut up, Andy.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous. Have you thought of having children with me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, yeah. I’d like to have a couple more.”

“Oh. A couple he says.” You could feel the hives forming. “This seems like a good conversation to have right before I leave.”

He ran his hands up and down your arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. You haven’t thought about it? Not even a little?” The door buzzed in the nick of time.

“Jacob’s here! Hallelujah!” You wiggled out of his arms to grab your shoes.

He laughed shaking his head. “We’ll finish this conversation later, young lady.” he pressed the intercom button, “Hey come on up, buddy. This is going to be great, honey.” He loved your nervous laugh and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. Just the fact that you were nervous told him you would love his son.

You heard voices coming from the living area. Fucking hell. Was that Lori? You contemplated going out of the window. You went into the bathroom to grab some lip balm. You knew full well that it was in your bag on the kitchen island. You were just staying out of their way. When you heard the front door close you reemerged.

“Ready to go?” Your eyes were wide and you were way too smiley. If Andy didn’t know better he would think you were on drugs.

“Yeah. I think no more coffee for you ok?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Y/N.” Jacob extended his hand.

“Nice to see you too. So! The Smithsonian. What part are you most interested in seeing?”

“Air and space I think.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. My grandfather’s name is actually on a plaque. I’ll show you. He was in the navy and built planes that were used in Korea I think. And my dad’s picture is there. He works for a division of NASA back in Louisiana where I’m from. He developed this little part of the rocket booster. He’s literally a rocket scientist.”

“That’s really cool. I’d love to meet him sometime…..”

Andy was loving every second of this. You and Jacob really got along. You were making plans to visit your father and stepmother over the summer and maybe hit the beach in Florida. Jacob’s face lit up at the prospect of meeting your family. Both Andy and Lori were only children. Jacob didn’t grow up with cousins or really any kids his own age outside of school. He seemed pretty comfortable with the idea of you and Andy together.

Andy tested the waters a little by holding your hand. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. By the time you got to the next part of the museum he had his arms around your waist. He even kissed you a couple of times. Nothing but a tender peck here and there. Jacob didn’t seem to mind when he showed you affection.

After lunch Andy dropped you off and then ran Jacob back home.

“So, what are you thinking?” Andy asked with nervous trepidation.

“The museum was cool. I really liked the rockets. It’s cool that Y/N’s dad made those.”

“Did you like Y/N?”

“Yeah. Sucks she’s moving. Do you think you’ll move to Chicago too?”

“Kind of depends on you, bud. I know you’re getting older and you don’t need Dad around very much anymore. I don’t want to miss anything. You’re my only baby.”

“I could spend summers with you. You look really happy. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Even before the trial. I’d miss you but you should be happy.”

The whole way inside Jacob talked about you. He clammed up when Lori walked in.

“Hey, guys. Did you have a good time?” She kissed Jacob on the forehead.

“We had a great time. Ok, Jake. You have the number where I’ll be. I’ll be back on Wednesday. If you’re not busy next weekend you can spend the night. I have your room all set up. Love you.”

“Ok. Love you. Have a safe flight. Tell Y/N I said bye.” He escaped to his room before the arguing started.

“If it’s ok I’ll pick him up from school Thursday. Did you sign the papers?”

“She went with you?” Her voice was deadly quiet.

“She did.”

“Didn’t want to tell me that before hand I guess.”

He sighed and wiped his face with his hands, “I’ll have him back Sunday night. See you later.”

“Fuck you, Andy. You can’t even give me the courtesy of telling me my son would be meeting his father’s whore!”

He slammed his fist on the counter, “Did you sign the papers or not?” She threw the manilla envelope at him.

“They’re signed.” He took the papers and walked out slamming the door. He contemplated moving again. He has a month to month lease on his place. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find a job. He knew Jacob would be fine. Chicago was looking better and better. After all the baby talk this morning he wouldn’t burden you with anything else domestic for today.

——————————————————————

You were zipping your last suitcase when you heard Andy come in. You packed all of your sleep clothes so you were wearing Andy’s t-shirt and panties. Dinner was ordered and he had a drink waiting on the counter. He called out for you. When you rounded the corner into the living room he caught you in his arms.

“Hey, handsome.” you cooed in his ear. He nuzzled your neck and stroked your back. “You ok? Was Jacob….he hates me. I knew it.”

He tightened his hold on you, “Honey, he loved you. He talked about you the whole way back.”

“Then why is your face all worried?”

“Because I’m keenly aware that this is our last night together in my place. That when I come home Wednesday you won’t be here. I’ll go to work on Thursday and Jeremy will be in your office. I have really good memories in that office and now they’re ruined. I don’t want to wake up without you.”

His hands traveled up your bare back then back down to cup your ass. “The delivery app says they’re going to be here in twenty minutes. Think you can finish in time?”

He lowered his head between your breasts and nodded yes. Before you knew it your panties were off, his pants were down and he was fucking you against the wall. His pace was relentless. You hooked your ankles at the small of his back and leaned back so you could rub your clit. Your fingertips brushed against his dick every time he pumped in and out of your cunt. You both came in fifteen minutes.

You ate dinner on the veranda loving the cool breeze on your bare skin. As much as he wanted his t-shirt to smell like you, he like naked picnics way more. Admittedly, a big chicken Caesar salad wasn’t the sexiest food in the world. Still didn’t stop him from licking dressing off of your chest when it dropped off your fork. He was determined to fuck you in almost every room in this place.

You slept tangled and sticking together all night. You had finally gotten over your need for bed space. You’d miss it when he wasn’t there. All night the two of you wanted to bring up moving in together. Neither of you had the guts to say it. You didn’t want to beat a dead horse. He didn’t want to freak you out. Good thing you’d be long distance for a while to work on your communication skills.

——————————————————————

Your new place was beautiful. You rented a big new condo close to Millennial Park. Your office was on Michigan Ave so you weren’t far from there thought walking was highly discouraged. It wouldn’t be possible in heels anyway.

You and Andy worked diligently unpacking and cleaning. When the last box was unpacked and broken down you both collapsed on the couch. “I feel disgusting.”

“You have that nice big bathtub. Bet we can both fit.” He raised an eyebrow at you and nudged your side.

“You are insatiable, Mr. Barber. Whatever will I do without you?”

“You’ll bust from horniness. Come on.” He hoisted you up from your comfy spot and pulled you into the bathroom. While he undressed you filled the water with soft musky oils and some bubble bath. You lit candles and eased in to relax. He washed your hair massaging your scalp with his fingertips. He held you in the warmth until your fingers and toes were pruned.

For the rest of the week, if you were sitting it was on Andy’s lap. If you were sleeping it was in his arms. By Tuesday morning, you had both finished up conference calls and responding to emails. You had cleared the rest of your day to spend together.

As the sunlight dwindled it had become harder and harder to part. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to have the conversation you had been dreading since you stepped off the plane.

“Andy, I don’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend but, I really want you to move in with me. I know it would be so hard leaving Jacob but I have plenty of room. He can spend every summer here if he wants. I’d love to have him. I feel really strongly that this is leading somewhere. I’ll even talk about babies if you want.”

His heart was bursting. You kept rambling on trying to convince him. Little did you know he was already convinced. “Stan is going to kill you.” He laughed and pulled you onto his lap. “Give me a few weeks to wrap up everything.”

