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writingsfromhome · 3 years

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Bad Timing I

A/N: This is you and your ex, (Detective) Harry, winding up in each other’s lives again after a traumatic event in your life. I’ve had this idea in my notes app for like a year, and I just decided to go for it this week! It’s a little all over the place as I set it up but I think the next part will go a lot better if you can stick with it (and I appreciate you if you can <3).

Warnings: Violence (guns), PTSD?

Part 1 / (.5) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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I had booked Thursday and Friday off in advance. I made sure my e-mails were forwarded, my clients were told I wouldn't be in, and any internal matters were allocated to my assistant. It was going to be a relaxing long weekend where I could have a homemade meal for once and watch Netflix all day. I was my branch’s youngest director and even though it was a fulfilling job, I hadn't had a day off since I got the position four months ago.

This was probably why, at 9am, I get a call from my assistant. One of our bigger clients was refusing to discuss his loan terms with anyone and wanted to speak to me directly.

"Tell him I'm not in Adam, you shouldn't even be calling me-I have the bloody day off."

"Yess but he said he's coming in at 10 and if you're not here he's switching banks for his personal and business accounts." Adam stuttered. “If you lose this client H-”

"Jesus," I look at my outfit and the time-I barely had any time to make it to the bank; it took me 40 minutes just to get to work. "I'll be there-distract him if I'm late. Oh! Ask about his daughter's new private school!"

I rush to my room and apply minimal makeup, pull back my y/h/c hair and throw on my black cigarette pants and a blazer. I'm halfway down the lift when I realise I was still in my t-shirt. "Shite," I mutter. I button the blazer and put my scarf around my neck so it's covered. That was decent enough for my day off.

I arrive breathless and sweaty 5 minutes early to the bank despite the cool weather. Might have seemed like a win if that wasn’t when everything went downhill. Just as I walk up to the side door, waving at Adam who was walking out to greet me, a crash from the entrance startles me.

"Hands up!” A loud voice booms from behind me. “Don't touch a fucking thing!" I turn, seeing Adam’s shocked expression, just in time to be shoved to the floor by four people dressed all in black, and wearing celebrity masks. In all my time working here, I’d never been part of a bank heist and some part of me is frozen, mind blank. I wasn’t even supposed to be here!

"I said to put your hands up!" The one with a Brad Pitt face points the gun around the room as people scramble for cover. I inch backwards to the counter as I watch them manhandle the customers and pull our bankers to the floor. I release a breath, trying to snap out of the shock I seemed to be in. The base of a column digs into my back and I focus on that to ground myself, scanning each robber, and where my employees were. Adam has his hands on his head, the closest one to me. I try to catch his eye to reassure him but he’s squeezing them tight. I didn’t blame him, Brad Pitt stands over him menacingly. I look to the customers, they weren’t trying to be smart--that was good. I’d watched enough TV to know that was never a smart move.

Just as I think that, from the corner of my eye, I catch Cole, one of our guards reach for his gun. A loud shot echoes through the small space and I swivel my head trying to see what's happened while making sure everyone was okay. The thief wearing a Kanye West mask, manning the front entrance of the bank, had shot Cole in the arm and he was bleeding all over the floor. My first instinct is to help him but I'm yanked back down before I make it a step.

"We’re not missing the next person who moves a muscle. I want you all to drop your phones in the middle! No. Fucking. Funny business." The thief who shot Cole points his gun to all of us and it takes all of me to not hyperventilate. I hear a few people crying but I don't dare look. Instead, I watch on as David Beckham drags Cole to the side and ties his hands behind him. I can see by the wincing that they didn’t care whether they twisted his arms too hard. This wasn’t a petty robbery, they were hardcore.

"Who has the passcode to the vault?" Brad Pitt asks as one of his friends goes around zip tying everybody's hands behind them. When nobody answers he shoves the gun in Adam’s face and I let out a sob. What did we do to deserve this?

"Me," I choke out. “Don’t hurt him, I have the passcode. I know it.”

"You?" The man asks. "You better not be lying bitch or you'll be joining your friend there."

I nod as he pulls me up by the arm and uses my scarf to tie my hands. I try to stay calm, the only way I could get through this before the police arrived was to keep my calm. Everything in me is screaming to do something--fight, scream, swear, cry, but I keep my mouth shut and follow Brad Pitt and the joker to the back. I'm led at gunpoint to the vault and they untie me so I can put in the code and my thumbprint. The one in a Joker mask presses her gun into my back and I know the least of my worries was a bruise but that was the only thing I could focus on.

She shoves me forward when I pause, hovering my finger over the finger pad, in the distance I hear sirens. Please let us all be okay, I pray.

"Don’t be a fucking hero, let’s go!" The female behind me yells in my ear and I rush to press my thumb.

As soon as I finish the procedure, I feel an explosion like fireworks against the side of my head and everything goes dark.

H POV:

I walked into the station around 10, just having come back from a nearby escalated domestic call. It wasn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever been involved in at 10am on a Thursday morning.

"Harry, there seems to be some sort of commotion near Holborn, the director wants you in his office." Serena, the receptionist tells me gravely. I don’t even consider the street, assuming it would be another criminal to go after. But when I go into the office, we get the rundown: there was a robbery happening at the HSBC. That’s when I understand the gravity of the situation.

"We’ve sent a few men right now, they seemed to be armed so proceed with caution." He warns. I had been on the force for over four years; I moved rank fast and knew how to handle myself so the warning was mostly for the junior constables. But my heart thuds violently in my chest when I think about the possibility...no. I had to focus. But I can’t help but try her cell on our way to the scene. When it continues to ring, my thoughts go to the worse place possible. I know I hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a year, like she wanted, but if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

When we arrive at the scene, the thieves are still inside. I make sure nobody makes any moves, following protocol, and trying to gauge the exact situation inside. But before I could give orders, a man holding up his zip-tied hands shuffles out of the building. I notice the terror on his face and the fact that he's not armed.

"Down!" I say. The restless energy building up inside of me makes every move feel frantic.

"They left out the back! They left!" The man's shaky voice reaches our ears. I gesture a few of the officers to head around back and radio in the update.

"Get his statement, be sensitive,” I snap at the closest officer before I take a few of my officers indoors. The scene inside only reminds me why I do what I do, there's glass on the floor, phones in a pile and bullets littering the floor. Everyone looks shocked, people are crying, and a man in the corner is bleeding profusely.I scan all their faces but I don’t see her. I pray that she might have taken the day off today or something, even though I knew she rarely every did. Where was she?

"Medical," I order. I face the crowd, "You're all alright, If everyone can slowly get up and follow Officer McGregor out, we'll see that your belongings are returned to you and collect statements later. You’re all alright now."

"Sir," a bloke off to the side steps forward from the group getting up. "Our manager was taken to the back...we're not sure how she is, she hasn't come out...”

I reassure the crowd she should be fine. I didn't want them to see me panic, not to mention if we had any casualty the press outside were going to bombard this crowd with insensitive questions and I really wanted to keep this on the low. I was considered young for a DCI and any screw up meant I took it twice as hard. And I didn’t know if I could behave normally if I didn’t find her in any way except breathing. I put on my brave face.

I get an officer to stand by and venture cautiously into the back, spotting an open vault. I hurry into the area when I spot her, laying motionless on the floor.

“Y/N,” I rush forward, skidding on my knees to check on her. “Pleasepleaseplease.” I put my fingers to her pulse and nearly shout in relief. She was alive! I send a thanks out into the universe, to whoever was watching over her. “Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me?”

Her eyes flutter under her lids. I turn her gently onto her back, she was wearing a Green Day t-shirt under a smart jacket and trousers--that was unlike her. She always dressed very smart. I gently remove her short strands off her face to reveal a nasty bruise on the side of her head. I try to stifle my heartbeat; it scared me seeing her like this. I’m about to call my officer but her long lashes flutter and suddenly she's looking at me, dazed.

"Y/N! Are you alright?" I inquire. She blinks, and then again, her eyebrows drawn together as she stares at me. I try again, “Y/N, answer me please! Are you alright?”

"I...do I...bloody look alright? Where did they go?" She snaps out of her daze and tries to sit up but her hand goes to her head which must be throbbing. I place a hand on her back so she doesn't fall back down.

"Oh thank god,” I sigh in relief, she could talk. She was alright. “Th-they’'ve managed to escape. We'll deal with that. You were knocked unconscious so we should get you checked-”

"Those bastards," she snarls. I bite back a chuckle as I help her up. She pushes me away as soon as she's on her feet. "I wasn't even supposed to bloody be here today you know that? It was my day off and....Jesus.” She clutches her forehead. “How's everyone else? Chris? Adam?"

"Everyone is fine, your guard’s being taken to hospital. Everyone else is untouched, we need to have you checked out though." I am mesmerized, as always, by her ability to talk about ten things at once.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s my case, I guess,” I tell her, expecting the question. She scowls. “I’ll have to ask you some questions later, but Y/N we need to have your head checked.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she mumbles.

“You’re proving by the second that you’re quite alright but we’ve got to get you to a medic anyway,” I gesture forward so she can walk ahead of me. I didn’t want her falling or anything. The constable at the door watches her walk out and eyes me warily.

"She need her statement taken chief?"

"I'll take her down to the station myself--she's hurt." I dismiss the officer and follow Y/N out. I wanted to keep an eye on her right now. “Can I help you walk?”

“My legs are working fine,” she snarls whilst clutching her forehead.

Your POV:

I could not believe today's turn of events. I was supposed to have a relaxing day off but instead, I’m rushed to work so I could be held up by thieves, forced to help them rob my branch, only to be mildly concussed. And the person on the case is none other than my ex-husband Harry Styles.

The only thing going for me is that I don't cry easily (or i would be a sniffling mess right now). And Harry was the last person I wanted to cry in front of although he’s seen me at much worse. I push aside those memories, ignoring his lingering eyes and try to walk ahead of him.

I cover up my shaking hands by stuffing them under the blanket I'm wrapped in when Harry leads me to the ambulance. He stays to the side while the medic goes through a questionnaire and informs me on what I need to know about being mildly concussed. All I could think about is the feeling of a gun pressed to the small of back, the chill of it through fabric.

"Miss?" The medic asks.

"Sorry, I got it. Yes. Thank you."

"I asked how you got here?" The medic begins to look concerned. Shit. I did not want more attention.

"I...meant I got what you were saying. Sorry, I rode the tube in."

"Great. You can ride with me to the station," Harry says from the side. I avoid his gaze but I have to agree. There was no way I was taking the tube during a time like this. I had a concussion.

So I'm sat in the back whilst Harry drives with his partner. I catch Harry glancing in the rear-view more often than he should and when we make eye contact, he gives me a reassuring smile. But sitting in the back of the car, I feel like the metal tip of a gun still keeps my spine straight. My lungs feel like they're not expanding large enough for air and I clutch the seatbelt strapping me in. I try to name all the countries I could remember--a coping technique I’d used since I was a kid to try and distract myself.

"You alright miss?" The other officer sounds concerned.

"Yeah," I choke out. "Just a little stuffy back here."

"Oh ‘m sorry," Harry opens the back window and I greedily gulp the fresh air coming in. My panic subsides and I settle back into the seat.

"And that's all you remember?" Harry sits on the desk chair next to me even though his own seat remains empty behind the desk.

"Exactly as I've told you, like, 20 times Harry."

It was now two hours later; I'd sat waiting for an hour before receiving my phone only to find multiple calls from the bank’s higher-ups. After dealing with them, I had to wait another half hour before finally being interviewed. I proceeded to drink two cups of bad coffee while giving every detail of what I remember, their masks, and so on. Every time I said something that could help, Harry would backtrack and I would explain it three different ways. It was frustrating and the repetition kicked my anxiety up so that I was on the edge of a breakdown. I grip the arms of the chair and respond to Harry. "Listen, alright, why would I not be telling you the full story? Of course that's all I bloody remember! It's not like I had an out-of-body experience and I saw them leave through the back door.”

"I'm sorry Y/N, it's just routine." Harry keeps a straight face on. "We have a few suspicions we're trying to corroborate by interviewing everyone involved. I promise I’m just being thorough-"

"Yeah yeah alright, you sound like you're reading from a bloody manual," I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh into the silence. When Harry doesn't say anything, I look up to see him watching me with an amused expression.

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

"It’s been a while...I forgot how charming you can be.”

“What can I say, you bring it out in me.”

"Very interesting outfit by the way," he takes my snark in stride, gesturing to my outfit with his pen instead. I cross my arms in front of me. He's still got the stupid expression on his face, it looks unchanged from the one he used to give me once upon a time. When he found something I did funny but in a loveable way; the feelings that surface are almost unbearable.

"Don’t judge my outfit, I had to rush to work for our client meet-oh shit." I pull out my phone and check my email but there's nothing from the client. Probably avoiding the shit show. I notice the time, with all the time I’d wasted today I may as well not have taken the day off at all.

"So you weren't meant to be at work today except for this client? Bad timing isn’t it." Harry reads to himself from his notes. I stare at him, wishing I could burn a hole into his skull to see if he really had a brain in there.

"I've told you this five times before, Harry. You're literally reading from your notes. If you're just going to ask the same questions over and over I’m sure you can find the answers in there and I can go home."

"Right but something doesn't add up, I just want to make sure I have all the details."

"Do I have to be here to watch you do your mental maths?" I wasn't very nice when anxiety and frustration became my base emotions. But Harry knew that.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised at my snark. "I'm sure that you want to get to the bottom of this just as much as I do-"

"But that's not my job," I remind him. "That's yours. I've done mine, and I'd really just like to go home." My voice cracks, and I feel a rush of embarrassment.

"How about I drop you off home? I can walk through the day with you once more during the drive?”

He looks at me expectantly, “I’d rather stab myself in the eye.”

"Best not to with the concussion,” Harry pushes my buttons, and I’m kind of surprised. The last time we saw each other he’d been accommodating to my anger but he was pushing back today. Like he used to when we were together when he riled me up simply because he found it amusing.

When I scowl though, he gets serious. “Y/N, just let me give you a ride home and we can talk more.”

I didn’t want to stand around arguing, I was tired, so I just agree. He smiles, his dimples making a pretty appearance. Damn him.

H POV:

I’m surprised she agrees to ride home with me. I knew Y/N had a stubborn streak and giving in to my offer was new. She’d made it clear last time we saw each other that she wanted nothing to do with me. I was also curious to know where she lived, I’d only been to her office once since we’d split. And that was usually to drop off papers.

She actually answers my questions on the drive, albeit they’re one word answers, but she gives me space to talk out some theories I had. But she also disagrees with most of them, pointing out their flaws. The comfortable back-and-forth between us is bittersweet. This was why we were married once upon a time. We worked well together; after all, we’d been friends for years before dating the other. It was the friendship I missed the most when I thought about us.

When we drive up to her address, it’s a townhome in a decent part of the city. Her promotion clearly had its perks.

I leap out of the car to open her door before she could but she beats me to it, scowling at me as she realises what I was trying to do.

“So you live here?” I try to ease into a conversation, get her to open up, ask her how she was doing. But she looks at me like I’d asked a stupid question, waving her keys.

“You’re kind of dense for a detective,” she says when I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“Forget I asked,” getting personal was useless.

“Done.” She always manages to get the last word. She climbs her steps but I follow her up. She eyes me as she finds the correct one on her key ring. “What?”

“I just-have you got anyone living with you?”

“What’s that got to do with the case?” She asks, her defenses going up.

“You’re concussed, it’s best you have someone with you for the next 24 hours like the med-”

“I’ll be fine Harry,” her sharp edges soften but still, she only opens her door wide enough to step through. I can barely see anything behind her except for a hall.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I try again.

“Nice of you to care,” the way she says it implies a deeper meaning, one that borders on a dangerous topic.

“I’m serious Y/N, this--a concussion’s no joke. And it was traumatic what you went through you really shouldn’t-”

“I’ve been on my own for a while now, I’ll be okay.” There she goes having the last word again. I raise my hands and back off.

“If you say so. I’ll...head back to the station but if you need anything, well, you know how to reach me.”

She nods, closing the door softly behind her. I sigh, it was a whirlwind last few hours but I was just grateful Y/N was going to be okay. I know she hated me, but I still cared about her. It was hard not to. We’d known each other for over a decade, and even though I hurt her in our past, and she might not agree with me, I cared. Caring about her didn’t have an on/off switch. I only wanted her to be okay. Maybe even happy.

Y POV:

I go through the motions for the rest of the afternoon, mostly I sit zoned out in front of the window while the morning plays like a loop in my head. Something about having your life hang in the balance of a stranger’s pointer finger made it feel so fragile. It unraveled me, and I can’t focus on anything. I just keep feeling the gun on my back, and smashing against the side of my head.

I keep my head iced, and avoid screens except to send out a couple emails and to call my sister after 8 voice messages that progresses from panic after hearing the news to annoyance as I don’t respond. When she finds out Harry’s on the case she swears.

“That bastard,” I can see her face in my mind, the one where she pursues her lips like mum used to. “You should report him, conflict of interest right? It’s traumatic enough what you’ve been through, you poor thing. I was just talking to Lewis and he said I should come down to stay with you this weekend-”

“That’s really alright,” I nip the idea in the bud. I loved my sister dearly but she was an overly anxious person and I don’t think that would be helpful for me right now. “It’s just a mild concussion, the medic said I should be cleared after 24 hours so it would only be a hassle for you to come down here.”

“Alright,” she says grudgingly. “But you say the word and I’m on the first train out. And I’ll give that ex of yours an earful if he’s anywhere near you again.”

I smile at my sister’s overprotective nature, “I appreciate the offer, but I think I can manage that fine on my own.”

“That you can,” she laughs.

But when I put down the phone, the silence creeps in again. And normally I loved the quiet but like a broken record player, the voices and sounds from this morning continue to play in a loop in the silence.

I give up after 7 and start preparing for bed. But a call interrupts my nightly routine.

“Y/N,” it’s Harry. “It’s me, Harry.”

“I do have call display,” I say dryly.

“Right, I...wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

“Is this about the case?” I was hoping he was calling to say the bastards were caught.

“Oh...not exactly. I was wondering if you’ve fed yourself. I’m in your area for work, it’s my last call. I thought I could bring you some takeout or...?”

“I was about to get ready for bed.” I reply.

“Oh. That’s early? Have you had dinner?”

I think about the pathetic cheese toast I’d managed to make. My stomach growls thinking about food, I didn’t seem to have an appetite until he’s said something. “Fine, only if you’re in my area.”

Surely, not even 10 minutes go by and by doorbell rings. Harry stands outside with a takeout bag, his pressed shirt from this morning is more rumpled with a few buttons undone.

“I parked on the street--is that alright?”

“I guess? You’re just here to drop this off.” I shrug.

“Actually I uh, I thought I’d keep you some company.”

“I...” I don’t know if I should be offended. “I don’t need company. I only agreed to the takeout.”

“I’m part of the package,” he hides the bag behind him, a smug smile on his face. I roll my eyes, it was too late to do this with him.

So I leave the door open and head inside, tightening my robe around me. Harry was part of my past and having him here, in the place I’d built myself back again, feels wrong. This was where I’d shed the identity of being a divorcee before 30, and here he was. When I turn to see why he was so quiet, I find him scanning my gallery wall and smiling at the pictures.

“Hey, I’m on here,” he points to a small group picture.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I walk back to him to get the food. “I just looked good there.”

It was a shot from my sister’s wedding, Harry and I with the newlyweds. It was taken a few weeks before we’d made us official actually--moving from friends to lovers was maybe one of the bigger mistake I’d made in life. Another was agreeing to marry him.

“I look pretty good too,” he leans in closer. I ignore him and take the cartons of Chinese out and grab cutlery. He joins me, I hand him a beer and take a sparkling water for myself. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“Okay,” I shrug. “Just sorting through it all. Trying to avoid screens, all that.”

“That’s good,” he steals a chicken from the container I’m dumping into my plate. I eye him but he just grins, chewed food between his cheeks. I let it slide. “So you’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion or something?”

I sigh, “That’s not true, I only have a mild concussion!”

“Well I’m not a bloody doctor!”

“Thank god for that.”

“You’ll never stop doing that will you?” He rubs his chopsticks together and attempts to eat with him. “Always so snarky.”

“I can’t help it,” I continue to watch him fail with his chopsticks and pick up a fork. “It sustains me.”

“You should try being nice for once.”

“Tried it once, didn’t work out well for me. So...here I am.”

I was being passive, I knew that. He knew that with the way he eyes me over his food. He keeps quiet though, knowing there was nothing he could say in this moment to make a difference. We eat in silence until he receives a call and he leaves to take it. I clean up so by the time he gets back I’ve just loaded the dishwasher.

“I know the sleep thing’s not true for you,” Harry says as he approaches. “But I think I should stay here overnight. Just to make sure you’re-”

“No,” I cross my arms. “There’s no reason for you to stay the night Harry. I don’t need you here.”

“It’s for your peace of mind-”

“It’s for your peace of mind Harry. And frankly, I don’t care about your peace of mind. I don’t want you sleeping over, I’m not comfortable with that.”

“Y/N, c’mon! It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we didn’t sleep in the same bed for years--I’ll be sleeping on the couch! You’re not in your best shape and it’s just for a night, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something to go home to?” I ask. He shifts his gaze and shakes his head.

“Nope, my bachelor pad just me. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

I dry my hands and watch him, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I knew him well enough to recognise the wide stance, shoulders back, and jut of his chin. He wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t want to hear you, Not even a peep. I’ll make up the couch but this is the one and only time you’re wearing me down, you’re lucky I’m not in the mood to argue-”

“Promise,” he holds his hand up to his chest, a grin on his face knowing he won.

I leave him with a comfortable setup and head up to my own room. There was a spare upstairs but I don’t think I could handle him sleeping next door to me. It was weird how in just one day I’d seen more of him than I had in the last couple years and now he was sleeping in my living room like we were okay. Not like he wasn’t the man who’d broken my trust, and my heart.

As I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep as the day replays in my head, another set of memories infiltrates my mind and keeps me from sleeping. The story of Harry and I, the naive beginning, eventful middle, and heartbreaking end. My mind repeats its history and I don’t fall asleep for hours. When sleep finally comes, my dreams are haunted by the same memories.

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist :

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs.

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours.

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit.

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife.

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor?

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter.

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation.

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you.

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now.

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department.

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT.

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame.

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite.

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving.

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize.

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results.

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well.

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it.

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static.

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire.

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does.

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work.

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.”

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd.

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.”

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.”

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering.

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.”

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.”

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.”

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist.

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.”

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move.

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt.

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam.

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance.

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.”

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground.

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer.

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really.

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized.

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember.

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more.

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in.

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional.

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since.

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.”

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least.

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.”

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?”

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.”

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.”

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.”

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?”

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.”

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident.

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one.

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger.

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges.

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection.

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly.

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together.

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect.

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now.

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.”

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.”

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.”

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night.

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough.

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.”

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.”

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.”

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.”

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!”

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles.

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal.

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?”

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle.

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned.

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?”

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps.

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend.

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device.

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious.

