[[and Then I Met You || Ch. 27]]

[[and then I met you || ch. 27]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.4k

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Police Arrest Three After Mass Protests in LA County

By C. Grant

Three people were arrested in Pasadena, California yesterday after a crowd gathered to protest the death of Sheila Pom. Police say the three individuals, whose names have not yet been released, appeared to be Enhanceds attempting to agitate the crowd. Witnesses claim one of the individuals was creating sparks with their fingers and threatening to start a fire, while the two others encouraged the behavior. Police have made no comment about these arrests and all questions about the incident have been redirected to a now defunct phone number. 

Sheila Pom was killed in an officer-related shooting two weeks ago after neighbors reported her as a Dangerous Individual under the new Sokovia Accords Act. Pom, 23, worked at her uncle’s auto body shop as a mechanic while also attending online classes to get a degree in Engineering. She was also a telekinetic - someone who can move objects with their mind. 

Pom was known to not be shy about her gifts. Pom was seen frequently lifting cars and trucks within garages without the help of equipment and is rumored to have once righted a tipped over semi-truck. Neighbors became concerned when Pom began using her gifts at home.

“We’d come home, and things would be floating up and down the street,” one neighbor said.

Another claimed Pom was unstable, and when she would become upset, things around her would begin to shake.

“I thought it was an earthquake until my TV hit the ceiling,” a source who lived in the same building Pom told GKTV, “I learned the next day her boyfriend broke up with her.”

Officers were called when Pom refused to return a motorcycle to the ground while working on it in a residential neighborhood. After a brief standoff, officers fired two shots, striking Pom in the head, and killing her. 

Pom’s family claims she was unaware of the officer’s presence, as wireless earbuds were found near her body after. Pom was known to listen to music to block the noise of machines. 

Protests began after the officers involved in the incident were cleared of any wrongdoing. 

----

A full-page ad takes over your screen, and instead of continuing to read the depressing article, you close the tab.

There has been a palpable unrest in the news cycle the past week that is starting to leave you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You’ve noticed a shift in the general narrative tone and terminology used when discussing people who have superpowers. 

Before Sokovia, before Lagos, before Connecticut, the morning shows would bring on people with amazing gifts and gently joke about them joining the Avengers as they made water fly around the set, but now those same hosts debate if they should be allowed to have the right to privacy. ‘Enhanced Peoples’ has been shortened to just Enhanceds and is now spit out like it is something dirty. 

You don’t know when the conversation stopped centering around heroes and vigilantes and started being about everyday people, but it scares you that the change happened. There seems to be no official power scale about what is deemed ‘dangerous’ and your mind keeps zipping all over the place trying to justify different lines of thinking.

Does Matt fall under the category of Dangerous? 

He is a vigilante, so by default the Accords are directed at him, but is it doubly so? If he was forced to reveal himself to the government, would they require him to wear a tracking device? Or would they try to lock him up?

Could he fight it in court, or would they whisk him away in the middle of the night and you’d never know what happened?

If Matt is deemed Dangerous because of his senses, and not just because he is a vigilante, would Minnie be considered the same?

With how intense and angry everyone is becoming you could see yourself having to take her in to be tested.

To be monitored. 

And she is just a baby. 

You can’t imagine how others must feel - people who are older, who are just trying to live their lives. The girl who was killed was just trying to fix her bike, like millions of other people do every weekend. She wasn’t going to other countries to fight terrorists. She wasn’t trying to use her powers to rule over others. She wasn’t hurting anyone.

But she was different, so they killed her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I need help!”

You’re ripped from your spiraling thoughts and look across the room to where Minnie is sprawled out on the floor. Her Starkpad is in front of her, and she’s set up Pig and Scooby so they are also peering down at the device and you know exactly what she is doing.

It is the same thing she has been doing for a week straight - playing a bootleg Muppet’s math game. 

Since meeting Spider-man, all your little Mouse has wanted to do is learn math. She keeps saying she wants to impress him and make him proud, and you are in no way going to discourage her. Every day has been filled with counting and addition and subtraction and you are a bit amazed she has stayed so focused. 

You are not going to complain at all about it - you are getting time to yourself while she has been glued to Elmo and Kermit. 

You leave your phone on the dining table and head towards your daughter.

“You need help?” you confirm as you crouch beside her. The screen shows a Muppet you don’t recognize, along with various numbers floating around them, and up at the top, the equation that has your little Mouse stumped. 

“I need help!” Minnie repeats as she scrambles up off her belly and into sitting. “I don’t have enough fingers!” 