When you dropped him at the airport there were tears but you knew you’d see him soon. “I love you, baby. I’ll call you as soon as I land.” He kissed you like he would never get to do it again.

“I love you too. See you soon.” He smiled through his tears.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————————

That weekend he spent all of his time with Jacob. He planned on spending every moment he could with his son. Jacob even had his first few weeks planned starting with meeting your family in Louisiana.

When he brought Jacob home on Sunday he worked up the courage to tell Lori the news. “Do you have all of your stuff for your English assignment? If not I can bring it by before school tomorrow.”

“I got it, dad. I had fun this weekend.” They hugged. He smelled Jacob’s hair and kissed him.

“Love you. Be good for mom.”

“Love you too!”

Lori stood in the doorway with her arms folded protectively over her chest. “So she’s gone?”

“Yep.”

“So what now? What does this mean for you?”

He pulled out the kitchen chair and rested his head in this hands. “This wasn’t a fling, Lori. I’m moving to Chicago. Jacob is real excited about spending summers with us.”

“Do you love her?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and her voice wavered. It would be cruel to lie to her.

“Very much.” It stung to hear. With nothing left to say Andy stood to leave.

“Andy!” she called after him. When he turned she wrapped him in a hug. The two of them embraced for several minutes.

When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building his phone buzzed in his pocket. He saw your face smiling back at him.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” He looked up at your old window and thought of how the two of you started, the past he left behind and smiled at the sound of his future on the other end of the line.

#andy barber angst #andy barber smut #andy barber x y/n #andy barber fluff #andy barber #defending jacob

[sidemenyesplease]

Can you do a callux imagine where he ask the reader to marry him? Make it really fluffy please.

Callux - Marry me?

Type - fluff fluff fluff

Warnings - none

Requested - yes, thank you🥺

a/n - this is pretty long for me so I hope you enjoy x

Posted 18.1.21

( Lux’s Pov )

“Come on bro it’s not that bad just chill” JJ told me calmly as I was pacing back and forth in his and Simons appointment

“You’re telling him to chill? His about to ask the love of his life to marry him and she could say no, there is no chill in this” Harry commented making Simon groan and hit his shoulder

“You aren’t helping the situation” Simon said to him as I set down and nervously fiddled with my fingers knowing she’s coming here in 20 minutes

“What did I say?” Harry questioned turning his head to Simon not noticing what he said made me panic more

“She could say no” Simon mocked his statement making Harry frown at the realisation and looked back at me

“I’m sorry man just ignore me in 99% sure she will say yes” Harry corrected him self as he came over to sit aside me and threw his arm over my shoulders

“But what if she says no” I said almost felling like I’d pass out with how nervous I am

“If she says no you will be fine there’s other fish in the sea” he replied warning Simon to throw a pillow to him

“I don’t want anyone else” I mumbled softly in reply to his statement

“Hey” Harry said catching the pillow as Simon glared at him

“Lux I’m 100% positive she will say yes, believe me and not these two twats ok” Simon spoke to me and give a glare to JJ and Harry

“How are you so sure” I sighed while I ran my fingers throw my hair not knowing how to distract my thoughts

“Bro, I’ve heard the way she talks about you with the other girls it’s pretty obvious she’s in love with you, you have nothing to worry about, trust” Simon calmed me as he also set down beside me

“Really?” I asked him whilst smiling lightly making him smile and nod in response and bring me into a hug rubbing my bag

“Have we made it in time” I heard Ethans voice and looked up to see him and the rest of the boys standing at the door just about to come in

I just nodded and started to fell myself become nervous again as i thought of y/n being here soon

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket making me jump slightly from it scaring me as I was to busy in my thoughts not to hear anything else

Pulling it out of my pocket, still snuggled up to Simon, I unlocked it and saw I had a text from her saying she’s 3 minutes away making me groan

“Text from Y/n?” Simon asked me glancing over my shoulder as I nodded when he read it

“It’s going to go fine” he assured me as I just bit my lip

“Nervous?” Josh asked me as him and the other boys including Freezy all set down around us

“Yeah” I sighed letting out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding in and felt Simon grab my hand softly letting me know it will be ok

“She’s outside” my eyes widened as my body reacted and I stood up leaving Simon quickly

“Here’s the ring by the way” Tobi rushed making me feel even more nervous if that was possible right now as I grabbed it if him gently

“Thank you for getting it for me” I thanked him and give him a hug, seeing him smile at me afterwords and pat my shoulder

“You’ve got this” he commented making nod my head and smile lightly at the fact I had these guys who had my back

“The rest of you boys go hide in the kitchen, JJ stay out because she know you will be here anyway and she won’t be sus, Lux just stand where you are and look pretty” Simon instructed making me laugh

“Thanks Si, you’ve been a big help” I told him as everyone went to get there places to hide

“No problem, I better be the best man though” he said making me roll my eyes as he just smiled over at me and ran over to the door

( Y/n’s Pov )

I stood outside of Simon and JJ’s appointment after I rang the bell and just began waiting until someone came and answered

I’m not a very patience person, what’s taking them so long to answer the door ? I wondered

Maybe there in the middle of filming , but luckily my thoughts where cut of by hearing the sound of the door being open making me look up to see Simon standing there

“Hey bestie” He said making me chuckle as he brought me in for a hug, for some reason out of the rest of the guys me and Simon quickly became close friends

“Come in, sorry to keep you waiting” he apologised as he let me in and closed the door after words as I began to take of my shoes

“Don’t worry about it” I smiled up at him as he smiled back and walked over to the sofa

“Oh Hey JJ” I said once I saw JJ on the sofa as he waved to me

“Oh, There you are” I smiled brightly at Lux once I turned around and saw him

“Yeah I’m here too” he waved his arms up making me giggled as I went to give him a hug

“Lux has something to ask you” Simone commented making me look between them both with a confused look and not missing the way Lux’s eyes widened in suprise of Simon saying that

“What is it baby?” I asked turning to him to give him my full attention , seeing JJ fake gag at the nickname to have Simon throw a sidemen pillow at him making me giggle at them

“Uh so I really don’t know how to say or ask this, I did have the words all planed out but well now I’ve forgotten them so this is going to be shit” he nervously laughed as he scratched the back of his head

“You’ve got this” Simon reassured he give him the thumbs up making me raise my eyebrows at him, as I suddenly got worried

Was he going to break up with me?

“Are you going to break up with me?” I asked sadly making his eyes widen and Simons to

“No no, oh god no” he commented quickly making me let out a sigh of relief

“What is it then?” I questioned

“Ok here goes nothing” he spoke making Simon smile brightly and get comfy on the sofa

“From the first day I met you I instantly fell for you, you make me a better person and motivate me to do what I do, honestly o don’t know what I would do without you, you’re always there for me during those dark times no one else was” he finished his speech as I felt myself begin to tear up as I saw him get down on one knee

“Y/N Y/L/N would you make me the luckiest man and marry me?” He asked as he held out the ring making me cry more and nod

“Is that a yes?” He laughed nervously making me giggle

“Of course I would” I answered making him smile brightly when I put out my shaking hand for him

“Aw I got the cramps” he commented once he got up of his knee making me giggle while he give me a hug

“That’s who you’re marrying” I heard Vik comment making me jump in surprise not even knowing he was here

I looked to my right side where I heard his voice and saw him holding Lux’s camera officially helping him film this

“You scared me” I admitted breathing as I had my hand on my heart

“Sorry” he said , “hello by the way” he laughed opening his arms for a hug with I hugged him back

“Well done, didn’t I tell you it would go fine” Simon cheered getting up from the sofa to come over to Lux and that’s when I saw the other boys appear

“We’re here too, but we won’t jump scare you” Tobi commented making me laugh as they all come over and started to give up both hugs

“He was hella nervous you know” Simon exposed Lux making me look back at Lux softly as I could just imagine him

“Harry and JJ where no help” Lux rolled his eyes

“Why aren’t I surprised?” I giggled

“Ok but just remember all the help I give you and make sure I’m you’re best man” Simon spoke to Lux making him sigh and roll his eyes as he wrapped his arms around me

#callux #callum mcginley #callux fluff #callux imagine #sidemen #sidemen imagine #calfreezy

[alecmagnuslwb]

Twelve Rounds

Read on AO3

“You know on the scale of the Qresh heist, your best plan, and the Leith escape route, your worst fucking plan, this is somewhere way closer to Leith,” Magnus whisper yells in the small space between them.