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does.

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.”

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.”

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.”

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?”

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?”

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?”

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.”

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.”

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face.

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open.

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation.

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.”

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.”

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return.

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.”

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.”

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.”

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.”

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up.

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.”

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake.

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown.

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable.

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him.

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk.

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world.

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs.

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is.

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now.

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.”

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile.

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it.

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie.

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly.

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste.

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke.

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way.

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here.

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight.

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause.

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing.

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him.

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass.

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection.

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface.

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything.

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.”

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for.

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.”

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night.

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him.

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer.

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding.

When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind.

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner.

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault.

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come.

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes.

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...”

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears.

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own.

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested.

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.”

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job.

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known.

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city.

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life.

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit.

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class.

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again.

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move.

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film.

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity.

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions.

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house.

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree.

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria.

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand.

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them.

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.”

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken.

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs.

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger.

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats.

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor.

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.”

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought.

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life.

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail.

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb.

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?”

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.”

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.”

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.”

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.”

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?”

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.”

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human.

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.”

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room.

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly.

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.”

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile.

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.”

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised.

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.”

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.”

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach.

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.”

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give.

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath.

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.”

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.”

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.”

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks.

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs.

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge.

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.”

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?”

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.”

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again.

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke.

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.”

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.”

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning.

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil.

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.”

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name.

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done.

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight.

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.”

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.”

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer.

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had.

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.”

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys.

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell.

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them.

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately.

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.”

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Hiiii, so I decided to continue my combing through the books for random specific Everlark related content series. This one is Katniss and Peeta taking care of each other. This is Part One and only includes stuff from the first book because it was getting too long. 😭😅. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy.

I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He’s badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg.

Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he’s lying in what’s become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he’s burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature.

“Swallow these,” I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really. It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry for days,” says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That’s when I know how sick he is.

“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” I insist.

“It’ll just come right back up,” he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. “Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks.

“Soon,” I promise. “I need to look at your leg first.” Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him.

I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg . . . what on earth can I do for that?

I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg.

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” he asks.

“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton.

I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. “Come on. You can do this.”

But he can’t. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he’s going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area.

When Peeta’s able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I’d like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it’s only just cooling off, he’s shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he’s not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave.

I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don’t know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead.

I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage.

Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. “Go to sleep,” he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement.

Peeta’s stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it’s clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. “Who can’t lie, Peeta?” I say, even though he can’t hear me.

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

He doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness.

“You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head and upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rocks above me.

“I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

My socks are dry enough to wear now. I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won’t agree unless I’m in the bag, too, and I’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.

I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

Although I’m shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control.

Peeta’s face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I’ve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don’t have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It’s risky business — Peeta may end up losing his leg — but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lie down with him.

“Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It’s a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice.

“Cato may win this thing yet,” I whisper to Peeta.

“Don’t you believe it,” he says, pulling up my hood, but he’s shaking harder than I am.

Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there’s no way I’m letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

“He’s right,” says Caesar. “He’d have bled to death for sure without it.”

I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta’s shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it’s better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover.

#everlark #thg #hunger games #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #honestly they’re so cute both little caretakers #also love that Katniss is just constantly like let me feed you more medicine and food #and Peeta is concerned with wrapping her up and keeping her warm #hmmm wonder if that has any individual character significance for each other them #each of them I meant #sorry long post y’all #I tried to cut it down I did I just didn’t wanna miss anything which i doubtlessly did anyway #also this whole thing is making me wonder where is their toilet???? where are they peeing all this water they’re making each other drink????#bookcomb ♥️🔎

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterSix

Read on AO3 (EN)

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Chapter Resume: The one where you hunt a bear, and gather wood to make a fire.

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, cursing, blood.

tags: @mionemymind

It didn't take long for you to realize that this was not a good hunting area. It had been a long time since you had separated from Pietro and Wanda, and it seemed as if you were walking in circles without really finding any animals.

You walked in the direction you thought you came from, feeling your boots sink against the wet grass. And then you saw on the ground, the footprints you will learn to recognize with Thor. You realized that the reason you hadn't found any animals yet was because of the recent bear tracks. One animal of this size, and you would have enough food for the days you would be here.

Taking the rifle that was slung over your shoulder to hold it with both hands, you moved toward the trail of footprints, as quietly as possible.

The majestic creature was only a few meters away, its brown fur glistening in the sunlight. You noticed that it was feeding on some fish that were probably from the same lake that surrounded the cabin.

Moving forward in slow steps, you raised your rifle toward the bear, hoping to get a good shot of it.

And then you stepped wrongly, a stick breaking at your feet, attracting the animal's immediate attention. You hurried to shoot, but your gun locked up.

- Oh shit. - You grumbled, throwing the rifle to the ground, and rushing to run, the bear noticing you the same second you moved.

The animalistic sound of the bear's roar filling the entire room as it got up to chase you, you ran as fast as you could, and just when you thought you had put some distance between you, you spotted Pietro and Wanda, meeting you halfway down the path from opposite directions.

- I found a bear. - You shouted, as you threw yourself to the ground to get under a log. Wanda and Pietro were quick enough to pull you off the ground. You shivered at the sight of the approaching creature, but you drew your revolver, just as Wanda and Pietro aimed their rifles.

The creature fell to the ground with a thud as the shots hit it squarely in the head.

- Does that mean we tie? - asked Pietro after a moment, while the three of you were standing there staring at the dead animal. It took a second, then you all burst out laughing.

- Come on, folks, help me skin it. - You asked, stepping closer to the bear.

You spent the next few minutes skinning the animal, and a lot of meat was taken. And then you frowned as you realized that you had no way to carry it.

- Do you have any idea how we are going to get all this stuff to the cabin? - you ask, looking at the twins. All of you are covered in blood.

- Shit, it's true. - Pietro says as he looks at the pieces of meat. - I wonder if it will slip off if we take it in our hands.

You nod in agreement, and he sighs. Then you say:

- Take off your shirt.

Pietro looks at you with surprise, and then he smiles with amusement.

- Look, I'm flattered...

You roll your eyes, interrupting him: - To use for carrying idiot.

Pietro laughs, but raises his eyebrows.

- And why don't you take off your shirt?

Without patience, you start to unbutton your own shirt, while grumbling:

- You don't have the slightest bit of chivalry.

Pietro laughed, holding your hands to stop you.

- Okay okay, sorry. I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable in front of Stark either. - he says before pulling off his own shirt.

You can carry some pieces of meat on it, and on the jacket that Wanda was wearing. You wish you had your jacket too, but it was soaked with Steve's blood somewhere in the cabin.

Walking back, you share the weight of the makeshift "suitcase". When you finally reach the cabin, Steve is outside waiting for you, worried about the noise of the gunshots.

You show him the meat and take it to the small makeshift kitchen, dumping the supplies on the table.

- Okay, I'll take care of our dinner, you get cleaned up right away. - He says, pushing the three of you out of the hut.

- We provide your food and you kick us out of the house? - Pietro dramatizes being pushed out, Steve just laughs.

You and Wanda come out in front, laughing while Pietro tries to avoid being pushed out.

- Come on, Pietro! You stink! - said Steve.

Pietro laughs before giving up, then walks off, throwing his arms around both your shoulders and Wanda's.

- You know, girls, I've been thinking. - He starts to say, keeping his arm around you as you walk towards the lake. - I would love to be best man at your wedding.

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush.

- If you promise to take a shower, we might consider it. - You retort, and try not to look so nervous at the almost worshipful look Wanda gives you. Pietro agreed, pretending to swear an oath. You laugh, telling him to shut up.

When you reached the lake, you exchanged a look with Wanda, and the two of you pushed Pietro into the water, laughing as he fell, struggling dramatically.

- Damn, it's cold! - he exclaimed, and then started moving his arms, throwing water on you and Wanda. The redhead sidestepped your body, trying to escape the jets of water as you both laughed. She threw you into the lake the next second, and you felt the icy water soak your clothes.

Pietro jumps on you as soon as you fall, and you start playing fight, while throwing water at each other. Pietro lands a quick blow on you that knocks you to the ground, he strikes a dramatic pose as he says:

- Do you accept your defeat, foreigner?

- My god you are such an idiot. - You say between laughs as you stand up. Pietro laughs and steps back a bit, only to take off his soaked boots and pants

Wanda sat on the edge of the lake while you played, and she had a tender look on her face when you approached. You looked away in embarrassment as you began to undress. Unbuttoning your shirt completely, you removed it, placing it on the edge of the lake to let it dry. You removed your boots, tossing them beside your shirt, and then you began to unbutton your pants. You felt like you were being watched, and looked up to find Wanda staring at you with a glint in her eyes that you didn't quite know what it was, her cheeks red. When she noticed you watching, she looked away, focusing on unbuttoning her own blouse.

- Ouch, I think a fish just bit my ass! - shouted Pietro, jumping around the lake while looking down.

- God, Pietro. - said Wanda laughing.

- No fish will want to bite you, you stinker! - You jokingly said, making the twins laugh, while Pietro gave you a gentle shove.

You spent a lot of time at the lake, running around and throwing water at each other.

The sun was setting when Steve left the cabin.

- God you guys are still there? - he asked in a disapproving tone. - Get out before you catch cold.

It had been so hot all day that this probably wouldn't happen. You picked your clothes up off the floor, now completely dry, and put them on. And then you remembered your jacket, and went into the cabin looking for it.

- What is it, kid? - Steve asked as soon as you walked in. You noticed that he and Tony had taken all the sheets off the furniture, and now the cabin was extremely cozy. Tony was crouched over the fireplace, probably trying to see how to light it.

- My jacket. - You say, looking around. - I wore it to...

- To stop the bleeding. - Steve interrupts. - I remember. - He says with amusement, walking towards the room where Bucky was sleeping. - I cleaned it up shortly after you went out hunting. - He says, and his voice is a little low because of the distance. He returns next, handing the jacket to you.

- Thank you, Steve. - You say and he smiles, ruffling your hair.

- Let's build a fire outside, okay? - He says. - Just like old times.

You nod your head in agreement, smiling. He asks you to fetch wood to light the fire, signaling that there should be a wood storage compartment under one end of the hut.

Leaving the hut, you smile when you see Wanda and Pietro playing with their hands, like those games you used to play as children. You tell them that you are going to look for some wood to make a fire, and Pietro starts looking for bigger logs for you guys to use as a seat. Tony then leaves the cabin and asks Wanda to get some wood for the cabin fireplace, and he joins Pietro in dragging a fallen log to the center of the yard.

You try not to think too much about being alone with Wanda again, walking beside her through the forest as you search for sticks, your hands rubbing together occasionally between stolen glances.

Returning to the cabin area, you look for the storeroom Steve mentioned, finding it on the outer side, almost at the back of the cabin. You let out a contented exclamation as you spot it.

- Steve says to keep some firewood here. - You say without turning to Wanda. You bend down to put away some branches, leaving the amount needed for the fire. - Let's split the weight. - You say to Wanda as she puts away the branches she has split and gets up with the others she is going to take to the fireplace. She smiles at you as you try to keep the amount the same, maybe even adding more branches for yourself. - There you go. - You smile and look at Wanda, only to find her looking at you with intensity. - Is everything mmm...

The question dies in your throat as Wanda moves forward, bringing her mouth to yours. You sigh, while closing your eyes. Wanda drops the sticks on the ground, grabbing you by the waist as she pushes you against the wood of the hut. You lift your hands to her face, the sticks long forgotten at your feet.

Wanda runs her tongue across your lower lip, asking for passage, and you open your mouth slightly to feel her tongue meet yours. When your tongues touch, you feel a sharp twinge under your stomach, and you let your fingers slide to the nape of Wanda's neck, running through the strands of her hair.

The kiss is intense, and leaves you with weak knees. Your brain goes blank, the feel of Wanda's tongue takes your breath away.

You feel Wanda push your body against the wood, the sensation draws a gasp from you as it chills your entire body.

You think you hear laughter, everything around you seems muffled. But you force yourself to focus on something other than Wanda, and then you remember where you are.

- Wanda. - You call her between kisses, completely breathless. - Wands.

And then she presses you against the cabin once more, her knee coming up between your legs, and you see stars. You really thought that there was your doom there, and you would take her for yourself at that moment, but then another noise, which sounded like Pietro shouting with joy as he managed to carry the logs, caught Wanda's attention.

She parted your mouths, probably startled by the noise, and you whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. Wanda quickly brings your mouths together again, a smile on her lips, and this time she kisses you with less intensity. A moment passes before you end the kiss completely, keeping your foreheads resting together as Wanda pulls the rest of her body away a bit so that she's no longer pressing you against the cabin, which makes you miss her body heat in the same second.

You were going to tell her that you need to take the firewood, but then Pietro's voice sounded in the distance.

- Stop making out in secret and get over here! I'm hungry! - he shouted.

You and Wanda let out a half breathless laugh. Stepping back a little, you stared into her emerald eyes, swearing that she never looked so beautiful.

- Let's go before Pietro comes to get us. - Wanda says in a playful tone. You nod in agreement, as you bend down to gather the twigs.

Before you leave in the direction of the lake, you steal a lingering kiss from her, which makes her blush and flush. You just smile, and she hurries to get in your way, kissing you firmly before walking away. She takes one last look at you before turning toward the cottage, and you try to stop grinning like an idiot as you walk toward the garden.

As you finished setting up and lighting the campfire, the others sat around the fire, warming themselves from the cold night. Steve brought blankets, and mugs, while Tony loaded the raw meats for roasting.

You and Wanda share a blanket, sitting side by side on the makeshift bench, while Pietro sat next to his sister. You tried not to blush as you felt Wanda's hand entwine with yours under the blanket.

As the meats roasted, Steve began to hum softly.

- Help yourselves. - He said after a moment, and you noticed him taking a piece for Bucky. He then got up and walked towards the cabin, signaling that he would be back in a few minutes.

- So, you're sort like his children? - Stark asked as you served yourselves. Pietro let out a little chuckle.

- I think Y/N is yes. - He teased and you rolled your eyes. Tony looked at you, looking really interested to know.

- He is not a biological father if that is what you are asking. - You said. - But he has been taking care of me since I was a child, so I guess we are like father and daughter.

Tony nodded slightly, a gleam in his eyes that you couldn't recognize. Maybe it was relief, but you couldn't tell why.

- What about you two? Are your parents with the rest of the gang? - Tony asked the twins. You guessed that he knew about the rest of the gang because Steve should have told him during the conversation this afternoon. Pietro and Wanda exchanged a look with each other, as if deciding whether to trust Tony.

- No, our parents are dead. - Said Wanda after a moment, you felt her squeeze your hand lightly. - We joined the gang as children too. Stephen, you don't know him, took us off the streets.

- Oh, I see. - Said Tony - I'm sorry about that.

Wanda shrugged. - It was a long time ago.

You were silent for a moment, enjoying the dinner. The meat had a strong flavor, and was not usually what you eat, but it was tasty. Steve returned after a while, looking pleased.

- Bucky finally woke up. - He commented as he sat up, then helped himself. - He managed to eat a little.

- He'll be fine. - You assured him, and Steve smiled at you tenderly.

When everyone was finished eating, you just sat quietly, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Tony was the first to get up, telling you that he was going to check if Bucky didn't have a fever, and Steve quickly followed him.

Pietro quickly switched places, sitting on the log in front of you and Wanda, looking at you both with mischievous amusement.

- So girls, let's do something fun? - he suggested.

- There's not much to do in this place. - You commented, looking at him. Pietro blinked, thoughtful for a moment.

- We can always hunt another bear. - He joked, making you and Wanda laugh. After a moment, his expression changed to concern, causing you to frown.

- What's up, Pietro? - you asked, and he looked away from you into the fire.

- Do you think everyone is all right? - he asked, but didn't expect an answer. - With all those O'Driscolls and guards, how can we be sure that they got out without being seen? And even if they did, where do we go from here?

Wanda gave your hand a squeeze, before letting go and getting up to sit beside Pietro, hugging him by the shoulders.

- We'll be fine, Pietro. - She said in a tender tone. - Stephen will find a place for us.

You wanted to tell Pietro that everything would be all right, and that you would be home with everyone soon. But you were overcome by your own insecurities, worrying too much about everyone. You could only nod in agreement to Wanda, forcing a smile from your lips.

- We take care of each other right? - Pietro grumbled after a moment, his eyes filled with tears. Wanda smiled.

- Of course. Y/N and I will take care of you. - She teased, and Pietro let out a hoarse laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes.

You fell silent for a moment, until Pietro said that you should sleep, and you actually agreed, finally acknowledging how tired you were from the robbery. You put out the fire while the twins got up, and then you walked together to the cabin.

Steve was tidying up the rooms when you came in, carrying blankets to the wooden beds. You were pleased to hear that there were mattresses in the cabin.

- So, how are you going to share the beds? - He asked, and you were about to say that you would sleep on the floor if you had to, but Peter was quicker to make an ironic comment.

- Well, wives should sleep in the same bed. - He joked and Wanda slapped him on the head, and he just laughed along with Steve.

- We can all sleep together, Steve. - Wanda then said.

- Actually, Pietro might be right. - Steve said with humor in his voice, and looking at the confused and surprised expressions of the three of you, he clarified. - We have a queen-size bed in the empty room. And then two bunk beds in the room where Bucky is. Maybe it would be better if the girls slept together.

You felt your face get very hot, and maybe Wanda had the same expression, because Steve took on a mixed look of seriousness and humor when he said:

- Behave yourselves, girls. - He teased, and you heard Pietro laugh. He remarked something like "early honeymoon" but you ignored it. Steve dragged Pietro into the bedroom next, and the boy wished you both a good night.

You followed Wanda into your bedroom in silence, feeling out of place. You tried not to think too much in the double bed. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your anxious brain. It was only Wanda, you had slept together hundreds of times before. You closed the door as you entered, while Wanda sat up in bed.

You gave her a shy smile as you took off your boots and jacket. She did the same.

You lay in silence, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You sighed, turning your body to face her as you waited for her to do the same. Wanda turned around, and you smiled at her, who was looking at you with flushed cheeks.

- Hi - you whispered.

- Hi. - She said in the same tone.

You rested your head against your arm, and raised your other hand to Wanda's hair, playing with the strands in your fingers.

- Why is that strange? - she asked, looking away from you. You smiled slightly. - We've slept together before.

- Because now I want to kiss you. - You answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. Wanda blinked, surprised at your honesty. She bit her lower lip, and you let your fingers run across her face and around her cheeks. Wanda grimaced slightly when you touched her on the top of her nose, and you smiled tenderly, feeling your heart inflate with love for her.

- I want to kiss you too. - She confessed after a moment, looking into your eyes. You remembered the three men in the next room, and let out a sigh.

- We don't have to do anything just because we're in a bed together. - You said, and then let the palm of your hand rest against Wanda's cheek, who leaned into your touch. - We have all the time in the world.

Wanda nodded, closing her eyes. You moved closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. She had a smile on her lips when you pulled away.

- Goodnight, Wanda. - you whispered.

- Good night. - She answered in the same tone, practically asleep. You watched her for a few more moments before closing your eyes.

It had been three days since you had been in the cabin. Your routine consisted of waking up completely entwined in Wanda's body, smiling like an idiot, and then having coffee with Pietro. Then bathing in the lake, and spending time in their company. Sometimes you chopped wood, or tried to fish, but most of the time you just joined Pietro and Wanda in song, or you played the deck of cards he had found in one of the cabinets. The best moments were the stolen kisses that Wanda would take from you, leaving you breathless and clumsy as she walked away as if nothing had happened.

The problem was that Steve's nervousness about the delay in hearing from the camp was palpable, and it made everyone quite uncomfortable. Bucky was finally awake, and this cheered Steve up a bit, but he still had a distracted look whenever you looked at him.

And then, you finally got a letter. Peggy sent a coded message, and after a few minutes of reading and rereading the paper, Bucky finally deciphered it. They had set up camp in the Rhodes region, and everyone was safe. You let out a sigh of relief when you heard these words.

Steve signaled for you guys to have some coffee, and then said that you needed to arrange some horses.

- We are going to walk to the Esmerald Ranch. - He said while putting on his boots - And then me, Pietro and Y/N will steal the horses.

Everyone nodded in agreement, Tony looked slightly uncomfortable, but you guessed he was going to take the train as soon as he arrived at the ranch.

Then you covered the cabin furniture again, and checked that you didn't leave anything important behind.

The way to the ranch was slightly long, and halfway there Pietro started carrying his sister on his back, while everyone sang a song excitedly. You kept the pace slow so as not to tire Bucky too much.

When you finally spotted the ranch, you stopped walking, finding a place for the others to hide while you, Steve and Pietro stole the horses.

- So you see the stables? - Steve asked, pointing to the place. You and Pietro nodded. - There are only pawns inside. Don't hurt anyone, and go around the bars so as not to be seen. Now, masks please.

You and Pietro quickly put on their masks. Steve turned to Tony.

- The station is on the other side. - He said signaling. Tony shifted the weight of his feet, before shaking everyone's hand, saying goodbye. He waved last before walking the distance.

- What are the chances of him going straight to the police? - Pietro asked looking at the distance image of Tony.

- Don't worry about it. - Said Steve, he looked at Bucky fondly before pushing you and Pietro lightly by the shoulders, so that you were heading for the stables.

Stealing horses wasn't hard, you had done it many times before. So you just picked the one that looked healthiest, and you were glad he didn't knock you down. You and Pietro followed Steve out. He had to confront one of the ranchers, pointing his gun at the man, who backed away at the same second, before you left

Riding quickly to the corner where Wanda and Bucky were, you watched as Wanda helped Bucky onto Steve's horse. And then she climbed on with you, ignoring Pietro's teasing. The feeling of having her hugging your waist was good.

You didn't start riding more slowly until you were a good distance away from the Esmerald Ranch.

- Do you know where the camp is exactly? - Pietro asked Steve, while riding beside him.

- We will find it, relax. - replied Steve. - I have some idea of good places in this region, hidden enough.

You were trying not to smile so hard as you felt Wanda hugging you, and then your face flushed when you noticed Pietro's suggestive expression.

It took a few hours, but you finally reached the spot where Steve believed the camp was set up. He entered the forest ahead of you, followed by you.

- Hey, look who decided to show up! - shouted a voice, and you heard Steve laugh. You didn't recognize Thor until he walked towards you, no longer hidden by branches.

The reunion was quite exciting. Thor helped Bucky dismount, leading him to a cabin, while the other members ran up to you. Nat almost knocked you to the ground when she jumped up to hug you, making you laugh. You felt your chest lighten when you noticed that everyone was safe.

- Come, come, you must see the place. - Signaled Potts cheerfully. Nat held your arm as you walked together, and you looked back a moment, exchanging a smile with Wanda, who was walking along with Monica and Pietro.

The new camp was in an open area, which contained two tall trees. It was on the edge of a large lake, and you were happy to know that you could fish without leaving the camp. Potts signaled the location of everyone's tent, and then the group split up. Nat escorted you to your tent, which had been stowed. You made a mental note to thank Potts for this later.