She holds up both her hands to show you all ten of her itty-bitty fingers and you make a sympathetic noise. 

Mouse has been getting pretty good at using her fingers to help her with addition and subtraction, but on only one hand. She uses the index finger on her right hand to help count by pointing at each finger and hasn’t quite worked out she can use her fingers to point and count. That is okay, though, as you are happy to lend yours to her important cause. 

“Okay, how many fingers do you need?”

You hold out your hands and she instantly begins to manipulate them. 

“This one…this one needs three! One, two, three!” She pushes your thumb and index finger down so the other three remain up, then she pushes down the pinky of the other hand. “And this one is four!”

“So, three and four? What are we doing with three and four?” You ask, trying to not laugh at her determined face.

“We adds them!” She chirps, before starting to jab at your fingers, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! That’s seven fingers! Mommy, it’s seven! Three plus four is seven!” 

“That’s right, it is seven. Which number is seven?” You direct her back to her game, where she triumphantly picks the correct symbol. The Muppet congratulates her before presenting a new equation. 

Minnie squeals in delight before ripping the device off the ground and shoving it in your face, “I know this one! Mommy! I know this one! It’s three! Mommy! It’s three!” 

You can’t even process what the question is before the screen is out of sight. Your daughter holds her Starkpad above her head, treating it like some war prize as she starts spinning and dancing around the living room. 

“It’s three! It’s three! It’s three!” 

You laugh at her antics, heartwarming at her pureness. How could anyone ever think she’s a danger?

“Are you sure it’s three?” You tease as you watch her. 

She whips around to you, eyes scrunching up into a glare, and barks, “It’s three!”

“Okay, okay, it’s three.”

You push yourself up into standing just as Mouse returns to her spot. She drops her Starkpad to the ground a little harder than you would prefer, but that is why it has a big bulky case. She plops down in front of it and happily smacks the number three that is floating around the screen.

You let yourself watch her for a few seconds, silently bombarding her with all the love you feel for her. You want to wrap her up and live in this bubble forever.

Except, there is one element missing from your perfect moment. You wish there were a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a chin on your shoulder. You want to lean back against a muscular chest and lose yourself to eternity like that. 

Instead of indulging those thoughts, you tell yourself to stop fantasizing and you make your way back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

Vegetable curry has been simmering on the stove for most of the day. It has been a while since you had the energy to make the dish from scratch, but you had a craving this morning and went all out. You’ve made curry for Minnie before, and she did not complain - though you think that is because her portion was mostly rice and hot dog cuts. You plan to do the same again tonight, and if she wants more sauce, you’ll give it to her. 

You check your seasonings and give everything a stir to make sure nothing gets stuck at the bottom of the pot. The rich aroma tickles your nose, and you are glad you don’t have to wait much longer to treat yourself.

As you debate adding a pinch more salt, you catch Minnie sneaking towards you out of the corner of your eye. Her movements are slow and dramatic, and you pretend you don’t notice her. This ruse works, and you appropriately jump in fear when she suddenly tugs on your shirt.

“Up!” She demands and you oblige, scooping your daughter onto your hip. As soon as she is high enough, she cups her hands around your ear and leans into whisper, “Daddy saids the food smells yummy-yummy.”

She quickly dissolves into giggles, and it is infectious, so you end up smiling. 

Matt hasn’t been over for dinner in a hot minute, and you are hoping to have a nice quiet family night, before he goes out on his Patrol. The plan is to watch a movie after your meal and Minnie has already prepared for this by dragging multiple blankets out to the couch. You just know she is going to demand a cuddle pile, and now that you and Matt are intimate, it isn’t something you are nervous about. 

You just want to have a good time.

“Can you tell Daddy everything is almost ready?” you ask, even though you know Matt can probably hear you just fine. 

Mouse, always eager to be helpful, nods and relays the message directly into your ear. You try to not grimace, and so it won’t happen again, set her down on the ground. 

“Can you plug in your Starkpad so it can sleep for the night?” 

She streaks off to do her newly assigned task, leaving you to start setting the table. When you were at the store, you bought Matt a bottle of beer - a brand you know he likes - and you set it at his designated spot. You’ve grown accustomed to just drinking water and juice, but you don’t want to push that on to him - not when he’s a guest and coming over after a long day of work. 

As you start to make everyone’s plates, you hear the water in the bathroom turn on. You know Minnie knows the routine for getting ready for dinner and you just hope she isn’t trying to wash Scooby’s paws again. You are worried he’ll end up moldy and you aren’t sure what you will do if that happens. You peek into the living room and are relieved to see your daughter’s best friends have been relocated to sitting on the coffee table, facing the television. 