They’re trapped in a closet, oh the fucking irony, with a couple dozen guards just on the outside, guards that the guy they’re supposed to be picking up and taking back to the Rack wasn’t supposed to have.

Alec just rolls his eyes wiggling a hand into the miniscule space between them to undo the latch on his thigh holster. The fact that Magnus is blaming this on him, when the plans only gone to hells because Magnus’ intel was bad. It’s not because of Alec’s plan, Alec’s plan was simple and efficient dammit.

“Easy in, easy out,” Magnus had said tossing the tablet across the table at Alec nearly knocking over the very expensive, treat himself glass of hawk Alec had ordered. “The guy’s not smart and has never so much as bought a weapon to protect himself, the trip alone to get him won’t be longer than twenty minutes. We pick him up, we bring him back, warrant done and we make an easy 500 joy.”

Alec had scrolled through the warrant, reading it with a doubting eye.

“This guy has had six warrants on him go untouched, you sure it’s that easy?” Alec had asked and Magnus had just waved it away the rings on his fingers glittering in the low light of the bar.

“I already sent out some feelers, the intel is good,” Magnus said with a smile. “He’s just not wanted for anything big so no one’s ever bothered going through with the pick-up, now the price has gotten a little higher and I think we should add a little padding to our current bank balance.”

Alec had sighed dropping the tablet down. “The ship still needs new nav panels, they’re about to fall off, babe.”

“Exactly and 500 joy will fix those right up and we’ll still have some leftover to get a room for the night, a fancy one at the Westerley Inn instead of above the bar, maybe for a few nights,” Magnus said leaning across the table getting incrementally closer and closer to Alec. “Think about it, Alexander. No sleeping in the cold ship, nice fresh warm sheets, no running out of hot water in five minutes.”

Alec had wanted to say no, fixing the nav panels before taking on another warrant, easy or not, should have been the priority. But after being Killjoy’s together for seven years, lovers for six and husbands for two he’d always found himself saying yes to every single request, idea and silly whim Magnus had ever had.

Alec let out a long-suffering breath, “Fine, let’s do it.”

Magnus had beamed leaning across the table to kiss him once before accepting the warrant and running off to the ship to get things ready. Alec had smiled, shaking his head in amusement at his husband.

Now he wishes he had a better resolve to just say no.

“I’m not the one who got bad intel,” Alec whisper yells back. “If your intel had been good my plan would have worked.”

Magnus scoffs attempting to cross his arms in annoyance but realizes at the last minute there isn’t enough room to do so. He settles for poking Alec in the side once instead.

“Really?” Alec whispers looking incredulously at Magnus. Magnus just shrugs huffing in annoyance.

“How was I supposed to know the intel was bad,” he argues. “It was from a trusted source.”

“Jace is not a trusted source, if you had told me it was Jace of all people I never would have even agreed to take the warrant in the first place,” Alec whisper shouts back. He feels ridiculous whisper fighting with his husband in a poorly lit linen closet. They should be playfully bantering to the annoyance of their catch with a completed warrant in their hands right now.

“He’s your brother,” Magnus hisses back.

“Exactly and I know just how stupid he is,” Alec replies attempting to wave his hands around as he speaks angrily the way he likes to. He gives up after a second realizing there’s just not enough space to do that. “He fights, he’s a great shot, but his intel is garbage because he never thinks ahead. Simon is who you get the intel from.”

Magnus sighs and Alec can tell from the look on his face he knows Alec’s right.

“I have half the mind to just slip out of here and call it all off n-” Alec starts, but Magnus lifts a hand slapping it over Alec’s mouth silencing him. Through the closet doors Alec hears the slow purposeful footsteps of at least six people maybe closer to eight walking outside.

Magnus drops his hand but not until the footsteps have disappeared.

“Good news I think they’ve given up searching for us in the house,” he whispers biting his glossy bottom lip in thought.

“Bad news there are two dozen of them and there’s two of us,” Alec replies. “Not to mention the guy we’re supposed to be taking with us.” He tacks on suddenly remembering the whole point of this at the last moment.

“We’ve faced worse odds and lived to drink about it,” Magnus says with a smile. Alec’s face doesn’t budge determined to hold onto his stony annoyance.

Magnus sighs tilting his head and slipping his arms around Alec’s waist. “I’m sorry my intel was bad and that your brother is stupid,” he says pouting in that frustratingly fake, but frustratingly sexy way that Alec never can quite resist. “And also that you’re plan sucked.”

Alec huffs out a breath unable to fight the smile creeping at the corner of his lips.

“You fully loaded?” Alec asks tapping at the side of Magnus’ thigh holster.

“For you?” he says shifting his hips up against Alec’s. “Always.”

“Magnus, be serious,” Alec says not able to resist shifting is own hips back in retaliation.

Magnus groans then his face goes fully solemn. “I’m always serious about you and my load.”

Alec only barely stops the laugh he lets out from being too loud. He is married to a ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.

“Twelve rounds a piece, that’s one shot per guard for both of us. And then the hopes that the idiot we need to catch doesn’t count them or doesn’t know how many are in a sidearm and buys it when we threaten to shoot him too,” Alec says pointedly shifting a bit to the side so their hips are no longer pressed together, trying to ignore the thoughts Magnus’ completely unsubtle innuendos put inside his head.

“Don’t miss,” Magnus says with a wicked smirk unholstering his weapon and bringing it up to the ready. Alec does the same with a matching smirk of his own.

“For you?” he says winking once before reaching his hand above Magnus to push open the closet door. “I never do.”

Magnus chuckles delighted and uncaring if the guards hear them as Alec shoves open the door. Magnus spins gracefully his electric blue ammunition flying down the hall instantly hitting through the wrist of the first reacting guard. Alec moves behind him the two of them working in perfect tandem like they always do bobbing and weaving as they should around and over one another disarming the guards one by one hitting them in just the right spots to take them down, but keep them alive.

They’re not here on a kill warrant and even if they were they’re not fans of taking out more than the target anyways. They’re only getting paid for them in the end.

Alec ducks behind a near wall Magnus covering him as he heads towards the door of the house already wide open the hot Westerley desert air blowing inside.

“Shit,” he says harshly just before catching sight of one of the last guards hovering outside of the door. Putrid yellow ammunition makes its way around the corner narrowly missing him. Alec ducks behind a shitty looking old couch that reminds him annoyingly of the chair he never saw his father get up from as a child.