Nat threw herself on your bed as soon as you came in, and you laughed as you took off your jacket. That region was very hot.

- So, dear, what's your news? - she asked, and you sat down in the chair at your makeshift little table, taking off your boots.

- Well, I hunted a bear with a revolver. - You joke, and Nat looks at you with confusion. You shrug. - Wanda and Pietro saved my ass actually. And then we had bear meat for days.

- Hmm, speaking of Wanda. - Nat started, sitting up in bed, and you just laughed, looking away. - I just mentioned her name and you were all smiles and giggles.

- Shut up. - You retorted, finishing taking off your boots. You got into a more comfortable position in the chair. Nat laughed at your embarrassment.

- Go on, tell me. - She asked. - I saw you exchanging passionate glances.

You sighed, laughing slightly. Scratching your head absently, you looked away before speaking again.

- Wanda kissed me. A few times.

- WHAT? - Nat shouted wide-eyed. You felt your cheeks heat up even more when you noticed some gang members looking at your tent with curiosity.

- God, can you keep your voice down? - You asked as you stood up and closed the tent, without first nodding awkwardly at the ones who looked at you.

- My God, what do you mean? - she asked excitedly, pulling you to sit beside her. - And it wasn't just one kiss, it was several? How long have you been hiding this?

You laughed, cradling your face in both hands, clumsily. Nat giggled, nudging you and making you look at her.

- The night before the robbery. - You told her. - I apologized for ignoring her and she kissed me outside the tent.

- And I missed this? - She shouted, and you signaled her to keep it down with a laugh. - That explains your little smile that morning. - You shrugged, smiling shyly. Nat assumed a mischievous expression. - But did you say several kisses? Girl, you're standing there grabbing Wanda in the middle of a robbery?

You laughed, pushing Nat lightly.

- Of course not, Nat, my goodness. - You denied it. - After we escaped, Steve found us a place to stay.

- If you say a brothel, I'll punch you in the face.

You laughed, and Nat smiled lightly. And then she waved her hands signaling for you to keep telling her.

- It was a cabin, somewhere near the Esmerald Ranch. - You explained. - Wanda kissed me again there.

You felt your cheeks heat up as you remembered how she had kissed you, and looked away quickly. Nat frowned, and then laughed, putting her hand over her mouth.

- My God, you want to sleep with her! - she exclaimed, and you widened your eyes. - Look at your face!

- There's no face at all. - you mumbled clumsily.

- Oh yes, you do. The face of someone who won't even wait for the wedding. My God, does Pietro know you're trying to deflower his sister?

- Oh my God, Nat. - You said closing your eyes, Nat just laughed at your shame.

- And here I thought you were an innocent girl. - She teases. - But tell me, are you two officially dating then?

You frown, looking at Nat, realizing that you didn't know the answer. You certainly wanted to, but you and Wanda hadn't talked about it.

- I will take your silence and your stupid face as "we haven't talked about it yet because our mouths were busy. - Nat joked with irony and you let out an embarrassed exclamation of shame, laughing ruefully. - My God, you two are a disaster.

- We just haven't had time to talk yet. - you said after a moment. - I think I'll invite you into town. We can do something fun.

- Look at you, planning dates and all. - Nat teased, and you rolled your eyes humorously.

- Can you tell me what happened here now? - you say, and Nat just shrugs.

- The usual I guess. We set up the camp and got busy with the daily chores. - She said and you nodded. But then Nat exclaimed as if she remembered something. - Sorry, you haven't seen them yet. Bruce and Carol have improved! I think Carol went to Rhodes, by the way.

- What? - You exclaimed excitedly. - This is amazing.

- Yes, and now that everyone is available for work, you'll have plenty of free time to date.

You laughed, telling her to shut up. Nat just smiled, looking away.

- Have you talked to Bruce yet? - you ask after a moment. Nat bites her lip, slightly embarrassed.

- We don't have much to talk about. - She says. - He still thinks we shouldn't happen.

You sigh, and hold Nat's hand, who gives you a sad smile.

- Banner is an idiot to let someone like you escape. - You say. - Maybe things will work out for you two over time. If not, I'll go over there and kick his ass myself.

Nat laughed, nodding. You fell into a comfortable silence, until Nat remembered that she had chores to keep up with, and hugged you before leaving the cabin, telling you to talk to Wanda soon. You nod, feeling your heart race with anticipation, and Nat leaves.

A new camp always generates a lot of new tasks, so you force yourself out of bed to help the rest of the gang. As soon as you leave your tent, Potts signals for you to go talk to her. She had some papers spread out on one of the camp's wooden tables, and seemed to be trying to organize everything you guys had.

- Everything okay there, Pepper? - you comment as soon as you reach her, who looks nervous. - By the way, thank you for organizing my tent.

- No worries, really. And yes, everything is fine. I'm just trying to keep this place running. - she says. And then she fiddles with the papers, reading for a few seconds, before handing one of them to you. - I need these items.

- Right. - You say as you pick up the list. And then you frown at the number of items.

- We don't have any money. - She tells you. You sigh, tucking the list in your jacket pocket. - Maybe you can rob a grocery store.

- No, it' s okay. I can do some robbing in some other town, and then buy the items. - You say, knowing that robbing stores was much more work than robbing travelers.

- Okay, thanks Y/N. - She says, but you don't leave yet, remembering something.

- Pepper, any chance that you have found Knight? - you ask. - He knocked me down during the shootout at Heartlands.

Potts assumes a mixed expression of confusion and sorrow.

- Damn it, Y/N, I'm sorry, I thought you saw him. - She says and you look at her with confusion. - Unfortunately, he did not survive.

- Oh. Oh, shit. Damn, that's really too bad. - You grumble, feeling immediately upset. You think crying over a horse would be childish, so you just nod, telling Potts that it's okay, and that you'll get the supplies. You walk toward the makeshift camp stables, where the horse you stole could serve as a mount. As you are fixing the saddle, you feel your face wet. And then you realize that you were crying. Wiping your face quickly with your forearm, you mount the horse in front of you. Trying to ignore the feeling that this really wasn't your horse.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #Land of Thieves #marvel imagines #wanda x reader #wandaxreader

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thestraggletag · 3 years

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Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable.

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like...

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it.

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Is this… Is this okay?”

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it.

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed.

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit.

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style.

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off, baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor.

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again.

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely.

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent.

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf.

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to...

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him.

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky.

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction.

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel.

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Virtual Session

53 notes · View notes

redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Back to the beginning

So I wanted some context on what had happened to Zach in the first place and also to show some of the differences pre- and post- captivity and lo, another POV character was born.

Warnings: violence, fight scene, knife mention, taser, injuries, kidnapping on video, torture mention, scared whumpee, aftermath of captivity, stress/trauma responses.

Part 1, part 2

Sasha had watched the security footage many times. Possibly hundreds. At first looking for clues for a way to find Zach after he’d been grabbed, then later out of guilt, and then later still out of a desire to see him again at his best—whole and fighting and fierce.

They had all thought it would be the last time they’d see him alive. They’d been proven wrong when two videos and a couple of dozen photos had been sent on a memory card to their headquarters. Footage of Zach bleeding and blurry and suffering. He’d been tortured, clearly. The extent of the damage was impossible to tell but it didn’t look good.

It was his eyes in those pictures which had haunted Sasha—they’d been lifeless, empty of joy. He looked like a man who believed there was nothing good left to experience. And then they’d found his body—or, so they’d thought.

That was two years and three months ago, and now he’d been found, alive but littered with injuries, and he was on his way here after three days in hospital.

Sasha couldn’t say why, in her nervous anticipation, she opened the window and played the video again. It seemed to happen without her deciding to do it, some kind of ingrained response to her worry. There was no sound but in Sasha’s mind it played with background static. The black and white footage was grainy, but she’d seen it so many times by now that it looked crystal clear to her eyes.

She’d been Zach’s field partner that day and she’d let him down. They’d come up against a wall of tear gas and retreated; it was an ambush no doubt about it. The first sight of Zach on the footage was him stumbling backwards, arm flung out. The inside of the building wasn’t caught on the CCTV, she knew they’d left out of a side door but that was where her memory ended. Someone had been waiting, taken her down with one swift blow to the back of the neck. The last glimpses of Zach on that day were here, while she had lain unconscious just out of view, mere feet away.

Zach was clearly fighting someone, his back was to the camera but he jolted, parried and blocked with an assailant just off-screen. His weapon had been knocked aside and he fought empty handed for a drawn out series of blows and strikes back. There was one long, agonising minute where he stumbled out of view of the cameras before he reappeared with a small knife in hand. Probably the one from his own boot but they had never been able to verify that.

He slashed and jumped back, his instincts and training were strong and there was no reason to believe he couldn’t hold his own in a one-on-one fight. He circled his opponent and faded into the shadows to the right of the screen, and came back with speed, arm raised, ready to strike. The person he fought was in range of the camera by that point—masked and unidentifiable—and they grappled for a long moment, until Zach was thrust aside. He found his feet easily enough, caught his balance, and blocked two hits to the face but took one to the stomach. He doubled over, the footage wobbled, static blurred the screen for a second.

As Zach straightened the last time Sasha held her breath. She leaned in closer to the monitor knowing what was coming.

Zach stumbled forward with a sudden jerk, his arm hanging limply and his knife dropped out of shot while he doubled over. He took a harsh blow to the face and swung around, going down hard on one knee. Even after all this time Sasha still winced. She could see the bolt of the crossbow glinting where it protruded from his shoulder even in the lowlight film.

She had a burst of pride, like always, as Zach clawed back to his feet. He blocked another punch that should have sent him sprawling, kicked away the knife that he’d dropped so it couldn’t be used against him, and faced his attacker once more. Her stomach flipped as the end of the altercation drew near. There was a short grapple and the bolt in his shoulder was grabbed and yanked on, and Zach threw his head back in what could only have been a howl of pain.

Once Zach was shoved to the ground the second attacker appeared, and he tried to get up only to be tased into a twitching, helpless tangle of limbs on the ground. Sasha watched with a sense of righteous anger burn through her, it was worse now that she knew this brutal fight didn’t only lead to weeks of pain and a messy death for Zach… but years of lost time, where he could have been subjected to almost anything. Knowing now that it only got worse for him made her sick.

He snarled at them, bared his teeth, tried valiantly to get back on his feet and keep fighting and only went still when they tased him a second time—paralysed and possibly unconscious. She watched them rip off his helmet, his arm bracers, his Kevlar vest, all of it discarded onto the tarmac beside where he lay. The two attackers were brutal, landing kicks and slapping Zach around the face.

Sasha sped up the footage, watching at two times the speed as one of the attackers made a brief call, a van pulled up—license plate obscured—and they dragged Zach into it. There was only a dark grey puddle that Sasha knew to be blood left behind. She stopped, closed the program, and rubbed at her eyes.

She knew what came next, she didn’t need to see it. Her team arriving too late, the ambulance that was called to assist her, the weeks of sleepless nights and fruitless searching. She pulled her hair out of her braid to plait it again with practiced ease, a way to calm her nerves. She’d lived with her shortcomings that day, made as much peace as she could knowing she wasn’t the only one to blame. The entire mission had been compromised and she only played one small part in the turn of events. It still kept her up at night though, it still ate away at her confidence at her ability to do her job—though she would never tell anyone that.

And today… she was going to look the man she let down in the eye. The man who had been through hell and back, the man she should have helped to protect, should have been fighting side by side with. How would he react? Did he hold resentment? Would he rather not see her?

For that matter, it was possible he would rather not see any of them, but the team was the only safe place he thought he could gp?

The message came that the vehicle was only a few minutes away and Sasha stood and smoothed down her shirt, grabbed her jacket and put it on, if only for something to hold on to if she needed to ground herself. Best to face it head on and get it over with. Better to know. She’d had enough years of thinking the worst.

She wasn’t the only one who decided to be part of a welcoming committee and they met the convoy of vehicles in the underground car park below their current office headquarters, and came out of the lift just as the cars pulled to a stop. The windows were blacked out and she waited anxiously next to Lacey and Jordan as their old leader, Emit Bryson climbed out of the first car with his assistant in tow. Bryson looked tired, his frown lines looked deeper than usual on his dark skin and shadows blurred under his eyes, but he had a bounce in his step that Sasha didn’t think she’d seen since Zach was taken. He caught her eye and nodded, smoothing down his wool coat with one hand while the other loosened his tie and top button. His walking stick was, for the moment, tucked under his arm and out of use.

Archer jumped out of the second car and helped to guide a tense man out after him; a man who shrank in on himself trying to look smaller than he was, and it took Sasha a second to put the pieces together. That was Zach. He had a blindfold over his eyes and was utterly still when Archer let go of his hands. The blindfold was a necessity to protect their new location until Zach could be confirmed to be uncompromised and fit to know and protect their secrets once again. It still seemed cruel when she thought about how untethered Zach must feel.

Archer leaned in and spoke to Zach, and Zach slowly reached up and pulled away the sleep mask that had doubled as a blindfold. His eyes were brightly alert, flicking quickly from place to place, and Sasha could only guess at how many times he’d had to assess danger while completely helpless before it.

Besides the rise and fall of his breath that rocked him back and forth he was frozen in place when he wasn’t being guided to move. His movements were jerky and so unlike the vibrant man she knew before. Zach was nearly always doing something with his body- tapping his foot or fingers and he was fluid and smooth, almost dancer-like when he moved, his posture relaxed and easy, unless he was alert out in the field. Which she guessed, in a way, made sense. He’d gone out on a mission it had never ended, he’d never got to come home. This was what years of being unable to relax, unable to rest, probably did to a person.

It turned her stomach, and made the whole thing seem suddenly more real—the stuff of nightmares come to life.

Bryson strode forward and gestured for Zach and Archer to follow. Sasha turned and locked eyes with Jordan and Lacey in turn, seeing her own shock mirrored on their faces. As much as they’d tried to prepare themselves, seeing Zach like this was never going to be easy.

Lacey recovered first and stepped forward first, raising her hand and offering a wide smile. “Hey, we all came down to see you, I hope that’s alright. Way to be overwhelming right?” she laughed breezily, breaking the tension as she shoved her hands in her pockets with a shrug. “We just wanted to welcome you home, well, back.”

Zach latched on to each person who spoke, his attention zeroed in on whoever was moving and addressing him like his life depended on it.

“You all know each other well enough, I think Zach will be able to lead the way in how comfortable he feels able to talk to you all, and how soon,” Bryson said.

Zach’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips with obvious nervous energy. Sasha wanted to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, say something, anything. Offer comfort. What comfort could she have to offer?

“I can… yes? Hi. Hi, all of you.” He glanced around the sea of faces but Sasha was fairly sure he didn’t actually see any of them, not really. Zach’s voice shook but he smiled briefly, a flash of upturned lips, and then looked to Archer for something Sasha couldn’t name.

“It’s been a long day, long… lots of days. Let’s get upstairs first and then we can all say our hellos and I miss yous and all of that. No reason to rush, we have time,” Archer said, smoothing over the awkwardness. He muscled forward with his large frame to call the lift down and Zach stuck close on his heels, close enough to bump with his elbow though Sasha noted that he carefully kept his body from touching. “I could really go for some coffee, dunno about anyone else.”

“I think some refreshments and a good sit down will be in order, yes,” Bryson replied. “Did anyone buy more of my favourite blend yet?”

Jordan, with his smooth voice and easy grace, answered. “Of course, what do you take us for? We wouldn’t let you go without it two visits in a row. I think someone made a run out for Zach’s favourite tea too, so we have the basics covered.” He winked at Zach and Zach blushed.

The lift pinged open behind her and Sasha moved aside to let everyone through, Zach’s gaze landed on her and he winced, she watched him swallow and carefully fold his arms across his chest. Her heart withered, desperately sad, furious all over again… until he raised three fingers from his elbow and tilted half his mouth up into a smile.

She smiled back broadly, nodded at him, and he melted into Archer’s side looking positively exhausted.

Sasha had no idea what any of it meant, or where his head was at, but the fact that he hadn’t yelled or dismissed her or cried… that was better than her worst fears. Maybe it would be alright? There were too many of them to fit in the lift, the passengers from the cars took up all the space and Sasha, Jordan, and Lacey waved them off. They could have waited for a second lift, but none of them wanted to stand around awkwardly waiting. There was too much nervous energy between them, so they took to the stairs instead. It was four flights up to their main office, and if she thought the time for useless wondering about what had happened to her friend was over—well, she had ninety-six stairs and several painful days ahead to ponder it more.

[Taglist: @haro-whumps, @whumpthisway let me know if you’d like to be added or removed]

#whump OC #whump series #team whump #I mean sort of?#OC team #aftermath of whump #whump recovery #knives tw #referenced violence #kidnapping #torture mention #capture video #taser #stress response #trauma recovery #trauma response #post captivity whump #Zach and Archer

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

Jealousy

MASTERLIST

I wrote this fic AGES ago back when I first watched the season 14 finale, but for some reason its been sitting on the back burner as I wasn’t quite happy with it. But anyway, now it’s finally seeing the light of day and was heavily inspired by the poker game at the beginning of the episode, as you can probably tell by tge gif. I hope you enjoy some more Spencer feels.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: Mature (smut)

Word Count: 2,913

“Pair of kings, pair of sevens. Oh I’m sorry, three sevens.”

Everyone groaned, throwing down their cards as they surrendered to the normality of Dr. Spencer Reid winning another hand of poker.

It was after hours at the BAU and a few of you decided to unwind in the briefing room by playing poker. So far, Spencer had won every round. But the night was early and you all were only a few hands in.

“I wanna know how Y/N was taught by you, yet still can’t beat you.” Luke shook his head.

“Sorry, but the brains also helps with the wins,” Spencer chuckled.

You mock scowled, before laughing yourself. Not long ago you’d asked Dr. Reid to teach you how to play poker since he was the best and you had zero knowledge of the game. That and it was a good excuse to spend time with him since you’d been harboring a crush on him.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I am determined to beat Spence,” JJ grinned.

“Oh, I'd love to see the lady try,” he smirked at her.

You felt a twinge of jealousy, probably irrationally so since it was obvious to you that he’d had a crush on JJ forever. You couldn’t blame him exactly; even if your best friend was married, she was still stunning.

“Let’s go then,” Luke said, dispersing new cards around the table.

•

“I’m all in,” Spencer said, pushing his candy towards the pile in the middle of the table.

You had to resist the urge to groan. Your hand of cards were absolute shit.

“I fold.” You put your cards down, thankful that you didn’t have anything to lose this hand.

“Same here,” Luke said, tossing his hand, “Hey Y/N maybe we should start the worst poker players club. You in?”

You laughed, pushing your hair back over your shoulder, “As long as I’m the president.”

“Deal.”

Across the table, you noticed Spencer’s eyes squint—like he did when he was analyzing something—as he watched the two of you. You weren’t exactly sure what that was about.

You watched as JJ pushed her pile of change and candy towards the pot.

“I’m all in.”

Spencer’s focus turned back to her as he made a tsking sound, while JJ flashed an innocent smile.

“Okay show us your cards,” Luke waved his hand, anxious to see who would win. You had to admit the suspense was killing you as well.

“Four of a kind!” Spencer beamed when his cards touched the table, showing his four 5’s.

Your and Luke’s head immediately swiveled the opposite direction as JJ set her cards down with a flourish. It was a straight flush.

Luke whooped and your jaw dropped. Spencer was speechless.

“No. Way.” You said, in awe, watching JJ pull all her earnings towards herself.

“It finally happened!” Luke grinned, high fiving you, “I owe you 20 bucks Y/N.”

“You guys bet on me losing?!”

“It had to happen sometime Spencer,” you said.

“Come on, it’s my turn to beat the doc,” Luke said, reaching for the cards to shuffle again.

“Okay one more hand and I gotta go. I promised Garcia I’d be home before it got too late. Hopefully the boys aren’t driving her crazy,” JJ said reaching for her new cards.

“Oh please, you know she loves them,” you grin.

You pick up your cards, pretending to sneak a peek at Luke’s cards.

“Hey, no peeping!” he laughed, trying to move them out of your sight, making you try to lean further over to see.

“I’m just trying to see if the Vice President of the Worst Poker Players club has a chance,” you smirked at him.

“You madam President are too nosy for your own good,” Luke grins.

“Can we just get on with the game?” Spencer retorted, his voice unnaturally harsh.

Your gaze shot to Spencer, shocked to hear the sharp tone in his voice. You very rarely ever saw him mad or even irritable for that matter.

“Uh, sure,” you said, going first, placing your bet.

A few minutes after everyone else placed their starting bets, Spencer challenges you, raising your bet, his glare fixed on you. You make yourself resist physically flinching. You have no idea why his mood had darkened so suddenly and only at you.

You glance at JJ to see if she’s noticed and she gives you a small shrug, just as baffled as you are. As your best friend, she of course knew about your feelings for him. She gives you a questioning look as if assessing if you’re okay. You give a quick nod and return to your cards, trying not to feel hurt. Tuning back into the game you notice Luke has folded, JJ soon follows. Before you know it, it’s just you against Spencer.

“Ah, teacher against student. The tension is real.” Luke drums his fingers against the table.

You set your hand down. It wasn’t the best, but you were hoping somehow Spencer would have a worse hand. No such luck. Once again, your jaw drops when you see his own straight flush spread out in front of him.

“Damnit,” you mumble.

“You’re never gonna beat me Y/N. I’d stop trying if I were you.”

This time you did flinch. Your brows furrow, irritated, both at him and the fact you can’t beat him.

“Hey, I did,” JJ pointed out as she stood to pull on her jacket, “I gotta run guys.”

“Yeah, me too,” Luke says, standing up and stretching, “Spence? Y/N?”

“No, I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer. I’m determined to beat him.”

“Good luck,” Luke said heading to the door.

See you guys Monday and hopefully not sooner!” He calls as he walks out of the room.

“Tell me how it turns out,” JJ says, giving you a look only another woman could decipher, clearing meaning she meant more than just the game.

After giving both of you hugs and saying goodbye once again, you and Spencer are settled back at the round table, ready for another game.

“Sure you’re up to this?” he smirked, looking you up and down.

“Yes.” Your tone is clipped, determined, “I was taught well you know.”

“It’s going to get boring winning hand after hand you know.”

“Fine. Then let’s make it interesting why don’t we?”

“I’m listening.” He sits back, clasping his hands behind his head, watching you.

“Strip poker. You know the rules. Losing hand removes an article of clothing.”

“You’re on.”

Half an hour later you’re sitting next to a pile of your belongings. Deciding to count accessories since you had on a lot less layers than he did, you had managed to already have removed your hair clip, watch, necklace and shoes. Spencer had only lost his watch. At least that was a small victory, your one win.

“One win out of five games. I’d say I’m impressed, but that’s a measly 5% of your wins in our total of games so far.”

Your eyes blazed and you glared at him.

“What’s your problem?”

He looked up at you, clearly taken aback. You stifle a snort, annoyed at the fact that he had the audacity to look surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not.” You look up from your cards to say something else, but he goes back to the game before you can ask any further questions.

“Damn,” he mutters, putting down his hand of random assorted cards.