You finish setting everything up just in time, it seems. Minnie runs from the hallway right to the door as you go to wash your own hands, and you rush to get all the soap off so you can help her open the door. 

Matt is standing on the other side, looking handsome as ever in a gray suit. He looks like he’s had a busy day - his hair is windswept, and he is sporting a strong five o’clock shadow. There is a garment bag draped over his arm and his saddle bag looks a little bulkier than usual and you wonder if he ran some errands on his lunch - picking up his dry cleaning and such. 

You barely have time to take in his appearance before Mouse is launching herself at him.

“Daddy!” She shrieks and Matt oh so easily swings her up onto his hip. “Daddy! We’re having vege-tuhble kermies for dinner! I helped make it! I cut up ALL the carrots! By myself!”

“By yourself, huh?” Matt confirms, a bright, warm smile taking up his entire face. “Soon you’ll be making us dinner.”

You step aside so he can come in and help to take his things to hang while Mouse soaks up his attention. 

“No! Mommy makes dinner because…’cause she makes the bestest foods. I just help!”

“You are a very good helper,” you interject, “You keep a very clean workstation. A professional chef would be proud.”

Minnie beams at the praise, then a microsecond later, is wiggling in to be let down. Her feet hit the ground and she takes off running back toward the living room, probably to collect something to show off to her Daddy. 

Matt takes the small break to turn his attention to you. A hand goes to your cheek, and instead of a brief ‘hello’ peck, he kisses you like he wants to turn and pin you to the wall. It catches you off guard, but you easily melt into it. You clutch at the lapel of his suit jacket and try to not moan as he nips at your lips. You open your mouth for him, but being the tease he is, he pulls back just enough to whisper against you.

“Been thinking about that all day.” 

The words send your blood rushing - some north to your cheeks and the rest to your cunt. 

He’d been thinking about you? About wanting to kiss you? Or has he been thinking about more than that - because you must admit, you’ve been thinking about it. You’ve had more than a few thoughts about what you want to do to him the next time you two are alone together and those thoughts were certainly very explicit. 

“Matt…” you totally do not whine out but instead of replying, his grin just turns cocky. He pulls away as Minnie returns to the entryway, and you decide you need a drink of your water. You escape and Mouse starts showing off her latest masterpieces to Matt. 

Food coloring, cotton balls, and popsicle sticks have proven to be a massive hit and Minnie has made a whole collection of things for Matt - there’s butterflies and flowers, a house with clouds, and various abstract pieces. You are sure his office is already filled to the brim with his daughter’s art, and you would not be surprised if he started to hang things from the ceiling when he does run out of room. He seems to treasure every little thing Minnie has given him and it warms your heart so much. You hope that love never runs out. 

Somehow, Matt ushers Minnie back to the dining room while she shoves different papers into his hands and gets her up in her booster seat. 

“I’m going to put all these in my bag, so they don’t get dirty or lost, okay?” He tells Minnie, who nods way too enthusiastically. 

“Keep them clean!”  And then, just like that, she switches from being excited her Daddy is there to being a hungry toddler. She whips around to face you and asks in an almost impatient manner, “Can I has my hot dogs now?”

You give her the go ahead as Matt returns to the table and takes his place. You quickly tell him the placement of everything, including his beer, then quickly add, “If you don’t like it, I have a few different things I could make you. Or we could order something.”

A brief panic runs through you when Matt scoffs. You think you’ve insulted him - having him come all the way to Chelsea to eat a dinner he won’t enjoy and having to find a substitute. 

“I love curry and this smells delicious. I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, I’m hoping some of those leftovers on the stove are for me to take home and lord over Fog tomorrow.”

You flush at his sweetness and mumble out you’ll pack him some to go. This seems to please him, and he starts to dig in. Ever the little parrot, Minnie mimics him by shoveling food into her mouth with a big grin and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“It’s nummy!” Your little one declares, and even if she’s just eating plain rice right now, you’ll take it as a win. You know well she won’t eat what she doesn’t like.

“Speaking of yummy,” Matt starts, slow and deliberate, with his head angled towards you, “I was hoping we could go somewhere yummy together.”

You blink slowly at the statement, rolling it over in your mind and trying to dissect the meaning. Did he want to go somewhere for dessert? Maybe get ice cream or something? “Somewhere yummy…?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, then his smile becomes a bit more sly. Even though you know it isn’t true, you feel like, behind his glasses, he is hungrily looking you up and down, “Somewhere like Uvas.”