Magnus comes sliding in next to him a grin on his face. “Got mine,” he says popping his head up once over the edge of the chair. Another round of ammo whizzes past him, actually grazing the stark neon pink patch of hair at the front of his head.

“Well he’s almost out of ammo, or he’s a terrible shot,” Magnus says ducking back down quickly.

“We’re also almost out of ammo, I’ve got one round for this one guy,” Alec says. He takes a deep collecting breath. He dips his head around the corner of the chair catching sight of the guard in the reflection from the window. The guard doesn’t take a shot despite Alec’s vulnerable position which tells him he’s definitely down to his last round as well.

He starts to make the move to take his final shot changing course at the last second.

“Switch me,” Alec says to Magnus holding out his gun. Magnus doesn’t question him taking the weapon and unholstering his own empty one and placing it in Alec’s hand.

“Shoot high and cover me,” he says not bothering with a countdown knowing Magnus will know exactly when to take his shot. He moves from his safe spot behind the chair immediately staying low.

The guard shifts just slightly from his perfectly shielded position taking his final shot at Alec just a shy too wide. Magnus takes that as his queue just as Alec’s about to reach the doorway shooting once high into the wall roughly right above the guard’s head startling him into a crouch.

When he stands to his full height Alec’s right in front of him waiting with a big smile.

“Hi,” he says with a large grin raising the base of his gun and smacking it into the center of the guy’s forehead hard just once knocking him fully unconscious.

Magnus sidles up behind him standing up on his toes just a bit to look over his shoulder at the unconscious man.

“Technically you missed,” Alec says turning to look at him over his shoulder. Magnus chuckles.

“You told me to, I was just being a good husband and listening,” he says holstering the empty weapon. “We should go find the warrant.”

Alec nods pointing over to a wooden barrel tilted up against the side of the house. Magnus gives him a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me look’ before walking over to the barrel kicking it once dislodging the lid as it goes down.

And out comes tumbling the mark with a high-pitched screech.

“No tracks?” Magnus asks gesturing to the clear sand before them guessing that’s how Alec knew he was in the barrel.

Alec shakes his head. “This one,” Alec explains pointing to the unconscious guard at his feet. “Shot his eyes over to that barrel right before I knocked him out cold, so either he really loves pickles or..”

“You should have hired better security,” Magnus says lifting the man up from the ground cuffing his hands together behind his back.

“Raj Laghari you are being taken into custody for six active level three warrants against you ranging from petty theft to extortion, you’ll be taken to the Rack where you will await further charges, trial or imprisonment as seen fit,” Magnus rattles off pushing the guy along in front of him.

Raj starts crying and Alec just rolls his eyes. This guy is an idiot, that much intel was right. They walk quietly back to their ship locking Raj up in the cargo hold before prepping the wavering nav to take them back to the Rack.

“I can’t believe you were going to try and call it off you know how it goes,” Magnus says tossing himself into the chair at the head of the ship. “The warrant is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec says casually, Magnus knows he’s loyal to the code even when he’s frustrated. One of these days a quick and easy job is going to be just that.

Alec slips into Magnus’ lap uncaring that he’s taller and that this chair is far too small to fit both of them comfortably.

“Fuck the nav system, we’re staying a full week at the Inn,” he says tiredly pressing a light kiss to Magnus’ temple.

“Hells yes,” Magnus says in glee kicking the nav switch with his foot before pulling Alec in for a proper kiss.

#my fic #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec fic #killjoys meets malec #just combining two of my favorite things #writersmonth2021

[wreckofawriter]

The Night Sky

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: blood, gore, crude language, torture kinda, usual walking dead stuff

Request: @maryhuffxoxo: Can you write something with Carl Grimes? Maybe where intead of Negan trying to get Rick to cut of Carl's arm he tries to get Carl to cut off Reader's arm or leg maybe? And after Negan leaves he kisses the reader?

A/n: First Waling Dead imagine on here yay! I'm gonna come out with a HP request tommarow probably really late at night, that's like the only time I write, um yeah, hope you enjoy!

    You thought you had gotten used to the stench of blood, you had smelt it in the air since you were 11 years old. You had convinced yourself you knew what death was, it had been a constant in your life. You weren’t afraid of guts, you had been smeared in them before, but this. This was so much worse than anything your mind could conjure up. 

    Glen’s blood splattered across your cheek, it was in your mouth, dripping off your nose. You could taste it, feel it sliding down your face, or maybe that was the tears. You choked back sobs as Negan continued to bring his bat down, again and again, and again. You could hear Maggie screaming and Rosita’s cries in your ears as the sickening thump continued beside you. You clamped your eyes shut, your nails were biting into your palms. 

    Finally, it stopped, and you heard a chuckle. You opened your eyes, the harsh glare of headlights blinking back at you. You tried to keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you but for some sick reason, they snapped to the mess of blood and brains which had once been someone you loved. You felt your stomach churn and for a second you were sure you would throw up, but you took in another large breath and managed to keep yourself stable. You glanced down the line meeting a sea blue eye. “I love you” Carl mouthed and you nodded a sob ripping from your raw throat. And suddenly you couldn’t stop, your body shook, cries crawling from you as you struggled to stay on your knees. 

    “Aw, sweetie don’t cry.” 

    You looked up to see Negan crouched in front of you, his bat, dripping crimson resting on one shoulder as he smiled down at you. 

    “It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He smirked, “Well for now anyway.” he reached his hand out to you grabbing the side of your face and using his leather-clad fingers to harshly wipe away the tears on your cheeks. 

    Your face contorted in disgust and you tried to jerk away from him, you were choking on your whimpers, blood and tears hot on your taste bud. 

    “Don’t fucking touch her!” 

    Negan’s eyes snapped down the line, landing on Carl who stood only to get kicked back down, his knees buckling, a punch landed across his cheek and he went sprawling across the gravel. 

    Michonne and Rick yelled. 

    “Stop! Don’t hurt him!” You screamed voice shattering like glass as you raised it. 

    Negan was laughing again, a sickening sound you wished to shove back down his throat, “Oh ho ho! Look what we have here!” His hand left your cheek and instead grabbed your hair pulling you forwards. You heard more shouts, your knees scrapping open. Your head was yanked back up, you were looking upwards, you could see the little white dots so far above you, the heavens glaring back down almost mocking you. 

    “This your girl, kid?” Negan asked his smile was so wide you thought his cheeks might split. 

    “Leave her alone,” Carl growled. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his own was narrowed, his hands held behind his back. 

    “Now I asked you a question boy.” The laughter had left his voice, “Is this your girl?” 

    Carl nodded, swallowing thickly. 

    “Well isn’t that just the cutest god damn shit I have ever seen.” He grinned, “Now I’m sure as hell not the most romantic guy out there, but this shit right here, this just melts my fuckin heart. Doesn’t Simon?” His gaze turned to his right-hand man who’s handlebar mustache was twitched upward.

    “It’s like a fairytale.” He laughed and you thought you might throw up again. 

    The fist in your hair tightened and you craned your neck backward in attempts to alleviate the pressure. 

    “Leave her alone. Now.” Rick spat at the man and you only had to put your head back farther. 

    “Rick I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands here.” Negan’s voice was dark again like he had flipped a switch, “You just don’t seem to get it, do you?”