Your face lights up and you slam down your three of a kind.

“Pay up. Something comes off.”

He shakes his head, pulling his tie off. Unfortunately for you, the next game isn’t in your favor and your shirt comes off, leaving you in just your bra and pants. You look up and deal to begin the next game, noticing his eyes suddenly are intensely focused on the tabletop.

You lay your head in your hand as you look at your cards before reaching from one for the deck, not noticing how the movement makes your breasts even more visible to him. What you do notice though is his slight shift in stance.

“So uh, you and Alvez huh?”

Now it was your turn to look startled.

“What about me and Luke?”

“I don’t- I just- I mean,” he cleared his throat trying to stop his stammering, “You guys just seem really friendly all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, we get along great. He’s a good friend.”

“Oh, I see.”

Suddenly it clicked.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer, just drops his hand on the table, the cards splayed out.

“Well, shit.”

“Another four of a kind.”

You sigh, standing up, unbuttoning your pants.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” you say, unzipping them.

You look over at him when you realize he hasn’t answered you and find his eyes on you, his tongue moving over his lips. Your stomach tightened, a sight you would never get over seeing. He did that single motion more times during a single case alone, than you could count.

You dropped your pants on the pile of your belongings, not exactly caring where it landed or the fact that you just happened to be half naked. It was like a magnetic force pulling you closer towards him. You drag your hand across the table as you approach him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. His eyes don’t leave you as you approach him, the game long forgotten.

“You were jealous. Weren’t you?” Your voice is barely a whisper as if you’re afraid that if you spoke the words too loud they wouldn’t be true.

Smoother than you thought he could be, he’d reached out for you and pulled you into his lap.

“Yes.”

Next thing you knew his hands are in your hair and his lips are on yours and you’re kissing him back with such intensity that you had to pull away after a moment, just to get air back to your lungs and clarity to your mind.

“But I thought you-”

“Liked JJ?”

“I, uh-” you momentarily blank on what you were saying as his hand moves up your arm and pulls one bra strap down, slowly.

“Yeah,” you finish.

“I did.” His lips met your shoulder, kissing it, “Until the day you walked through those doors.”

You felt your jaw slacken a bit as his lips traveled up your neck, stopping every few moments to suck on one spot or another. The realization had dawned on you that that specific event was more than six years ago.

“Oh,” you breathed, both in response to his confession and his gentle suckling.

His hands reached behind you and unfastened your bra in one swift movement.

“Why Dr. Reid aren’t you suave?”

He groaned, low in his throat. Whether it was because of the sight of your bare breasts or you calling him doctor, you weren’t sure. Your arousal was obvious, your nipples already pinched.

You lifted your head to kiss him again, loving the way his scruff was slightly scratchy against your face and the feeling of his lips moving simultaneously with yours.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been kissing when you felt his hands glide up your thighs, fingers brushing against the side of your underwear. Just the feeling of him touching you through the thin fabric of your underwear was enough to make you shiver. Your lips were traveling along his jaw when you felt him lift you.

“What are you-”

He placed you on the table as easily as he could before pulling your last article of clothing off. His arms hooked under your thighs, lifting you up and pulling you to the edge of the table, sending the deck of cards flying.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, feeling his mouth on you. Never in a million years would you have imagined his mouth to be this impactful.

You couldn’t see his expression, but somehow you knew Spencer was smirking. His tongue moved agonizingly slow over your slit, just barely brushing your clit.

“Spencer for God’s sake,” you whined already feeling tension building throughout every inch of your body, his touch sending your entire being into overload.

Your head fell backwards when his tongue flicked your clit repeatedly before flattening his tongue against it. Your breathing was heavy as you managed to sit up on your elbows, looking down at him. The sight of Dr. Spencer Reid, the resident genius, with his head between your legs, doing magical things with his mouth was almost enough to send you spiralling out of control.

When you felt his touch completely disappear you opened your mouth to protest until you felt his fingers on you again. One finger slid in as he watched your expression, his eyes squinted again, his tongue moistening his lips.

“I swear to God if you don’t stop licking your lips I’m gonna cum right this second,” you practically growled at him.

His only response was a chuckle before he added a second finger to the mix and his mouth was back on you again. His tongue moved against you before finally sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, oh yes. Speeeence,” you moaned, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You couldn’t tell if it was just your thighs or your entire body that was shaking, but you were pretty sure it was both at this rate. You gripped the edge of the table hard, the mound of tension in the pit of your stomach unraveling faster and faster.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged breathlessly, desperate for the sweet release that was so close you could almost reach.

Like a balloon bursting after being filled with too much air, your body feels the same as your orgasm coursed through it, rendering you breathless mid-moan.

You’re pretty sure you hadn’t cursed as much as you did in the seconds following.

“Holy shit Spencer,” you groaned, trying to gain some control in your body again.

He pulled you toward the edge of the table, helping you down so you were leaning against it. Your legs were shaking too much to be able to stand on your own anyway. His hand cupped your face as he kissed you again, this time a lot softer than the previous kisses you’d shared. It was then when you had an idea.

“Sit back.” You took his hand off your face, lightly pushing his shoulders for him to sit back in the chair.

“Why?”

“Just do it.” You kissed the base of his throat, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his shirt.

With each button released, your lips moved lower over his skin.

Finally getting the gist of your movements, his hand caught your wrist when your fingers reached the waist of his pants.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I’m a lady and I always return a good deed,” you grinned slyly.

He bit his lip as if trying to assess your face just to be sure.

“I want to.”

He released his grip and you continued your task, wasting no time until he was in his boxers. Your lips moved in line above his waistband your palm pressing against the noticeable bulge.

A grunt came above you encouraging you. You pulled the fabric enough out of the way, your hand wrapping around his cock. He inhaled sharply, watching you intently. Your hand moved slowly back and forth making him suffer just as much as he did to you.

“Y/N I think I’m wound up enough. Cut out the fucking teasing,” came through gritted teeth.

“My apologies, Doctor.”

You flashed a quick smirk up at him then leaned down, tongue swirling around his head. His hips jerked slightly when you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling before settling on sucking.

“Fuck!” Spencer groaned loudly.

You peeked upwards to see his head fall back and his eyes close. You couldn’t help but feel the satisfaction at knowing you’re the one causing him to react like this.

You feel his hand in your hair, his grip tightening the longer you’re on your knees.

“After listening to you Y/N, I’m not gonna last long,” he groans as you hum your response.

Using one hand to pump him, you suck on his head long enough for him to give you the warning of his impending release. Seconds later it hit him, hot liquid filling your mouth. You sat back swallowing like a champ and wiping your mouth. You looked up at the wrecked Dr. Reid, panting above you. It was a good look on him.

“Did you let me win?”

“What?”

“Earlier. During the game; that last hand I won. Did you let me win?” You asked as you grabbed your own clothes, both of you trying to look presentable again.

“Y/N, you can win all the poker games you want as long as we can do that again.”

“You got a deal.”

“There’s only one problem now,” he groaned.

“You mean besides the deck of cards scattered on the floor?”

“Yes. Cause now when we have a new case I’m going to have to resist the urge to imagine bending you over this table.”

You swallowed hard, the image in your mind doing things to you as well. You looked him in the eye before responding, earnestly.

“Guess that’s gonna have to wait until the next poker game.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid gifs #dr spencer reid smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds gifs #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet.

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour.

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #ada rafael barba #Raúl Esparza #svu fic #female reader #my writing #Headcanoning Barba as good at singing naturally #and is a fan of RENT change my mind #emotional hurt/comfort #sorry about the dubcon everyone but sober Rafa would never sing in public XD

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aiorevelations · 3 years

Text

A Number, Not a Name: Chapter 13

We hope you all enjoy. We have a few more chapters coming tonight! ; - )

Present-day:

Scarlett stood in the ballroom of Dalmar’s house directing where the delivery men should hang some paintings Dalmar had ordered specially for the gala that evening.

“Where should we place this piece ma'am?” One of the delivery men asked as he held a portrait of Tigran Hakobyan, a famous Krudian general.

“Place the portrait on the right side of the fireplace.” She pointed in its direction.

“So is everything set for tonight.” She heard a male voice come from behind her.

Scarlett turned toward Dalmar. “Nearly done Dalmar. The works by Sargayan were just delivered.”

“Excellent. I want everything to be perfect for tonight.”

“And it will be.” Scarlett stepped closer towards him. “I must say I have never felt such a great feeling of anticipation for anything before. To know that we are on the eve of a new Krudia, a different world. You can’t help but feel the excitement in the air.”

“I must confess that after all the time, energy, and resources I have put into this project, I find it hard to believe that I am so close to accomplishing my goal.”

“I’m just grateful to be by your side and to have played a small part in making your goal a reality. Your tuxedo is tailored, pressed, and ready for this evening. I laid it out on your bed.”

“Very good. I best get ready for the gala. See you later this evening.” Dalmar began walking to his bedroom.

“Of course.” As she saw Dalmar leave the room Scarlett smirked to herself. All the pieces of her plan were falling into place; it was just a matter of letting things naturally run their course. That was until it was time for her to interfere with that course.

As Dalmar slipped on his shawl lapel tuxedo jacket he wasn’t even the slightest bit aware of the tiny voice-activated recorder carefully placed in the left pocket of his suit.

…..

Jason stood in front of the mirror in his hotel room, adjusting his bow tie. Once he was finished he picked up the diamond cufflinks he’d placed on a table by the dresser and attached them to the cuffs of his white dress shirt. He then slipped on his notch lapel tuxedo jacket and did up the front bottoms. He glanced down and up at his reflection, checking his entire outfit, and took a deep breath. Jason wasn’t one to be nervous but even he would admit that the thought of attending a Gala with a wanted criminal was jarring. He knew that the success of his and Tasha’s mission depended on the outcome of this evening. They needed to get the necessary information tonight, otherwise, most likely his first field mission would be a failure. After all the time he had waited to prove himself as an agent on the field, he was going to do whatever it took to make sure that didn’t happen.

He heard a knock at his room door and walked over to open the door. He opened it and saw Tasha. Jason was taken aback by how gorgeous she looked. She was wearing a dark blue off-the-shoulder gown. The dress had a draped ruffle cascading down the left side. All over the gown was embellished and embroidered with sequins. Her shoes were dark blue suede pumps. Her hair was pulled back and twisted in a crown braid. She also wore a pair of diamond halo earrings and held a navy clutch. He always thought she was breathtakingly beautiful but her evening attire seemed to accentuate her stunning features even more.

As Tasha looked at Jason standing in front of her she couldn’t help but think about how good he looked. He was wearing a black notch lapel tuxedo suit, emerald-cut white diamond octagon cufflinks, and black Oxford dress shoes. From the time they met she thought he was very handsome but now, standing there in his suit, she found him even more good-looking. Though of course, she’d never admit it.

“Melinda, hey”

“I thought I’d stop by, see if you were almost ready,” Tasha said as she entered the room.

“Funny, I was just about to go over to your place and make sure you were at least out of the shower” he teased.

“Well,” Tasha glanced down at her outfit “I’m not wearing a bathrobe” she playfully replied.

“No, you definitely aren't,” Jason smiled, causing Tasha to smile as well.

“Speaking of the shower, let’s go in there.”

“The…shower?” he asked, an expression of confusion on his face.

“The bathroom actually, just for a moment.”

“Okay.” he responded, still confused by Tasha’s statement. Jason followed Tasha into the bathroom. After they entered she quickly turned on the shower.

“I thought you already had one of these.” Jason joked.

“We need to talk.” Tasha responded, a serious look in her eyes

“Oh and to talk you need the shower on?”

“Unless you want to be covered with bugs.”

“Bugs?” Jason repeated, still confused. After a second it dawned on him what Tasha meant. “Oh bugs, right. Too bad I forgot to pack my insect repellent.”

Tasha kiddingly rolled her eyes and gave a slight smile. “As I was trying to say, I know technically you’ve been undercover already since we’ve met Dalmar and secured the deal. But tonight is going to be—“

“Hard. Difficult. Demanding.” Jason crossed his arms.

“Let’s just say not a walk in the park.” Jason nodded his head. Tasha continued, “in my experience at these events, where you have to remain undercover for a long period of time, new agents tend to slip up or lose focus. We already have a good deal of intel on Dalmar. From what we’ve seen, with his massive base of followers and speech about radical change, I suspect he’s planning on staging a coup.”

“Either that or win power first by legitimate means and then seize control of the entire country.”

“The how doesn’t matter, we just have to ensure that he doesn’t take over this country. And the only way to do that is to find out where the weapons are located. As of now the only way we have of learning this information is from Dalmar directly.”

“And who knows if we’ll see him again before Wednesday, when the weapons are supposed to be delivered.”

“Exactly, which makes tonight our only shot at getting the information we need, which means that you and I have to bring our ‘A’ game.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Tasha smiled and turned off the shower. She then remembered something. “Oh, sorry I almost forgot but would you give me a hand with this necklace? For some reason, I can’t get it to clasp.” She held the sapphire bar drop necklace out to him that she’d been holding for the past few minutes.

“Sure.” He took the necklace from her and clasped it around her neck.

“Thanks.”

“It sure is a beautiful necklace,” Jason remarked.

“Thank you. It belonged to my grandmother.”

“Well, it looks wonderful on you. You look great by the way.”

“Thanks. Though I’ve worn this dress to a million other parties.” Tasha laughed. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Why thank you. I try my best.” Jason gave a boyish grin.

“Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“Okey-dokey.” They both smiled again.

“We’d best get downstairs. The last thing we need is to be late.” Tasha began to head for the door.

“Right behind you.”

…..

The older man reached for the microphone that was placed in the car and spoke into it. "This is White Falcon. The targets have just left The Chardell.”

Red Sparrow’s voice echoed in response through the car speaker system. “Affirmative. Do not take action. Stay in your current position until further notice.”

“Understood.”

…..

As Tasha and Jason made their way to Dalmar’s house they each noted the drastic change in scenery. The vehicle traveled through the sprawling city, a large grassy plain dotted by small farms and villages, and up a windy road on Mt. Karanaj. Finally, the BMW pulled up in front of a mansion which was located about halfway up the mountain in the middle of a forest. The house was four stories tall with a basement as well. The house was in the style of a modern mountain home as parts of its walls were made of redwoods with the other large sections being made out of stone as well as cutouts and windows of glass. It also had sloped and flat rooflines, timber and steel details, and a massive porch and deck situated in the front of the house.

A doorman walked up to the car and opened the right passenger door. Tasha and Jason each said “Thank you” to the gentleman as they exited the BMW and headed for the entrance to the house. They entered through the arched doorway into the entryway and were greeted with a crowd of people gathered in the house, the women dressed in the finest designer dresses and jewelry and the men wearing their best tuxedos.

The inside of Dalmar’s home was even more elaborate than the outside. It had high vaulted ceilings, redwood beams that stretched from one end of the room to the other, ornate gold and onyx carvings in the walls, murals, and paintings from world-renown artists hung on the walls. The floors were made of the finest marble and numerous crystal chandeliers hung throughout the mansion.

Almost as soon as they entered the home Tasha and Jason were greeted by Tarek.

“Melinda, Edward. Welcome.”

“Hello Tarek” Tasha responded.

“It’s good to see you again,” Jason added.

“Dalmar’s been anticipating your arrival. I’ll take you to him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jason replied. Tarek led Tasha and Jason through the crowd to a gold-plated bifurcated staircase. They walked up a couple of flights of stairs and arrived at the second floor of the house. Tarek led them down a hall past several rooms and into a grand ballroom. The ceiling was adorned with frescoes that depicted famous moments in history. The walls and ceilings were overlaid with gold trimmings and carvings. A marble stone fireplace was in the center of the room and three gold and Swarovski clear crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The three of them made their way over to Dalmar who was standing by the fireplace, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. Tarek withdrew himself and headed downstairs to greet more arriving guests.

“Mr. Delucas, Ms. Tylerson” Dalmar greeted them.

“Dalmar” Jason acknowledged him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again Dalmar,” Tasha added.

“Davit. You can call me Davit” he smiled.

“Only if you call Melinda.”

“For you my dear, that I can do.” He outstretched his arms “So what do you think of the place?”

“It’s amazing…Davit. Certainly one of the most elaborate and beautiful homes I’ve ever seen.”

“A man that can do this well for himself…it shows even more that we partnered with the right guy.”

Dalmar smirked and took a sip of his champagne. “Who am I to argue with that?”

Jason sensed an opportunity and spoke. “Speaking of our partnership. Melinda and I have been giving our deal a great amount of thought and we feel since we’ve supplied you with firepower we are entitled to be given some more information.”

“Information?” Dalmar furrowed his brow.

“Yes,” Tasha responded. “You’ve kept your plans for this operation rather close to the vest. Overall strategy. Location or locations of your armaments. We’re not in the habit of partnering in operations we know close to nothing about.”

“Trust me, for the sake of our success I can’t divulge much. My secrecy has been the only way I’ve gotten this far. What I will say is that you will be handsomely compensated. Whatever money you want. Whatever position you want. It will be yours” Dalmar took another swig from his glass.

“What do you mean by position?” Tasha pressed for more details. “A high position in society? To be honest we had our eye on a little more than that.”

Dalmar chuckled to himself. “I must say Melinda you are quite—”

“Determined? Resolute?”

“Very persistent.”

“It’s how I’ve survived in this business as long as I have.”

“That I can respect. Likewise, I think you and your associate can understand my hesitancy to disclose sensitive information.”

Before either Tasha or Jason could respond Adrian came up to Dalmar and whispered in his ear. Dalmar whispered something to Adrian in reply and then turned back toward Tasha and Jason.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment there is an urgent matter I must attend to.”

“Of course,” Tasha replied. Dalmar exited the ballroom with Adrian by his side, leaving Tasha and Jason alone. Tasha slightly shook her head and sighed. “I should have known a man like Dalmar would try as far as possible to keep things close to his vest.”

“At least you tried.”

“Thankfully, we have the rest of the evening. Though I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long one.”

“I’m going to go get some sparkling water to drink. Do you want any?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be right back.” Jason made his way out of the ballroom and down to the first floor of the house. He walked through several rooms trying to find the bar. He then heard a voice from behind him. “Lost?” He turned to see Scarlett.

“Is it that obvious?” Jason laughed.

“Don’t feel bad it happens all the time to first-time guests. It is a pretty big house.”

“I was just looking for the bar.”

“Walk to the entryway, pass the staircase and go all the way to the back of the house, turn left and you’ll find it next to the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Ms…”

“Scarlett is fine.”

“Thanks, Scarlett.”

“Of course.”

Jason then left, followed Scarlett’s directions, and arrived at the bar. As he waited in line to get his drink something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Through a window in the back of the room, he spotted two of Dalmar’s security guards, talking to each other in hushed tones. Jason walked closer to the window to get a better look, careful not to draw any attention to himself. He saw the two guards talk for a few more moments before they started heading towards the woods. As they walked they stopped every so often to look back towards the mansion, He assumed to make sure no one was following them. Jason stood there going over in his mind what he should do.

Tasha said we should get the info from Dalmar but so far he’s been nothing but…cagey. It’s not like we have a guarantee he’ll give us the necessary info. This could be our only opportunity to get the intel we need. I could also prove myself to Tasha, to Donovan, to the Agency. Show them I actually have what it takes as an agent. The last thing I want is my first mission to be a failure. Sure, it’s a bit risky, but this is a great opportunity. Who knows it might be our only chance of getting the information we need.

Jason saw the two men walk farther and farther away in the distance and knew it was now or never. Pushing all remaining doubts out of his mind, Jason glanced around the room to make sure no one had noticed him watching the two guards. No one had. Jason quickly exited the room and walked back to the entryway. He discreetly slipped through the crowd and made his way outside.

…..

Tasha leaned against the railing of the wooden deck, taking in the majestic view of the mountainside and night sky all around. The views reminded her of the times she and her parents used to go camping in the woods together when she was a little girl. They’d all snuggle up by the fire, tell scary stories, and roast marshmallows. At night she and her parents would lie on the ground and gaze at all the stars. Tasha would point out to them and name all the constellations and stars she knew, which was a significant amount. Her parents would laugh and joke that she spent all the time they stargazed talking her head off. Tasha smiled to herself as she thought of the memory. Suddenly, she saw two men walking in the distance near the edge of the woods. She then spotted another man sneaking behind them. Tasha recognized the outfit the first men were wearing as the uniform Dalmar’s security wore. The other man wasn’t wearing a uniform, rather a tuxedo. Tasha soon realized the man was Jason.

“Enjoying the view,” Dalmar remarked. Startled, Tasha quickly turned around and saw Dalmar standing on the deck. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tasha forced a smile. “No, it’s all right.” Dalmar walked closer to her. “The views here are…stunning,” she said as she looked over the landscape.

“Yes, they certainly are,” Dalmar replied, though Tasha noticed that he wasn't looking at the view but at her.

“In the ballroom, I couldn’t help but admire the portrait of Tigran Hakobyan above the fireplace. It truly was a lovely piece of art.”

“General Hakobyan huh? So you know your Krudian History.”

“Some, though I’d be the first to admit that I’m no expert.”

“That portrait is actually part of a collection by the famous Krudian artist Garine Sargayan that depicts famous Krudian generals and leaders. I just acquired the collection for tonight.”

“I would love it if you could show me the other portraits. You could tell me more about the men and women depicted. Their lives and conquests. I’ve always been fascinated by history. Besides I have no doubt that one day we’ll be adding your portrait to that collection.”

“I think I can manage that.” He offered her his arm. Tasha took it and the two of them began making their way back inside the ballroom.

As Tasha and Dalmar walked through the doorway she quickly glanced behind her and saw Jason disappear in the distance. She was relieved Dalmar hadn’t spotted him while on the balcony yet she still had an uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake. All she could do now was stick to her plan and hope for the best, though she expected the worst.

#aio #aio fanfic #AIO Fanfiction #jason and tasha #jason whittaker #tasha forbes #Jason #Tasha #Adventures in odyssey #adventuresinodyssey #It's time for the gala #the gala scenes are some of our most favorite moments we've written

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neo-culture-mafia · 4 years

Text

III.

(TW // MENTIONS OF DEATH)

Girl, I know you love me

Even though your parents

They don't fucking trust me

Typical story of good girl meets bad boy. You were working at an ice cream parlor when he walked in. You didn't know he would change your life forever.

He held so much command and power in his walk. His presence demanded respect. Yet, the rowdy group of boys he was with made him seem just a little more approachable.

"Hello, welcome to ___ ____ ice cream shoppe. What can we get started for you today?" Your coworker smiled, his gaze still stuck on you. Your body was situated behind your coworker and to the side where you were refilling some toppings. You tried to turn away and keep to yourself, but you felt his line of vision blow holes into your back.

"Can I please have 6 chocolate sundaes and 1 peach shaved ice?" His voice was like liquor. It was warm yet made you a little tipsy in the head.

"Of course, ₩19,500 please." His hand reached out. A black card being dangled in his fingertips. "We will get those out to you as quick as we can." She smiled as she returned his card.

The group sat down at a large table. The shoppe was still bare for a hot summer night. The quietness made it that more enjoyable.

