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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

Text

Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

#supermnet #noonasinnetwork #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader #super m imagine #exo imagone #baekhyun imagine

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airesgay · 3 years

Text

Feelings 101

Chapter 22: the one with girl’s night, part 2

Relationship: Jennifer jareau/emily prentiss

Summary: the friends au where they all work at NYU, and Emily and JJ find themselves reconnecting after 17 years. There are also mixtapes.

Chapter summary: Penelope arranges another girls night, at a nightclub, with Emily and Jordan, and JJ and Elle. What could go wrong?

Chapter word count: 10,511

songs:

Inbetween days - the cure

bizarre love triangle - new order

heaven is a place on earth - belinda carlisle

girls just want to have fun - cyndi lauper

wannabe - spice girls

toxic - britney spears

edge of seventeen - stevie nicks

read it on ao3

JJ came storming through the door of their apartment, muttering the same thoughts she’d been relaying to her friends the whole way home.

“I cannot believe this, why would you do that, do you know how embarrassing - ” An exasperated sigh. “You ruined Emily’s night, and Jordan’s, did you see her face?” A hand through her hair. “You got kicked out?!”

This was the last thought she voiced, far louder, as Derek and Penelope trudged inside behind her.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled, and had least had the decency to look it, head down to the ground.

JJ sighed. She felt liked she’d just dragged her two children home after they’d been trying to have a nice night out, but had been kicked out the cinema for throwing popcorn at people – which was only half a lie.

Minimally satisfied with Derek’s apology, JJ nodded, and turned to Penelope. She wasn’t looking at the ground, but she wasn’t looking at her either. She’d drifted off to the kettle, flicking it on and reaching for a mug. JJ raised her brows.

“Pen?” she said, sterner.

Penelope eventually turned around, looking at her as if nothing was wrong. “Yes?”

JJ shook her head, disbelieving. She really was just going to act like nothing had happened?

“What were you and Derek doing at the cinema?” she demanded, folding her arms.

“Having our monthly date night.”

JJ scoffed. “What?” She looked to Derek but he was doing his best to avoid her gaze.

Penelope shrugged. “Once a month, Derek and I meet up without the rest of you to discuss things.”

JJ arched a brow. “Things?”

“Yeah,” Penelope nodded, “Gossip about all of you, no big deal.”

JJ couldn’t help but let out a laugh. It was no secret Penelope and Derek had a special bond – who was she to say they couldn’t meet up without the rest of them every once in a while? Although the gossiping bit stung a little. Still, it wasn’t what she was concerned with right now.

She came back to herself, facing Penelope with a hard stare yet again.

“So what, you just decided you’d have it at the same time and place I was having my date with Elle. Which, oh yeah, you for some reason organised to clash with Emily’s? What the hell, Pen?”

Penelope just laughed and turned back to making her tea.

“Do you want some?” she asked, casually.

“I cannot believe you!” JJ eventually snapped, tearing her coat off and throwing it across a chair.

“And I can’t believe you,” Penelope replied, dropping a tea bag into a pink unicorn mug.

“Me?! You can’t believe me?!” JJ spluttered, at a loss for what to say.

“Yes,” Penelope said, reaching up to return the box of tea bags to their shelf, “You’re being an idiot.”

With that final word, she turned around to face JJ, whose own jaw was dropped, eyes blinking in astonishment. The two continued to stare at each other. Derek coughed.

“Uh, well,” he said, slowly backing towards the door, “Goodnight!” He gave an awkward wave before racing out the apartment.

JJ and Penelope were left staring each other down, tension hanging in the air with the unsaid words. JJ was starting to deflate with the reality of it, but Penelope was just getting more animated.

“Honestly JJ,” she said, voice louder, “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t watch you ruin this for yourself!”

JJ managed to huff out a bitter laugh as she turned around. She couldn’t deal with this right now.

“Where are you going?!” Penelope demanded, following after her.

“Bed,” JJ sent back.

Penelope laughed. “Oh no, you’re not running away from this conversation again.”

“Stop!”

JJ spun around, eyes blazing. Penelope instantly backed off.

“Just stop it!” JJ screamed again.

Her body was shaking and she had tears in her eyes. Penelope had softened, taking a gentle step forward.

“JJ,” she started, but was immediately cut off.

“You’re making this harder for me,” JJ said, voice lower but still wrought with tension.

Penelope frowned. “What?”

JJ closed her eyes. “Please, Pen, I’m asking you to back off.”

Penelope blinked. “JJ, I’m just trying to help you, you and Emily - ”

“We’re not soulmates okay!” JJ snapped again, eyes wet. “Emily doesn’t like me, and you making out like she does is making this ten times harder for me so please just leave me alone.”

With that she ran off to her room, and Penelope was left staring at the door she’d slammed shut. She let out a breath.

“Oh dear, this is worse than I thought.”

* * *

Emily dropped two painkillers into a hefty glass of water, watching the tablets dissolve. The worst thing about sleep deprivation had to be the headaches. Two hours, is her estimation for how much she got last night.

The date had been a train wreck, putting things lightly. Seeing JJ had completely thrown her. Honestly, of all the places her and Elle could have gone, how was it her luck they ended up right in front of her? Was it God taunting her again? Not having had enough fun torturing her over the years? Then again, maybe the menacing puppet master in this scenario was closer to home, dressed in luminescent pink clothing.

What the hell was Penelope playing at? Did she just find herself void of something to do on a Saturday night? Wanted to shake things up by spying on both of her friends’ dates, decided to pair them together, kill two birds with one stone? And dragging Derek along on top of it all? Emily didn’t know. She just knew she’d made a complete and utter fool of herself. In front of Jordan and JJ.

Jordan was so sweet, and understanding – far more than Emily deserved. She’d been distant all night, mind preoccupied on other things – another person – topping it all off by running out on her before the film had even ended. And Jordan had just continued to ask if she was okay. God, she too nice for her.

Emily had apologised profusely, assuring her she was just feeling sick. Jordan had nodded, accepting the answer even though she sensed there was something else going on – but she didn’t seem to know what, thank god. She offered to walk her home, the cinema not being far from Emily’s apartment. She’d even offered to stop by a pharmacy for her. Emily couldn’t help her smile at that, touched by the sentiment.

She wanted to make it up to Jordan; she owed her that. But she didn’t have the energy to do it that night. She’d thanked her, but said she just needed rest. Jordan had nodded, but couldn’t hide her disappointment. They said their goodbyes, and Emily made to leave– only to turn back at the last minute, and press a soft kiss to Jordan’s cheek. She didn’t stay to see the blush it left.

A loud meow snapped her out of the memory. Sergio had jumped up onto the kitchen counter so that he was right in front of her. He meowed again, more demanding. Emily rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay, time for breakfast I get it.” She’d only fallen asleep at 5 and then woken up at 7, unable to get back asleep.

“You know this is actually early for a Sunday,” she put to him, as she rummaged in the cupboard for the cat food.

He just sent another insistent meow back, clearly not caring.

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

Once she’d laid out his food, he lumbered over to it. He looked at it for a moment, considering it, before raising his head to look up at Emily. He meowed again.

“Oh no,” Emily laughed, “You’re not getting me again. No more roasted chicken, this will do you just fine.”

When he’d first started refusing food, she thought there was something wrong, that he was sick. But one swift trip to the vet, who ended up laughing at her, told her nothing was wrong with him at all. He was just being a stubborn shit. ‘It’s good, it shows he’s comfortable with you, that he’s settled in.’Ha, yeah lucky me, Emily thought, getting duped by a cat.

She swore Sergio narrowed his eyes at her before grudgingly returning to his food. Emily shook her head, reaching for her own bowl. She switched the radio on her way to open the fridge.

The song that filtered through the apartment had her laughing. God, let me catch a break. She didn’t bother moving to switch stations as she reached for a carton of orange juice. Still, the words rung through her head.

Go on, go on, just walk away.

Go on, go on, your choice is made.

Go on, go on, and disappear.

Go on, go on, away from here.

* * *

Meet me for coffee this afternoon?

JJ stared down at the message on her phone for the fifth time that morning. After the initial shock of hearing from Elle again, she’d all but thrown her phone onto her bed, and resolved to ignore it for the rest of the morning - as if it would disappear eventually. But she kept coming back to it.

She hadn’t been planning on leaving the apartment that day to be honest. She still felt really rough after last night, like a hangover without the drinking, which was just no fun at all.

She had no idea what Elle was going to say to her; did she want to make a point of telling her how much of a fool she’d made of herself last night? To confirm that, no, she did notwant to see her again? Their parting last night had been so quick, JJ desperate to get away – just a ‘That was fun. I’ll message you.’

And now Elle had. Not 24 hours later. Maybe she actually did want to see her again? JJ had no way of knowing. But maybe she owed it to herself to give it a shot.

She waited until Penelope went out for milk to reply.

That would be lovely, where and when?

* * *

“I don’t want to be messed about.”

“Oh.”

JJ had to admit; out of all the things she expected to hear from Elle that afternoon, that wasn’t one of them.

She was about to speak when Elle raised a hand to stop her. JJ fell back in her seat, taken aback. She waited while Elle took a sip from her large mug of coffee, making her wait in suspense. JJ had suggested they meet at a Starbucks across from the gym; she certainly didn’t want to risk running into Jordan, or Rossi. He was sure to spill to Penelope.

“Let’s not waste either of our time here,” Elle finally said, setting her mug down on its saucer.

“Um, okay?”

JJ wasn’t sure whether Elle meant right now, as she was on her lunch break, or just, in general.

Elle was giving her that signature smirk and, honestly, it aggravated her. Even though she was in no position to have the higher ground here. And then she spoke again.

“I think we both know who your eyes were on last night. And it wasn’t me.”

JJ could feel the flush spiking up her neck. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Elle didn’t even bother laughing. She just gave JJ a look, one that said don’t bullshit me.JJ held her resolve for about 10 seconds before breaking. Her head fell into her hands.

“Ok, fine, you’re right,” she said the words muffled through her fingers. She raised her head, looking Elle straight in the eye. “I like Emily.”

It felt good to say it out loud, and outright, so there was no misunderstanding what she was saying. Even if by this point she was pretty certain her feelings went further than just like.

When she peeked through her fingers she saw Elle nodding her head, as if she’d answered a question right on a test.

“Good,” Elle said. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now.”

JJ let her hands fall back down, awaiting the next turn in this unexpected conversation. But all she got was silence, and she realised Elle was waiting for something. She felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in her stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

Elle nodded again, like she’d scored another point on the test, but there was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes too. In that moment JJ felt awful.

“Thank you,” Elle finally said, coming back to herself.

“I didn’t mean to mess you around,” JJ said, words tumbling out now, “I really did like you.”

Elle laughed a little. “Yeah, well, it seems someone beat me to it, huh?”

JJ felt the flush at her neck travel up to her cheeks.

Elle smirked. “I can’t blame you. She’s beautiful.”

Pretty, or cute, was the word people would usually use in these situations. And while Emily was certainly both of those things, and a whole lot more, JJ thought beautiful fit best. She got so caught up in thinking of Emily that she almost forgot who was sitting across from her. When she snapped out of her daydreams Elle just seemed amused.

JJ straightened herself in her seat. “I know it’s stupid,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t even know if she, why would she - ”

It was then that Elle did bark out a laugh. JJ looked up to her, frowning. Elle shook her head, letting the laughter die down.

“You’re worried she doesn’t like you?”

JJ didn’t indulge the question with a response. Elle continued to laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but that’s just funny.”

The heat JJ felt at her cheeks was turning into one of anger. She made to get up.

“I didn’t come here to be mocked,” she bit out.

Elle sighed, reaching out to stop her leave. “Okay, okay I apologise. That was rude. Please sit down?”

JJ looked at her a moment, and then towards the door, and back to her. She sighed and fell back into her seat.

“Thank you,” Elle said, sincerely.

She clasped her hands, setting them on her lap and leaning forward. JJ instinctively did the same.

“I have a proposition.”

JJ raised a brow.

“I want to help you.”

JJ’s brows shot higher. “What do you mean help me?”

Elle shrugged, casually, leaning back in her seat. “I have a bit of experience with this kind of thing. I know two people in need when I see them. I can help you sort this out with Emily. Speed things along, you could say.”

JJ’s brows lowered into a frown. Her head was spinning, mostly with what exactly helping herwould entail. But that wasn’t what she asked.

“Why would you do that?”

Elle gave her a soft smile, maybe the most sincere one she’d seen. “I did like you, that’s true. I would have been with you if that’s what you wanted.”

JJ made to apologise again when Elle raised a hand. “Just because we missed our shot doesn’t mean you and Emily have to.”

JJ felt her heart soften.

“Besides,” Elle said, moving to pick up her mug again, “This can count as my good deed. Get me to the pearly gates.”

JJ couldn’t help but laugh. There was a contemplative silence for a minute.

“So, what exactly would helping me mean?” She couldn’t believe she was entertaining this.

Elle smirked, taking a sip from her coffee. “Well that’s where it gets fun.”

The next twenty minutes flew by in a haze of explanations and details and confirmations. JJ’s head was spinning the whole time. She replayed the conversation in her head that afternoon when she went for a run, trying to flush out all her nervous energy. The song in her headphones flooded through her ears, thumping electronic beats matching her own heartbeat.

Every day my confusion grows.

Why can’t we be ourselves like we were yesterday?

Waiting for that final moment, you say the words that I can’t say.

* * *

The next two weeks passed by in a blur. A whirlwind. Emily had made good on her promise to make things up to Jordan, which the other woman was delighted with. And so Emily had been out with Jordan two nights in the past fortnight and three afternoons for lunch (though she got the feeling Jordan wanted to make that a daily occurrence).

For a woman who was used to falling asleep on her couch as soon as she got in the door, it was a culture shock. Sure, outside of work she saw her friends on a Friday night at Central Perk (Jordan only sometimes working that shift), and on Saturday mornings at the youth centre. But this took a different kind of energy.

Still, it had been her idea. She didn’t have to call Jordan back, she could have let her down easy, told her she just didn’t have it in her to be with someone in that way right now. To be with someone who wasn’t JJ.

Instead she’d called Jordan up two days after their disastrous cinema date and asked her out to dinner – at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. She told herself it wasn’t out of guilt, her need to wine and dine the other woman. In any case, Jordan didn’t seem to mind. She was elated with how things were going. Emily also couldn’t deny it was good to have a distraction.

Because then there was JJ, who had been busy in her own right. With Elle.

Emily knew how hypocritical it was to even thinkabout being jealous. She’d resigned herself to just being JJ’s friend over a month ago, had made peace with it, and promised to be there for her. And then she’d agreed to go out with Jordan. She had no right to feel jealous. But she still did. So every time JJ left their table at lunch to say she was meeting Elle at the gym, or gushed about her when they were all together, Emily just smiled. A tight, crazed, hopefully convincing smile.