    You heard the light scrape of metal on leather and there were more shouts as something cool pressed on your exposed neck. 

    “I could slice her open right here right now if I wanted to.” He growled and he pressed harder. You felt the bite of breaking skin. 

    “Leave her alone!” Carl shouted another guy now had him in a chokehold as he tried to break free, “Don’t you dare hurt her!” 

    “Shut up kid or I’ll come over there and cut out your other eye!” Negan bellowed and you cringed. 

    “You piece of shit let her go!” he continued to yell and you saw one of the men pull a knife from their belt.

    “Shut up Carl!” You cried. His eyes snapped to you, his face softening, “Just shut up. Please.” 

    “Listen to your girl kid.” He snarled, “She’s clearly smarter than you.” 

    “I told you to leave her be!” Rick shouted and Negan bit his lip releasing the blade from your neck and letting your head fall forward. 

    “Simon come here.” The man came quickly, “I want you to hold her head just like I was until I get back. I need to have a talk with Rick.” 

    “Got it.” He said hand fisting in your hair and pulling you back again. Carl stayed silent. 

    “Someone get me my ax and get Rick in that RV. We’re takin’ a little road trip.” Negan strutted to the vehicle as Rick was dragged into it and soon it was pulling away and you were left to stare at the stars. 

    It got quiet. The sound of crickets and frogs finding your ears as you traced the night sky. You could hear feet on gravel, the occasional whimper, or laugh. You heard the snarle of walkers, the squelch of a knife into rotten skulls, twice there were gunshots. 

    You tried to remember what your teacher had taught you about constellations. It seemed so long ago, so so far away like those memories were hanging hundreds of thousands of miles from your head just like the stars. Your neck had begun to cramp, Simon had switched which hand he was holding you with twice and both times you had the urge to whip around and head but him in the crotch. What you wouldn’t give to kill Negans obedient little dog. 

    With your head tilted up you felt like you were choking on the blood in your mouth, your vision swayed at times, black dotting the edges of your view. You could hardly see Carl. It strained your eyes to look at him. There was just one man with him now, a gun held loosely in his hand. His gaze was always locked on you. Your knees ached, pebbles digging into the raw flesh. Your nails were still deep into the heel of your palm, your face felt hot and sticky, you wished it would start to rain, clear away the blood that you knew coated you. But the sky was clear, so brilliantly clear. 

    You watched as the dark hues of night began to drip away, the stars fading as black turned to a midnight blue, into a lilac which reminded you of the color of your bedroom walls a thousand years ago. You tried to crack your neck twice, both times the fist in your hair only tightened and he pulled, earning a soft whimper that you hopped didn’t reach Carl’s ears. As lilac turned to orange your head began to pound and the sicking feeling of vomit leaping up your throat filled you. You wondered for a moment if he would let you choke to death on it, like some 27-year-old rockstar who had seen one too many white lines. But then it passed and the hammer of your head grew. 

    Orange began to fade into a mucky blue when you finally heard the sound of tires on the road. You began to wonder if Rick was dead if Negan had chopped him up and was now going to shower you in his pieces. 

    When he stumbled out of the RV onto his knees you felt a rush of relief wash over the group. 

    “Get back in line.” Negan snarled before he walked back over to you. He crouched in front of you licking his lips. You could hardly see him over the tip of your nose. “Drop her Simon.”

    Your head was thrown forward and you heard your neck pop, groaning. Your chin was grabbed and you were forced back up at him, his breath fanning your face, it smelt like rotten fruit. 

    “How we doin’ little lady?” He grinned, “Hurtin’ yet?” 

    You spat at him, blood and spit spewing over his face as you sneered, “Fuck you.” 

    He dropped your chin, gagging. Your head spun and you couldn’t see straight. You were shoved forwards, hands not fast enough to get in front of you as your cheek collided with gravel, palms following in suit. 

    “You people really don’t get it!” 

    Your head was being held down, your face pressed into the coursed rock. You could see Carl clearly now, he had fresh tears sliding down his cheek. 

    “You a righty or a lefty?” Negan muttered in your ear. 

 You couldn’t think straight, “What?” 

“Which hand do you sign your name with bitch! Right or left?” He was leaning over you, you still could barely register what he had asked you. You felt something hit your exposed cheek, “I asked you a question damn it!” 

“Don’t hit her!” Carl shouted and you felt yourself get pressed further into the road. 

“Get the kid up here. Now.” Carl was shoved to his feet, pushed towards you before dropping on his knees to your right. 

Your arm was yanked out from under you, sleeve pushed up. The sound of cicadas were loud in your ears, ringing like an alarm. 

“Simon, you got a pen?” Negan asked. 

“Matter of fact I do.” You heard. A marker was tossed through the air. 

“I’m sorry about this sweetie, this is gonna be real cold like someone dragging a cold ballsack right across your forearm.” You watched as he drew a line on your arm, you could see Carl just past him, his face was hardened, glaring. 

Negan stepped out of the way handing Carl his father’s ax, “Now I’m gonna need you to cut off her arm, right there on that line.” 

You heard gasps and protests echo around you. The whine of cicadas constant. Carl’s mouth dropped the color draining from his face which was beaded with sweat and tears. You whimpered lightly.

“And I know that you are gonna need a moment to process that but it’s going to happen or she’s gonna die and all these people are gonna die and then I’ll kill you.” 

Carl met your eyes and he shook his head, “No.” He sobbed, “No.” 

“We have a good doctor, she’ll be okay.” He snickered, “Probably.” 

“Please, we understand!” You heard Michonne beg, “We understand just leave them be.”

“You understand.” Negan corrected her, “I don’t think these two love birds do.” 

“No, please.” Carl’s plea broke, “No.” 

“It isn’t up to you!” Negan laughed, “Now do it,” you heard a hammer click, “or I put a bullet through her.” 

You felt the cool metal press into the back of your skull. 

“I can’t do it, please.” 

“Are you gonna make me count Carl?!” He shouted. 

“It can be me.” Carl wept, “It can be me instead.” 

You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes. 

“Alright! I’m counting!” The gun only pressed harder. “3!” 

“Carl.” You whimpered, “Just do it.” 

“2!” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

“1!” 

The ax was raised above his head, you clamped your eyes shut waiting for the pain. You hoped you would pass out quickly. 

A beat passed. Then another.

“Do you understand me now?” You reopened your eyes, the ax was on the ground Carl crouching next to you, his body shaking with sobs. 

He nodded and you felt the metal leave the back of your head. 

“Good. Get back in line.” 

You pushed yourself off the ground a fresh wave of pain rolling through your head. Carl scrambled towards you grabbing you and pulling you into his arms. His hands were shaking as he ran them through your hair. 

Tears wet his shirt as you buried yourself into his chest.

“You’re okay.” he whispered, “You’re okay.” 

“I said get back in line.” 

Carl lifted you up, standing to his feet and stumbling back into line before kneeling back on the ground, you still clinging to him. 

Negan continued to speak but you couldn’t hear over the sound of your own wails, you felt Carl’s grip on you tighten every once and awhile, his hands combing through your blood-stained hair. 

Finally, you heard the rumble of trucks, the clamor of boots on gravel, and then it was quiet and you pulled away to see all of the Saviors had left. 

Carl was looking down at you, tear tracks staining his cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him as close to you as you could. “I love you.” You said nestling your head into his neck. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too y/n” He spoke shakily. 