You pretended to wipe down the corner as you couldn't help googly eyes toward the boy who sat at the head of the group's table. He seemed like a natural leader. He had taken his jean jacket off to reveal a cuffed T-shirt with tattoo ink spilling out of the sleeves.

A red and black dragon laid on his arm, snaking up his bicep as if it was trying to introduce and make itself known. A sinister smirk laid on the face of the Beast you were taught to fear.

You left the counter and went over to your working coworker. You hit her arms and she groaned looked over to you. "They're apart of Neo Culture." You babbled and she looked at you as if you had grown 15 heads. "No way-" "Look at his tattoo." You whined quietly and you watched the fear grow into her eyes slowly.

"Oh my God." Her figure became stiff and you just stood there, afraid of moving wrongly.

"If I have to tell you guys to shut up one more time, I'm putting you all in the car and driving all the way back home." The boy's voice boomed through the small space and made your coworker drop her metal scoop and grabbed you to shield her.

All eyes were on her and you. "You guys okay?" One of the shorter boys asked and you nodded quickly. "More than okay. Perfect, actually. Absolutely wonderful." You nodded and they chuckled to themselves.

"Pull yourself together woman!" You scolded as you hit her arms again.

"Get them their desserts. Just...be calm." You said and she got back to a steady pace of work.

It was like an instant and she had all of them done and ready to go out. "I'm not doing it. The one who goes closest is the one who gets killed first." She said shoving you toward the tray.

You just rolled your eyes and picked it up quickly.

You walked around the corner and all of their chattering abruptly stopped once you approached silently.

"wow you were quiet." The tattoo'ed boy said with a chuckle. "I get that alot actually." Your laugh came out a little rushed. "Who had the shaved ice?" You asked and the boy with a pink tinged head of hair raised his hand. You handed it to him and passed out all the ice cream.

You were walking back when you thought you were home free. "Miss. You dropped this." You turned around and were met face to face with Mr. Liquor himself.

His hand held a piece of paper and you took it kindly. "Thank you so much." You smiled and you both turned and separated.

You watched as he walked back and put his coat back on. "y/l/n is gonna come any second." Your last name falling off his lips so suddenly and smoothly.

Some of the boys groaned as they all got up. As if on que, your dad walks through the front door of the shoppe.

"I said don't come back here, Mark." His smile fell once he saw the tattoo'ed boy. "I was just treating my boys to a sweet surprise. Nothing more, y/l/n." He raised his hands in defense.

"Why did you serve them?!" Your dad's anger was now being pointed towards you.

"Hey. Leave her out of it. She didn't know who we were." Mark's voice became more elevated and commanding as your dad's face grew more red. The heavy feeling of doing something wrong growing in your chest.

"Don't tell me how to speak to my daughter." Your dad's finger pointing in Mark's face. "Daughter?" He asked as if it was surprise. "This makes it even better." A cocky smirk replacing his stone cold glare.

"I told you to stay out, you and your flea-ridden gang." You've never heard your father use such harsh words towards another human. Your dad stepping close to Mark and the rest of his group. Yet, Mark didn't back down as he handed his ice cream to his friend.

"I didn't bring trouble this time. We've been paying our dues for a while now-" "That doesn't mean shit. I told you and your leader that I didn't want anyone of you coming in and messing with me or my business...or family." Your dad said coming around the counter to the register.

"We get it. We'll leave." They were headed out the door, Mark trailing his group when your dad had another slick comment. "You and your Neo Culture rats need to know your place. Might as well sell his land to another group." He said and you thought you could hear the rubber of Mark's shoes screech on the concrete.

He turned around, his friends continuing without him. Your dad knew he fucked up as the door slammed and Mark locked it.

"Excuse me?" He asked, sauntering over to the counter. "Wanna run that by me again?" He asked, his fingers motioning your frozen father to repeat his last words.

Mark had the coldest glare that could make the devil run in fear. "Say it with your chest...or not at all." He growled and gave one last look to you; a softness becoming apparent in his stare.

He unlocked the door and walked across the street to an all black SUV. Getting in, he sped away with a look of hatred to the shoppe.

Your father gulped loudly, still frozen in fear and shock.

"Don't get wound up in mafia drama, girls. It'll only make you lose sleep and safety." He grabbed a pint of ice cream and retreated to the back room.

Your hands unfolded the piece of paper in your hands and was met with neat handwriting.

'hope to see you here more often ;) -mark'

You know you shouldn't love me

Sneaking around with Mark was hard. From having him spend the night at your house without your parents knowledge to you sneaking back in right before your mom called for breakfast.

Mark taught you how to feel new emotions. Like guilt...and lust...and love.

"You need to find someone else." His words were hesitant as your fingers traced over his dragon tattoo for what felt like the millionth time.

You sat up, his arm coming from around you to behind his head. You looked down at him, his figure laid on your bedding so nicely.

"What?" Your voice was laced with confusion. "You know you shouldn't love me, y/n." His hand came up to put a piece of hair behind your ear.

"But I do." Your voice was soft and silky. "That's not just going to change because you say so, Mark." you reasoned as you turned to sit facing him.

It was your turn to now play and move his black hair out of his face. "It needs to though." He sat up along with you.

"no." Firmness was your only option at this point. "What?" His dumbfounded expression had you rethinking your approach.

"why do you want me to find someone else?" The question was met with a surprisingly clear answer. "I don't deserve you. You can do way better than me." His words were soft yet held a powerful blow.

"I'm only going to get you hurt-" you broke off his rambling with a kiss. He didn't hesitate...telling you all you needed to know.

"I'm in this with you. Not just because I'm bored." You said, barely backing away. He nodded, his eyes still trained on your lips.

"And really? You really thought I would listen to you? Find someone better? You're ridiculous."

Looking for God,

Put you Down on your knees,

I'm all what you want...but not what you need

"For God's sake just kill me already!" You screamed at the men who had taken you away from your happiness. It had been 4 days of agonizing torture of your freedom being stripped away like it was nothing.

The tears had been never ending as they teased you with death. At this point, it looked like the freedom you were craving.

"Please." You begged but the small group could only laugh.

The concrete corner of the room had become home to your broken and tired body. "We're not going to be killing anyone." One of them spoke from the small table. "Well, not you atleast." He waved you off.

"Then who?! You fucking-" "your little boy toy." The tears had dried up to your core. "no." Disbelief had washed over your body.

"now we found what gets to her." the three of them congratulated themselves with another shot of liquor.

"he should be coming any minute now, actually." "and he's gonna beat all of your asses." And as if on que, mark along with a couple of his fellow associates walked into the big concrete room.

"Mark!" You screamed even though he could see you as soon as he walked through the old door. He could only smile very small. "Okay you can release her now. Tie him up." The 3 words sent you reeling back into the corner so they couldn't touch your restraints.

They pulled at your body but you kicked and bit, screaming bloody murder to have them not take the zip ties off.

Then it was all over. All the kicking and the grabbing. Mark.

His soothing presence had calmed you down so quickly. "Come on, you need to get out of here." He pulled at you carefully. "And then me and you can go be together." You stated but he never met you with the confirmation you were craving.

"You need to leave, y/n." He hugged you once the zip ties were off. Your arms held onto him as if he was a god himself.

"you're coming with me." you stated but you felt the shaking in his chest.

"leave. y/n." he ordered, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you into reality. His puffy and red eyes told you that you would be leaving alone.

"I am not leave-leaving. I'm not leaving without you, Mark." You grabbed him equally as hard.

"This is reality, y/n. Only one of us can leave alive. That was the deal." He grabbed your face. "All. Or none." You countered.

"They don't care about you-" "tick tock." They spoke. You saw the two other associates sitting on their knees. They were muttering to themselves. Absorbed in self-reflection and asking any higher being to forgive them before their confirmed fate.

"but I do. And I am making sure you are leaving here alive." He started pulling you up. "it's meaningless without you-" "not time to be poetic and shit, y/n." He started pushing and pulling at you but you wouldn't budge and started fighting against him.

"30 seconds and nobody is leaving alive." The man barked. Tears started to fall from Mark's eyes. "Please. My dying wish. Please. Leave." He begged, grabbing your hands and trying to pull.

"no. Mark." You started slapping his hands.

"15."

He just stopped and stared at you. "I told you, Mark." You said calmly, grabbing his face. "I'm here with you." You smiled very weakly.

"5."

"and I'll be with you forever." the next moments were as if you were looking at you both from an aerial view. you were ripped away from eachother and kicked down to your knees.

"face eachother." you both moved quickly to see eachother's tear streaked faces.

"any last words?" you heard the click and felt the cool metal on your head.

this was it.

you weren't going to get your paycheck this week.

you were never going to see the new action movie with mark like you had planned.

no more lasted night snacks turning into early morning breakfasts.

you wouldn't exist in the next 5 minutes.

but you were okay. you were getting your wish.

your last waking moments were looking into the beautiful eyes of your soulmate. you were already in heaven.

"I'm sorry...and I love you." He choked and the eyes were rolling from the captors.

"You?" You felt a nudge from the metal and you could only open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. "I love you too. Please wait for me on the other side."

He sighed, nodding lowly and grabbing the man's barrel. He repositioned it from the side of his head to his crown. "Please make it quick." Mark swallowed his pride, seeing you tremble in fear from your death wish being granted. You were fucking insane...but he was happy he wasn't dying alone.

"please let her go to a happy place." was his last wish.

"for all the brothers we lost along the way, and for the ones that will be lost because of these deaths. we pay respect to you."

You took a deep breath and clenched your teeth for impact...it was all cold.

You woke up in a huff, grabbing the sheets next to you. It was bare...yet warm.

"Mark?" You called out roughly. The warm sun streamed through your window in long rays.

"Mark?!" You called louder, getting out of the warm sheets and running out of the familiar feeling bedroom.

There he was. In the kitchen, making breakfast. "Oh look at sleeping beauty." His crisp white tee shirt and unscathed face had you reeling in disbelief. "It felt so real." You choked quietly.

"huh?" He looked at you with a face that would usually send you laughing.

"it was a dream?" The question had him suddenly putting down the cooking utensil. He only stood infront of you and looked at your confused face in adoration.

"we're okay." his voice sounded strained. He grabbed your hand, swallowing the lump in his throat, he had the guts to look in your eyes.

"we turned out okay in the end."

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octothorpetopus · 4 years

Text

Yesterday Came Suddenly (Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid)

A disastrous car accident changes four lives forever.

A/N: this has a happy ending, I promise!

Tags: @rxseinbloom @cha0ticbisexual @starsandsupernovae @agenthotchner @ange-must-die

With the way both of them drove, it was a wonder it had never happened sooner. That being said, it wasn’t either of their faults, not Derek’s behind the wheel or Hotch’s in the passenger seat. It was no one’s fault when a deer came out of nowhere and Derek swerved on instinct, wrenching the wheel right without remembering they were riding the edge of a cliff. He slammed the brakes, but it didn’t matter, they already had enough momentum to carry them over the edge. The car was weightless for a moment, a moment that seemed to last forever. But the moment did end, and the car tipped, glass and metal crunching where they hit earth, first on the front right, then turning so they were rolling, rolling way too fast down the side of the hill, shattered glass flying as the world turned in a nightmarish carousel. It seemed like they rolled for hours down that hill, although it was probably only seconds. They never really knew, because Hotch was knocked unconscious upon first impact, and Derek smashed his forehead against the steering wheel sometime after that. At some point between blacking out and waking up, the car came to a stop, thankfully right side up. Derek woke with a start, gasping for air as if he was drowning. For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened, and all he felt was warm, sticky blood dripping onto his cheeks from a wound over his eye. Then the pain from his legs hit him, and he squeezed his fists so tight he felt the skin on his palms break, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t anywhere near his legs. When the pain subsided (still, only slightly), he opened his eyes, and at first saw everything through a haze of red. Every window was completely shattered, but the cab of the SUV had held up surprisingly well. The hood, or at least as much as he could see, was crumpled, and the roof was full of dents, but the airbags and seatbelts had saved them from the almost certain death. They’d both have concussions, and Derek was fairly certain his nose was broken, but he was awake and alert, which was a good sign. His hands shook almost comically as he patted himself down. He’d have bruises where the seatbelt cut into his shoulder and waist, but his upper body was mostly fine. His legs, though, were a different story. His left leg bent nauseatingly at mid-thigh. Broken. The lower part of his right leg hung loosely from the knee. Definitely broken. With wavering hands, Derek unbuckled his seatbelt, wincing as it snapped across his bruised ribs. That was the first time he noticed Hotch. Hotch was still passed out, his chin resting on his chest. Derek couldn’t see much of Hotch, except that his left shoulder was sharply out of place and his face was dotted with tiny red cuts where the shattered window had slashed his face.

“Hotch.” He reaches over as much as he could to shake Hotch’s leg. “Hotch. Wake up, come on, Hotch, wake up!” Hotch woke in much the same way Derek had, panting and gasping for air.

“What- what happened?” His eyes scanned the car wildly before coming to meet Derek’s, and they were more terrified than Derek had ever seen him.

“There was… there was a deer, I think. In the road. I swerved, and we must have gone over the edge. The car’s pretty busted up. I’m mostly fine- well, no. Both my legs are broken. Other than that, I’ve got some bruises, a broken nose, probably a concussion, and possibly a broken finger. You look like you’ve got a dislocated shoulder, can you see what else?” Hotch, still slightly bewildered, unbuckled his seatbelt with his right hand.

“My legs are a little bruised up, and so’s my face, but my shoulder looks like it’s the only-“ he went silent, and Derek’s heart dropped.

“What?” He followed Hotch’s gaze down to his stomach, where a growing patch of red surrounded a narrow cut in his shirt. Gingerly, Hotch pulled the fabric away. A cut surrounded by glittering pieces of glass was leaking blood, having previously been camouflaged by the seatbelt. It didn’t look like it went all the way through, but there was already a significant amount of blood.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Hotch’s head fell back against the headrest. “Wait. Can you get your cell?” Derek found his phone on the console, but it was completely busted.

“Try yours.” With his okay hand, Hotch pulled his out of his pants pocket.

“No. It must have gotten crushed between me and the door.”

“Damn it.” If Derek had been any less practical of a person, he would have started crying. He certainly felt like it. But crying wouldn’t help Hotch, who was bleeding out from his stomach. “Hotch, we have to fix your arm if we’re going to have any hope or stopping the bleeding.”

“Okay. Do you know how to do that?”

“I’ve had some first aid training. But I’m also your only shot.” Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Do it.” Derek turned as much as he could, giving a muffled cry as his legs burned under him. He braced one hand against Hotch’s ribs and grabbed his shoulder in the other. “I’m gonna count to three, and then you’re gonna say ‘wishbone’. Got it?” Hotch nodded, on the verge of hyperventilating but still somehow making an effort to stay calm.

“One… two… three…”

“Wishbone!” Hotch yelped as his shoulder cracked back into place.

“You good?” Hotch, panting, nodded. “You’ll need a better fix down the road, but that’s not our most pressing issue.” Derek, attaining with the effort, pulled off his leather jacket and hoodie. He handed Hotch the hoodie. “I need you to put pressure on the cut. I’m not sure, but the glass might have cut your aorta. If it did, we’re going to have a problem. I would get you out of there and try to hold pressure myself, but my legs-“

“Don’t worry about it, Morgan.” Hotch held the hoodie to his stomach. “We should get those legs set.”

“How?”

“I could try to find some sticks or something-“

“Hotch, you can’t go anywhere.”

“Give me your jacket.” Hotch, still holding the hoodie to his stomach, wrapped the jacket around it, holding the hoodie in place. “Voila,” he said, wincing.

“That’s not gonna last.”

“No, but there’s a first aid kit in the back. I’ll help you get your legs set, then you help me.” Hotch got out of the car, but didn’t shut the door. “There are a few trees down here, I should be able to get decently sized branches and make some splints.” Wobbling slightly, he walked away, disappearing into the underbrush. Derek sighed and sat back, waiting for him to return. Their phones were both dead, and depending on how much damage they’d taken internally, it was possible the trackers could have been destroyed. The same went for the car’s GPS. So if their electronic tracking was out the window, then what? They had been en route to the unsub’s house from the police station. JJ and Rossi had been interviewing the latest victim’s family one last time when Hotch had called and told them where to go. Emily and Reid had been at the coroner. The road that Hotch and Morgan had been driving on was a narrow road along a ravine, which they were now at the bottom of. No one else had been coming from the same direction, so there was no chance of anyone just seeing them on their way. It hadn’t been very long, but it was probably long enough that someone had realized something was up, and once they realized they couldn’t get in contact, it would be an all-out search. That being said, they wouldn’t worry about them until they arrested their unsub, which could be another hour or more, if he ran. And even once they realized something was wrong, they would have to search a significant amount of road. It was possible they could be stranded at the bottom of this ravine for a very long time. Their best bet was to get a fire started, and pray that some poor soul saw the smoke.

“I’m back.” Hotch was breathless, his forehead was shimmering with sweat, and his shirt was deep red around Derek’s hoodie, but he held two sturdy-looking branches in his arms. “Can you turn around?” Derek put his weight back on his arms and tried to swivel out towards the car door, which Hotch had just opened. He managed to turn his hips, but couldn’t manage to move his legs.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice straining.

“Then I need to move your legs, otherwise I won’t be able to get access.” Hotch loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. “Bite down.” Derek took the knot between his teeth and clenched his jaw. He screamed into the purple tie as Hotch seized his leg, even as gently as he could, and turned it out the door. “Just one more. You’re doing great, Morgan.” His other leg burned with a searing, white-hot pain, even after it was fully turned. Hotch pulled his jacket off, gasping as he wrenched the wound on his stomach. He ripped it into strips, which he draped over his shoulder. “This is going to hurt. Really bad.”

“Just do it,” Derek replied, muffled. Hotch lifted his left leg from the calf so that it sat in a completely straight line. Derek yelped, screaming curses into the empty, echoing valley. Hotch tied one of the branches to his leg with strips of his jacket. When he was done, he cupped Derek’s face in his hands, both of them panting heavily. It was a platonic gesture of affection, but a rare one from Hotch. It seemed like if there had ever been a time for it, it was now. The other leg hurt almost more, but Derek held onto consciousness. He would not pass out.

“Your nose might heal a little fucked up, but I’m not going to risk making it worse.”

“It’s fine, Hotch. Could you grab the first-aid kit? Don’t hurt yourself too much.”

“I’m fine.” But his pale, clammy face and the growing red patch gave him away. There wasn’t much Derek could do to stop him, though, was there?

Hotch wasn’t paying that much attention to his own injuries, frankly. He knew that was stupid, especially because Derek was right and if the glass had cut his aorta, he was screwed, but there wasn’t much they could do so far. The most there was in the first aid kit was gauze and bandages, which wouldn’t stop bleeding from a major artery. He could feel himself getting more and more lightheaded with every step towards the back of the car. The trunk wouldn’t open, but the window was completely knocked out, so he was able to reach in and pull out the first aid kit without scratching himself on the glass. From the front of the car, he could hear Derek groaning softly. Maybe there were some painkillers in there, even if it was just Advil. But first, they had some other stuff to handle.

“I have to get you out of there.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“At least until the sun sets. It’s way too hot out here, if we stay in the car we’ll just get dehydrated that much faster. Also, it’ll be more comfortable for you when you’re patching me up.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to have to lift you out of there.” Before waiting for a response, Hotch slid an arm under Derek’s arms and grunted as he lifted Derek over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He set him down so he was sitting against the side of the car. “This is where we’ll have the most shade.”

“Ow.” Derek prodded his ribs. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can you help patch me up?” Hotch unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the sandy ground along with Derek’s jacket and hoodie. A few drops of blood landed in the dirt alongside them. As he sat down on the ground, he handed Derek the kit.

“Let’s see… we’ve got gauze, band-aids, rubbing alcohol… nothing for sutures.”

“That’s fine, it wouldn’t have done any good if I’m bleeding internally.” Derek swiped a cotton ball soaked in alcohol across the front wound. Hotch hissed, but didn’t flinch. He allowed Derek to wrap gauze around his stomach, and then slumped against the car beside him.

“So… what do we do?” Hotch just shrugged. He didn’t know what else to do.

“I have no idea. We sit. We wait. And we hope.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch saw Derek begin to shake. His first thought was that he was having some sort of seizure from hitting his head, and Hotch’s gut dropped. Then he realized he was crying. He lifted his aching arm, but not the one that was dislocated, and wrapped it around Derek’s shoulders. He wished he could move his other arm enough to fully encompass his friend, but they’d have to settle for this for now. “They’ll find us.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Derek said through his tears, which cut streaks in the blood and dirt on his face. “I know it’s stupid to be thinking about all the things I wish I’d done, but there are too many.”

“Yeah.” Hotch leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder, another uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, but then again, if there was ever a time for affection, it was now.

Derek was thinking about his house. It was a two-bedroom cottage in the DC suburbs, not the kind of place anyone would have expected from him. He tried his hardest to take care of his garden, but he was always gone too long and the flowers dried up. Who was watering the flowers? For that matter, who was feeding Clooney, his 11-year-old German Shepherd? If he died, would anyone remember to go check on him? He thought about the photos that lined the clean white halls, which he had always meant to paint a bright green but never gotten around to. There were pictures of his mom, his sisters, his dad, his friends. He thought about the tins of cookies stacked up on his counter, which Penelope brought over about twice a week. He thought about the episodes of Storage Wars piling up on his DVR. He had never planned for dying like this. He had a will, every FBI field agent he knew had a will, so that wasn’t an issue. But there were so many things he had never thought about before now. And then there were the things he always planned on doing, like taking Penelope to Thailand, which they’d always talked about, or learning how to weld, or-

“Hotch, can I tell you something?”

“What?” Hotch perked up, but he looked worse than ever. His hand was freezing on Derek’s arm, and the gauze on his stomach was already soaked through.

“I’m talking to you as a friend. Not as FBI agents, and you can’t be my boss about this.”

“Derek. We’re friends.”

“Okay.” Derek swallowed, his throat dry and dusty, but still began to speak. “I wish I’d told all the people I love that I love them.” His heart felt like it was twisting itself in two, but he kept on. “My team. My family. And… Spencer.” Hotch turned just slightly to look up at him, not as surprised as Derek had expected him to be. “I always thought I’d tell him later. I had a plan. I was going to wait and ask him to that French film festival next month. And then I was gonna walk him home and tell him how I felt. I had a whole plan, and now even if I make it through this, I’m still gonna have two broken legs. So no film festival.”

“I’ll be honest, Morgan… I kind of figured.”

“What, you knew I had feelings for him?”

“I didn’t know, but I had my suspicions.” Hotch chuckled and then groaned.

“How’d you know?”

“Well, you always loved to tease him, but last year, you really picked up on it. And I know you well enough to know that’s how you flirt.”

“Wow. You know how I know you’re a better profiler than me? Because you figured it out last year, and I barely got it five months ago.”

“That’s why I’m your boss.”

“So, what, you’re not gonna yell at me for falling for another agent?”