It was on a Wednesday afternoon, where Emily was trying to hold that tight smile while JJ raved on about Elle’s new class, when Penelope came running to the rescue. She had a knack for that, deliberate or not.

“Incoming!” she yelled, as if everyone couldn’t see her running up to the table, sporting a bright orange dress and waving her arms about. She held a handful of tickets in them.

Spencer pulled a seat out just in time for her to fall into it, breathing heavy. She grinned at the six expectant faces around the table. Penelope’s excited entrance wasn’t all that unusual; what was unusual was her being 20 minutes late to lunch.

“Pen, where have you been?” JJ asked, concerned. She was trying to get a look at the tickets she’d placed strategically underneath the table.

“You finally give into Kevin?” Derek asked, eyebrows waggling.

Penelope all but gagged, shooting him a glare across the table. “Firstly, EW, and secondly, no.”

Emily had only heard about Kevin briefly last week - apparently one of the new IT guys in Penelope’s department who wasn’t shy about his interest in her. She did notreciprocate. She was too bust pretending she wasn’t interested in Luke.

“So you gonna leave us in suspense all lunch or what?” Tara sent her a pointed look.

Penelope drew it out for a few more seconds before thrusting the tickets up in front of her. Her eyes were sparkling. JJ leaned in, eyes squinting.

“Themyscira?”

Penelope grinned. “It’s a new girl bar in Manhattan.”

JJ blinked. “Oh.”

Emily’s own cheeks flushed.

“They’re having their grand opening Friday night,” Penelope continued, beyond enthused. “Gloria at reception gave me the heads up.”

Derek was leaning across the table, narrowing his eyes at the tickets. “I see six tickets. Does that mean we’re all invited?”

Hotch coughed uncomfortably, straightening his tie.

Penelope cackled. “Ha! Nice try, it’s ladies only.”

Derek deflated, but raised his hands in defeat.

Penelope handed tickets to Tara, Emily and JJ. Both Emily and JJ seemed hesitant, but Tara accepted it with an appraising look. Penelope then handed Emily and JJ an extra ticket each.

“For your dates,” she said with a mischievous smile.

Emily and JJ took the tickets from her, both desperately avoiding eye contact with the other.

“Uh, thank you,” Emily said, quickly stuffing the tickets into her coat pocket.

“No problem,” Penelope replied, still smiling. And then she was back into planning mode. “Gloria said she’s pretty sure she can get us more tickets if any of the others want to join, we should take this opportunity to have a real girls night! Allies are welcome.”

Derek raised a hand. “I’m an ally. And open to new experiences.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Sorry honey, but there’s bound to be some bachelorette party crashing the place, thinking it’s a gay bar, and you, with all your You, will just cause chaos.”

Derek smiled at that, all but puffing out his chest.

Penelope turned to Hotch. “Would Haley be interested?”

Hotch nearly choked on his coffee. “Um, I’m sure she’d be flattered to be asked, but considering she’s 6 months pregnant…”

Penelope cackled again, waving him off. “I’m just messing with you, don’t worry.”

Hotch nodded, though still looked uncomfortable.

“God knows I need a night out,” Tara let out a sigh of relief.

“So should we be sat anxiously by the phone Friday night?” Spencer chimed in beside her.

Penelope laughed. “I appreciate you’re concern, sweetie, but we’ll be fine.”

Spencer smiled back. “Well I hope you have a good time.”

“Thank you,” Penelope replied. “Should be a fun night!”

Emily and JJ kept their eyes and their focus on the food in front of them, minds reeling.

* * *

“You good?”

JJ broke her gaze away from the window, turning to face Elle who was sat beside her in the back of the taxi.

“I’m fine,” JJ replied, with an obviously nervous smile.

Elle wasn’t fooled. “This can just be a normal night out,” she said, “No pressure.”

“Right,” JJ nodded.

Elle gave her a moment before speaking again. “Or we can just turn around right now. I can go home, if you want.”

“No, don’t do that,” JJ hurried out, panicked. More by the thought of ditching Elle or leaving her to turn up dateless, she couldn’t say.

Elle smiled. “Well okay then, I’ll stay.”

JJ nodded, relieved. Then she felt Elle’s hand cover her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. She started to panic again.

“Are we going with the plan, or no?”

The plan. The past couple of weeks JJ had been keeping up the pretense that her and Elle were dating: running around all over New York, having romantic dates and spending their evenings at Elle’s apartment. That last part was true. But it was more pizza sat at Elle’s kitchen table than cuddled up on the couch watching romcoms.

Still, JJ found she enjoyed Elle’s company. She was funny, and called things as she saw them. Probably most importantly, JJ felt she could be honest with her. Maybe it was because she didn’t know her that well, wasn’t in her inner circle of friends.

She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to Elle’s plan – and had made it clear she wouldn’t go along with it for more than a month. Elle had laughed, telling her they wouldn’t need that long. I’ve been watching you both for a week now and it won’t be long before it happens, either way,Elle had said. Before what happens?JJ had asked, dumbly. Elle just smirked. Before one of you breaks.

Up until that night it had all been a lie behind closed doors, everyone just having to go by JJ’s word. But now here they were, about to spend the night together with all eyes on them. Emily’s eyes on them.

JJ’s head was swimming; she felt like she was on a crazed rocking ship that she wanted to jump off of. But she’d chosen to get on it. Wouldn’t jumping now be a waste? Steeling herself, she squeezed back.

“Yes. Let’s do this.”

* * *

What looked like a never ending line of people wound around the corner of the sidewalk as they drew closer: mostly women, dressed in varying fashion from sleek dresses to jeans and t shirts. But there was also the odd man accompanying them, wearing impossibly tight jeans and gelled back hair. Tattoos, piercings, dress pants, heels, frills, suit jackets. It was the greatest amalgamation of people Emily had ever seen congregated in one space.

“I thought Penelope said this was a bar?” Jordan asked from beside her in the back of the cab.

“That’s what she said, yeah,” Emily said, eyes still glued to the crowd.

As they got closer it became ever clearer that this wasn’t a bar. No, the people were too excited, already in the dancing spirit, drinks passing eagerly between them. This wasn’t a bar. It was a club. As if she hadn’t been nervous enough about tonight. Fantastic.

As aggravated as she was with Penelope for being loose on her definition of the place, she was glad she’d got them tickets beforehand. It meant they didn’t have to wait among the ever increasing boisterous group of people queuing up outside. She couldn’t deny the power trip she felt by just walking past them all to the entrance, and flashing two shining pink tickets to the bouncer outside.

He was just as you’d expect a bouncer to look – like he could throw three men twice his weight in an Olympic event and get the gold. Except he had a rainbow tattoo on his left bicep, bulging as he flexed. He gave them an impossibly sweet smile as he stamped their hands, telling them to have a good night.

Emily had already had so many expectations flipped before walking through the door, she didn’t know what to expect.

The door creaked open, and a blinding golden light washed over the sidewalk. Dazed, Emily walked through, following the music thumping from inside. There were stairs descending down, winding towards the light. It was a funny feeling, walking downtowards light. The music got louder, vibrating in Emily’s bones, and she realised that she recognised it. It was only when they reached the bottom of the stairs that the lyrics became apparent.

They say in heaven, love comes first.

We’ll make heaven a place on earth.

The beat dropped, and Emily let the guitar notes flow through her ears as she took in the sight before her: the epicenter of the golden light.

Before them was a vast space, so brightly lit you’d never believe it was underground. A dance floor expanded at their feet, already filled with elated partygoers – matching the demographic of the queue outside; like every Sapphic woman in the world had been beckoned here, dragging along the odd ally.

There were plants hanging from the ceiling, catching the golden light. It was almost like you could feel the life growing from them, like you really were bathed in sunlight down here. It was complimented by the scent in the air: what could only be described as a sea breeze. Blue shutters aligned the walls, beside arching palm trees and pits of sand. It had to be artificial, all of it. But something about it felt so real.

It was all illuminated by the brightest object in the space, a shining golden sign hanging above the bar, reading in neon cursive, Themyscira.

Emily had to admit; if she was going to be tricked into coming to a nightclub, this was a pretty good one.

“You made it!”

Emily snapped her eyes away from the sign, moving back to the dance floor. Pushing her way through the undulating crowd was a very neon pink Penelope. Her cheeks were flush, most likely from dancing and the alcohol that was bound to already be in her system. Tara and Kate were close behind, offering a wave in greeting but lost in the music. They all looked amazing, catching the eye of a number of women around them.

“Bar huh?” Emily replied, moving forward hesitantly onto the dance floor.

Penelope just waved her off. “So I was loose with my meaning, come on!” She threw her arms out, nearly whacking a thankfully jovial girl in the face. “You can’t say this place isn’t amazing!”

Emily laughed, shaking her head. “It’s pretty impressive.”

Penelope grinned in triumph. Her eyes then lit up, fully taking in the sight of her friend – and her date.

“Oh no, this won’t do.”

Before Emily could protest Penelope was pulling the coats off of both her and Jordan. She threw them over her arm, looking back up at the bare armed women.

She smiled. “Much better.”

Emily gave her a half heartened one back, rubbing her arms self-consciously.

She’d tried to put a little effort into her appearance tonight, opting for a sleek silver top similar to the one she’d worn on New Years, and tight black jeans. Not expecting to be in such a hot environment, however, she’d presumed she’d be wearing her jacket over it most of the night. She felt too exposed. Jordan was smiling beside her, in a shiny purple top and blue jeans, absolutely elated with the surprising turn of events.

“Come on, we’ll get these to the cloakroom.”

Emily gave Jordan a small smile back as they followed Penelope through the crowd.

* * *

“Did Pen bribe the DJ?”

JJ had spotted Tara and Kate dancing animatedly in the centre of the crowd after a minute of searching. Elle followed close behind, taking in the atmosphere with a careful eye.

Tara and Kate halted their dancing to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,faces lighting up at the sight of JJ.

“Heeeey!” They shouted in unison.

JJ laughed. She loved this kind of drunk, only a few drinks in when everything was still giddy and fun.

“Heeey to you too,” she greeted back.

Elle gave a polite nod beside her.

“This place is pretty cool,” JJ said, taking another appreciative glance around as if to make her point.

“Right?!” Kate screamed in agreement, body still bouncing. She put a hand to her chest. “Thank you for letting me be your ally tonight.”

JJ laughed. “It’s a pleasure. Hey, where can we put our coats?”

Tara pointed behind them to the left, where a glowing sign read: cloakroom.

“Thanks,” JJ smiled back. She pointed between the two of them. “And I’m getting whatever you’re having when I get back.”

Her friends’ laughter faded behind her as she and Elle made thier way to the cloakroom.

* * *

Emily stopped in her tracks just as they were about to step back out onto the dance floor. It was like all the light in the room had radiated to a singular spot, making everything else obsolete. She was here. Walking right towards her. JJ.

* * *

“Showtime.”

“What?”

JJ had frozen at the sight of Emily, appearing out from the cloakroom with Jordan right next to her. She was still processing the image when Elle grabbed her hand.

“You ready?” she asked, giving her one last chance to back out.

JJ looked back to Emily, how beautiful she looked, with her arms bare, pale and lean, smooth neckline running down to her chest… And Jordan beside her, smiling so brightly, obviously enamored. JJ squeezed Elle’s hand back.

“Okay,” she said.

* * *

Emily hadn’t had this much fun in her life – was what she was thinking when Penelope succeeded in getting her to attempt to sing along to the rap in Wannabe.In actual fact, there wasn’t much thinking going on at all - which was for the best.

All there was was music rattling her bones and lights shining on her face and tequila running through her veins. Let it be known that Emily Prentiss on tequila is perhaps the only Emily Prentiss who will willingly sing along to a Spice Girls’ song in the middle of a packed nightclub.

She was surrounded by friends, trying to dance, sing and laugh all at once. Outside of their little circle was a sea of people; all free to be who they were in this space, on this night. Everything was great – until Emily caught Elle running her hands along JJ’s hips. That was when she decided it was time for more tequila. Needless to say, her trips to the bar had been frequent.

“Be right back!” she shouted to her friends over the music, signaling to the bar.

Tara snorted. “Yeah, maybe you should get a hefty shot of water!”

Emily ignored her and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She could feel Jordan following her. She hadn’t left her side all night. It was sweet, but it made that heavy feeling in her stomach worse.

Emily didn’t even have to give her order when she slid into a seat at the bar. The bartender just smirked, reaching for the large bottle on the shelf behind her.

“I think this should be your last,” she said as Emily handed over her money, giving her a measured look.

Emily just laughed. “Yeah okay.”

She downed her shot in one, letting out a sigh of relief as she felt the burn in her throat. She turned to Jordan, motioning to the bar. “Do you want something?”

Jordan just smiled that small smile. “No I’m fine thanks.”

Emily nodded, still able to see the concern in her date’s face through the tequila haze. She turned back to the bartender.

“Water’s free right?”

The bartender laughed, but also looked relieved. A second later a generous glass of water came sliding down the bar. She caught it just in time. She gave Jordan a ‘are you happy now?’look over the top of her glass, and she visibly relaxed. Even through all the concoctions of emotions swirling in Emily’s stomach at that moment, it was nice, to have someone looking out for her. She passed the water to Jordan when she’d drunk half, but she insisted she finish, getting herself one of her own.

Emily continued to drink, when the song playing shifted. It was a more modern hit, but she knew it – it was Britney, so Penelope already had her well versed in all the hits. With the ear piercing violin in the opening section, she was pretty sure this one had only been released a couple of years ago.

Her eyes fell back on the dance floor, and she was met with an excruciating, but what was by now an expected sight – Elle and JJ dancing closer than anyone else in the club, Elle’s hands firm on JJ’s waist, rocking them both to the music, matching it’s sexy, almost dirty rhythm. JJ flung her head back, golden hair cascading through the air, long tan neck fully exposed. Elle was all but leering at her. Emily downed the rest of her water, resisting the urge to order another shot.

“Looks like you ladies could use some company?”

An alarm bell went off in Emily’s head, and it was like all the alcohol was immediately flushed out of her system. She saw Jordan’s apprehensive look before slowly turning around.

Sat in the seat next to her was a man, a horrific looking man, dressed in some god awful black and purple number with a popped collar, far too much gel in his hair, slicking it back in a way that made her want to gag, and a ridiculous goatee to top it all off. He was smirking at them, and it only made her more on edge. Oh hell no.

“We’re fine, thanks,” she bit out, turning away from him. Please take a hint, god.