    You lifted your gaze pulling his lips to meet yours. You could taste tears and blood as his lips danced over yours. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you tilted your chin upwards allowing him to deepen the kiss as his hands tightened around your waist. 

    You broke apart panting, “I’m never going to let anything like that happen to you ever again.” he whispered. “Never.” 

Masterlist

#twd #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagines #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x y/n #carl x reader

[sapphire374]

Soy Sol: Chapter 12 (I'll Be There Through Every Step)

Wattpad Link

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Ch.9 / Ch.10 / Ch.11 / Ch.13 / Ch.14 / Ch.15 / Ch.16 / Ch.17

Ámbar runs into her apartment with tears falling on her face. She tries to escape into her bedroom, but Simón catches her before she’s able to. “Ámbar, what happened? Why are you crying?” Simón guides her to the couch and she cries on his shoulder in the comfort of his arms. Tears smearing the mascara all over her face. “Remember when I told you I had a meeting with some students from Law school. Well, the truth is I wasn’t going to meet for any school project, I went to go talk to my biological mom,” Ámbar tells Simón. “Look I didn’t mean to lie; I just didn’t feel like hearing anyone tell me how bad of an idea it was. I felt like I owed that moment to myself, to discover more who I am before I married you.”

“Ámbar I would’ve never stopped you and you know I always support you on every decision and step you make. Us getting married means that we have to trust each other. You have to trust me that I’ll always be here for you no matter what. I know it’s tough, to try to discover more who you are. That happened when Luna was trying to discover from who and where she came from.” Ámbar nods and wipes away her tears from the tissue Simón gave her. “It didn’t even matter anyways since part of me doesn’t believe her but then the other part of me wants to. It made sense everything she said but still hurts, a lot,” Simón holds her tight as she tells him everything Sylvania told her.

“Originally I was considering on meeting Sharon as well to have some questions answered but I don’t want to end up feeling hurt again and in tears like today. Maybe I should just leave everything in the past… I don’t know,” Ámbar says. “I know this can be very hard for you but if that’s what you want, I think it’s a good idea, to speak to Sharon even just a little if you’re ready. Maybe it can tie some loose ends, and you can finally have some of those questions answered. That’s the least you deserve.” Ámbar stares to her lap and thinks about it for a second. Simón gently holds her hand and lets her know, “I will always be here, whether you decide to go talk to Sharon or not. I’ll be here every step of the way.” Ámbar holds out her arms and gives Simón a tight hug. She kisses him on the cheek and lays her gentle face on his shoulders again.

Jam and Roller

It’s the next morning and the whole gang is huddled around Delfi as she prepares their skating video. The nerves crowd the air as she finishes the project on her computer. “Done! It’s ready you guys,” she exclaims. Some are anxiously sipping their shakes while others are tightly holding on to their companions. Pedro stares in awe and shows how proud he is of his soulmate and the whole gang. “You guys this is just the first step into making this dream, the Jam and Roller, stay alive and come true. You all should be proud because we have finally came together, worked hard and did an awesome skating routine. We got this,” Luna announces. “On ready, one, two, three… Jam and Roller!!” the gang all chant.

Delfi presses the button on her computer and it’s official, the video has been sent to the competition’s organization. After sharing a group hug with Juliana, they resume to their posts. “Since today is a special day in which we sent the video, I’m willing to give you guys this day off. Enjoy it, you all truly deserve it after how hard you guys have been working,” Juliana lets the team know at the rink. Gastón heads over to where Matteo is at and says, “hmm well someone seems to be saved by the bell.”

“You’re right, speaking of which I’m so excited to finally sing that song, I’ve been working on for Luna. I spent all night practicing it hoping she forgives me, and everything can get back to normal. I hope this plan works,” Matteo chuckles. “Don’t worry amigo, everything will be fine and lately I’ve been seeing her in a much happier mood. I think she even probably forgot about the arguments and such,” Gastón suggests. “Yeah, I hope so.”

Luna rolls by Matteo and he doesn’t help but stare at her. “So, are you going to talk to her, or should I have to do it for you?” Gastón jokes around. Matteo takes his advice and heads to Luna where she is taking off her skates. “Hey Chica Delivery, are you getting ready for the concert I’m having today,” Matteo asks. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Luna giggles. “Glad you said that cause I may or may not have a surprise all planned out,” Matteo comments. Luna gasps and couldn’t help her excitement cloud the air. “Chico Fresa, I didn’t know you were the mysterious type?” Luna and Matteo begin to laugh in synchronicity. “Well, I guess there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.” Matteo’s phone begins to buzz. He picks it up and answers the phone call.

Once he has hung up, he lets Luna know he has to leave. “I’m sorry but I have to go now to start preparing for the concert. I would love to continue this conversation, but the surprise won’t reveal itself on its own hmm,” Matteo teases. Nina rushes to Luna after seeing him slip away. “Luna, what was all that giggling?” Nina whispers. “A special moment that truly felt like it hasn’t happened in ages,” Luna responds.

Jazmín and Delfi both sit together on the couch as they discuss their plans on how they’ll find out who the secret admirer is. “So, I was thinking we can look at all the comments of your recent video and maybe find some clues as to who the secret admirer is. I feel like they probably must have known you from your videos I’m assuming,” Delfi states. “Of course, they know me from my videos, I am the most popular on the web. Who honestly wouldn’t want to date me?” Jazmín insists.

A delivery man holding a large bouquet of flowers enters the Jam and Roller and hands them to Jazmín. Delfi stares in shock. Jazmín pulls out the card and reads “Mi amor, I chose these flowers because they represent the beautiful tones of your eyes and bring out your inner sparkle. I hope these make you feel the happiness I feel just seeing you.” Jazmín holds the card close to her chest and doesn’t help but cheer. “Oh my Jazmin, this person is head over heels in love with you,” Delfi says. “I know! Whoever this is, he already sounds so charming.” Delfi is beyond excited for Jazmín but can’t help but feel a little worried for her friend since they still don’t know who this person is. Why are they sending them anonymously? She finds this a little fishy.

Sharon’s Apartment

Ámbar knocks on the door, she shakily turns the knob when she hears the door unlock from the other side. “Come in,” Sharon states while her personal caretaker guides Ámbar to the dining room as Simón follows her in. “Don’t be shy and take a seat.” Ámbar and Simón pull two chairs and sit down in response to Sharon. She slowly takes a sip from her tea as the room fills with silence. Ámbar is beginning to have flashbacks of all the lonely nights she would have being with Sharon.

“It is a pleasure getting to see you again Ámbar, you hadn’t visited in 7 months. I was beginning to worry that maybe you have forgotten about me,” Sharon admitted. “No, it wasn’t like that, I have been just so busy with law school and managing the Jam and Roller. That’s all,” Ámbar replies. “You’ve always been busy, that’s never changed. I suppose that you’re here but not only to just meet me or stop by to say hello because you would’ve done that before. I can sense you’re here for something,” Sharon remarked. Ámbar turns her eyes towards Simón as a sign for help. “Ms. Benson, I don’t mean to intrude but Ámbar has decided to come here to ask about her past,” Simón answers. “I was wondering what made you decide to adopt me?” Ámbar asks.