“No. Not right now, anyway. Morgan, don’t ever let this job stop you from loving someone. That’s where I’ve always gone wrong. Those rules exist for a reason, but sometimes… well, fuck the rules sometimes.” Hotch shivered, and Derek pulled him in tighter. It was unbearably hot out, but Hotch was still freezing. That was bad. That meant blood loss. “Still. I wish I’d said something.” He sort of hoped Hotch would say something like “We’re going to make it out of here,” but that wasn’t in the cards. Of course it wasn’t. Hotch wasn’t the kind of guy to make empty promises and Derek wasn’t the kind of guy to believe them. For the first time, he really looked out at the landscape around them. They were somewhere in the Nevada desert, surrounded by nothing but red dirt and the odd tree. The sides of the mountain they had been driving on sloped up around them, steep but not steep enough that they couldn’t have climbed up if not for their various injuries. They were far enough down that someone just driving on the road wouldn’t have seen them unless they noticed the tire tracks and stopped to check it out. His phone was busted, and so was his watch, but judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was closing in on six o’clock. They had only been down here for a half an hour, an hour max, but who knew how long it would take the rest of the team to catch their guy? And even then, they had about 35 miles of road to check out, and the darker it got, the harder it would be for them to notice the tire tracks. The longer they were down here, the better it was looking that none of the major arteries in Hotch’s body had been harmed, but if they weren’t found within a few hours, that wasn’t going to matter. He’d bleed out anyway. And although his broken legs wouldn’t kill him, Derek realized if he didn’t get water, he’d die of dehydration, or starvation, or heat exposure, or hypothermia, or just plain old hungry desert coyotes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, only he didn’t know who he was apologizing to. Hotch, maybe. Or God. Maybe it was to his father, who he’d always tried to be as good as, or maybe it was to Spencer for never telling him about his feelings. There were too many people Derek had to apologize to, and for the first time in his 30-something years of life, he was realizing he really might never get the chance.

Meanwhile, Hotch was considering his team. He found that that was how he spent most of his days, at least when Jack wasn’t around. Who else was there to think about? Haley? He didn’t like to sound callous, but there wasn’t much more to think about with her. Beth? Beth, who had left him and gone to New York? Again, what more could he say? There was only Jack, the team, and, well, her.

“Morgan, while we’re on the subject…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Not the only what? Person in love with Reid? ‘Cause if you say you are, I’m gonna-”

“No. Not Reid.”

“Good.” Derek paused. “Wait, then who?” The way he looked at Hotch, he really didn’t know. Then again, Hotch supposed he had always been better at hiding his feelings than the rest of them.

“Emily,” he said simply. “It’s always been Emily.” Beside him, he felt Derek’s head turn to look up at him.

“I- like, our Emily? Emily Prentiss? Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss?”

“No, the other Emily we both know- yes, Emily Prentiss.” Hotch let his head fall back against the car, his hand resting over the gauze on his bare stomach, which was warm and damp with his own blood. He was really bleeding out. It was only just beginning to click, but he pushed it down. Those were feelings he couldn’t afford to deal with right now.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell her? You know she loves you, right?” Hotch sighed.

“Maybe. I don’t know, maybe I know she does. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m her boss, and even if I wasn’t, we still work together. Our jobs rely on us being able to be impartial, and if we’re together… it clouds my judgement, and my judgement is all I have.”

“Hotch, not five minutes ago, you told me to fuck the rules. That was your exact wording. Your judgement if you and Emily love each other out loud instead of in that broody silence you both love so much isn’t going to change, because you’ll be feeling the same feelings you are right now, except then you won’t have the pressure of pushing them down that you’ve had to hold onto for so long. Fuck the rules, right?” Hotch turned to look down at Derek, smiling as much as he could despite the fading black at the edges of his vision.

“Yeah. Fuck the rules.”

Hotch didn’t look so good. Derek didn’t have much to think about, so he thought about that. Hotch’s breathing had slowed. A lot. And there was a lot of blood soaking through the gauze wrapped around his stomach, enough that another layer wouldn’t help. The sun was finally beginning to set, the signal that their chances were about to dim significantly. Even as bad as he looked, Hotch still managed to stand up.

“Where are you- Hotch, what are you doing?”

“I have to grab something. I’ll be right back.” Derek heard him open the door on the other side of the car and rifle through the glove compartment. He returned with a notepad and a pair of pens. Slowly, and with a lot of effort, he sat back down and ripped a sheet off the top of the notepad. He handed it to Derek, along with one of the pens.

“What’s this for?” Hotch grinned, but it was more like a grimace.

“Write him a letter. Spencer. Just… just in case.” With trembling hands, Derek took the paper and pen. He had to brace it against his own hand, so he wouldn’t hurt his leg, but he found he could steady himself enough to write what he needed to. Beside him, Hotch was writing a letter of his own. In shaky, splotchy chicken scratch, Derek began to write.

Spencer,

Don’t worry about me, kid. I know you, I know how much you love to beat yourself up for things. Don’t. What happened was no one’s fault but mine and that stupid deer in the road’s. Things happen and if you’re reading this, the worst thing happened. And if the worst happened, that means I never got to tell you how I feel about you. This is pretty clearly not how I wanted to tell you, but I wanted you to know. This letter is so you don’t have to see my face every day, knowing how I feel about you, and never get to say anything to me. I’m telling you you don’t need to. However you feel about me, just knowing that I love you is all that matters. Don’t feel bad about never telling me if you felt the same, and never feel bad about letting me die loving you if you didn’t. Loving you was all I needed, kid. But oh, man, the things I wish I’d gotten to tell you. I was going to ask you to that French film festival in Baltimore next month. I learned some French for it and everything. You were going to be so impressed with me. Actually, you’d probably shake your head condescendingly, smile, and tell me all about how wrong my pronunciations were, probably. Still. I’m sorry we’ll never get to do that. I’m as sorry that I’ll never get to hold your hand or kiss you in the rain as I am that I’ll never get to make fun of your hair or give you an awkward fist bump. You were my friend long before I ever fell for you and you’ll be my friend even when I’m gone. I’m running out of space to write. I love you.

Your friend,

D. Morgan

When he finished writing, he finally noticed the tears bleeding through the paper, mixed in with smudges of blood from his broken nose. He folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. That letter would survive the sun and the elements. Even if he didn’t.

Hotch was writing his own letter. At first, he didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? I’m sorry I’m dead, I love you? But then again, that was probably better than saying nothing at all. So he started writing, really having no idea where he was going at all.

Dear Emily,

This isn’t an apology. I think I should say that first. Although I have a lot to apologize for, I only have a little room and I don’t want to take up your time with the things that won’t matter if you’re reading this. The long and the short of it is that I never told you how I felt about you. How I feel about you even now as I write this letter. I know I said this wasn’t going to be an apology, but I am sorry about not telling you sooner. There was just too much to think about. There’s less to think about now. All I can think of is Jack and you. If I ever get out of here, I swear to god I’ll tell you that myself. I didn’t tell you because you deserve so much more than me. You deserve the entire universe and then some, so much more than one tired old man who can’t even save himself. I have a few requests for you, if it’s not out of line for me to ask. First, don’t blame me, don’t blame yourself, and if Derek gets out of here and I don’t, don’t blame him. It’s no one’s fault. Second, Haley’s sister can and will take Jack in, but make sure he knows the team is as much his family as any of his blood relatives. I don’t worry about him forgetting me, but I don’t want him forgetting you either. My last request is my biggest. They’ll have to fill my position as soon as possible, and I want them to give the job to you. You’re the best suited to take over, and I trust you to keep the team on track. Strauss will put up a fight, but there’s a document in my desk that outlines all of my reasons and wishes for the team following my death. Your promotion is the first thing on that document. If you don’t want the job, I obviously can’t make you take it, but if your only reason is because you think I only want you to have it because of my feelings for you, it’s not. My faith in you as an agent, as a person, and as a friend is never-ending.

-Hotch

Before putting the letter in his pocket, Hotch turned to Derek, his face and tone stern.

“Derek. If anything happens to me, if you get out of here and I don’t, you make sure this gets to Emily. Promise me.”

“I promise, Hotch, of course. You’ll do the same for me?”

“Yes.” Hotch held his hand out for a shake, but Derek just took it and held it, his hand warm and firm against Hotch’s. “We should start thinking about a fire. It’s going to get cold out here before too long.”

“I don’t think so, Hotch. I can’t walk, and you��re not looking too good.” Hotch couldn’t see himself, but he didn’t feel good either. His heartbeat was thready, but fast, like a hummingbird’s. His vision spun, and his grip was weakening by the minute. If he had been a praying man, Hotch would have started praying about now. But he didn’t really believe in God, so who was there to pray to? He turned his head up towards the darkening sky and thought of Emily.

It was fully dark now. Stars unlike anything Derek had seen in Chicago or D.C. lit up the sky, and he would have marveled at their beauty if not for the cold that was beginning to dig deep into his bones. Between the two of them, they had three jackets that they had sort of formed into a patchwork blanket over them, but it wasn’t enough. Hotch shivered against him, and Derek felt more powerless than he had at any point since the crash. His friend was dying, like it or not, of blood loss and hypothermia and god knew what else, and there was nothing he could do except wait for them to be found. They were both still awake. That was good. But they hadn’t seen a single car pass by in five hours, at least. That was bad.

“Come on, buddy, stay awake.” Derek shook Hotch gently, careful not to touch his bad shoulder. Hotch blinked rapidly, but he looked more exhausted than ever. In the dark light, he was ghostly pale.

“I’m up.”

“Good.” Together, they watched the stars for a bit. “Spencer taught me some of the constellations.” He pointed as he recognized them. “That’s Gemini, the twins. And Columba, the dove.”

“I never knew anything about astronomy. I always had a plan to learn, but then…”

“Time gets away from you.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I was going to learn how to bake.” Hotch didn’t respond. “Hotch?” When Derek glanced down at him, Hotch’s eyes were just fluttering shut, and his muscles relaxed. He looked like a rag doll. “Hotch, come on. Come on, buddy. Come on.” Derek shook him more aggressively now, caring less about whether he hurt the busted shoulder. Hotch could recover from a dislocated shoulder, but he wasn’t going to get the chance if they didn’t get some help, and soon. “Help!” Derek screamed, his voice ripping through the empty black fabric of the desert. “Someone help us, goddamnit!” Other than an echo off the side of the ravine, there was nothing. And then there was something. At first, he thought maybe he was imagining it, or that it was just the stars reflecting off the red rocks. Then it got closer, and he realized what it was.

Headlights.

If he could have stood up, he would have, but he settled for screaming. “Help us! We’re down here!” The headlights slowed, and Derek saw them glance off the shiny black finish of the Lincoln SUVs he recognized so well. Four silhouettes appeared in the lights, and one of them shone a flashlight down. Derek flinched at the brilliant light, but still, he smiled, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Morgan?” Rossi’s voice bounced off the rocks to reach him.

“You gotta get us out of here!”

“We’re coming down!” Carefully, but as quickly as they could, the four silhouettes clambered down the side of the cliff, which wasn’t so much a cliff as it was a steep, rocky hill. JJ reached them first, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“There was a deer in the road, I swerved… you get the rest. Look, we have to get Hotch out of here, he’s lost a lot of blood and he just passed out.”

“Hotch!” Emily, who had just arrived, rushed to him. “Rossi, give me a hand.” Together, the two of them managed to secure Hotch’s arms over their shoulders and begin to carry him out. Spencer was the last to arrive, passing Emily and Rossi on their way out. He gave a short, pained cry when he saw Derek sitting on the ground.

“I’m okay, kid.”

“No, you’re not! I- your legs!” Derek ignored this momentarily.

“JJ, call 911. I’ll have to stay down here until the ambulance comes, there’s no way you can get me out without a stretcher.”

“I have to go back up to get service.” She looked between Derek and Spencer nervously.

“I’ll stay with him. Go.” She began the climb back up, and Spencer knelt in front of Derek. “Derek, follow my finger.” Spencer held up a finger and waved it back and forth in front of Derek’s eyes. “What’s the date today?”

“February… uh…”

“Derek.”

“I can’t remember.” Spencer paused, his brow furrowed in focus, but relaxed.

“You’re almost certainly concussed, but so far, it seems like you’ve avoided major brain damage.”

“Oh. Good.” Despite the pain that hadn’t subsided since the crash, Derek managed a smile. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

“What the hell happened?” Spencer asked, uncharacteristically tender. His face was weary and ten years older than he had been this morning.

“Deer jumped into the road, I swerved. The car held up better than I would have expected.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I’m aware.” Spencer hesitated, searching Derek’s face with those big hazel eyes, the eyes that saw everything, like he had some kind of superhuman x-ray vision. “Spencer, I-” He was cut off by the sound of sirens. “Christ, that didn’t take long.”

“Well, we’ve kinda had a whole search party going for the last couple of hours.”

“You found me.” Spencer squeezed his hand, and if Derek’s heart hadn’t already been pounding, it would have started.

“I found you.” They were joined by a series of EMTs with a stretcher, who carried Derek out of the ravine, noting as they went the cleverness of the splints Hotch had made. No one said anything about Hotch.

Hotch woke up in a quiet, empty hospital room with sunlight streaming in through the windows and an oxygen mask over his face. The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t in pain. They must have loaded him up with painkillers for his shoulder. Also, he wasn’t dead. That was nice. The door opened, and Emily stepped in, holding a Starbucks cup and looking dead tired. She didn’t seem to notice he was awake at first, and she leaned against the door, breathing slowly and deeply.

“Come on, Aaron. Wake up. Please.” He cleared his throat as best he could, and she jumped. “Oh my god!” He smiled.

“Hi.”

“I- hi.” She sat down in the chair beside his bed. “We were worried about you for a while there.”

“Yeah? Last thing I remember was Morgan telling me about constellations, and then…” He gestured to the room around them.

“You lost a lot of blood. If we’d gotten there even a few minutes later, I don’t-”

“You didn’t. You got there in time. Don’t think about what didn’t happen.” She brightened at that, a brilliant smile spreading across her face.

“Oh!” She jumped again, this time in recollection. “Your clothes are kind of ruined, but they found this in your pocket.” She pressed the letter, the one he’d written to her in what he thought were his last moments, into his hand.

“Did you… did you read it?” She shook her head, completely innocent to the letter’s contents. Good. He had hoped she wouldn’t have to read it. He hoped she would never have to read it.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just a contingency plan, I guess.” She nodded, as if that was enough explanation, although Hotch could tell it wasn’t.

“Listen, Hotch-”

“Emily, I-”

“You go first.”

“No, go ahead.” Emily folded her hands as if to steady them and stared at the spot just above Hotch’s head. Hotch recognized that well. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes.

“You flatlined in the ambulance. Twice. And I’ve never been as scared in my life as I was those two times I thought you were gone for good.”

“Em-”

“No, let me finish. I know… there’s a lot of things we’ll have to figure out, but Hotch…” Her pleading, earnest eyes bore into him. “I think maybe I love you. I think maybe I have for a long time. And it’s not worth it for me to stay quiet anymore. If you need to transfer me to a different unit, um, I-”

“Emily.” Despite his gentle tone, she still looked up at him, shocked. “You’re not getting transferred.”

“Hotch, I can’t ask you to-”

“No, Emily. You’re not getting transferred and I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” Slowly but surely, he reached over to take her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“...oh.”

“All I could think about out there was you and Jack. I’m not staying quiet anymore either.” Emily tried and failed to bite back a grin.

“We’re going to have to talk to HR.”

“Yep.”

“Strauss is going to flip her shit.”

“Strauss isn’t going to find out, and if she does, she’s going to have to take me down.”

“We’re doing this?”

“I’m up for it. Are you?” Emily didn’t hesitate. She just kissed him, careful to avoid his arm and stomach injuries. Hotch was honestly pretty sure it was the best kiss of his life. Almost made the near-death experience worth it.

Derek also woke up in a sunny hospital room, only his wasn’t empty and it was far from quiet. The first thing he heard was Spencer yelling.

“...I know you did an MRI, but you need to test his TBI and monitor his ICP! Christ, where did you get your medical degree, the internet?”

“Spencer.” His voice was low and raspy, but it got Spencer’s attention well enough. “Let the doctors do their jobs.”

“But they’re not, they’re not running all the tests they should be, and-”

“Spencer.” Like a petulant child, Spencer quieted, and the doctors took their chance to leave. He didn’t stay annoyed for long, he couldn’t help it.

“How are you feeling?” Derek sighed.

“Well, I’ve got one hell of a headache, but the painkillers seem like they’re doing their jobs.”

“You got lucky. Only one of your legs was a total fracture, and neither one caused much internal bleeding.”

“How about my nose? Is my face gonna be all fucked up?”

“It took a little plastic surgery, but your nose will be good as new.”

“Good. One of us has to be the pretty one, and we both know it’s supposed to be me.” Spencer tapped a nervous melody on his bony knee, which bounced like what Derek liked to call Restless Leg Syndrome On Steroids.

“You should have driven with us. I know you hate sitting in the backseat, but-”

“Spencer. It’s not your fault. Or mine.”

“Yeah. I got that.” Derek’s brows furrowed. What the hell did that mean? Spencer brushed his curls off his forehead, trying not to smile and failing desperately. He hugged Derek tightly, and Derek let him, despite his bruised ribs screaming.Derek unbaked deeply, taking in the scent of coffee and lemon soap he knew so well. He had nearly fallen into a trance when Spencer spoke. “So, French, huh?”

“What?” At first, Derek thought maybe he had gotten some severe brain damage. Then it clicked and he pulled out of Spencer’s arms, eyes wide and heart in his throat. “...you read it.”

“It fell out of your pocket in the ambulance. I thought…” Spencer laughed, a little bitterly. “I thought maybe it was your will.” Derek didn’t know what to say. He really was at a loss for words. Everything he had meant to say was in that letter, which Spencer had already read.

“Then you know how I feel about you.” Derek opted for confidence, with just a touch of defiance. He was daring Spencer to make the next move. Spencer, who had never been particularly daring in Derek’s eyes, made his move. He kissed Derek, so fast Derek didn’t register it until Spencer’s teeth grazed his lower lip, and his hands were already tangled in Spencer’s messy curls. When the kiss finally broke, Spencer flushed from his neck to his ears. “So. It’s probably a little late to ask if you feel the same way.”

“Sorry. I just… I thought I was being obvious for so long, and you just never noticed. I figured I couldn’t get more obvious than that.” Derek reached up to cup Spencer’s cheek, running his thumb over Spencer’s perfect pink lips.

“Je veux faire ça depuis longtemps,” he said, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Vous auriez dû le faire il y a des années,” Spencer replied.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” They stared at each other in affectionate silence and then burst out laughing. It was the same easy warmth they had had between them for the last nine years, only now there was more. The love had not replaced the friendship, it was just another layer. Derek took Spencer’s hand and squeezed, smiling gratefully. “You saved my life, Spencer Reid. Not just because you got me out of that ravine. Not just because you bullied the doctors into giving me all the tests in the book. You saved me because I had something to fight for out in that Nevada desert, and I’ll always owe you for that.”

“You’ll never owe me anything.” Spencer shrugged. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to go to that film festival.”

“Who says?”

“Uh, the plaster casts that’ll be on my legs for the next six to eight weeks?”

“So you’ll go in a wheelchair. You’re taking me out, man, just like you said you would.” Derek hesitated.

“Take me for a walk.”

“Huh?”

“Take me outside. Then we’ll talk.” Spencer shrugged.

“I’ll check with the doctors, but that should be fine. One second.”

Momentarily, they were outside. Across the street from the Nevada hospital, there was a decent park. Spencer pushes Derek in a wheelchair, tossing his hair in the cool winter breeze.

“Are you enjoying being home?” Derek asked.

“Alright, out with it,” Spencer said, ignoring the question. “What’s the deal? Why don’t you want to go?” Derek sighed.

“Come look at me.” Spencer circles around him and crouched so he was at eye level for Derek. “I don’t want to go because it’s in Baltimore.”

“And? What’s wrong with Baltimore? We go to Baltimore for drinks once a week.”

“Yeah. And how do we get to Baltimore?”

“Derek, whatever you’re trying to say, will you just say it?”

“I don’t want to get back in the car!” Derek shouted. “I don’t want to go to Baltimore because I don’t want to drive there.” Spencer stared at him analytically for a moment, then smiled softly and patted Derek’s knee.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll just watch action movies at your place.”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

“Yeah. I feel like I owe you that much, at least.”

“You’ll never owe me anything.” Derek pulled Spencer down to kiss him quickly, but sweetly. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

#criminal minds #cm fanfic #cm fan fiction #cm fic #cm #cm angst #moreid #hotchniss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years

Text

Angel

Kinktober Day 22 ~ kink: sixty-nine

pairing: fuck buddy!iida tenya x fem!reader

warnings: smut, cursing

word count: 4,813

a/n: HEEEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE I LOVE THISSSSS PLEASE READ IT

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Iida Tenya was always someone who considered himself to be a virtuous man.

First and foremost he was a gentleman. He was always ready and willing to lend a hand to someone in need. The women he courted were always impressed by his actions. His integrity and his devotions.

Second of all, he was a Pro-Hero. A model to others, a figure of support for those who believed themselves to be hopeless. He was strong, and he was mighty. Swift and keen.

You considered yourself to be diligent and persevering.

First and foremost you were a lady. You were always helping those in need. Assisting those who needed attention and devotion. The men that courted you were always left wanting more, needing more.

Second of all, you were a sex worker. A shame to most people in society. A woman of the night who emerged to help out those disgruntled men, cheating men, unwanted men. Nevertheless, you were tenacious, full of fortitude, and vigor.

You never expected to run into Pro-Hero: Ingenium, especially not in your club.

You worked in the notorious strip club: Limbo. The most well-known club in the red light district in Tokyo.

You had been working there since you had turned eighteen. Most other things in your life had been terrible at the time. The people working at this club had wholeheartedly accepted you. At first, you had stuck primarily to waiting. Taking drinks to clients. Making sure they were all happy as they watched your co-workers--your family--up on stage.

You helped in purchasing of private rooms. At least for the few men and women who had managed to prove themselves worthy to the workers. When you had turned twenty, you took to the stage, creating a new persona to present to clients. You were a massive hit and everyone wanted you.

With your signature light pink wig and white lingerie and costumes, you had become Angel.

Limbo presented you like no other. You were the star of the show.

Your presence was so powerful, so compelling that other clubs were shutting down.

So when death threats came around, it was to no surprise the night that someone took action.

While on stage, someone fired a gun, it landed centimeters from your head as you were then rushed out.

You couldn’t remember much of that night. Only that your white lingerie was now stained with your sweat and tears. Your makeup running down your face as the pink wig fell from your head. Someone had tried to kill you and nearly succeeded.

What you never expected, the next day following, was that when you graced the stage. Proving to everyone that you weren’t afraid was for Pro-Heroes to be at the back of the club. The audience cheered as the light focused in on you. Yens already thrown onto the stage as you covered your body with the white faux fur jacket.

The music played, and your body moved with the music. The music was soft, light and sweet in your ears. Your body rolling with the melody, clothes dropping during the harmony.