“Well, I think someone needs to cut loose a little,” he continued, voice as oily as his hair, “How about some more drinks? On me.”

He was twirling the little pink umbrella that came with all the cocktails. Emily wanted to stab him with it.

“We’ve had enough, thanks,” Jordan answered, looking anxiously between him and Emily. She could see she was about to snap.

“You do know this is a club for women,” Emily said, teeth clenched. “Who are interested in otherwomen.”

The man just smirked. “Why limit ourselves, huh? I’m Viper.”

Emily snorted. “And I’m leaving.”

She got up from her seat, and made for the dance floor, Jordan following after her. But then she heard a yelp from behind. She spun around in a flash. And saw Viperwith a slimy hand on Jordan’s waist. She saw red. It was like her body took over, and she had no control over the woman that was stepping forward, tearing the man’s hand off Jordan, twisting his own behind his back and slamming him against the bar. His head hit it with a thud. He screamed out. She didn’t care.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” she spat out.

He tried to choke out words even as his face was going red. “I was just - ”

Emily pushed harder. “You’re a parasite.”

He didn’t reply. She held him there for a few seconds more, waiting.

“Sorry,” came the pathetic apology.

Emily relented, letting him go, though she still wasn’t satisfied. Viper tried his best on get back on his feet, standing tall like he hadn’t just nearly had his head smashed in. The apology didn’t last long.

“Did you see what she just did?!” he demanded, turning to the bartender.

But she just held up her hands, looking lost. “I didn’t see nothing, was busy serving – sorry.”

She’d seen the whole thing, very clearly, with wide eyes. Emily sent her a small smile as a thank you, and she just nodded back. The bouncer from outside was called in shortly after, all too happy to escort Viper off the premises.

Emily turned to Jordan.

“Are you okay?” she asked, eyes imploring.

Jordan opened and closed her mouth, speechless. “Um, yeah. Emily, are you?”

Emily didn’t answer. Having heard Jordan was okay, she swiftly ran off to the restroom.

* * *

JJ felt like she was flying. The music, and the lights, and the people, the laughter. Even the heavy smell of sweat that was starting to seep through everything. It was all great.

Three drinks down and she’d stopped worrying so much, about how she looked, what the others thought, what Emily thought. She let Elle lead her, swaying their bodies together to the music. She leaned into her, body warm, and breath hot on her cheek. Everything was so hot. For a short time she was back to that woman a few years ago, first encountering Elle and being completely enraptured. Tonight she’d indulged herself, given that woman exactly what she’d wanted for so long. She was drunk on it.

And then she’d seen Emily race past them and it was like a bubble burst. Her eyes landed on Jordan, standing there looking after her, perplexed.

“What’s going on?” JJ asked, voice sharp.

Jordan gestured, unable to find the right words. She mumbled out something to do with a man and Emily fighting him off. JJ didn’t offer Elle an explanation before - for the second time in in her company - she went chasing after Emily.

The restroom wasn’t too crowded, only a few women gathered around the mirror stretching along the wall, checking their makeup and exchanging lipstick. JJ gave them a polite smile before moving forward cautiously. Only three stalls were closed. She felt insane as she stood there, listening for any sign of Emily. She couldn’t say what led her to the stall at the end, but she just knew.

“Emily?” she said, voice soft as she approached the door.

There was a panicked fumble on the other side. JJ took another step forward, checking over her shoulder quickly, but the women had already left.

“Emily, it’s JJ, are you okay?”

She stood back as the door squeaked open. Emily stood opposite her, looking as beautiful as ever, but with mascara smudged around her eyes.

“I just needed to cool down,” she said plainly, moving past her without sparing her a glance. “I’m fine, thanks for checking.”

JJ watched on as Emily washed her hands at the sink, the running water and the pounding music from behind the walls the only sound in the room. JJ passed Emily a paper towel before she could get her own.

“Thanks,” she said, quietly, still avoiding eye contact.

JJ’s eyes softened. “Emily what happened out there?” She couldn’t believe how sober she felt compared to a minute ago.

“Nothing,” Emily mumbled out, tossing the paper into the trash. “Just this asshole bothering me and Jordan.”

JJ frowned. “And you what? Beat him up?”

She was glad to hear Emily laugh, and even more so to see the smile on her face when she turned back around.

“Something like that.”

Emily paused, picking at her nails. It was a habit JJ had noticed she was accustomed to when nervous. She held herself back from stepping forward and covering her hands with her own.

“I got a bit out of control,” Emily admitted.

JJ looked up from her hands, surprised at her candor. Emily still had her head down. She waited to see if she’d say anything else. She didn’t.

“You’re okay now?” she asked. That was all she was concerned with at that moment.

There was a hesitation before Emily nodded her head. In the silence between them, the muffled music through the walls seemed to get louder. Feeling bold, JJ took another step forward.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she said.

They were words she’d most certainly said before, not that long ago in fact. Still, she hoped that maybe if she kept saying them, with just a little more feeling each time, that one day Emily would believe them.

JJ nearly took a step back when Emily raised her head, meeting her gaze. She felt like she’d overstepped. Maybe she should just leave, go back to Elle. And Emily would go back to Jordan, where they were meant to be.

Emily opened her mouth to speak. And then the room plunged into darkness.

JJ instinctively reached out for the sink beside them, grasping it to give her something to ground herself. The lights had cut? What had happened? Was there a power cut?

“Whoa, that gave me a fright,” she said, with a light laugh.

But Emily didn’t reply. The music had cut as well, making it easy to hear the gasping breaths coming from beside her. JJ’s heart lurched. Oh course. God, how could you be so stupid, JJ?

“Emily,” she said, voice steady, calm. “Emily, you’re okay.”

She reached out in the dark but all she was met with was thin air. Keeping her hands on the counter, she moved along, slowly, not wanting to startle her.

“Emily, it’s me, JJ.”

The breathing got louder, and she knew if she took one more step Emily would be right next to her. She stopped.

“Emily.”

“Where are you?! I can’t see you!”

Emily was shouting out for someone, but JJ was pretty sure it wasn’t for her.

“Emily, you’re in the bathroom of a nightclub,” JJ said, keeping her tone calm. “You’re here, with me, JJ.”

“JJ?” Emily’s voice cracked, and she knew even without the use of her name, that she was back with her.

“Yeah, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

Feeling more confident, JJ took one more step to reach her. She held out her hand in the dark, and cold fingers grasped back. She squeezed Emily’s hand tight.

“I’m right here,” she said again. She said it until Emily’s breaths relaxed.

The two of them stood there in the dark, breathing slowly, hands held tight.

* * *

“There you are!” Penelope shouted, hands falling down in exasperation.

She hurried out of the nightclub as fast as her six-inch heels would allow, pausing briefly to look both ways before crossing the road. The club was still generating a substantial queue outside.

Emily and JJ looked up from their spot sat on the sidewalk, smiling when greeted with the comical sight.

“We were worried!” Penelope said, plopping down next to them at the edge of the road.

Tara, Kate, Jordan and Elle all followed, pulling their jackets closer in the cool night air.

“Sorry,” JJ apologised, grimacing, “We just needed some air.”

Penelope looked at her suspiciously, and then to Emily. She had her jacket wrapped tightly around herself, not quite shaking, but not entirely stable either. Despite the smile she gave her, Penelope knew something wasn’t right. Her and JJ were sat so close they were nearly touching. Penelope decided to drop the matter for now.

“Okay,” she said, and both JJ and Emily relaxed.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jordan asked, sitting down next to Emily.

She rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. Emily gave her a weak but thankful smile back.

She was still mortified from what had happened, what she’d let JJ see in her. Once she’d stopped sleeping next to her she’d thought those encounters were behind them. Clearly not. She’d tried to stay calm, level headed. But as soon as the lights cut any sense was gone, and she was right back there. Back in that house. And then JJ was there.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for running out like that,” Emily said, “I just needed some air.”

Jordan shook her head. “No need to apologise, as long as you’re okay.”

Emily nodded, and put her hand on Jordan’s knee as a way of apology. JJ’s eyes tore away from them. Both Penelope and Elle shared a knowing look.

“Shame about that power cut huh?” Elle said, looking down to JJ.

She snapped herself out of her head. “Uh, yeah. Did they fix it?”

“I think so, still, mood killer.”

Tara let out a loud bark of a laugh. “You can say that again! I’d just struck up a lovely conversation with a woman named Luisa.”

Kate snorted beside her, folding her arm. “Conversation?”

Tara shoved her in jest. “Well it was very stimulatingin any case.”

They both burst out into fits of giggles, the alcohol clearly still fogging their brains.

“I’m sorry guys,” JJ said, “You go back in, it’s okay.”

Tara shook her head adamantly. “Nah, as I said, mood killer. Besides, we can’t leave you guys out here on your lonesome!”

Both JJ and Emily smiled at that.

“Hey, why don’t we walk for a bit? Sober up,” Kate suggested, still clearly intoxicated, but not incapable of rational thought. “Maybe we can find somewhere a bit more chill?”

“Sounds good to me,” Penelope agreed. She looked to Emily. “What d’you say Prentiss?”

Emily smiled, feeling immense gratitude for her friends in that moment. “That sounds perfect.”

She took Jordan’s hand when she offered it, helping her to stand up. She tried not to glance back at JJ who took Elle’s hand at the same time.

* * *

“Pay up!”

JJ held out her hand, waiting for the group of disgruntled middle-aged men to hand over their money. She grinned.

“Thank you!”

She was in her element, hustling a bunch of ignorant men at darts. One by one they handed over their money, grumbling under their breath. All the while she just smiled up at them.

Tara whistled when she fell back into her seat at the bar. “Wowie, haven’t you been busy.”

“Next round’s on me,” JJ declared proudly.

Tara raised her glass of whiskey. “Cheers to that.”

Elle gave her a coy smile from the other side. “Aren’t you full of secrets.”

JJ blushed a little before catching the attention of the bartender.

They’d ended up at a quaint little bar tucked in an alley – not as dodgy as it sounds. It was actually lovely. Most of the punters were regulars, and while the opposite demographic to those at Themyscira, still pleasant enough. Most importantly, it was quiet, not too crowded, with the low din of Irish folk music providing a calming atmosphere. It was just what Emily needed.

She looked over to the other end of the bar when she handed over the money for their next round. Emily was sat there with Jordan, the two talking amicably. JJ pushed down the sinking feeling in her gut. She was still happy to see a smile on Emily’s face again.

Penelope and Kate bounced up to them, having made another trip to the bathroom – a testament to how much they’d drank.

“Just in time,” JJ said, handing over her top up.

She knew how much Penelope could handle, and would cut her off when she deemed appropriate. Thankfully they hadn’t reached that point yet.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled. “JJ, I love you and your unexpected dart skills.”

JJ laughed. “I know.”

She glanced over her shoulder to Emily and Jordan, still deep in conversation. She plastered on a smile.

“Hey, you guys want a top up?”

They broke away from each other, smiling at the offer.

“That’d be great, thank you!” Jordan enthused.

“Merci beaucoup,” Emily said with a small smile.

Penelope squealed. “Oh I love when she does that!”

Emily laughed. “Speak French? It was hardly a monologue.”

Penelope waved her off. “You know exactly what you do when you do that. In fact.”

She turned to JJ who was looking at her uneasily.

Penelope grinned. “JJ, you love a woman who speaks another language, don’t you?”

JJ’s eyes blew wide, imploring. Maybe Penelopehadhad too much to drink. Penelope just continued smiling, turning to Elle.

“Elle you speak Spanish right?”

JJ rolled her eyes.

Elle smirked. “Si eso es correcto.”

Penelope threw her hands up. “See? Sexy.”

Everyone broke into laughter - Emily too - JJ was pleased to see. She turned back to catch the bartender again when she felt someone walk up behind her.

“That was pretty impressive back there.”

She looked over her shoulder to find a tall man standing there, well over 6 foot, wearing a stained white shirt and an unkempt beard. She rolled her eyes, but offered him a curt thanksbefore turning back. But of course he didn’t get the hint. A second later he was leaning over the bar, right between her and Elle. Elle blinked, an amused yet aggravated expression forming, as if to say, wow this dick has balls.

“So,” the man started, “How about I buy you a drink and you give me some tuition.”

He shot her a smile that made her skin crawl. She was sure he thought it was charming, and it had unfortunately maybe even worked before on a few poor girls.

“As lovely as that sounds,” JJ said, trying to hold back a laugh, “I’m actually here with someone.”

The man’s brows shot up in surprise. “Uh…” He looked around, trying to spot the man in question.

Elle finally spoke up. “Behind you dipshit.”

He swerved around to find Elle giving him a sweet smile. She gave a little wave.

The man laughed. “Right. Very funny.” He turned back to JJ. “You don’t have to be rude about it, I was just tryna be nice.”

JJ shook her head. “No joke, she’s my date. So I’d appreciate it if you left us alone.”

The man just continued to laugh. “Darling, don’t try it. I know there’s no way you’re a - ”

He never finished his words. Elle jumped back in surprise as JJ reached forward in a flash, pinching the man’s hand just so.He let out a yelp of pain. JJ smiled, satisfied.

“Message clear now?”

The man nodded, dazed and stumbling away, right out the door.

Elle whistled. “Wow, you really have been holding out on me.”

JJ shrugged, taking a swig from her beer.

“You do know that’s like, my job, taking care of guys like that?” Elle said. “You kinda stepped on my toes there, I feel put out.”

JJ laughed, pushing into her shoulder. She looked up, catching Emily watching them. Her eyes darted away as soon they met JJ’s, focusing back onto Jordan.

“Wonder if they do swatting away fuck boys discounts in this place,” Elle said.

JJ broke her gaze from Emily, and kept laughing, leaning further into Elle’s shoulder.

For the next half hour she felt a lightness that she fully embraced, laughing at Elle’s jokes and basking in her compliments. It was nice, to not be worrying about the other brunette across the bar. She knew the whole thing was a lie, but Elle was great company. She’d enjoyed their time together. Watching her throw back another drink with ease, she thought, maybe this could make me happy. Maybe this could be enough.

These were pretty much the last coherent thoughts she had at the bar. Somewhere along the way, after the third or fourth drink, she’d ended up swaying on top of the bar with Penelope and Kate, helping to hold each other up. Thankfully most of the punters had cleared out by that point. JJ let out a mammoth screech when Tara flicked a song on from the jukebox in the corner.

“This is my jam!” She screamed.

Her friends broke out into floods of laughter. And so JJ, Penelope and Kate precariously danced and sang along to Stevie Nicks on top of a grimy bar somewhere in a back alley.