Sharon takes a deep breath. “In the past, I had always wanted a kid, but it never seemed like the right time. When I heard Sylvania was planning to give her child up for adoption but didn’t know who would be fitting to be the parent of her baby, that’s when I saw it as a sign of fate. It was meant for me to be your mom,” Sharon takes another sip of her tea. “I’m a little surprised since you never seemed like the ‘loving children’ type. No offense or disrespect,” Ámbar comments. “You know I was a lot different before the fire, after that everything felt a lot stressful with life in general.” Sharon reaches out to hold Ámbar’s hand and feels the ring on Ámbar’s finger.

“You’re engaged?” Sharon questions. “Yes,” Ámbar responds. “And you never told me?!” Sharon shows her dismay and stays silent. “Well, it was pretty recent, I was planning to tell you I was just not sure when or how. It’s complicated and you know that plus you never liked Simon anyways,” Ámbar said. “I know we’ve never had such a close relationship but just know I’ll forever regret not being that loving caring parent you deserved to have. I know it’s too late, but I still care about you and love you.” Sharon begins to cry and tries to wipe her tears with her fingers. “I know madrina, I know, and I love you too mom.” Ámbar heads out with Simón since she thinks it’s for the best.

Benson Valente Mansion

Monica is seen gathering some tulle and fabric in the living room. She hears the door unlock and it’s Ámbar and Simón. “Oh, hello guys! I’ve already begun preparing some of the table arrangements for the wedding reception,” Monica states gleefully. Ámbar looks a little flushed and just nods trying to avoid crying. “Mija, what’s the matter? Is everything okay?” Monica seems concerned for Ámbar. When she notices Ámbar doesn’t say anything, she does what she knows best, she hugs her. Ámbar hugs her back.

“Well, I think I should leave you two in private,” Simón whispers to Monica. Simón leaves to the kitchen when they head to the couch as Monica gives Ambar the tissue box. “Have you ever felt empty inside? Feeling as if everyone you knew as a child and grew up lied to you. That your own story held in the hands of someone else. I feel like….. me trying to uncover the pieces are as if their edges are shattered and there’s no way on putting the puzzle together. Nevermind, this all might sound very silly to you,” Ámbar sniffed. Monica thinks for a little bit. “It’s not silly at all Ámbar, it’s normal to feel this way not being able to know your own story of how your life began. But just know it doesn’t make you who you are entirely. For example, when I look at you, I don’t see the girl who was manipulated by her madrina. I see a strong-minded, hardworking, caring young girl beside me who does an excellent job managing the Jam and Roller while attending Law school. Not anyone can pull off all those moves at once, and you do it so effortlessly. You may not know the full story and only some parts of it, but you are not your mother’s mistakes. In fact, I’m proud of you. After everything you went through, you still managed to seek the right path in life, and it worked. You gave it a second chance, you had what’s so important to have, and that is hope. So, when you walk down the aisle wondering ‘who am I,’ you’re Ámbar Smith, the one who overcame it all.”

Ámbar turns to Monica sobbing, but this time with a huge smile on her face, even showing her teeth. “How do you do it?” Ámbar asks. Monica looks at Ámbar with a confused expression. “How do you know exactly what to say at the right time?” Monica smiles back giggling alongside Ámbar. They stay wrapped in each other’s arms on the couch. Ámbar starts glancing at all the beautifully tied table arrangements for her wedding, how you can tell the amount of effort that was put in each one of them. That’s when it hits her.

When they break away from each other’s arms, Ámbar faces Monica. “Can you be the one to walk me down the aisle? You have always been there for me whenever I needed you these past couple of years and…. I don’t know how to say this, but you have showed me how it feels like having a mom. Why wouldn’t I want my mom there?” Ámbar starts tearing up again. “It would be an honor to attend it, and it truly warms my heart hearing you say that. Ever since our family reunited with you and Alfredo, it’s felt much bigger and cozier. I’ve got two daughters, Luna and you. I wouldn’t miss your dress fitting or wedding for the world.” They begin to hug again. Near one of the walls close to the living room, there’s Simón who couldn’t help but smile while spying on them. It makes him feel ecstatic knowing that Ámbar does feel like she has a family now and is not alone, not ever again.

Matteo’s Concert

All of Matteo’s fans begin to huddle up near the pit of the stage. Everyone is beyond excited to hear his collaboration with Viviana on stage for the very first time. Luna enters with Nina. Nina stays holding Luna’s arm, trying not to get dragged away by the crowd of people nearby. “So Luna, how have you been feeling about the whole thing?” Luna turns towards Nina and says, “A little conflicted not going to lie, but I’m here to support Matteo. I’m still a little bit upset at what he did calling me jealous and standing me up on our date, but I think I’ve put it past us. Today is a special day for him and I shall be here for that.” Nina nods in response.

Gastón rushes over to Matteo backstage. “Everything okay amigo?” Matteo picks up his guitar and nervously answers, “Yes. Once Viviana and I stop singing, you turn off the lights and have only the spotlight facing me. Just like old times when I had sang to her Alla Voy. I will sing this song I wrote for her, and it shall feel like we’re the only ones in the room. This night shall be perfect for her.” Gastón approaches him and smiles while patting him on the back. “Don’t worry you got this!”

The crowd starts chanting when the lights turn on as Viviana and Matteo approach the stage. They begin singing into their mics, Viviana doesn’t stop staring at him while Matteo’s eyes are fixated on Luna. He is in awe of how beautiful she looks tonight, even though he feels like Luna looks beautiful all the time.

Luna starts dancing along to the song with Nina, they don’t stop giggling and having a great time. Viviana starts noticing who Matteo can’t keep his eyes off of. She grows green with envy. She never liked Luna and was always hoping he would break up with her. She tries to get really close to him, even at times trying to have a sharing mic moment. Viviana throughout the song doesn’t stop making eye contact with Matteo and keeping him close. When she sees that this doesn’t Luna, or him she reacts quickly. Once the song ends, Viviana standing next to Matteo grabs his neck towards her and kisses him. She has her hand caress his cheek. The fans are screaming with excitement.

As for Luna, she’s speechless. It feels like the world has stopped and she has lost track of her surroundings. When Matteo pushes Viviana off him, he turns and sees Luna running out of the venue crying.

#soy luna #soy sol #soy sol universe #soy luna fanfic #lutteo #simbar #soy luna fanfiction #disney soy luna #sl fanfic #sl fanfiction #soy luna wattpad #sl wattpad #gastina #pelfi #yamiro #jico #karol sevilla #Valentina zenere #Soy Luna one shot #Soy Luna one shots

[a-court-of-healing]

Loving You Through it chapter 2 Jace Herondale x Reader

Disclaimer: I don’t own the mortal instruments or the gifs

Trigger warning: mentions of cutting, sexual abuse, sexual assault, ptsd, and depression

Y/N POV

Dean has been the best parabatai ever. You met Dean when you were 12 and just got your marks. He just turned 17 and he was looking for someone to be his parabatai. He entered the training room when you were there, and he saw you take on people who were older, wiser, and more trained. You learned from a young age it was either fight, flight, or freeze. For your father, it was always freeze. For most other men it was fight, but for emotions it was run. Dean was impressed and he liked the idea of being older and being a mentor to someone younger. You were honored, because honestly, Dean was a) hot b) a good fighter and c) a good friend. He knew all of your problems, the depression, ptsd, and cutting. He knew your history, but he trusted you completely. He knows that you would die for him in a heartbeat. He knows how much you love Jace, and he keeps trying to get you to tell him and to let him in, but it’s not that easy.