Your eyes continued watching the back where the Pro-Heroes stood. You could feel them staring at you as you leaned down, your supple ass exposed for them all to see. The slight lean up before you rolled down on your knees, crawling to a man in front of you. Eyes dark with faux lust as you grabbed his tie. Your mouth ghosting his lips as he dropped the contents of his wallet on you. Your giggle rings with the song, your deep red painted lips leaving a mark against his clammy mouth.

Still, their eyes are very locked on you.

Groans of jealousy filling the room as you stand back up. Your fingers slowly unbutton the shirt you wear. Your eyes locked on an awe-struck look on her face as you let the fabric of your button-up fall off your shoulders. Pooling at your elbows.

Screams filled the room as you mounted the girl. Her trembling fingers shaking against your legs as your hips rolled. Your hands grasped onto the collar of her shirt as you pulled her in. Your lips pressing against her neck as you stood off her. Your lips pressing against hers as hoots and shouts fill the room.

You twirl back on stage. You find that the Pro-Heroes seem enticed by you as your fingers touch the cold pole behind you. A confident smile fills your face as you grip the pole. There were definitely pluses to being able to use your body like this.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You sat backstage, the pink wig taken off your head as you fixed your natural hair. While you weren’t ashamed of your line of work, you did not like having to interact with clients outside of Limbo.

“Y/l/n,” Your manager calls for you, and while fixing the last bits to your hair, you turned. Your manager was smiling, her finger thrusting towards the man beside her. Your eyes widened at the sight of Ingenium beside her. “We’ve hired this dashing young hero to be your bodyguard while here!”

“Kina-san, that’s not necessary!” You exclaim, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You didn’t think that you needed any bodyguard.

“Yes, it is,” Kina scolds, her lips tugged into a frown. “We could have lost you yesterday! Until Ingenium and the Pro-Heroes find whoever enacted on their threat; we’re not letting you go anywhere. At least not alone!”

You lick your lips, your mouth twisting. “I think that’s a bit too much, I’m sure Ingenium has much bigger cases to worry about than acting as my babysitter!”

“Actually,” Ingenium states, his deep voice very clear through the mask. Your eyes snap over to the armored hero who has a hand raised. “I don’t do much after midnight, so this works out perfectly.”

Kina smirks, folding her arms, “So, I better not see you without him.”

Your cheeks puff out in irritation as you know that there is nothing that you can do to change her mind. “Fine!” You agree, standing up. You’re still adorning the white lingerie that you had worn for your performance. You march over to Ingenium who seems to panic and looks everywhere but at your scantily clothed body. “I’m y/l/n y/n, but you can also call me--”

“A-Angel.” The Pro-Hero stammers, “I do remember hearing that.”

Your lips curl into a wide and pleasant smile, “Oh, good.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“This is me.” You say pointing at the run-down apartment where you lived. You could definitely afford a better place now, but you enjoyed the comfort of this building. The future you built here, the person you’d become stained the walls of your apartment.

“You’re taking this situation very robustly,” Ingenium compliments as you open the gate to the building. He shakes his head, his hands flying as he corrects himself, “The being shot at situation. Most people would not be this calm about something like that.”

You shrug your shoulders as you begin climbing up the staircase. Your hands clasped together as you speak, “I just don’t think there’s a reason to worry about it now. They have you guys patrolling our club now. Bouncers are checking for any concealed weapons! Also, prior-quirk information is being implemented soon.”

He nods his head, agreeing with you. “But still, this is about your safety, and there is no joking about it. That is why I’m here.”

You giggle softly as you get to your apartment, your fingers on your keys as you unlock the door. “Well, I’m glad I have a strong and valiant hero to protect me. Thank you, Ingenium-san.”

“Please, call me Iida.”

“Iida.” You smile at him, your eyes falling down as your heart hammers in your chest. He had been a very nice companionship on the typical quiet walk home.

“Well, I wish you a good night, and call me if you need anything,” Iida tells you, and you nod.

You watch as he turns on his heel, prepping to run away at high speeds when your voice interrupts him. “Would you like to come in for a bit?” You ask, your head cocked to the side as an innocuous smile brightens your face.

“W-What?”

“Well, I figure if you’re going to be visiting me and taking care of me, I should do the same.” You state, eyes murky with humor and wantonness.

“I-I… um, well…” Iida stammers, and you can practically see his inflamed cheeks under his helmet.

“I won’t bite,” You promise as your hands reach for his. He doesn’t pull away as you drag him towards you.

Your front door clicks behind the two of you.

The night was coming to an end, but there was still much, much, to do.

So began the ongoing seven months sex relationship with the one and only, Pro-Hero: Ingenium. Better known as Iida Tenya to you now.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Iida moans against your mouth as you have him pinned to your front door. Your fingers rake up and down his armored chest as he drops his helmet without thought. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper against his opened mouth.

The deep chuckle resonating in your mouth confirms his appreciation of you. Your nimble fingers work off the armored pieces of his uniform. They fall to the floor of your apartment with loud clatters, bangs that would normally scare you, but go unnoticed.

His lips are your addiction, and you soak him up. Your fingers gripping the tight black t-shirt that clings to his well-sculpted body. Your innate desire for him breaking through as his own hands press greedily against your bare skin.

Today had been your day off.

After a single month, they had caught the since shut down club responsible for your failed murder. It didn’t matter that he had been captured and arrested, Iida was always there to escort you home. It was always in the dead of night when you two interacted. You were mostly asleep during the day, then would be off to practice a new routine, or find a new costume. Iida was active during the day, dealing with his hero work, and maintaining the peace of Japan. But without fail he would walk you home.

You weren’t a couple, conflicts in your schedules were the main reason why things didn’t work out, or so you figured. But you guys were pretty damn close to one. He spent the night at your place four times a week, some nights didn’t even result in sex. Rough days at work concluded with soft touches and cuddles. Your arms wrapped around him as you curled into his chest. Your relationship was pure, soft, and gentle.

Of course, there were nights like these. Where the other was desperate for the other, craving the feeling of their skin and sex as they fucked the night away. Nights that began with a simple ‘i need you’ text. All in all, your relationship with Iida Tenya was that of friends with benefits. To put it even more simply, you were fuck buddies.

Iida’s scarred fingers gripped your hair, your body pressed against his own as you craved more of him. It had been two weeks since you had seen him. Iida had been away on a press conference. While away there had been many exchanged sexts, pictures, and even video calls. It was not the same as having him under your fingertips.

“And you said you could last an entire month without me.” Iida taunts you, a smirk on his lips as you pinch his skin.

“You were being an utter asshole to me that day!” You grumble as his hot mouth trails open mouth, tongue pressed, kisses to your neck. An appreciative exhale leaving your lips as you tilt your head to the side giving him more access to your soft skin.

“I just remember you being a brat,” Iida counters, his canines dragging against your teased skin. Your back arches against him, your arms trembling as he lifts you up. Your knees locking onto his sides as Iida pulls away, staring at your heated face. “How should I fuck you?” He wonders, and a chill travels through your body at those words. Your core coming to life as his fingers rub circles into your plump ass.

“Whichever way I want you to fuck me.” You interject, his red eyes falling on yours.

“Why should I do that, angel?” He asks, his hips snapping to press against your low aching core. A longing noise leaves your mouth at the pet’s name.

There was a difference between Angel and angel. You loved your stage name because it empowered you, but the way Iida called you an angel? It was weakening, your body trembling because of the hold he had over you.

“I-I want to suck your dick,” You whisper into his ear, your hips grazing against his growing arousal. “I want you in my mouth, your body squirming because of my touch, your voice praising me.” Your mouth sucks softly against a special spot on his neck. A sensitive spot that never failed to make Iida lose his gentleman composure.

The fervor groan that echoes in your ear shoots fire through you as you find yourself back on your feet. Confusion inks your eyes as you watch Iida strip off the rest of his clothes. Gone is the tight black t-shirt, the navy blue joggers shoved down to his feet. He kicks them off as you continue staring. His fingers hooking around the waistband of his very tented boxers. His red eyes are nearly burgundy when he looks up at you.

“Strip.” He says. Your eyes wander down to your white tank top and black running shorts. Your face confused on why you had to be naked to suck his dick. “Strip.” He commands. Iida’s hands grasp your tank top, pulling the fabric over your head.

Your breasts fall down. An embarrassed squeal leaving your mouth as you are instinctively covering up. You look at Iida who is pulling off his underwear, his hard cock bouncing up from its initial restraint. Your breathing quickens as you pull your shorts down. Your body shivering as the cold air hits your burning core. “Why am I--TENYA!”

Your world is now upside down, and your fingers seize onto his thighs. Your own thighs lay against his toned shoulders, and you feel dizzy from the sudden flip. The blood rushing to your head as you try twisting your head to look at Iida. “Suck my dick.” Iida all but orders you, and your eyes widen as he licks your pussy.

Your eyes clench at the sensation. Your body trembling at the feeling of his heated appendage licking your throbbing cunt. You shudder as your hand grips his thick cock. His tongue swirls within you. His appreciation evident in the way his fingers tighten their hold against your waist.

It must be the rush of blood in your head. Your body drunk off of your need of Iida, but the second Iida’s cock enters your mouth you feel as if you are in heaven. Your cheeks hollow out as you move among his length. His tongue coaxing your own clenching pussy as you continue bobbing your head.

Your teeth are teasing against the bulging vein on the underside of his cock. Your tongue wrapping around the twitching cock. You switched from side to side as Iida moans in commendation. Your head thumps with every heartbeat. Your hand wrapped around the area of his dick you could not place into your mouth.

Back and forward, back and forward.

Saliva slobbering out of your mouth as you continue your routine on his cock.

Iida’s noises will you forward. The tremble in his legs exciting you and his teeth nibble against your puffy nerve. Your jaw drops, a moan slamming out of your throat. Vibrating around his cock as the head his the back of your cock, making you gag.

Iida presses two fingers into your core. The feeling of his thick and rough fingers making you squeeze his head between your thighs.

“Come on, suck my fucking cock, angel.” Iida murmurs against your cunt, and you nod your head. You deepen the angle, his cock sliding down further in your throat. His head presses uncomfortably against the back of your throat, the new angle not easy for you to deal with.

Iida moans loudly, his head dipping back as your fingers moving to go around the back of his thighs. Your head worked in synch with his thrusting hips, your head bouncing against his hard length. The soft gags that escape your throat only prompting on the Pro-Hero to try getting you closer to the edge. Desperate for your own orgasm, too.

Your eyes fluttered as you stare at his balls, you stick out a hand, fondling the skin between your fingers. Iida’s lewd words pummeling from his lips as he encouraged you on. His own fingers curling within your inner walls.

You groaned as your mouth took him in further. The vibrations that shot against his heated skin made Iida curse. Oh, the things you did to him.

“Fuck, angel,” He jeers as his hips snap into your mouth.

You choke as he hits the back of your throat at full force on top of the weird entrance angle. Tears springing into your eyes as you are failing at adjusting to having his length in your mouth. You grasp the back of his legs as you relax your jaw and throat further, his hips snapping into your mouth with no mercy.

His fingers scissoring within your inner walls, your body jerking under his mercy. “Listen to me, I want you to have me completely in your mouth.” He growls as you. “Don’t you dare leave anything out.”

The simple command sends pressure through your body. The liquid heat of your arousal making audible noises against his tongue and fingers.

You whine around his dick, his hips relentless in their conquest. Your eyes barely keep themselves open as he fucks your face. The skin of his hips hitting your nose as you have him completely down your throat. “You’re so pretty when you’re choking on my cock, angel.” Iida groans as dick spam within your mouth, and you choke around him again. Fire erupting in your lungs from the lack of oxygen, but it feels so fucking good.

His fingers are powerful as they enter and exit your pussy. His tongue lapping in with a smooth rhythm that makes your body tremble. The building sensation of his thrusting fingers and tongue in your core making your vision fuzzy.

You relish in the feeling of the head of his manhood hitting the back of your throat. Your lungs scream for air, but you can’t pull away. You once more gag on his length, your airway burning as he does not stop. You repeated your action, feeling Iida hit the back of your throat as you continue sucking his dick. Your fingers rushing forth to once again groping his balls, and he curses your name.

It’s your first name this time that escapes his lips, and it sends a spine chilling sensation down your body. You hum as your mouth sinks entirely against his length until your lips brush against the base of his cock. His wiggling tongue adds more to the shooting pleasure in your bloodstream. Your hips moving around in circles desperate for more friction. Needy for more pressure. He’s so fucking good at lavishing your sopping cunt.

“Shit, fuck, shit.” Iida grunts, his head tilting back as he unloads in your awaiting mouth. His hot seed shooting down your throat as you choke slightly. Pulling away, you heave as he digs his tongue and fingers down your clenching hole, and you shriek as you come.

You feel dizzy. The white-hot heat making you swoon as he places you back onto your feet. Your head collapses against his chest as Iida holds you gently by your waist. “Are you okay?” He asks you, and you nod.

That was insane.

“I still want your dick…” You mumble, your fingers pushing through his thick black hair.

Iida laughs nodding, “Anything for you, angel.” You’re picked up easily as Iida takes you to your bedroom. The slamming door behind him rattles as your giggles are drowned out as he presses a kiss to your lips.

Iida smiles as he crawls on top of you, his mouth latching onto your jaw. A shuddering noise leaves your mouth as you place your trembling fingers against his shoulders. “I missed you.” You repeat, your eyes clenched as Iida nods his head. The sounds of his lips peppering your skin making your body heat up.

His lips leave your person, and you open up. Your eyes heavy with lust as you peer at Iida who is grabbing a condom from your dresser. Iida rolls the rubber against his now hard against dick, and you shift onto your elbows. Your chest heaving with your thoughts of what he’s going to do to you.

The air is knocked out of you as Iida grabs onto your hips. Your shoulders pressed onto the mattress, your arms flat, and your head pressed into a pillow. Iida supports your lower back and legs as he teases your entrance.

He’s still on his knees as he glances at you, his red eyes looking black.

Your cunt throbs at how assertive he looks, how demanding and strong. Iida smiles, he noticed your reaction as he chuckles. “Already so wet for me, angel.” He whispers but his words are loud in your ears.

“Fuck me already, Tenya.” You whimper, your hips shifting in his hands as you desperately try to level yourself to the tip of his cock. Your inner walls needing his length within in you, needing his girth to stretch you out in the best of ways. “Your cock is already hard, too! Don’t pretend that-- oh my gOD!”

Iida slams into you, his thick cock stretching you out in the most incredible way. Your jaw drops as you sputter out gasps. Iida grunting but does not hesitate to continue thrusting his cock into your sore cunt.

The bulging vein on his cock glides against your walls. Your pleased noises making Iida snarl.

His hips snap faster into you, harder into you. Your body shifting with his movements. The pillow bunching under your neck from the repetitive harsh movements.

“TENYA!” You shriek as he ruthlessly slams into you. His hips coming down so fast your body moves with every thrust. Your moans tumble out of your throat as the bed is quick to move with your movements. It squeaks are loud in your ear alongside his insistent pounding.

“What’s that, angel?” He growls, his cock hammering into you at mind bogging speed. “What’s wrong?”

“Tenya!” You scream as your pussy throbs around his pounding cock. You’re unable to even roll your hips in rhythm with him. You were stuck to the mattress, only able to feel his cock entering you at toe-curling speeds. The bulging vein only adding more to your cries. “Oh my god, FUCK you feel so good!”

“You take my cock so well!” Iida grunts as he releases one hand from your thigh and runs it down your inner thigh to press against your clit. Your head thrashes back, your back arching further off the bed as you scream again. Your pussy clenching with no remorse around his dick.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight.” Iida laughs, his hips swiveling. “Do you want to come now, angel?”

You can only nod your head, gasping breathes choking you, as the pressure continues to build and build.

“I need to hear your words.”

“Fuck me harder, Tenya, please I need to come so badly!” You sob out as your body throbs under his thrusting, you’re so close you’re seeing white.

“I knew you would be able to tell me what you needed.” He growls as he leans forward. The furthering of his penetration making you scream as his hand slams near you. Your legs are locked around his waist, and his hands moving to pinch both your clit and nipple.

That’s all it takes and you come hard around his dick, his name ripping through your tender body as he moans. His elbows falling to the mattress as he continues pummeling into you. Chasing after his own orgasm now.

You pant harshly as you move your hips against his own. Your pussy still clenching around his throbbing dick. You hear him expel a wavering sigh, and you can feel him come within you. The heated fluid filling you up as he collapses onto the bed. You moan as you push yourself off the mattress, staring at Iida who leaned up to pull you into his body.

“Welcome back.” You laugh as you fall onto his sweaty chest.

“Glad to be back…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Your eyes opened softly the following morning as you stared at Iida’s sleeping form.

Despite the nature of your fuck buddy relationship, you were ready to put it out there. You wanted the relationship, the anniversaries, the gifts and showering affection that wasn’t confined to just being a booty call. It was also seven in the morning, so you knew the punctual man would be waking up any moment now.

You sigh, curling up closer into his arms, his right hand holding your waist still.

“Good morning.” His groggy voice pierces your ears. It’s heavy and husky, just as you liked it to be.

“Good morning.” You respond back as you feel him get up. He had to work today, as did you, so that meant that he was going to be doing his morning routine.

You watched him with bright eyes as he slipped on his glasses, and walked into your bathroom, uncaring that he was naked. Your heart hammered in your anxiety, wanting to let him into your desire for a relationship. This was seven months strong, and he seemed to like hanging out with you! There was no way he could say no! Everyone at Limbo agreed as well!

“Tenya?” You called out to him. You sat up, the blanket that was sitting on top of your skin tumbling down. The water faucet turns on and off, and Iida appears in the doorway, toothbrush about to be placed in his mouth as he cleaned his teeth first.

You looked at his quirked eyebrow and you exhaled, your fists tightening. You were y/l/n y/n, an Angel by night, and an angel at home. You got this.

“W-Would you be my boyfriend?” You ask him, your cheeks burning in your awkwardness and shyness. What you saw instead of joy, agreement, or contemplation was horror, sadness, rejection. “T-Tenya?”

“I… I’m sorry.” Iida whispers, his red eyes wide. Discomfort on his face as your eyes blinked rapidly.

“W-What?” You say, trying to make sure you heard him properly. “Is that a no?”

“It is,” Iida whispers, and for the first time since you met him, his hands are glued to his side. “I can’t date you… I’m sorry…”

A bitter acid burns in your throat as you stare at him, your body trembling as ice seeps into your bloodstream. “Why?” You spit at him, your eyes burning holes into his face.

“I do like you, a lot, angel,” Iida says, taking a hesitant step towards you.

“No,” You snap, your eyes watering with tears as your lips curls into a sneer. “If you did you would have said yes.”

“I can’t be associated... I can’t date, someone within your line of work. It would not be seen as honorable of me.” Iida admits, and the rest of his words fall deaf on your ears as you feel your world tumbling around you.

“Because being in love with a sex worker is a shame,” You say, your head shaking as you stand up. “How dare you, the ever so noble Ingenium, date someone like me? Someone who uses their body for the sake of others, huh?”

“Well--”

“No!” You yell, your eyebrows scrunching as your trembling fingers clench into a solid fist. “You’re the one sleeping around with a sex worker! You’re the one who was insistent on our relationship! How the fuck was that ever honorable of you? Fuck you, Iida. Get the hell out of my house!”

Iida stares at you, eyes wide, toothbrush limps in his fingers.

“Get. Out!” You yell, shoving the Pro-Hero towards the door. Your rage bitter on your tongue as Iida is barely able to shove on clothes before you shove him out of your house. Your broken screams are hopeless as you sink to the floor.

Fuck buddies never end in anything but sadness and you knew that from the start.

#iida tenya #iida x reader #iida tenya x reader #bnha iida #mha iida #iida smut #bnha writing blog #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #iida angst #burnedbyshoto does kinktober #bnha kinktober #mha kinktober

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whysthatsofuckingfunnydickwad · 5 years

Text

Slow Hands

Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Here’s 5.2K words of basically pure smut. Blame Sara for this because she peer pressured me.

“Don’t forget, Rich, we’re going to Ben’s poetry slam tomorrow night,” Eddie said into the phone that was pressed between his shoulder and ear as he typed away on his laptop. He had a report that was due before the end of the weekend that he somehow needed to cram into his ever-tightening schedule, and unfortunately for his school work, Eddie’s attention span always seemed to be taken up by the extravagant Richie Tozier.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about my commitment to my dear Benjamin, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said on the other end of the line while scribbling Eddie’s last minute reminder onto the calendar-templated dry erase board Mike had bought for him after the time Richie missed two exams in a row due to mixed up dates. “Do you remember what the dress code was? Stan might kill me if I show up underdressed to anything ever again.”

Eddie laughed softly to himself at the memory of Stan nearly bending a salad fork in his fist when Richie had showed up dressed casually for the annual Exotic Bird Protection fundraising banquet. Stan’s bird watching group had donated 100 dollars per chair for whomever Stan decided to bring with him as representation for the members in the New York area. Apparently the location, The London Club, had confused Richard, who showed up in skinny jeans and a flashy jean jacket to a black tie event.

“Yeah,” Eddie said with his words so laced with his smile that Richie could picture it perfectly in his mind if he closed his eyes, “Ben said that it’s casual dress, you should be fine.”

Their conversation continued and Eddie eventually abandoned his laptop, shutting it down and moving to lie on his bed. Talking to Richie came as easy as breathing; the pair had grown impossibly closer since their big move despite how large the city was. Eddie’s grown to realize that it’s easy to develop a feeling of being impossibly small somewhere as large as New York City. Nobody knows him and everybody is travelling in a different direction than he was; it’s breathtakingly new for a small town kid.

Eddie, who happened to be mid sentence, yawned and looked at the clock on his bedside table while finishing his thought, his eyes widened at the late time, he opted to ignore the number of hours he’d just spent on the phone with someone he’d seen all day and would see again for most of the day tomorrow.

“Ouch,” Richie laughed at Eddie’s impossibly adorable yawn, “Getting tired of me, Eds?”

“I got tired of you years ago, Richard,” Eddie said and giggled when Richie audibly gasped in mock offense. “Listen, man, I still have to shower before I go to bed, you know I hate leaving the apartment with wet hair.”

“You’re gonna take a shower? Are you kidding, without me? Eds, I’m wounded,” Richie said into the phone, expecting a humorous groan and brief goodnight, but that’s not what he got.

Instead, Eddie laughed heartily and said, “Okay then, why don’t you come and join me?”

Eddie held his breath, surprised at the sudden boldness that has taken hold of him, and just as he’s about to abandon his previous statement and blame the late hour, Richie, having swallowed thickly before even comprehending what Eddie had said, replied with a small laugh, “Only if I get to lather your girly soap on you.”

Eddie tried to come up with an excuse to leave the conversation before he could embarrass himself but before he could mutter anything, Richie, whose voice seemed to drop at least half an octave and had become filled with air, interrupted. “Tell me more, Eds.”