She remembered blonde hair flying in front of her as she threw her head back and forth, and then her foot catching thin air in front of her. Suddenly she was tumbling off the bar, the haze of alcohol postponing the panic that set in. She hardly had time to feel it when she felt a strong pair of cool arms around her. She threw her head back, finding Emily’s big brown eyes staring back at her.

“Don’t really have the numbers to crowd surf,” she said, smiling.

JJ gave her a bashful smile in return, quick to scramble back to her feet. The fall had sobered her up somewhat.

“I think I need something to eat.”

Emily laughed. “I think we all do.”

Penelope and Kate were still singing out of tune, swaying back and forth dangerously close to the bar. Elle, Jordan and Tara were getting ready to catch them if need be. All the while, the elderly bartender in the back was unphased, getting ready to close up for the night.

JJ nodded. “Let’s go get some food.”

* * *

“You know what, men are really awful aren’t they?”

Kate rambled on as they approached a food truck that was still open at 2am. Bless New York City. They all had their coats back on, wrapped up to stay warm in the bitter chill of a January night.

“Well, yeah,” Tara said, as if it were obvious.

Kate laughed, giving her a light slap, still gleefully tipsy. “I mean really! They are terrible.”

Tara nodded. “No argument here.”

Kate paused, as if she was deep in thought. “You know, I never thought about it before, but when that woman at the club tried giving me her number, I really could have.”

Tara frowned. “But Chris?”

Kate nodded, a dopey smile forming. “I love Chris.”

“Well that’s good, you’re marrying him.”

“I know! I’m lucky.” She blinked, as if remembering her point. “But I think I could have! If Chris wasn’t a thing, if he never existed, which would SUCK, but if he didn’t – I think I could be with a woman.”

Tara let out a whistle and gave her a firm pat on the back. “Way to go Kate!” She called ahead to the others. “Hey, we converted her!”

Penelope grinned back. “Oh yay! Our plan worked!”

They all descended into giggles, finally reaching the glorious beacon that was the food truck. JJ pulled her purse out of her bag, opening it up. But she was met with emptiness.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” Penelope asked, leaning over.

“I cleared myself out.”

One by one, they all rummaged about in their purses, turning them inside out, flapping them in the air. But the most they could collectively come up with wouldn’t buy them more than one hotdog.

“Will this do? Don’t think I can count them right now.”

Emily stood forward, handing JJ her purse. She blinked, looking down at it. Emily just smiled, still a bit tipsy from the last drink they’d had before leaving the bar. JJ felt like she was taking advantage, but opened up the purse when Emily motioned for her to. Well, this certainly will do,she thought, seeing the wads of cash still present.

She was about to hand them over to the vendor when she noticed the little window on the left hand side of the purse, where people sometimes keep ID cards. Inside it was picture. JJ’s heart leapt. It was a picture of them, her and Emily, the one that they’d taken on Emily’s birthday, the Empire State Building gleaming in the background. Emily had such a big, carefree smile on her face. She loved that picture. And apparently, so did Emily.

She snapped the purse shut as soon as she’d gathered the money, handing it back to Emily with a quick thank you.She tried not to think about why Emily had chosen the picture of only them, and not the one with the whole group together. Maybe she just liked herself better in that one, right? Right.

The vendor accepted the money with a wide grin, promising to get their hotdogs ready in a flash. The other women gawked at Emily, who was absent-mindedly kicking the snow off her shoes.

“You bought a mountain of drinks at the club!” Penelope accused, “How much money did you bring out?”

Emily shrugged. The others dropped the matter quickly, just so relieved to fill their alcohol saturated stomachs. Still, Elle fell into step beside JJ as they continued walking, smirking.

“Your girl’s really loaded huh?” She said in a hushed voice.

JJ rolled her eyes.

“I can see why you like her so much now.”

They continued walking, eager to get their dose of fresh air after such a fun filled night. JJ and Elle walked out front, followed by Emily and Jordan, and Penelope, Tara and Kate trailing behind. They were deep in a very serious conversation.

“So Tara got some action tonight, I consideredit.” Kate looked at Penelope suspiciously. “How come you were so chaste?”

They were all starting to sober up a bit more with each mouthful of hotdog. Penelope looked stricken by the question.

“I wasn’t asked,” she said, focusing on finishing her food.

Kate barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right, I saw about five girls come up to you, and that was only when I was looking. Really, what gives?”

Tara was holding back a smirk, knowing fine well what Penelope’s dilemma was. The blonde remained adamant with keeping her mouth full, unable to answer. There was a glint in Kate’s eye.

“You like someone, don’t you?”

Penelope nearly spat out the remainder of her hot dog. “What? No! That’s ridiculous.” She hesitated, and then, ever so quietly, “What did you hear?”

“Ha!”

Penelope deflated, knowing she’d given herself away – finally. She threw her hands up in frustration.

“I hate it! So many tantalizing prospects tonight, and I couldn’t make myself want any of them!”

Kate drew in a sharp breath. “That’s rough.”

Penelope nodded sadly. Tara threw an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into it.

“Hey, you know what?” She said, a glint of mischievousness in her dark eyes.

Penelope snapped her head up, hanging onto her words. “What?”

Tara grinned. She pointed ahead down the road. “Luke’s apartment is right round that corner.”

Penelope froze, considering her words. The others had all stopped, waiting for her response, some fearful, some excited. When Penelope’s face broke out into a grin JJ knew the night wasn’t over yet.

* * *

“Romeo, oh Romeo! Where art thou Romeo?!” A pause. “What’s the rest?”

Tara shrugged.

Penelope shrugged back, repeating the same words she had been for the past five minutes. She threw another rock up to the fifth floor window, giggling in glee. Kate was assisting, scurrying the snow-covered street for more ammunition for her friend. The other women stood at a safe distance, disbelieving at the sight in front of them, but unable to look away.

“Shouldn’t we stop her?” Jordan asked, looking around with concern.

Elle laughed, shaking her head. “No way.” She proceeded to take out her phone, filming the whole event unfold.

“Poor Luke,” JJ said, head falling into her hands.

“Yeah,” Emily agreed from beside her. “Although at least she’s confessed now. To liking him.”

JJ bit her lip. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Jordan walked over to them, motioning to the window that had become Penelope’s target. “Are we sure that’s Luke’s apartment?”

Emily shrugged. “That’s what Tara said.”

Jordan nodded, not looking any more at ease. “This is insane.”

Emily smiled. “It’s romantic.”

They watched on as Penelope continued to chant Shakespeare, throwing rocks up at varying degrees of success, Kate handing her more as they went. They all burst out into laughter.

“Okay, it’s insane.”

Penelope’s next rock pinged off at an angle as the window was flung open. They all froze, waiting with baited breath.

“What the fuck are you kids doing?!” An old woman, had to be in her 80’s, screeched out.

Penelope and Kate scrambled, pushing each other forward to cross the road.

“Yeah, you better run!”

There was then a concerning sound from the apartment. Penelope’s eyes blew wide.

“Does she have a gun?!”

“I don’t know, just keep running!”

All seven women went running off down the street, leaving a trail of frenzied tracks in the snow. Their heavy breathing soon turned into laughter as they turned a corner.

“I could have sworn that was his apartment,” Tara said, frowning in thought. “Maybe it was 503.”

They’d all decided that now was time to call it a night, getting their phones out to call for a couple of taxi’s home. They sat on the sidewalk, waiting.

The welcome sound of tires crunching snow soon travelled down the street, and Penelope stepped out to greet their presumed taxi. But it wasn’t a taxi. Her face blanched, spinning around and motioning for the others to run.

“What?” JJ asked, confused. Her eyes popped at the sight. “Oh fuck.”

It wasn’t a taxi. It was police car. And when the officer stepped out, JJ cursed again.

It was Will.

#jemily #feelings 101 #criminal minds #Jennifer Jareau #emily prentiss #fanfiction #mine

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freddiefcknmercury · 3 years

Text

A Promise(part 2)- Crimson & Clover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader(Black coded/Genderless)

Word Count: 2.7+

Warnings/Disclaimer: SMUT. ANGST. cursing. mild depression/heart-ache. etc etc. if something needs to be tagged please lemme know.

A/N: LOL I'm back on my bullshit yall. heavy angst/depression from the previous Steve centered storyline so if you haven't read "You really think I didn't know?" I'll do some magic linky links here and at the bottom just in case. Also I'm trying something kinda different with the way I post the fics so feedback is welcome.

ALSO this one comes with a tiny playlist! there are Bolded lyrics throughout if you want to get a deeper sense of where I was emotionally writing this and where reader is as well you can Def give these songs a listen, they are in order of appearance:

Crimson & Clover- Tommy James & The Shondells

Every Time I Breathe- Arlissa

Navy Blue - Hasani

Summary: Bucky takes an extended leave for "work" related reasons and reader slips back into some dark places in his absence...

~*As always, be Nice to me I’m Delicate*~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He said he might be gone most of the week. Sam called the day before and all you know is it's something important. He didn't go into detail, just packed a bag and you'd never seen him do that before. But he was also only gone a day or two at a time and never felt the need to tell you about it before now either.

Up until recently you'd tip-toe around each other. Not like you used to with Steve though, worse. Bucky is a lot better at making sure you don't know he's there until it's too late. It felt like you'd never get used to each other, or more likely that you'd never want to. You might've still been secretly hoping that he'd stop caring and go away... after a while you got tired of your own bullshit and realized he's giving off that vibe on purpose. Wordlessly telling you how you should feel about him, not wanting to get too close. You never much liked being told what to do.

It was only about two months before you became a Barnes' expert. You'd sit up at night listening intently for when he'd shower, get in bed, or wake up. He never slept more than five maybe six hours at a time, you'll never understand how he can function like that. You know how he likes his coffee, which angle he holds his cup. How and where he takes off his shoes, how much ice he puts in a drink, the way he likes to cut his toast, and what time he has to do all of it. There's an almost unnerving pattern to him, one that's always been there and you were just unwilling to notice for so long, and you're not sure if he's even aware of it.

You woke up to him already gone. You knew he was leaving but actually being left alone like that unsettled you more than you anticipated, a serious case of Deja vu. You went into your routine like normal, because everything still was, but by the fifth day... you stepped into the front room and got that empty feeling. One you hadn't really had since...

It stopped you for a few seconds longer than you liked and a large knot formed in your stomach. You spent the whole day trying to ignore the feeling but it only got worse. Like a hunger pain but much more vague, crawling through each muscle. You'd catch yourself staring at his room, Bucky's room but also... Steve's. It's the first time you let yourself admit to him fully crossing your mind in over a year.

You laid up in bed, trying to count the metaphorical sheep to no avail. Getting up thinking that a snack or a warm drink will stop the restlessness, you pause in the tiny hallway shared by your bedrooms. The low blue light from the moon outside dustily illuminating the space through a cloudy bathroom window. You stare at the door like any second he's going to ask what you're doing up so late and you can tell him to mind his own business while pouring two cups of tea.

You just wanted to touch the knob; turn it to make sure it still works- that you're still "allowed in there if you want". But stepping inside was too far, an invasion of Bucky's privacy, and you felt it. But you couldn't help yourself. You needed to know.

They were definitely cut from the same cloth. Sparse furnishings and no decorations, save a few very small trinkets he'd held onto from who knows where. There is exactly one row on his bookshelf filled with composition notebooks that were beat to hell and back. Sticky notes lined the edge of most of the pages, so much so that they easily could've been mistaken for feathers on a quick glance. You dare not touch them. Observing someone with a past that checkered is very different to reading into the things they deem worthy of physically writing down.

Where Steve used to leave small drawings and notes Bucky left half empty ink pens and a few well used pairs of gloves. You saunter to the far corner of the room and caress a worn leather jacket hanging precariously on the lowest peg of a coat rack. Doing a slow sweep of the space something in the otherwise barren closet catches your eye. The knot in your stomach that had almost disappeared was back and it brought friends. Your shirt. His shirt. The big one that said BROOKLYN across the front, what you didn't know was your "going away gift." The one you balled up and shoved in the top corner of his closet, at the time hoping you'd never look at it again. You're amazed that it's still here, that Bucky hadn't tossed it out or tried to give it back to you when he moved in.

So you put it on. You're still not sure why but you needed to wear it. To feel it drape over your skin, enveloping you in warmth and that beautiful clean familiar scent you... loved once. It sent a shiver down your spine. The knots in your stomach were gone but now there's one in your throat. You can feel the tears seated right behind your eyes. You sit on the bed holding your face pleading with the water to stay put but it's too late. You miss him. You hate to admit it, but it's true and it always has been. You're angry and you should be, you loved him- you thought he might've loved you. Pulling the hem of the shirt up you wipe the tears off your face and fall into a pillow, trying to calm yourself out of your rage unintentionally drifting into sleep.

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

You wake up to the sound of music in the kitchen.

...Ah, now I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her...

You sit up quickly checking your phone: 11:34am. You'd fallen asleep in Bucky's room, in his bed. A blanket had been placed over you and a short scan of the room returned a brown leather duffel bag and set of black boots that weren't present last night. He'd come back early this morning and found you here. You can feel your heart fall straight out of your ass, the void that was left being filled with pure embarrassment. Is he angry? He did tuck you in...

As slowly and quietly as possible you make your way towards the door, poking your head out just enough to assess the situation. You can see his back in the kitchen, he's hovering over the sink. You notice the couch, the spare blanket and pillow from the bathroom closet folded neatly on one of the arm rests, he had to sleep there. The void gets deeper. You pull the door open just enough to slip out of and there's a quiet creak. Steve never did fix that, and you just figured out why.

Bucky didn't turn around but definitely noticed. He steps to the side, now in front of the stove and you here something crack and sizzle. You're not sure what to do here. You can try to apologies and explain but there's no un-embarrassing way out of this one. You fold your arms over your stomach trying to hold all your very delicate pieces together while you attempt to speak up. Finally reaching the bar and fully prepared to say good morning when he quickly sets a hot bowl down in front of you. White rice and a fried egg- runny yolk. You'd make it for breakfast when you'd get up early or couldn't sleep, a friend from school put you on to it. Looks like he's been studying you too. You make eye contact but, just briefly. From what little of the expression you get on his face nothing indicates that he's mad. But he hasn't said anything to the contrary either.

How was your trip? Dangerous I bet-sorry you couldn't come home and sleep in your own goddamn bed! Oh?! AND you made me breakfast!

You feel like a crazy person.

"Comfy last night?"

He's pouring himself some coffee, not yet turning your way. There's no hostility in his voice.

You chuckle nervously.

"Yeah.. sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

He sets a small glass of juice down in front of you. Heavy eye contact this time, but his expression is soft. He didn't ask for an explanation and you really didn't want to give him one. But you still feel guilt looming over you. You take the glass in both hands and nurse it.