“Why don’t you explain it to him? You know he will be there for you! He loves you, Y/N!” Dean explains as he sits next to you. You shake your head and sigh. 

“Because Dean...what if he…you...abandon me? I don’t think I can survive that…” You have this habit of picking your fingers, even to the point where it bleeds. Dean looked at your hands and poked you. 

“Stop, stop worrying. I see the way he looks at you. He looks at you like you are the star of his world and he can’t survive without you. He won’t leave you because you have had a hard life and you have mental illnesses. That just isn’t like him.” You looked away and stood up and looked out the window. Dean makes it sound like it’s perfectly normal to be the way you are, and it will be so easy to talk about everything to Jace. You barely told Dean. You only told him because you thought as your parabatai he didn’t have a choice but to stay. 

“Have you talked to Dustin about this?” Dustin was your therapist. He was a really great man. You usually hate men and don’t trust them, but you were researching therapists and he was known for working with people like you with PTSD and people who have been abused. I shook my head and then somewhat nod my head. 

“Kinda...I mentioned how I was scared and the memories. Dean these flashbacks make life hell. I can’t stop thinking that either he’ll leave me...or he just wants me for sex...or maybe he’ll abuse me too....” Dean was listening and nodding. 

“Have you thought about talking to Alec about Jace? I mean, he knows him better than just about anyone. He could help ease your mind.” It was a really good idea. You loved Alec and Isabelle. They were like your brother and sister. You also love Magnus and Simon because they made them happy. Alec and Magnus were the cutest couple ever. Magnus is like your bisexual best friend. He’s been through hell as well and it’s like you both can tell what hell you’ve been through. 

“That sounds like a good idea...I think I’m going to message him...you don’t think he’ll tell…” 

“No...that isn’t like Alec and you know it. He wouldn’t tell unless you want him too. Magnus won’t tell either. It might hurt Jace though that you went to Alec...I mean you can tell your story to whoever you deem trustworthy.” Dean’s phone started ringing and it stopped my train of thought. 

“Oh speak of the devil. It’s Alec. Here, see what he wants.” He tosses you his phone and starts cleaning up his room. 

“Hello? Dean’s phone.” 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here with Dean...is there something wrong?”

“No, I was just calling him to see if he could bring me some arrows from the armory, but anyway, how are you?” He sounded genuinely curious. 

“I’m fine, always fine. I can bring you some arrows...I thought maybe I could talk to you about something anyway…” 

“Of course! Does it matter that Magnus is here? He could leave if you don’t wa-”

“No, that’s fine. It’s just something about Jace. See you soon!”

You stop by your and Jace’s room and see that he fell asleep with his shoes still on. You smile lovingly and walk over to him and take off his shoes and kiss his forehead. You wrote a note and put it on the end table. If he woke up and you were there, he would be worried. You then grab some arrows and head over to Magnus and Alec’s apartment. You knocked on their door and waited for them to answer and Alec answered almost immediately and you saw that both him and Magnus were in their pajamas. 

“Hey Y/N what’s up?” You hand him the arrows, walk in, and walk over to the couch and sit down. Magnus was sitting on the love seat and walked over you and kissed your head and sat next to you. His kisses were different then Jace’s. A) because it wasn’t romantic b) he was bisexual c) he’s in a relationship with Alec d) Magnus is like her brother and e) he’s bisexual.

“Umm...I don’t want to say too much...but I have some trust issues…” That admission was hard enough, and Magnus snickered a little and Alec shot him a look, telling him to shut up.

“I...I love Jace more than I’ve ever loved anyone in this world. I just….don’t know if I can tell him about somethings...he deserves to know, he does. But I just don’t know if I can...cause I mean…” You were picking at your nails to try and calm down. You couldn’t speak anymore and you felt shame going straight through your veins. Silence rang out through the apartment. They both were expecting you to speak some more, but you couldn’t get the words out. You stared off at the wall, trying to numb the panic in your heart. Magnus stood up and walked out of the room and I felt fear creep in. I knew it. They would leave me. However, he came back in with a little ball of fluff. He put Chairman Meow in my lap and the kitty started purring. This cat has always liked you, and he never ran away. You instantly started petting him and smiled. He didn’t leave you, he was getting something to HELP you. 

“Y/N I can tell you this, Jace will protect you and he will die for you. He will take anything you give him and he will carry all your problems on his shoulders. He is your biggest supporter. He’s rooting for you. So you can talk to him. He will be there, and from past experience, I know for a fact he won’t abandon you.” He was sitting on the loveseats arm and he was speaking quietly, almost like he was speaking to a frightened animal. I studied Chairman Meow’s fur and tried to get lost in how soft it was. Believe it or not, you were a very tactile person. You think it has something to do with not getting good safe healthy touches throughout your entire life. They both wait silently and patiently waiting for you to digest what you were thinking and feeling. 

“I spent the majority of my life hiding who I was from my family and friends, and when I finally did come out, they were all there to support me. I thought they would leave as well, but it never even crossed their minds.” Alec stood up and walked over and sat on the couch, sandwiching you between Magnus and himself. 

“Darling, I can tell you’ve been through some sort of hell. It must be super hard to do it all alone. We’re here if you want to talk, but I think we all know you should be talking to jace.” Alec pulled the cat out of your arms and Magnus reached over and grabbed your hand and squeezed tightly. You felt loved. Then, you stood up and nodded your head. 

“Thanks you two...I really needed this.” 

“Call or text whenever you need to. We’re serious. We’re here for you.” Magnus said and Alec agreed. 

When you went back to the Institute, you noticed that Church meowed at you and you reached down to pet him. Then, this sharp stabbing pain burned on your forearm. Your parabatai rune. That meant Dean was in trouble. Oh no. 

“DEAN!!!! Church, take me to Dean!” Church couldn’t even do it. That meant that Dean wasn’t here. You pulled out your phone and called him. He didn’t answer. You called repeatedly and every time he didn’t answer, panic rose in your blood. 

“JACE!!!!” You ran as fast as you could to Jace’s room and Jace shot up from the bed. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay? What’s going on?” He grabbed your arms and you shook your head. 

“Get dressed and get your weapons. Dean is in trouble!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, we’ll have to use a navigation rune!” You were only meant to use this rune in absolute emergencies. 

Jace and you prepared as fast as you could and you pulled out your copper colored stele and had Jace give you the mark. But as soon as you found him, something happened. You felt a huge stab in your heart. Oh Lord, please no! Your heart felt as if you were stabbed with a sharp gripping stake and it was twisting and ripping out your heart. You gasp in agony. The rune on your arm went from a dark black mark to a clear scar. You felt a part of you die. You literally went from feeling normal to nothing. Pure emptiness. You grabbed Jace’s arm and all you could hear was this fuzz and static as Jace yelled asking you what was happening, but horror filled you and fell to your knees and screamed as loud as you could. Izzy and Simon ran in and you assumed that they were asking Jace what was happening, and Jace was on the floor with you holding your face in his and the look on his face showed pure concern, worry, love, fear, and tenderness all wrapped into one expression. Your lips were quivering and you felt the tears well in your eyes. 

“He’s dead. Dean is dead.”

#jace waylandxreader #jace herondale x reader #jace wayland #jace herondale #PTSD #depression #alec lightwood #magnus lightwood bane #isabelle lightwood #simon lewis #dominic sherwood #jamie campbell bower #the mortal instruments #Shadowhunters