“I’d let you do more than just that, Rich,” Eddie said through the shaking release of his held breath. A shiver went up the lower half of his back and shot through his shoulders at the thought of Richie’s hands sliding through his hair, rubbing in the peppermint scented suds and massaging his scalp. He vividly imagined Richie gripping a fistful of his brunette locks and pulling his soapy hair back into the steaming stream of water to wash the foam down his bow arched back and Richie’s pale arm as the taller man sucked marks into the expanse his neck. Eddie could feel the turnings of lust growing hot in his stomach.

“Tell me what you want me to do, Eddie,” Richie whispered into the phone and Eddie nervously rubbed his hand against the terry cloth fabric covering the tops of his thighs, imagining Richie’s constantly confident touch as he spoke. Eddie was beginning to forget how to breathe.

“I want you to touch me,” Eddie whispered, unsure of what to say as his hand rose to rub against the firmness in his soft shorts, fingertips moving to dance along the hem. “Can you make me feel good and clean, Richie?”

Eddie bit his lips together and physically smacked his palm to his forehead at the words that had tumbled from his mouth. Dumb. Beverly would be disappointed in the awkwardness he was allowing to spill out of him like word vomit.

This time it was Richie releasing a shaking breath as his free hand moved slowly from gripping his freshly washed sheets to toying with the silver button on his jeans, taking his time with the fastenings that were pressed against his growing erection. “Oh, Eds,” Richie says lowly into the phone, “I can make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before, but the things I want to do to you are far from clean.”

Flashes of Richie lying on his bed with his pants low on his hips, face flushed, eyes heavy with lust, and his hand rubbing against the crotch of his jeans shoot through Eddie’s head and he finally allows his slender fingers to dip into his shorts and briefs, coming into contact with the hot, velvety skin of his shaft. “Oh, g-god, Richie,” Eddie moans high pitched and needy as his fingers start to squeeze in waves around him, “I want you bad, Rich. I want- I w-want-.”

“You want me to make you feel good, baby?” Richie interrupts as he finally drags his fly down and pushes the denim pants down his lean thighs. “You want me to touch you all over, Eds, every last inch of your gorgeous skin?” Richie’s voice dropped to a low, almost unsure whisper, “Are you touching yourself, Eddie?”

The sudden breaching thought that Eddie is gasping as he touches himself while his best friend is on the other end of the phone threatens to bring him crashing to earth with fear. The thought terrifies him for the briefest of moments, until he hears Richie moaning softly on the other end of the line. More images spark in Eddie’s mind of Richie gripping his length in his pale hand, the dark hair travelling from the base of his prominent cock to his navel where his shirt has risen to expose his stomach. Heat pools heavily in Eddie’s stomach at the thought of Richie getting off to him just a couple of blocks over and he felt his abdomen contract as he neared completion. Throwing caution and fear to the curb and abandoning the taunting thoughts that could possibly bring him down from his high, Eddie moans into the phone, “Please, Richie.”

Richie’s skin had grown hot and red as he started to perspire with anticipation, he sucks in a breath and grips his hard on tightly, “Eds” he says, breath hitching, voice weak with lust and anxiety from his pressing question, “Can I come over?”

Eddie moves his hand from his length to grasp the soft sheets at his side with white knuckles as shivers violently racked his body at the loss of touch so close to climaxing. Eddie’s cock twitched against his belly as he sucked in a couple of deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down enough to answer Richie’s question. He could practically hear Richie’s anxiety in the silence over the line.

With a stuttering exhale, Eddie whispered, “Yes.”

In high school, Eddie had been on the track team, ditching his inhaler once and for all, and worked his way up to setting the state of Maine’s high school records for the 200 meter straight dash and the two mile run. It took Eddie nine and a half minutes to run two miles. Now Richie, who had never joined any sports in high school, sprinted down two and a half miles of the ever awake streets of New York City and set a buzzing new record for the time it took for Richie to get to Eddie’s studio apartment. Richie was knocking on Eddie’s door twelve minutes after having hung up the phone in his apartment.

Eddie jumped when he heard the knocking; his fingers had been twisting together with anxiety as he waited for Richie to arrive and now that Richie was there, just on the other side of the door, they had stopped fidgeting and began slightly trembling. Eddie looked at himself in the large mirror he had hanging on the wall, he already looked fucked up; his hair sticking up in different directions, cheeks flushed, chest heaving under the soft white V-neck he wore, and his still erect cock straining against the fabric of his red shorts.

When he opened his apartment door, Richie looked just as wrecked as Eddie had imagined, and for a moment Eddie allowed his eyes to trail over Richie in his crumpled state against the doorframe, the taller man still panting from his run. When their eyes met, Richie swallowed thickly at the lust pooled in Eddie’s doe eyes and parted his thin lips, “I almost got hit by a taxi. I mean, I guess I kind of did, I was on the hood for a second. I think the guy started yelling at me but I didn’t stop.”

Eddie laughed and let the smile continue to tug at the corners of his mouth as he bit his lip and looked up shyly through his lashes, “Only you would get hit by a taxi and still run.”

“I think I was running towards something pretty important,” Richie whispered as he finally moved into Eddie’s personal space, letting the door softly swing shut behind them. Almost methodically, Eddie’s hands moved to hold the back of Richie’s neck and tangle in his dark curls as he picked Eddie up. Eddie allowed his strong, tanned thighs to wrap around Richie’s narrow hips before Richie set him down on the closest surface, which happened to be the counter that separates the kitchen and the rest of Eddie’s living space, crowding him almost instantly. “Eds,” Richie said upon an exhale.

Their foreheads rested together as Richie moved to stand between Eddie’s thighs, hands sliding up soft flesh before meeting the terrycloth of Eddie’s shorts and watching his fingertips disappear underneath the cuffs. Eddie, heart pounding violently within his chest, moved in until his nose bumped lightly against Richie’s freckled cheek and hesitated before slotting his lips against the slight roughness of Richie’s chapped ones.

Richie, whose heart was pounding in his ears and whose cock was straining furiously against his zipper, almost crumpled under the intensity of the chaste kiss and tried steadying his shaking hands by roughly groping Eddie’s upper thigh, hands almost lost entirely underneath the fabric of his shorts. Eddie gasped slightly into Richie’s mouth at the rough nature of his hands, which allowed Richie to smoothly slide their tongues together.

With soft fabric bunched against his slim wrists, Richie’s hands moved around to take handfuls of Eddie’s ass and pulled the smaller boy closer to him. Richie pulled back to whisper into Eddie’s ear, “I need you to tell me if it gets to be too much, Eds.”

Eddie nodded and Richie reattached his lips to the addicting flavour of strawberry Chapstick and Eddie Kaspbrak. Pulling Eddie’s hips forward again to meet his own, Richie groaned deeply into Eddie’s eager mouth as the tanned brunette pushed at Richie’s jacket, the denim bunching at his elbows before getting stuck. Eddie’s pelvis meeting his own sent electricity up Richie’s spine, causing the hairs on his body to stand tall and gooseflesh to rise from his pale skin. Pulling away from the kiss took all the physical self control Richie had over his body and then some, feeling cold as soon as his hands left Eddie’s body.

The view, to say the least, was worth it. Eddie’s hands were braced against the hard counter, shoulders slightly hunched, rising and falling with his panting breaths, his thighs were parted with his hard on trapped and prominent within his shorts, legs dangling off the edge of the counter. His mouth was red and swollen, lips glossed with Richie’s saliva, eyes glazed over with longing, and a blush stained his cheeks and chest. Richie had never seen anything quite as perfect.

“Holy fucking fuck,” Richie muttered before he tore his jacket off the rest of the way and he stripped his T-shirt from his body, causing the blush already on Eddie’s face and chest to deepen from pink to crimson. Following Richie’s lead, Eddie shyly lifted his V-neck over his head and threw it to the floor. Before he could push his overgrown bangs from his face Richie was pulling Eddie’s slight body off of the counter and carrying him towards the queen sized mattress that Eddie had resting on a box spring just below the bay window across the room.

“Richie,” Eddie moaned while tightening his legs around Richie’s slim waist and burying his face in his neck while one of his hands carded through Richie’s hair. It took Richie no less than three steps to trip over his previously discarded jacket, toppling forward and half landing on top of Eddie.

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie said, scrambling to get off of the shorter man and check for injuries, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mea-”

Before Richie could ramble on Eddie pushed the trashmouth off of him, the lanky man landing on his back what felt like seconds before Eddie was climbing on top of him, knees spread on either side of Richie’s hips. Planting his hands on Richie’s chest, one over his ribs, and the other against his breastbone just above the other man’s racing heart; Eddie ground his hips down, plush rear meeting Richie’s desperate and clothed cock. “Bev taught me some wrestling tricks, and yeah,” Eddie stated without stopping his merciless grinding against a moaning Richie, whose hands had settled on Eddie taut thighs, “I will use them against you.”

Richie couldn’t help the whole hearted laughed that punched its way out of his chest, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed, “Be careful Eds, mental imagery of you and Bev rolling around together on the ground might just make me cream my jeans.”

Eddie scoffed and, almost thoughtlessly, reached forward and harshly twisted one of Richie’s pink nipples between his thumb and index finger. Richie screeched at the pleasure-pain that coursed through his body through the small peak and bucked his hips up against Eddie sharply, body arching off the ground at a backbreaking angle. Eddie pressed his bottom against Richie’s crotch to hold him down as he continued his slow torture. Experimentally, Eddie moved until both of his hands were placed over Richie’s pectorals, thumbs rubbing tortuously slow at the aroused buds, one slightly bruising from Eddie’s previous attack.

Richie, who was now moaning with abandon, felt the growing sensation of peaking building inside of him, beginning to squirm underneath Eddie and growing desperate for more. “Oh, god,” Richie moaned, his voice laced with need as Eddie’s small thumbs continued their stroking movements, “Eddie, I’m all for nipple play and cumming untouched, but I don’t wanna jizz my pants. Not tonight.”

The pleading tone in Richie’s voice left Eddie with a satisfied feeling deep in his gut, one he would have to address at a later date because as soon as Eddie let up, Richie all but picked him up and threw him onto the pillow top mattress. The bounce that came after his initial impact with the bed left Eddie in a fit of giggles that hadn’t died down by the time Richie had crawled on top of him and when he was finally able to calm himself, he looked up to see Richie staring at him with complete adoration.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie whispered and his large hand settled on Eddies rouge cheek, thumb stroking the soft flesh there. Before Eddie could speak, as it seems to often be, Richie whispered again, a smirk taking over his face, “Nah, I couldn’t be. Dream Eddie is never this pretty.”

Eddie didn’t have the words, instead reaching down towards the waist of Richie’s jeans, nimble fingers toying with the button until it popped open, exposing the fly of the jeans and the ever-thickening trail of hair that lead from Richie’s navel to his cock. With one hand Eddie, torturously slow, dragged the zipper of Richie’s jeans down, almost leaving the man over him exposed, with the other he pulled Richie in by the back of his neck for another chaste kiss.

“Please, Richie,” Eddie whispered as Richie kissed from his mouth and down his sharp jaw, hands pushing languidly at the denim at Richie’s hips, “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Richie nodded against Eddie’s skin, mouth leaving small red marks in its wake as he travelled down Eddie’s exposed chest and worshipped the familiar skin he’d never had the liberty of touching. Eddie arched towards Richie’s mouth and whispered small pleads into the air as Richie’s mouth reached the hem of his shorts, teeth biting at the material. “Let me see you, Eds,” Richie moaned and Eddie nodded, pleads increasing in volume.

“Richie,” Eddie thoughtlessly continued to nod, eyes shut and hands pulling at the soft fabric of his pale bed sheets. “Please touch me.”

Richie’s hands gripped the red fabric and started slowly tugging the shorts down Eddie’s sculpted, hairless legs, kissing the newly revealed skin of Eddie’s hip. Once Eddie’s cock was free, resting upwards against his stomach, Richie pulled Eddie’s shorts the rest of the way off and discarded them without concern of their landing point. Without a moment’s hesitation, Richie took Eddie’s length in his hand and placed his mouth along the side, kissing the tender flesh. “Eds?” Richie started, receiving a broken moan from the man above him, “I wanna suck your cock.”

“Fuck,” Eddie yelled when Richie’s tongue flattened itself against Eddie’s member and dragged itself to the tip where pre-cum was pearling and dripping in rivers. The salty taste of Eddie left Richie desperate, mouth encasing the head and swallowing the shaft down his throat. Eddie impulsively bucked up, hand flying into Richie’s curls and his brows knitting together as he lifted his head to watch Richie’s mouth experimentally engulf his cock.

Continuing to gently buck into Richie’s mouth, Eddie felt his stomach heating up at the feeling of Richie’s slightly crooked teeth scraping against the delicate skin of his cock. Blindly, Richie reached towards the night stand placed beside Eddie’s bed, wrapped his fingers around the knob of the small drawer, pulling it open and grabbing the bottle of lube that resided there. The hand that had been wrapped around the hairless base of Eddie’s cock moved to pour lubricant along the long fingers of Richie’s other hand, once satisfied Richie tossed it to the side and listened the bottle clatter to the floor. “Christ, Richie,” Eddie said as his bucking started to grow reckless and choppy, pleasure coursing through his shaking body.

Eddie roughly pulled Richie’s head away from his crotch by his curls just as his fingers started exploring Eddie’s puckered and desperate entrance. The overwhelming sensation of Richie’s perfectly filthy mouth and the breaching feeling of being stretched open left Eddie with a tight knot of pleasure in his stomach that was all too close to coming undone. Richie immediately tensed and froze every part of his body that touched Eddie and started to shake with fear that he had done something wrong. Eddie felt Richie’s rigid body before he saw the worry in his magnified eyes.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked, lips swollen and coated with spit.

Eddie nodded and Richie visibly relaxed but didn’t continue his exploration of the naked man’s sensitive hole and Eddie felt the tension in his stomach from his impending orgasm leave him, sheepishly Eddie whispered, “I was going to cum.”

The blush that covered Eddie’s body darkened and Richie, keeping intense eye contact with Eddie, allowed his sheathed finger, already two knuckles deep, to curl and twist within the warmth that was Eddie.

“That's kind of the point, Spaghetti,” Richie smirked before lowering his head to pepper kisses and hickies over Eddie’s tanlined thighs, fingers slowly working their way in and out of Eddie’s tight body.

Eddie moaned and clutched the bed sheet, pulling the taut fabric from the corners of the mattress. As Richie added fingers to his relentless attack on Eddie’s entrance, Richie felt his heart begin to speed up in anticipation.

It's taken them upwards of a decade to get to this point. Years of pining had lead to the moment in time where Richie Tozier would brutally fuck Eddie open with his astonishingly long fingers. Richie occupied his mouth by continuing to suck at the head of Eddie’s abused cock, drool cascading down his shaft and causing Eddie’s skin to erupt with goosebumps. “Richie,” Eddie gasped, white knuckling his sheets, “Fuck, Richie, just fuck me. Please. Oh god.”

Richie pulled away from Eddie until their bodies no longer touched. The smaller man, who laid before his best friend naked and shameless, arched his back off the bed while trying to follow Richie’s warmth. Staring down at Eddie, Richie began pushing the denim jeans off of his hips, slowly exposing the brightly patterned briefs underneath, and Eddie, who was sweaty and panting, began to shake with the desperation and anticipation he felt fluttering in his stomach.

Once Richie had kicked off his shoes, socks, and jeans, he climbed over Eddie with a grace he hadn’t ever seen Richie possess. His glasses had started to slide down the bridge of his narrow nose and, unconsciously, Eddie reached up to pull them off of the man above him but before he could Richie grabbed his wrist. “I wanna be able to see you, Eds,” he whispered, hot breath fanning over Eddie’s features, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Eddie felt a lump forming in his throat and pulled Richie down to press their lips together, stopping any unwanted whimpers in his throat from escaping. The kiss grew and swelled until the pair were frantically feeling each other, as if scared the other would disappear. Eddie’s hands roamed the uncharted plains of Richie’s back, running over the horizontal stretch marks that formed from his junior year growth spurt that brought him from 5’6 to over 6 foot. His nimble fingers danced up the knobs of Richie’s spine and came down over his shoulder blades while dragging his nails against his pale skin. Richie trembled as Eddie’s fingers dipped under the elastic band of Richie’s briefs, digging into the soft flesh of his ass.

Richie shot up, Eddie’s hands still on his hips, and slid his underwear down, shucking them off of his ankles with a slight kick. Eddie’s thumbs rubbed over the protruding bone of Richie’s hip and flicked his eyes down to Richie’s erection briefly before looking back up and into the towering man's eyes. Richie leaned forward again, placing his weight down on his bony elbows and pressing his nose against Eddie’s, the smaller mans hands moving to hold Richie’s biceps. Richie’s lips softly pressed against Eddie’s again before he pulled away.

Eddie’s legs were spread wide as Richie adjusted above him, knees bending to cage Richie’s hips while he leaned up on his elbows to chase Richie’s mouth. “Eds,” Richie said as he brought his hips down to meet Eddie’s, their erections pressed together hotly against Eddie’s pelvis. “Eds, I don’t have a-“

“I don’t care. I want you inside me,” Eddie whimpered as Richie continued to grind their cocks together. “I’m clean.”

“Eds, are you sure?”

Eddie nodded frantically, bringing one hand up to Richie’s curls and pulling him forward. Their foreheads pressed together and Eddie swallowed thickly, “I’ve never wanted anyone but you, Rich. I need you.”

Richie’s brows furrowed and brought his hand down to his manhood, wrapping his long fingers around the base and bringing his length to press down between the soft flesh of Eddie’s ass. The head of his cock pushed against the puckered hole and Eddie dropped down from his elbows to throw an arm over his eyes and use his free hand to grip the sheets that bunched below him. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Eds.”

“Rich,” Eddie moaned, tapping Richie’s arm that continued to rub the leaking head of his cock over Eddie’s entrance. “Richie, you threw the lube somewhere.”

“Fuck,” Richie shouted as he jumped off of Eddie, the smaller man giggling as Richie ran around the bed, his pale, and surprisingly supple, ass shaking as he moved. Once Richie found the lube, he ran back over to Eddie, a smile pulling at his lips as he listened to Eddie laugh.

For a moment, Richie felt his heart ache at the sight of Eddie. A tangled mess in the sheets of his bed, with a million dollar smile spread across his face and all the fondness and love Richie could ever hope for in his gaze. Richie felt the image settle in his heart as he climbed back over Eddie. “You’re so beautiful, Eds,” he said, free hand moving to Eddie’s cheek, “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Richie moved until his hips rested between Eddie’s thighs and buried his face in the nape of the smaller boys neck. His mouth sucked at the sensitive skin there and, with his free hand, lubed his cock to the sound of Eddie moaning beneath him.

Pressing himself against Eddie’s entrance, Richie slowly pushed his cock into Eddie and began to tremble at the feeling of warmth enveloping him. “Fuck,” Eddie moaned as Richie’s cock stretched him out and he dug his nails into the skin of the taller mans shoulders. Richie’s mouth moved from Eddie’s neck up to his jaw, kissing and licking at the soft angles of his face.

Once Richie’s hips rested against Eddie’s, his cock fully nestled inside of the smaller man, Richie looked up to meet Eddie’s eyes, hovering above him and putting his weight on his elbows. The pair stayed silent for a moment, Eddie’s hands roamed Richie’s collarbones and neck while Richie’s gripped the loose sheet beneath him.

Eddie let out a shaking breath before moving his hips slightly, feeling the drag of Richie’s cock and whimpering. “Fuck me, Richie.”

Without hesitating, Richie pulled his hips back almost completely before slamming them back against Eddie’s, shaking the man below him with the force of it. The eruption of pleasure punched a shout out of Eddie’s chest and his cock, which rested against his pale stomach, began leaking pre-cum in rivers that flowed across his ivory skin.

“Fuck, Ed’s,” Richie moaned, eyes squeezing shut as rivets of pleasure traveled up his spine. “Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so fucking good. Holy shit.”

Eddie moaned and pulled Richie’s chest down to meet his as their hips met rhythmically. The smaller man was panting and letting out whines as Richie slammed into him, moving his entire body up the mattress. Slowly, Eddie’s hands travelled up to grip Richie’s unruly and sweaty hair in a vice, jerking his head to the side to meet his lips in a slick and messy kiss.

The man above him moaned and, despite the sweat covering his skin, broke out in goosebumps at the tingling sensation fluttering down from where Eddie’s hands gripped him. Richie moved his mouth from Eddie’s and trailed open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck before sucking a dark purple mark into the skin his collarbone rested beneath. The pinching feeling left Eddie squirming and tears began to pool in his dark eyes, the sensation becoming too much as Richie shifted and began hitting his prostate with every thrust of his hips.

“Right there, Richie,” he yelled out, back arching to chase the feeling. “Right there, fuck me.”

Richie laughed weakly against Eddie’s shoulder and slowed his hips, “That’s kind of what I’m doing, Eds.”

Eddie moaned, freely and slack-jawed, “You fuck me so good, Rich.”

“Yeah?” Richie groaned, moving to balance on his hands to look down at Eddie as he rocked his hips into the man below him. “You like how I fuck you, baby? Nice and deep?”

Eddie nodded his head as Richie’s hand moved to cup the side of his rouge race, thumb dipping into his mouth and grazing his tongue. “Keep going, Richie. Please,” he whispered as Richie thumb moved to trace his bruised lips, “I’m so close.”

Richie began to slam his cock harder into Eddie with a steady but brutal pace, slim hips meeting the soft sides of Eddie’s thighs as the smaller man held Richie close with his legs. “I want you to cum without me touching your dick, Eddie.”

Eddie whimpered, his cock twitched while his balls ached and tensed with the need to release. The coil in his stomach tightened and, as Richie’s cock continued to meet his prostate in a brutal attack, he felt his remaining resolve start to shake, working him up as moans and tears began to flow freely from him. “Shit, Richie. Shit, I love you so much. I love you so fucking much, keep fucking me. Please, please Rich.”

Richie’s eyes squeezed shut and he felt his composure snap, his hips stuttering and his cum starting to shoot out of him and into Eddie’s warmth. “Eds, Eds, Eds,” he moaned with each thrust, “Fuck, I love you, Eds. So fucking much.”

At the feeling of Richie’s warmth and the confession falling from his lips, Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and began to spill ropes of cum against his stomach and Richie’s chest, arching as Richie’s hips continued to work him through his orgasm.

The stars and lights behind Eddie’s eyes began to fade out as Richie collapsed against him and mouthed at his neck, moaning praise incoherently. Eddie’s legs, still wrapped around Richie, trapped the other man on top of him as his hands trailed along the angry red marks that marred his back.

The pair come down from their high, sweaty and sticky, wrapped in each other and the late night New York bliss.

“Hey,” Richie whispered against his skin, still breathless, “I love you.”

Eddie felt more tears gently leak out of his eyes, hugging Richie closer to his body, “I love you, too.”

“Do you think,” Richie started, unsure of how to finish, he took a moment to think it over before huffing out a lazy laugh, “Do you think we should take that shower now?”

Eddie laughed below Richie, the force of his giggles jostling Richie. “Definitely.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #smut #au #reddie smut #i guess #im probably going to hell #lmao #fml #I havent read this in its entirety #this is my first smut go easy #haters go home #it #they gay #blame sara #um #yuh #sky writes

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