He nods at you with a squint, taking a big sip of coffee.

"If I knew that was yours I would've given it back."

The shirt. You forgot you actually put it on. You hold your breath stroking the fabric gently. Contemplating your next words.

"It's not- well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, so I guess it does belong to me..."

Glancing back down at it you can see him realize it says "Brooklyn." His expression changes to a knowing one and it reads like regret but he quickly tries to box it back up for you. This is a new move for him.

There's a much longer pause in conversation than either of you would like before he shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Sorry."

You push glass, now empty back across the bar towards him.

"Don't worry about it-"

You swivel in your seat quickly, taking your bowl and getting up to leave. He steps out from the kitchen after you.

"Thanks for breakfast."

The tears had been welling up and started to pour over as you left. You're still in no state to pretend to be a functioning person right now. Trying to save him from your ugly cry face by escaping but he grabs your shoulder gently suggesting you backwards.

You cover your mouth to hush a sob. You can see your chest start heave but there's nothing you can do to stop yourself. He grabs the bowl setting it down carefully, then you feel a warm metal sensation squeezing the back of your neck.

"You don't have to be over it."

He's been back a couple hours and already knows you're still a mess. You scoff, laughing at yourself really.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

He whispered back quickly, exasperated, but tender.

You sniffle; pathetic.

"That's not how it feels."

"He fucked up. He just doesn't know it."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his embrace.

It's nice to feel another person. A real solid human being; you can't remember the last time you hugged someone like this. You turn in his arms to face him. He looks tired. Not just 'had-to-sleep-on-an-old-couch' tired. Emotionally repressed. Maybe he has actually wanted to talk to you. He pulls you into him, it's just a hug but it almost hurt how sweet this was.

Then a thought came to you, not really sure how, you can't handle more rejection right now; but you kissed him anyway, hard. Like him being gone almost killed you- because it did. He pulls away from you, just a little, reading your face his own expressionless. You search his eyes for any kind of hint as to what's going on inside his mind. You're not ready to admit this was a mistake yet. There's no real way to know how long you stood there like that. You only dare to move after you hear the song change in the background.

Words... thought they just fade away

but hurt... gave them a place to stay

"Do something."

You were sure it was just in your head but it creaked out past your lips in less than a whisper, pleading with him.

He covered your mouth with his, smoothing both hands down your neck to your shoulders gripping them gently, intently. You cling to his waist almost afraid to explore anywhere else, then slowly drag nails along his back. He pulls you back into him, you want to fuse with the warmth radiating off of his body, he bends and you collide onto the floor with a muffled thud. He cradles your head quickly so you don't get hurt but you wouldn't care at this point.

The way you fit into each other is unnerving, like your bodies weren't meant for anybody else. You both scramble to undress him in between breathy wet kisses and he's... magnificent. He pulls off his shirt and you swiftly run fingers from his neck down each arm. The metal one is warm, this surprises you for some reason. You watch as each "muscle" dances at your touch and you catch a small glimpse of something on his face that resembles insecurity... or fear. He shelves it quickly in response to you bucking your hips up to dismiss your underwear.

He buries his face in your neck, warm breaths ghosting your skin. Hooking his hands behind your knees he hoists your legs up around his waist. He bites down gently and you gasp. It's too much. He's everywhere, all at once. The last person to touch you event remotely close to this was-

"...Steve."

It just came out, you almost didn't notice it. Bucky stops, pulling back and away. He scans you, a pitiful, panting mess on the floor. The most vulnerable you've probably ever been and definitely in front of him. He shakes his head slowly once, chest heaving.

"No."

Knots line your stomach once again. He grabs your wrist to hold your arms in place up above your head and presses his forehead against yours.

"Look at me."

You hold eye contact there for a solid minute, you're sure of it. He leans forward delicately dragging teeth against your ear.

"You're gonna keep saying it until you can't forget."

He drops his hips and lines up with your entrance. You feel a thick wash of euphoria from the pressure, throwing your head back as much as possible given the floor. You roll your hips along to his, cradling each other perfectly.

His eyes didn't leave your face until you both feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Oh Bucky."

The only words you can remember.

You feel every stroke hasten and all his muscles tighten each time his name falls from your lips. He pulls your shirt up to your neck looking to spatter kisses and bite marks across your torso. You futilely dig one set of nails into the floor and the other in his shoulder as he hungrily growls into your stomach, cursing, longing for mercy.

"Fuck."

You pull him back up to your face demanding his tongue. You hear the floorboard creek from the pressure of a metal hand, the flesh one surely bruising your hip by now. There's a deep enduring moan from the back of his throat as he finds his release inside you. You gasp at the sensation and you both pant into each other, nothing but a mess on the floor now.

He presses a long, firm kiss into the bridge of your nose then falls gently on his back beside you. You roll your head up to look at his face, whatever it is he's feeling isn't immediately obvious as he stares up at the ceiling. You shift onto your side placing a light, cautious hand on his chest and he glances over at you, reaching to squeeze your thigh reassuringly.

The sky is Navy Blue soon to be baby blue and baby you got nothing but time...

He looks over your face in a deep sigh before retiring his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know him... The guy that left you like that."

You watch intently has his jaw clenched, he's never been able to hide that bit very well.

"I don't know what kind of..."

He trails off, clearly upset.

You sigh deeply.

"I was gonna die that night."

He rolls his head back to look at you.

"The day I met him? I had pretty much made up my mind."

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Almost reminiscent.

"But he found me in the staircase..."

You hate how subtly he did some things. If you weren't lying next to him. There's no way you'd ever be able to tell his breathing had changed.

"Essentially-"

You pick your head up, chin on his sternum.

"He saved my life."

You state matter of factually. You watch his body relax in a short, bitter way.

He rolls his head over just enough to look you in the eyes. You kiss his chest once tenderly before moving to stand up. You extend a hand down for him to grab.

"That isn't good for your back."

"You really think I didn't know?" Part1

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beelzebubisbestwaifu · 4 years

Text

Flowers for my boys (pt 4)

Coffee/flower shop AU

Demons x reader - gender neutral, fluff, pining

The charm of Diavolo’s cafe comes from, admittedly, a variety of things. Be it the cute pastries, the way the foam on the coffee is always in perfect hearts, or perhaps it’s the eight (sometimes nine) cute demons who run the place.

“Would you like more tea, my dear?” Lucifer hums, addressing a young woman sitting in the corner. Said woman and her friend giggle a bit, nervous in the presence of the eldest brother. Across the cafe, Satan cracks a witty joke about a book in the hands of a young college student. The young man responds with wide eyes, amazed that someone knew the obscure literature in his grasp.

“The scones are great,” Beams Beelzebub, chatting with a young mother and her daughter, “But here, have a cake pop on the house! I’m testing a new recipe.” The ginger demon hands the young girl an adorable lilac colored cake pop, glittery sprinkles on the top. Big bright eyes beam up at Beel.

“Thank you mister!”

“Honestly? I know some good sites for finding manga,” Levi hums, leaning on the counter and talking to three otaku customers. Regulars who know who to talk to for their anime and manga needs. The three young humans listen with intense fascination. Meanwhile, Belphegor approaches and hands a young goth their coffee. The two exchange an understanding nod, unspoken in their mutual respect. As the black-clad young person walks off, Belphie approaches his twin, making silly faces at the young girl from behind Beelzebub’s shoulder.

“Bleehhhhh,” Diavolo giggles, making faces at a baby outside. The parent watching in adoration as the handsome demon crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out. Coos from the infant have long since replaced their previous wails. Of course, Diavolo has no idea how adorable it is that he can stop babies from crying. Lucifer is too scared to bring it up.

“Nice necklace, ma’am,” Mammon hums, pouring the elderly woman a glass of water, “You’ve got good taste, I gotta admit it.” The lady grins, her cheeks rosy. She’d become a regular after her husband passed, finding the brothers (and Dio) to be like grandsons to her. Mammon always understands her heirlooms, bringing them in sometimes for appraisals.

“Ugh, Darling!!” Asmodeus coos, holding the hand of a gorgeous young makeup artist, “Who does your nails, sweetie?? I’m dying to know.” The two chat about their shared love for finery and beauty. The young man’s blush not from the makeup at all as he receives the loving attention from the beautiful demon.

Such is the natural day-to-day life of the cafe. Newcomers mix in with regulars, their faces and names remembered by the demons as they come and go.

But today, as a beautiful body enters the empty cafe, the brothers lack the words to even address them.

“Ah! (y/n)!” Diavolo greets, waving at the young human, “What brings you here?”

“We don’t need flowers?” Mammon mumbles, genuinely confused as to why the lovely florist would visit them.

“Oh no...I’m... here to try the tea and snacks,” (y/n) blushes a bit, fiddling with the sleeves of their sweater. The hearts of the demons stop, their eyes darting to each other as if to dare them to try and take the attention of their crush.

“Oh! Well then,” Diavolo approaches, gently offering his arm, “You can have the best spot in the cafe! Follow me dear.” Placing a hand on his arm, (y/n) giggles and follows him towards a beautiful two-person table in the reading nook of the cafe. The smell of old parchment and leather filling the air and mingling with the scent of coffee and tea.

“Would you like a menu?” Lucifer, who’s been trailing behind, chimes in.

“Um...” (y/n) hums, pressing a finger to their bottom lip in thought. The brothers stare at the spot where soft plush skin meets the soft pad of a finger. “Surprise me! I wanna know what you guys like.” The words barely register with the group, Mammon still staring at (y/n)’s mouth intensely.

“Ah!! You heard em,” Lucifer huffs, herding his siblings off, “M o v e.” The demons scatter like ants, leaving Belphegor. The demon having already grabbed a glass of ice and a pitcher of water. Setting the glass down, Belphie smiles and fills (y/n)’s cup with crystal-clear water.

“Hi Belphie,” Coos the florist, “You look lovely today, dear.” A slight blush ghosts over the youngest brother’s ears.

“Thank you (y/n), you’re always so sweet to us,” Belphegor smiles and walks off, disappearing into the kitchen. Though the florist is so distracted by this, they havent noticed Asmodeus plop down across from them with a plate of samples.

“Hello beautiful,” Asmo grins, taking a fork and skewering a piece of strawberry cheesecake and holding it up to (y/n)’s lips, “Say ‘ah’!” the human giggles, leaning forward and parting their lips , taking the cheesecake into their mouth and closing their eyes. Savoring the sweet flavor of the strawberry mixing in with the richness of the cheesecake.

“Mmmm,” Hums the radiant human, opening their eyes and seeing the glowing face of Asmo, “So yummy!” The demon smiles back, picking up a chocolate covered strawberry and holding it up to (y/n). Said human takes a bite, lips stained by the pink juice from the sweet treat. The undying urge to kiss the human grips Asmodeus, his whole body tensing as he stares at (y/n)’s glistening lips. But he doesn’t know if such a kiss would be reciprocated, and given his reputation as Avatar of Lust it must be better to take things slow with his puppy-love crush.

“My tuuuurrrrnnnn,” Huffs Levi, yanking Asmo out of the way and plopping down in his seat with a cup of bubble tea. The demon of lust grumbles and walks away, arms crossing.

“Hi Levichan,” Coos (y/n), “What flavor is this?” A blush explodes on Levi’s face as he holds out the cup.

“I-It’s black tea with a little bit of milk and t-tapioca pearls,” Leviathan blushes aggressively, “Classic bubble tea...yknow...” Looking away, the envious demon tries to find something, anything to look at that isn’t the most beautiful 3D entity he’s ever seen. But when a soft hand is placed over the two he’s got clasped around the cup, Levi snaps his gaze back to (y/n). The human has their hands placed over his, sipping from the bubble tea with a smile. Once they’ve pulled back, the human licks their lips and grins.

“It’s delicious! Did you make this yourself?” (y/n) asks, watching with curious eyes. But the last few minutes have effectively fried the poor otaku’s brain, his face hot enough to cook an egg. Leviathan stands, leaving the cup and running away. (y/n) sits confused, sipping the tea and wondering if they had said something offensive.

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Satan smiles, sitting down and placing a fresh croissant in front of the lovely human. Reaching over, the blonde places his hand over (y/n)’s, leaving their free hand to pick up and nibble on the croissant. The two sit in relative silence, Satan watching his “date” with big curious eyes. His thumb rubs over (y/n)’s soft skin, tracing little circles.

“Mmmmm,” (y/n) smiles, licking their lips and winking, “All this stuff is so good! You guys are just so darn talented. I’m glad I’ve come to know you all.” A light blush dusts over Satan’s face, his heart fluttering at the sweet words of his sweet little love.

“Satan,” Beelzebub walks up, a plate full of treats, “Mammon set the kitchen on fire.” Satan stands, racing off to the kitchen in a mild panic. The moutainous demon sits down in Satan’s place, a smile on his lips.

“Oh my, is everything okay??” (y/n) squeaks, about to stand. Beel’s hand comes out and gently touches the florist’s hand.

“Yeah. I lied about the fire,” Beel smiles, watching his “little snack” with a smile, “They’ll fall for anything.” (y/n) giggles, sitting down and addressing the pile of scones, cake pops, mini muffins, and tarts.

“Do you make all this stuff?” They ask, picking up a small chocolate muffin and making quick work of it.

“Mhm!” Beel grins, “I love food so... I learned to make it.” A light blush dances on the burly man’s cheeks.

“Well I dunno if I can eat all this,” chuckles the human, “so how about I take a bite and you can have the rest?”

“Okay!” Beelzebub grins, delighted at the fact that he can both eat and, more importantly, eat with (y/n). And so the human smiles, taking gentle bites of the snacks before handing the rest to their demonic friend. Said demon swallows the rest of the food item whole with a grin. Once the plate is empty, Beelzebub stands and collects the plates.

“That was all so good, Beel!” (y/n) smiles, watching the demon wave shyly and walk away. The empty space doesn’t last long as Mammon sits down. “sitting” in this instance is defined as “aim lower body at chair and throw self”.

“...hey,” Mammon blushes, handing over a mug of bubbling juice, “drink...I guess.” the blush grows stronger as (y/n) raises the mug to their lips, tasting the bubbly apple juice.

“Mm,” they hum, smiling widely, “Do you guys make this stuff yourself?”

“Yeah,’ Mammon puffs up in pride, “I make it.”

“Good,” (y/n) tilts their head with a sweet smile, “The taste reminds me of you.” That’s the last straw. Mammon’s face explodes in a blush, he slams a small box on the table and runs away, unable to handle any more. The startled human opens the box, revealing an enamel pin. The pin is a bottle of fizzy apple juice, the word ‘Mammon’s’ written on the label of the little bottle. A smile graces (y/n)’s lips as they attach the enamel pin to their jacket.

“Hello, (y/l/n),” the silky smooth voice of Lucifer hums as he sits down, placing a latte in front of them. The creamy foam on top in an adorable heart with an arrow through it.

“Oh my!” giggles the florist, “It’s beautiful, do you do this yourself?” The eldest brother nods, smiling.

“Yes, I prefer black coffee but there’s something fun about doing these designs,” the demon’s crimson eyes dart around for a moment before resting on (y/n) once again, “go ahead, try it.” hands wrap around the cup, bringing it to the human’s lips and sipping the sweet coffee. Once (y/n) puts the cup back down, though, there’s a layer of foam on their upper lip. The eldest brother rests his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands as he stares in amusement.

“What?” (y/n) giggles, not knowing why he’s staring.

“Nothing, nothing. Just enjoying the view.” A blush coats (y/n)’s cheeks as they realize the foam is on their face. Lucifer holds up a napkin, gently dabbing away the foam and smiling.

“S-sorry,” squeaks the cutie.

“No need to be.”

“Lucifer,” Diavolo calls, “Could I get your help with something?” Lucifer stands, giving a small bow.

“Have a lovely evening, dear.” Lucifer turns, walking off with a small flourish. The human smiles, sipping the various beverages on the table.

“May I sit here?” Belphie’s voice cuts in, though he’s already sitting.

“Um, sure?” (y/n) hums, smiling. The two sitting in comfortable silence with each other.

“I brought you a brownie,” Belphegor smiles, handing over a small plate, “Beel taught me how to make them.” (y/n) smiles, eating the brownie with a smile. The sweet is actually pretty good. It melts in their mouth, the chocolate is dark and slightly bitter but still good.

“Yum!” wiping their mouth, (y/n) gives Belphegor a sweet smile, “Thank you.” The demon nods, looking over as Diavolo approaches.

“Could I talk to you, (y/n)?” Diavolo hums, offering his arm again. (y/n) casts a glance towards Belphie, waiting for the “go ahead” from him. A nod confirms that the beloved human is, indeed, allowed to leave.

Holding onto Diavolo’s arm, (y/n) is led outside where the privacy is.

“(Y/n), Thank you,” Diavolo starts, blushing a bit, “You’ve made our work in the human realm so warm and comforting. We hardly even think it’s work sometimes. And I know your presence makes the brothers happy...and...it makes me happy.” The prince blushes, looking away shyly before pressing a kiss to (y/n)’s cheek. “Thank you for being around. You’re a great companion.” Diavolo turns, not waiting to listen for a reply, and walks into the shop.

“Huh...” (y/n) presses their fingertips to their cheek, blushing and walking off to their car. A new bubbly feeling in their chest as they get ready to go home.

Perhaps there’s more than one type of sweet to be had at Diavolo’s cafe.

#Obey me #swd #shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x reader #Flowers for my boys

270 notes · View notes

bibislut · 3 years

Text

Merlot and Meddling

I present to you; a fic born from the inspiration at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

Synopsis: Maybe Pansy could be right for once, maybe this is the closure Draco needs. Or maybe they’ve both just had a little too much to drink. After all, nothing bad ever came from drunk advice, right?

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2494

Find it on Ao3

-----

Draco took a large swig of his wine, swilling it around his mouth as he thought over Pansy’s idea. The two had already finished their second bottle and were now well into their third. The blond was laying languidly on his best friend's sofa, the raven-haired witch in question haphazardly strewn across the neighbouring armchair.

“Not a chance.” Was he slurring?

“Why the fuck not?” Pansy’s high squeal of disbelief echoed in draco’s ears.

“Because it's a moronic idea.”

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It. Is. Not.” Pansy enunciated each word harshly, pushing herself up. Draco flicked his eyes over to her, meeting her determined gaze. “This will be good for you, Draco. And even better for me, when I read it sober tomorrow.” She grinned.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he resigned himself to the whims of a stubborn, drunk heiress, with a loud groan. “Fine.”

Pansy squealed, a horrific noise that only Draco ever got to hear. Sometimes he wished that being her best friend was a bit quieter. She clapped her hands eagerly. “Wonderful. It’s about time you got some of this mess-” She waved her hands at him, “- out.”

Draco sat up, enjoying the slight spin of the room as he downed the rest of his glass. “Top me up then, gorgeous. I’ll need my strength.” He drawled.

“In your dreams.” Pansy scoffed, placing her own empty glass on the coffee table. “I’m going to grab some parchment. Top me up too.”

If Draco was lucky enough, he’d wake up before Pansy tomorrow, and could burn the blasted thing before she could bully him about it.

----

Harry yawned widely, scratching his head as he plonked himself down at the staff table. Neville nudged the pumpkin juice towards him, shooting him a sympathetic look.

“Remind me why I took this job again, Neville?”

“Because you’re good at teaching people and making them believe in themselves?” The herbology teacher took a bite of his jam-laden toast.

Harry huffed. “Well it certainly wasn’t to stay up all night grading mock exams.” He pulled a plate of pancakes towards him. “I had more than enough of my own bloody OWLs and NEWTs.” He grumbled. “Should’ve thought this through more.”

Neville hummed. “Do you want me to pour some cold water on you?”

“Don’t even try it.” Harry smirked. “You can’t just throw water on The Saviour of The Wizarding World.”

“Did you forget I’m the one who stood up to Voldemort?” Neville raised an eyebrow.

“What has happened to you?” Harry shook his head jokingly. “Where’s the shy boy I grew up with?”

“Still bloody here.” Neville chuckled. “Just a bit more comfortable now.”

“Teaching suits you.”

“It suits you too, most days.”

Both young men turned back to their food, Harry reaching for the pot of coffee he’d asked for. The noise in the hall rose, and he looked up just in time to catch the post before it hit his plate. Being a Hogwarts alumni and a seeker definitely helped during breakfast.

It was just the usual, a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet, a copy of The Quibbler, a letter addressed in Hermione’s writing, no doubt reminding him of the Weasley spring get-together, and...another letter. He didn’t recognise the handwriting. He pried open the seal curiously, unfolding the letter inside:

-Dear Mr Potter,

The most famous, most brilliant, most bravest man to ever exist. Who’s arse we must all kiss, and lick, and fondle, though that may be just me. It really is a nice arse you know. Have you ever looked in the mirror? A truly fine specimen. You wouldn’t think it spent so much time on a broomstick being a bloody show off, but here we are, you with a nice arse and me with a picture of it in my head. How delightful.

I have been told to write this letter to get my feelings out. And though I would usually deny these feelings, everything must end - including these ridiculous thoughts. “What thoughts?” You may ask. Well, let me tell you.

I hold a rather large grudge, fuelled almost completely by my own damaged pride. Pride bruised by a lack of you in my life, and pride bruised whenever you are in my life. It is quite the conundrum, I tell you.

A lot of my feelings are unnecessary, some unscrupulous, some unwanted, unfounded, but most of them unreturned. For when have you ever looked into my eyes the way I do yours? When have you lain in the dark, retracing our encounters? Or remembering the colour of your eyes, or the pattern of your freckles, or the way you thin your lips in rage, or lick them with anxiety or when, perhaps, have you thought of me at all? Outside of your obligation to that is? Your obligation to hate me, despise me, distrust me. Please tell me that’s what it is; an obligation. Or at least tell me that you don’t anymore, don’t resent me, loathe me. That’s what I need to believe.

I certainly did you. I hated you, it's true. For many reasons. For stealing the limelight, for bettering me, for dismissing me. But I also admired you, envied you. Resented you, and myself, for my cowardice, for my choices, for having the family that I did, that I do.

I could go on and on, but the point is this- you still plague my thoughts. You still fill my head. You’re in my dreams, my nightmares, my desires…

And this is not healthy, it can’t be. Progress is healthy, moving on is healthy. And perhaps just imagining you reading this will contribute towards that.

So let me leave you with this, Potter: I feel so many things for you, and none of them can be resolved, or come to fruition. This is my attempt at goodbye. This is my attempt at starting anew. -

The writing is messy, the ink smeared in places, a stain of some kind in the bottom right corner. But Harry knows this handwriting, spent his teenage years seeing this writing, obsessing over it some nights. And he knows the writing on the front of the letter doesn’t match.

Which means Draco Malfoy did not intend for Harry to see this.

---

“Fuckkk…”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Draco’s eyes shot open, focusing on Pansy as she sat on the armchair, hair brushed, face washed, sitting in a fresh set of pyjamas. “Why the fuck are you okay?” He groaned, rubbing his face.

Pansy shrugged. “I had a pint of water and a sandwich after you passed out. Woke up feeling perfectly fine.”

“You bitch. Why didn’t you make me one?”

“And wake the beast? No, thank you.” She motioned towards where a mug of steaming tea sat under a stasis charm. “Cuppa?”

Draco hummed thankfully, sitting up carefully so as not to anger his throbbing head further. “Less of a bitch.” He murmured. He sipped at it, the warmth of it easing a bit of the tension in his body. “What time is it?”

“Just past eight.”

“So, really-fucking-early.”

“Yeah.” Pansy picked up her own mug. “I’m glad you’re awake though.”

“And why is that?” Draco sat back against the cushions, easing his shoulders as he took another sip.

“What do you remember of last night, love?”

Draco offered an exhausted chuckle. “Some of it.” He tried to think back. “We finished the third bottle of merlot, right? Or was it the fourth? And your dancing, that was great.” He snorted. “Merlin. You do squeal when you’re drunk Pans, I thought my eardrums- OH FUCK!”

“And there it is.” Pansy smiled at him.

“Oh Merlin, Pansy. Please tell me you burnt it. Please, Please.”

“I’d love to, Draco, I really would. It’s just…” She paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I mean, I was drunk too.”

“Oh no, please tell me you didn’t send it to Blaise!”

“Okay, I didn’t send it to Blaise.”

“Pansy Bernadine Parkinson. What. Did. You. Do?!”

“Don’t use my full name!” She whined. “You know how much I hate-”

“Pansy!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It might go well, you never know. I do sometimes have good ideas, and honesty is always the best pol-”

“PANSY!” Draco lurched forwards, his stomach doing the same. Merlin, anxiety and alcohol did not mix well.

“I sent it to Potter.” She whispered, eyes wide.

“WHAT!” Draco stood up so quickly he spilt his tea.

“You never know-”

“At Hogwarts?!” The blond slammed his cup down on the coffee table, standing over his friend.

“Yes?”

“Merlin’s tits!” Draco’s hand flew to his hair, running them through nervously as he began pacing. “Merlin’s fucking tits!”

“I mean, it's not so bad, right? You could still make it.”

“Make it?” Draco spun around to face her, his mind racing. What had he said? He didn’t even remember half of it. He was pretty sure he mentioned Potter’s arse, and maybe his father? The memories were returning slower than he’d like. Had he signed it?! “What time is it?”

Pansy cast a quick tempus. 8:11.

“Maybe I can get there before the post does?”

“Not looking like that, you can’t.”

Draco dashed over to the mirror, taking himself in. His hair was knotted and sticking on end, his trousers wrinkled, his shirt untucked and half buttoned, and he probably smelled as bad as he felt. “Shit, right, okay." He bit at his lips nervously, his head racing. “I’m going to go back to mine and shower and change.” He turned to face her. “Can you send a message through firecall asking McGonagall if I can meet her at the end of breakfast? Say something about a tour of the new quidditch pitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Wish me luck, Pans, or it’s gonna be you who’s in the shit.”

“Yeah, I get it, I’m dead to you.” Pansy waved her hand nonchalantly, as if she was already over the mess she'd created. “Just go and sort yourself out.”

-----

Harry read, and re-read the letter at least five times, barely even tasting his coffee. Was it true? Did Malfoy really care for him? He couldn’t deny that the slytherin had been his thoughts since the end of their eighth year, but to think he had been in his? That was insane, unbelievable. And yet, here he sat, holding the letter.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wasn’t Malfoy. Sixth year had certainly proven that he wasn’t the best at handwriting. But it added up, the ‘limelight’ , the ‘cowardice’, the ‘family’. And who else had been close enough to him to comment on his freckles, or lips, or eyes, and still matched the things that had been said like Malfoy did?

Fuck, what was he going to do?

“Come on Harry, you don’t want to be late.” He looked up at Neville. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just some unexpected news.”

“You sure? You look a bit frazzled.” Neville’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

Harry pulled on a smile. “All good. You alright?”

“I’m good. Got a whole day of first years today, you’d think they’d be better behaved this far into the year, but they can still be a bit tricky.”

“You’ll do well with them, you always do.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Harry.”

The two men headed out of the Great Hall together. Harry was so distracted he almost didn’t recognise the head of white blond hair standing just outside the doors.

“Malfoy?”

Draco Malfoy spun around, meeting Harry’s gaze with a look he couldn’t decipher.

“Potter.” He nodded.

“What are you doing here?” Why was his heart beating so fast?

“I’m meeting Mcgonagall for a tour.” Malfoy wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He looked good, his hair falling softly over his forehead, no longer slicked back. He was dressed in an all black suit, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket. He looked handsome and confident… except for his other hand, which was tensing and untensing over and over again.

“I’ll catch you later, Harry. Malfoy.” Neville waved goodbye, nodding at the Slytherin.

“Why are you really here?” Harry asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“Well,” Malfoy’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I suppose I wanted to apologise, for the, um, letter.” He looked down, finally conceding his nervousness.

Harry nodded towards the doors. “The kids will be out soon, follow me.”

“Look, Potter. We don’t have to make this bigger than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to forget about it.”

Harry stopped, turning back to face him. “Why would I do that?” Malfoy finally looked at him. Harry lowered his voice, taking a step closer. “I don’t hate you, Draco.” He licked his lips, terrified of what he was about to say. “It was nice to know you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, before drawing together again. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Potter.”

“I’m not joking.” Harry took another step forward, until they were only a few feet away from each other. He summoned his Gryffindor courage. “I’ve been thinking about your arse too.”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped, and he shoved Harry in the chest. “That’s not funny.”

Harry laughed, catching his hands. “It kind of is.”

“Oh shove off, you great big git.” Draco gave a small smile, trying to pull his hands away.

“Make me.” Harry whispered, holding on tighter. If you had told him two hours ago that he would be flirting with Malfoy outside the Great Hall, he would have told you to go and get your head checked for wrackspurts. He felt almost giddy with excitement and disbelief, and most of all, anxiety. He was just riding on the wave of adrenaline at this point.

Draco snorted. “Good idea, Potter. The hallway is about to flood with students.” The Slytherin didn’t look away though, his silver eyes holding Harry's with a hopeful look.

Harry finally let go of his hands, but neither man stepped away. “Take me to dinner then.”

“You’re asking me to ask you to dinner?” Draco shook his head in disbelief

“Yeah, why not?”

“Very romantic.” He drawled.

“Hey! I’m the one who had to decipher your horrific handwriting.” And read your half-lusty, half-sad ramblings on four hours sleep, he thought.

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco winced. “Fine. Do you want to come to dinner with me?”

“You could be a bit more enthusiastic.” Harry mock-pouted.

“I’ll bloody take the offer back if you’re not careful.”

“Alright, okay.” Harry looked over Draco’s shoulder to see students starting to pour out of the Great Hall. He grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Owl me the details.”

And with that, Potter dashed off down the hallway, leaving Draco’s fingers tingling and his stomach fluttering with butterflies. They were both doomed, surely, so why were they both so excited about it?

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #pansy parkinson #neville longbottom #fic #fanfic #drarry fic #drarry fanfic

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rositxespinosa · 4 years

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~How To Have A Fresh Start To The Day~

I wanted to create this post for anyone who is having a bad day, feeling down and unmotivated, going through a hard time, or even just woke up late and feel like they wasted away their day. Whether you woke up at 10 am or 4 in the afternoon, I hope this gives you the inspiration and motivation to start fresh.

Before I start I want to note that you can re-start anytime. It doesn’t have to be Monday, or a new week, month, or year. So don’t let that hold you back because it’s not true. You can start fresh at anytime.

*****

1. Waking up. This tends to be the hardest part, but eventually we have to get up. I want you to get up, use the restroom, take out your retainers if you wear them, and head downstairs.

2. Water. After sleeping for many hours or laying in bed for a long time, it’s important to re-hydrate our bodies. Get yourself a cup or glass of cold water.

3. Eat something. Even if it’s something simple like a piece of fruit or a granola bar, it’s also important that we nourish our bodies with food. If you want to make a meal, or eggs and toast, go right ahead! Just try to eat something, and if its possible try to eat something a little healthier. I know for me not eating well makes me feel worse than I already do, so be mindful of that.

4. Vitamins and Medication. If you are someone who is on medication for any reason, or take daily vitamins, go ahead and take those with breakfast. Obviously not everyone takes medication or vitamins, so if you don’t you can skip this step.

5. Coffee. Before I head back upstairs I like to make myself either iced or regular coffee. Don’t worry if you aren’t a coffee drinker! Get some tea, juice, flavored water, pop, whatever your choice of beverage is. It’s nice to have a drink you like, but please make sure you are still being consistent with drinking water!

6. Make your bed and tidy up your room. Making your bed will make your space look so much cleaner, and it will help you not want to crawl right back into it. If there is any trash in your room, throw it out. Clear out old dishes, put away clothes laying on the floor, etc. Nothing special, just a quick clean up.

7. Clean yourself up. After being in bed for a long time, I’m sure you don’t feel the greatest physically. If you need/want to shower, go ahead and do that. If you shower later in the evening like myself, brush out your hair, wash your face, apply deodorant and body spray (body spray and perfume is optional), get dressed even if it’s into clean pajamas or sweats, and brush your teeth. Personally I’ll brush my teeth after I have my coffee, so it ends up being the last thing I do when it comes to cleaning myself up.

8. Move your body. At the very least I suggest doing some simple stretching to help relieve your body of any stiffness.

9. Do one productive thing. This is highly dependent of the time of day, so don’t feel like you have to do any of these things. This is just something I personally like to do to feel a bit better. Usually on days like these I like to do a small load of my laundry. Nothing crazy, just whatever needs to be cleaned. You could do that, or clean something small, read for a bit, stretch, take a bath or shower, plan out what you want to accomplish the next day, etc. You don’t have to clean your whole house to be productive.

10. Relax. The last step is to just relax. Do whatever makes you feel happy and content. A majority of the time I’ll relax for a bit before I get up and move my body or brush my teeth. You don’t have to necessarily follow these steps in order. Listen to your body and go from there. You know yourself best.

If you have any other tips or ideas, leave them below! Or share what your routine is for starting fresh for the day. As always you are welcome to stop by my inbox at anytime! If you need advice, someone to talk too, or need to vent, I’m happy to help!

-Megan

#starting fresh #depression tips #self help #self help tips #self care #self care tips #productivity

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dumbchickwrites · 4 years

Text

office affairs -- part 4

Pairings: CEO!Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: Sam is the CEO of the Red Wing PR agency where Reader has been working for the past two years. Problem is, they both think one hates the other. However, when their friends set them up on a blind date, they’ll realise it was all a big misunderstanding.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: language, Reader is still thirsty, fluff, Mimi wants to gossip.

A/N: This series is part of @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge. You can find the masterlist on my blog and hers! Enjoy!

Brunch with your friends and your sister is always a good time. You can’t complain. You have drinks, food and some of the people you love the most. And on this particular Sunday, you still feel the euphoria of your date with Sam.

All weekend you tried to let it go already, telling yourself that you were acting like a middle school girl. But at the same time, who cares, right? Once again, you reminded yourself to let yourself be for a moment, without your self-consciousness stopping you from simply feeling.

“Is she daydreaming again?”

“I bet she’s thinking about Sam.”

“Who’s Sam?”

“No one, baby. Eat your food.”

Someone snaps their fingers in front of your face. You blink a couple of times before frowning at the owner of said hand. Maria doesn’t flinch under your glare.

“Where did you go?” Noelle asked.

You take a sip of your mimosa before you answer.

“Back at L’Orage.”

“Annnnd…?” Natasha pushes.

“We—” you begin, but your gaze meets Michelle’s.

She’s looking at you like she also wants all the tea. Your eyes lower to her empty plate, hers follow your gaze. You know what she’s thinking, and she knows what you’re thinking.

“Mimi, you’re done eating right? Why don’t you go watch some TV inside?” you say before her little hand reaches the basket of pastries on the table.

“But—”

“Auntie Henny is right,” Noelle cuts her and you roll your eyes at the nickname. “We don’t want you to get sick, right?” she says, rubbing her belly.

“Okay, Mommy. Can I get more juice from the fridge, please?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you!”

Just like that, she’s back inside the house.

“I thought the use of that nickname was forbidden in this house,” you say.

“We’re in the backyard,” your sister gives you an innocent smile.

You throw your napkin at her but she easily catches it.

“Anyways. We kissed.”

“Huh,” Natasha crosses her arms over her chest and lays back on her chair. “But?”

“What?”

“There’s a but. There’s always a but with you,” Maria says.

“There’s no but. We kissed, that’s it. It was a very nice kiss. Then he took me home—Back here!” you add quickly when you see how big Maria and Natasha’s eyes got. “He said he’s down for a second date.”

“So how do you feel about him?” Maria asks.

“Do you want me to tell you you were right? Because that’s not gonna happen.”

Maria gives you a look. You sigh.

“It turns out he doesn’t hate me at all. He was actually kind of shocked when I talked to him about that. He thought I didn’t like him,” you take another sip of your drink. “I like him a lot. He’s nice, funny, he listens to me when I talk.”

“Annnnnd…?” this time it comes from Noelle.

“And I kinda want him to bend me over a desk some time.”

The four of you burst out laughing like madwomen.

“More seriously, I guess I should thank you guys. I had a really nice time.”

“Aw, you’re welcome, sweetie,” Natasha rubs your arm. “Personally, I think you guys are a match made in heaven. Literally.”

“Don’t jinx it, Nat!” Maria exclaims.

Natasha makes a zipping motion over her lips with a little smirk.

As Noelle refills your champagne flutes and you move on to another topic – here Noelle and Laetitia, the mother of the new kid in Mimi’s class --, you can’t help but feel grateful for this moment.

You were lucky to find people you can rely on other than your sister after so many years. After everything that happened. Sure your sister is your best friend and vice versa, but sometimes you can’t help but feel guilty about all the stuff you dump on her.

It’s not easy for you to interact with people and maintain healthy relationship. You try your best to find a nice balance between over communicating and totally isolating yourself. You’re still a work in progress though.

That’s why all this dating business was pushed aside for a few years.

Maria and Natasha end up spending the rest of the day at your house. You order takeout, drink some more – responsibly though, all while binge-watching Disney movies and playing board games with Michelle. It’s the nicest day you’ve had in a hot minute.

When the girls leave and it’s finally time for bed, you go to sleep with the ghost of today’s smiles still dancing on your lips.

In your opinion, Mondays are overrated. You never understood this whole thing anyway. Sure it’s the beginning of a new week, but it’s still a day like the others.

This particular Monday though, is a bit special. You’re excited to see whether or not Sam had the flowers delivered in your office. So excited that you’re walking around with a huge grin, your face beaming as you step into the elevator.

“Well good morning m’lady,” Scott from HR greets you when you step off the elevator. He’s at the front desk, talking to Rumlow.

“Morning Scott,” you say, still smiling.

“You got a secret admirer, huh?” Scott asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Your office is filled with flowers. And I mean filled. Janet walked by ten minutes ago and she hasn’t stopped sneezing since. Y’know, allergies.”

“Oh, um… I—” you stutter, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m just messing with you, kiddo. Just—If it’s a dude from around here, just make sure you stop by my office some time, ‘kay?”

Okay… You need to end this conversation now. You can feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Honestly, it’s not that you don’t like Scott, everybody likes Scott. It’s just that he can be a bit too much sometimes.

“Sure thing, Scottie. You have a good day, okay?”

You don’t wait for his answer before you keep walking towards your office, climbing the stairs leading to the first floor with ease.

A woman you don’t recognize is standing in front of your office, staring at the glass wall. The cleaning crew must have left the blinds open again despite your multiple notes.

“Hello,” you greet her before you reach your office. “Can I help you?”

You can’t see the inside yet but Scott was right, the scent is strong. Just how many flowers did Sam send?

Her gaze meets yours as she whips her head towards you, her long burgundy hair following the movement. She’s wearing a green suit, a bold but beautiful contrast with her skin tone.

“Hi!” she smiles. “I’m sorry, is this your office?”

“Yes. You’re new here, right?”

“Yes, yes. My name is Gamora, I’m the new Digital Manager,” she offers her hand for you to shake.

You introduce yourself as you shake her hand. “… I take care of—”

“Events, yes. It’s written on your door. Anyways, I was just looking at the flowers in your office. Must be nice. My boyfriend… He’s not really that kind of guy.”

“Um…”

Once again, you don’t know how to talk to people.

“Sorry if I’m being weird.”

“Oh, no, it’s… Don’t worry about it. So where are you from?” you ask.

You figure you should at least try to make small talk with her. She seems nice, she has a very kind face. There’s something about her eyes though… She’s clearly been through a lot.

“I’m from New Asgard, in Norway.”

“Wow, how did you end up here?”

“My boyfriend, Peter. He lives in the US and he asked me to move in with him. I couldn’t say no.”

The name makes you flinch, but you wipe the discomfort away as soon as it appears. Peter is a common name. In this city alone there are hundreds of them. You need to get used to it, it’s been years already.

“Well, on behalf of the entire Red Wing team, I’d like to say welcome,” you give her a genuine smile.

“Thank you so much. That means a lot.” With a sigh, she throws one last glance towards your office before she starts walking away. “I better find Scott, we’re not done with the tour yet. I’ll see you around, I guess?”

“Sure. Have a good day!”

Once she turns around the corner, you take the last few steps that lead you to your office.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Your office is filled with flowers all right. It’s not just fifty like Sam said. At least a dozen of bouquets of red roses, tulips and peonies are scattered around your office. On your coffee table, the empty spaces on your bookshelf, the floor… everywhere but on your desk. Thank God, the scent isn’t disturbing to you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper again.

You can’t believe your eyes. You set your bag on your desk and draw the blinds over the glass walls to keep the prying eyes out of your business. Walking around a bit, you take the time to inhale and admire every single bouquet.

“Wow, he really wasn’t joking.”

You turn around to find Natasha and Maria standing in your doorway, holding huge mugs.

That’s right the morning coffee. Morning coffee is always in your office on Monday and Wednesday.

“Aw sweetie, don’t cry!” Natasha grabs a tissues from the box on your coffee table and hands it to you.

You didn’t even realize you were crying. Damn, he really had you in the palm of his hand, huh?

“It’s just, no one has ever done something like this for me before, and I feel stupid now because I’m crying for fucking flowers.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid, okay?” Maria chips in. “From what you told us, you’re not used to this kind of treatment, so it’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed right now. Here,” she hands you one of the mugs she’s holding. “Mantis told us you just got in so we figured you didn’t have time to make your cup of tea yet.”

“Thank you.”

You take a sip of the beverage, the hot liquid helping with the lump in your throat.

“Is… Is he here?” you ask.

Their offices are located on the floor above yours along with Sam’s, so you rarely see him during the day.

“Not yet,” Natasha replies. “He’s late. Something about getting Falcon a new cone.”

Oh yeah. He mentioned his dog’s surgery Friday night.

“Good morning, ladies. You talking about me?”

There he is.

Sam is standing in the doorway, a smirk on his lips, always handsome. A warm feeling spreads in your chest at the sight of him, and this morning’s grin is back in an instant.

“Samuel,” Maria greets him. “You’re late.”

“Ah shit. The boss wouldn’t like that, would he?”

“Whatever,” Maria rolls her eyes at him.

“Maria, come to the kitchen with me, I want to see if the pastries have been delivered already,” Natasha says, grabbing Maria’s arm.

“But shouldn’t we go with—” her sentence is cut short by Natasha’s pointed look. “Ohhh. Right.”

The girls shut the door behind them as they exit your office, you and Sam left alone.

“Morning,” he says, slowly approaching you. “Do you like the flowers?”

“I do, very much. What happened to the fifty flowers, though?”

Sam shrugs. “They were supposed to represent the number of times I wanted to kiss you. But as the weekend went by, I lost count, so…”

Goddammit.

“Come here,” you mumble.

You grab his hand and pull him closer to you, your free hand finding its place at the back of his neck. The kiss you give him is slow and sweet as you do your best to express your gratitude. You’ve been on one date, yet he has managed to make you feel more special than you’ve ever felt. He really is something. Sam kisses you back, and you can feel him smile as he does.

“Thank you,” you say when you break the kiss. “This is… wow.”

Sam keeps your body close to his, not wanting to let you go just yet.

“You’re welcome. So… about that second date. How do you feel about roller skating?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I kind of like it. I haven’t skated since I was a kid, though.”

Sam nods. “Dinner and roller skating. Let’s say… Wednesday?”

“Wednesday sounds good,” you smile.

“Okay.”

Sam peppers small kisses on your lips and the corner of your mouth before letting you go. You instantly feel colder.

As he walks to the door, you seat at your desk and power up your computer, ready to start the work day.

“Wait, I need one more,” Sam says.

He rounds your desk and spins your chair so you’ll face him, before giving you another kiss. Once again, he peppers small kisses on your lips and cheeks and this time, you can’t help but giggle.

“It’s not even noon yet and I’m having the best day I’ve had in a while,” he whispers.

“Stop it. You’re gonna make me blush,” you joke.

“Now that would be my greatest achievement.”

Sam leaves shortly after that, leaving you to start working with the same dumb smile from earlier on your lips.

***

Tags: @marvelmaree @ljstraightnochaser @blackmissfrizzle @youdonotghostnickfury @minillamakeup-blog

#maree's29thbirthdaybash #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x black reader

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tungstenb · 4 years

Text

WIP Weekend Whenever

Tagged by @rpgwarrior4824, @ljandersen, @natsora, and @inquartata30. Thanks for the mentions, everyone!

Inq and Nat asked for fluff, so that's what I'm gonna try. I don't think my writing style is suited for fluff. But! An attempt was made. ^_-

I'm planning a bit of an intermission between SAtS and BODS — a series of vignettes from the trip to Thessia first referenced in "Cardamom and Cloves" — so here's a snippet from that (~2,500 words).

Enjoy!

Thessia: Day 2

Something's wrong.

It wasn't so much a thought but a feeling, an instinct. A surge of adrenaline to rouse her from sleep, to tense her slack muscles and propel her to act. One short intake of breath and she shot upright. Eyes keen. Mind ready.

Stillness. Early dawn.

Not wrong, only different. She'd forgotten.

Armali.

Shepard sank back down onto the plush bed, her sigh lost in the breeze rumbling with the crashing surf. Beyond the vast bedroom windows and billowing sheer curtains, new light tinted the scenery outside in a cool muted grayscale, the sky dilutely inky, the ocean mercurial, the scattered islands and jutting rock formations awaiting the colors of day, just beginning to come to life with swaying trees and flocks of birds. She sighed again. Allowed the last of her hypervigilance to bleed away. And as she shifted, turning to her left, she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips.

Beside her, Liara slept soundly, facing away, curled up comfortably under a drape of sheets. The relaxed curve of her shoulder rose and fell slightly with her steady breathing, the gentle sheen of microscales still somehow catching the dim early light. She glowed, even in the gray.

Shaking her head, Shepard barely suppressed a quiet breathy laugh, all amazement and relief and disbelief. She never thought she could have this. Never thought her heart could feel so full. She reached out, stopping just short of running her knuckles gently over Liara's arm, or sweeping the fallen strap of her nightgown back up over her shoulder.

She wouldn't wake her.

Hand sinking into the pillowy mattress, Shepard propped herself up and swung her legs over the bed, taking a deep breath, rolling out the residual soreness and tension in her shoulders, stretching her neck, massaging her bad leg. She stood. Breathed. Stretched again. The woven rugs were soft beneath her feet and the stonework cool as she made her way to the kitchen. Priority: coffee. Leave it to the asari to perfect the tech even for that. She hummed as she scooped the fragrant grounds into the machine, tapping a few buttons to start it brewing.

By habit she brought up her omni-tool before remembering she'd decided to ditch her usual early-morning reading for the week, her daily newsfeeds and all but the highest-priority messages muted, their pinned widgets grayed-out and transparent on her homepage. She clicked her tongue over the whirring and dribbling of the coffee maker, then wandered to the refrigerator, idly appraising its contents.

The rental house had been stocked with essentials before their arrival — maybe standard Armalian fare, maybe items a bit more suited to human tastes, maybe things Liara had requested specifically, Shepard couldn't be sure. Two large glass bottles, one green juice, the other milk (or something milk-adjacent). A variety of eggs cradled in a basket, some small and pastel, some larger, textured and mottled with bluish spots. A package of dense, doughy bread, sliced, cylindrical in shape. Small blocks of what appeared to be cheese, or butter, or another sort of cultured or aged dairy product, wrapped in decorated waxy paper. Assorted vegetables in crisper compartments. A bowl of shiny berries. A jar of… whatever the hell. She grabbed it, unscrewed the top, took a whiff. Fishy.

Best wait for Liara to wake before attempting to cook. Bit out of her element, at least with these ingredients. Chances were she'd fuck it up, Liara would wake up laughing at her and her sad burnt breakfast lump, and they'd have to go out to eat. And maybe Liara'd prefer to go out anyway, head to a quaint little cafe on the waterfront that starched its cloth napkins and served fancy drinks with like, olives and celery sticks or whatever the garnish for socially acceptable breakfast/brunch booze was here. Probably best to defer to her judgment; this was her home, after all. But she could, at the very least, have tea ready for her when she woke.

Taking the milk-like bottle and setting it on the counter, she readied and leveled her translation overlay. Tapped for an audio sample. Melikhratun, said a silvery voice in her earpiece. She poured some in a glass and tasted it. It was reminiscent of melted vanilla ice cream, even in thickness, and it coated the interior of the glass. Kinda weird, oddly tasty. She shrugged and set the glass aside, skimming through the article.

Melikhratun: a sweet liquid cream/yogurt made from haavi milk, rich in… well, everything. Fat, sugar, protein, vitamins, sometimes probiotics; eezo content variable, generally ranging from 0.5 to 5.0 ppm, depending on livestock origin and feed. Ideal for the energy needs of those who make ample use of biotics. Many regional versions, cultured and uncultured, in a multitude of flavors, some seasonal, some staples, some festive varieties only making brief appearances for annual holidays, most notably porfuranq flavor, for Janiris. Either drunk straight, used in recipes, mixed with other beverages — and essential for serving arwamaasi, a tea made famous in Serrice.

She tapped the link to arwamaasi, the article popping up beside the one for melikhratun, humming a tune as she shuffled over to the pantry.

Arwamaasi, arwamaasi… that one also sounded familiar.

The hinge squeaked as she opened the pantry door, and she turned. In the sliver of the bedroom still visible from the kitchen, she found Liara still sleeping soundly, face serene, arm relaxed resting before her. Thankfully undisturbed by the squeal of oxidized hardware needing oiling — constant humidity and salty sea air would do that. With a quiet breathy chuckle — and a mental note to tend to it later — she turned back to her search.

Translation overlay active she scanned the labels, looking for a match among the tins and boxes and jars lining the shelves. The pantry was well-stocked — nonperishables left by previous guests — and she scanned over the bubbles of transliterated text that popped up in real-time.

Arwamaasi, arwamaasi, arwamaasi, she repeated, silently. Liara had said the word before, back on the Normandy, the syllables rolling off her tongue as sweetly as the scent of spice that permeated the air and lingered on her lips after she'd drunk cup after cup, counting on the kick of caffeine to keep her awake and alert long after staring at her terminal had strained her eyes and made her mind weary.

"It's just not the same without melikhratun," she'd explained to Shepard, but assured her she enjoyed it even without the rich, sweet Thessian dairy product. Not practical to keep it aboard: perishable, spendy, difficult to acquire without eezo contamination. I'll see what I can do, regardless, Shepard had thought. Errands on the Citadel. What's that stuff called again? Alone, she'd detoured on Tayseri Ward and ordered coffee from an asari-owned cafe, hoping to jog her memory. Thought to ask for something nice to put in tea, a specific kind of tea, what's-it-called? Stopped. No, just the coffee. But… god, no. The gesture would be too forward. Her omni-tool chimed as she finalized the transaction and rocked, agitated, on her heels.

Pull yourself together.

It had ached, hurt like hell back then. Soft freckled cheeks and supple lips and spiced tea and she'd punched the Normandy's elevator console just a bit too hard, because it wasn't right, all these impure thoughts she couldn't shake, but what could she do but go run on the treadmill for half an hour and blow off that steam and longing and frustration because fuck, Liara had to know what she was doing to her when she talked so smart and sucked on her teeth and licked her lips and smiled like that.

No fucking way in hell should she even think about making the first move.

But if Shepard swiveled to her left — and she did, then — there, only meters away, Liara slept, that placid comfort clear on her face in the early light, and that sight ached too, but it ached so good. Warm and full and perfect and — god, how did she get so lucky? Bouncing on her heels, she quietly hummed while her nose and her eyes crinkled in a grin she couldn't fight, and she shook her head, scoffing in disbelief.

Shepard turned back toward the pantry, peering through the hovering transparency over her forearm. And a match. She waved the translation app away, tin in hand, flicking back to the article.

Arwamaasi: developed by tea artisans in Serrice. Made with leaves soaked in concentrated spices, then expertly woven into packed shapes designed to bloom when steeped; then fermented, where they grow in pungency; and then aged, where they condense into pellets as they dessicate. High in caffeine, this tea is treasured for its distinctive flavor, heightened with the addition of melikhratun.

Making it would be simple enough, and she collected the rest of what she needed — the melikhratun already sitting out — and switched the electric kettle on. The dry, compact tea pellets rattled in the tin as she pried off the top, then stuck her nose inside. Sniffed once and pulled back at the pungent sting. Punchy. Smells like a concussion but probably tastes real good. Gingerly, she plopped a pellet into a glass teapot.

Shepard poured a mug of coffee and drank, leaning against the counter as the tea kettle heated. It was good coffee. Really good, actually. Even better in the quiet, with the gentle humid air, the soothing rhythmic crash of the waves, the incredible view. She smiled, eyes lingering on Liara, still fast asleep —

The kettle beeped shrilly and Shepard spun to turn it off, shushing and admonishing it for its disruption, and quickly poured the boiling water into the glass teapot while sneaking glances toward the bedroom.

Stupid noisy thing. Hopefully it didn't — nope, still sleeping.

The packed cluster in the teapot unfurled lazily like some sort of sea creature, releasing amber swirls as its delicate leafy arms swayed in the steaming water. Shepard sipped at her coffee, waiting for the tea to finish steeping, tapping her fingers against the countertop as she sang soundlessly. She topped off her own mug before finishing Liara's tea preparation.

Coffee in one hand, tea in the other, she returned to the bedroom, setting the tea cup down on the nightstand. And as she lingered there, smiling, the sweet scent of arwamaasi spices wafted on the humid breeze. She leaned over, kissing Liara lightly on the cheek. When she pulled back, though Liara's eyes remained closed, a sleepy smile warmed her face.

⁂

Something warm and sweet tinged Liara's fading dreams. She stirred. Yawned. Stretched, breathing deeply as she sat upright, spilling out of a loose cocoon of soft sheets. Before her, on the nightstand, was the steaming source of that familiar scent, sweetly spicy and full as it mingled with the fresh air and tickled her nose. She picked up the cup and swiveled to look behind her.

Unsurprisingly, Shepard's absence on the bed meant she was out on the balcony. There, she sat, ankle on the opposite knee, coffee in hand, staring out at the ocean.

For a moment Liara just waited, watching her, one leg tucked up on the bed as she drank her tea. She'd never seen her look so relaxed. Never had her heart felt so full.

Eventually she slid off the bed, greeting Shepard with a light brush of her hand on her shoulder and a playful tousle of her hair.

"Mornin'. How's the tea?" she asked, scooting over in her chair to make room.

"Perfect." Liara sat, their shoulders brushing.

They didn't speak for some time, Shepard resting her head on Liara's shoulder, both watching the birds and boats and waves as the sky continued to lighten and the comfort of closeness was enough. Shepard set her mug on the table first, hopping off the chair and heading down the balcony stairs before Liara could ask where she was going. Reluctantly, setting aside her own tea, she followed.

The bottom tier, at water level, served as a dock. As Shepard leaned against the partial railing, taking in the scenery, Liara nestled up beside her. "Did you see something?" she asked.

"Something?" Shepard scoffed in amazement. Gazed back out at the ocean. "Everything," she said, awed.

Liara only chuckled softly in response, the warming breeze tickling her crest and her affection leaving her speechless. Pausing, she traced the curve of Shepard's cheek, her skin soft and slightly — as she'd recently learned to say — peach-fuzzy. "What did you want to do today?"

"That's such an open-ended question." She took Liara's hand and cupped it in both her own, running her thumb over her knuckles. "Dunno. This's your home. Anything. Surprise me. I'll even close my eyes the whole way there, if you want."

Liara shook her head, amused. "I would be willing to wager a significant credit sum that you couldn't manage to keep your eyes off me for a minute," she teased.

"Oho. Oh. One whole minute."

"An entire minute." Liara smirked. Lowered her hand from her grasp. "Okay. Let's practice."

"Okay." Shepard's gaze was unwavering as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, hands at her sides.

"I'm starting a timer," Liara warned, and brought up her 'tool.

Shepard closed her eyes, the hint of her smile still there, as she took Liara's hands in her own.

Hands occupied as they were, Liara couldn't reach out and cup Shepard's cheek, run her fingertip over the scar on her brow, trace the stubbly texture of the buzzed hairs on the sides of her head. But she could, in this moment, lean forward and kiss her.

"Five seconds," Liara announced smugly, pulling away.

"Hey — uh, no!" Shepard sputtered. "Sabotage. Doesn't count."

Liara flicked up her brows. "Try again, then?"

"I have a feeling by 'try again' you mean — ahhh…"

Liara kissed her again, pulling her close. Suddenly, she gasped and staggered back — and not because Shepard's fingertips had found pressure along the ridges on her spine.

A trio of maidens skipped by on a motorized skiff, squealing and hollering their delight at the show while triumphantly waving protective hats and fishing gear. Liara clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Shepard, shoulders rocking with silent laughter, cleared her throat. "Uh, where were we?"

"Day plans," Liara said, removing her hand from her mouth just enough to speak.

Shepard continued to rock with laughter. "Right," she deadpanned.

"Hmm." Liara gazed upward, sucking on the inside of her cheek as she thought. Looked back to Shepard, raising her brows. "Armali Natural History Museum?"

"Oh shit, dinosaurs!"

"Excuse me?"

Shepard, expectantly wide-eyed, mouth excitedly open, burst into actual laughter.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" Liara pressed.

"It's a 'whatever you want to do today, Li.'"

"Petraaa."

That earned Liara a nose-wrinkle. "Nobody calls me that."

Liara tapped the end of Shepard's nose and shrugged, grinning. "I do."

"At the very least," Shepard said, playfully swatting the arm attached to Liara's nose-bopping-hand away, "we should talk breakfast first." She took Liara in her arm, pulled her close, kissed her shoulder. "There's some weird-ass eggs in the fridge if you know how to cook those. Or we could eat out… hey, why are you looking at me like that?"

Her grin turned devious. "I think I'd like that," she said, and she grabbed Shepard's hand and pulled her up the stairs.

#wips #SAtS #LWLS #my writing #shiara

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