The name doesn’t automatically generate anything for you, but after a moment, it dawns on you. Uvas in a Spanish restaurant near Central Park known to be high end and impossible to get into. It’s been in the local tabloids a few times for turning away minor celebrities who don’t meet the dress code. You’re mouth parts slightly in shock.

“What’s Oo-vuhas?” Minnie asks around her fork, her big eyes looking between you and Matt. “Do theys has yummy foods?”

“Oh, they have yummy food,” Matt teases. He then leans forward a bit in his seat and stage whispers to her, “It’s where I want to take Mommy for a date.”

“A date?” Minnie scrunches up her face at the word while your mind is still spinning. 

Matt wants to take you on a date? To Uvas? You have never been anywhere that fancy or expensive as a date. Hell, you’ve never been somewhere that fancy, period. The nicest date you’ve ever been on was Hard Rock Cafe - which says a lot about your dating life.

“A date,” Matt confirms, smug and knowingly scheming. You can hear it in his voice as he tells Minnie, “That is where Mommy and Daddy go and have dinner together as grown-ups.”

Up goes Minnie’s hand into her mouth, but it stays there only a split second. Her eyes get impossibly bigger and filled with wonder, and she whispers, “Like Lady and Tramp?”

“Exactly like Lady and Tramp.”

“Mommy!” Minnie says a little too loudly, pointing her fork at you. “You gotta go to Oo-vuhas and be Lady and Tramp! You gotta!”

And at that moment you know you can’t say no, and that Matt knows that. You can’t tell your daughter you don’t want to be like Lady and Tramp. Not that you don’t want to go on a date with Matt - the idea gets you giddy and makes your stomach flutter - but you thought if it happened, it would be a coffee or something. Not somewhere where you can’t even afford to look at the building. The idea makes you a little nauseous, because you are sure you’d make an absolute fool of yourself.

But Matt looks determined and sure of himself. You are certain he asked in front of Minnie so that she could help bully you into saying yes to such a lavish date. 

Luckily, your mind is working in overdrive, and you choke out, “I don’t have anything to wear. They have a dress code, don’t they?”

You don’t expect Matt to push his chair out and get up. Your throat instantly tightens up and fear shoots up your spine. Have you offended him? He clearly wants to do something with you and you’re over here hesitating. You must be coming off as a complete bitch. 

You start to stand up yourself as Matt disappears into the entryway. You don’t think he’d just leave without saying goodbye to Minnie.

Maybe you can talk to him - explain that somewhere a little less grand would be ideal to start.

Before you can start to follow him, Matt is coming back to the table, holding up the garment bag he brought with him, still looking like the cat that got the canary. 

“I thought you might say that,” he starts, his voice almost a little musical, “so I got you this.” 

You stare dumbly at him, shock and confusion overtaking your system. 

He got you something to wear? To Uvas? 

No one has ever bought you clothes before - except your parents. Even when you were pregnant, the small amount of gifts you got were all for Minnie. 

You distantly hear Minnie start saying something about presents, but it is all muffled under the sound of blood pumping through your ears. You step forward hesitantly and reach out for the zipper of the bag, your hand shaking slightly.

You expect it to be a joke. You’re going to open the bag and there’s going to be a clown costume inside, or a skimpy dress people like arm candy to wear, or something akin to a Burka. 

You don’t expect a black floor length sheath gown. The silhouette is simple, but you can tell just by looking at it the quality of the dress is top notch. The fabric has a nice weight to it, and it is incredibly soft to the touch that you have the distinct feeling that it did not come from a dress warehouse or a department store. 

This type of dress would come from a boutique uptown and would cost a few hundred dollars. 

You are so caught up in admiring the dress, you don’t notice Minnie come up beside you until she is also touching the dress. Panic that she might have crumbs or curry on her fingers runs through you, but you force it down.

“It’s like a princess dress for Mommy!” Mouse cooes and you feel your face start to heat up.

You’ve never worn something so nice before and certainly nothing that would be fit for a princess, but it seems like Matt and Minnie are on the same page.

“Well, I want Mommy to feel like a princess.” 

You want to hide your face, but you know you can’t, so you cover your mouth instead.

“Matt, this is beautiful. But this is so much, I can’t accept this.” 

You know that while Matt is a lawyer, he’s still struggling a bit financially. If he had his way, you know he wouldn’t charge anyone for his services, and even though Nelson, Murdock, and Page has paying customers, they still have to stagger out their bills. 

He shouldn’t be spending his hard saved money on you. 

Matt sighs your name before gently draping the garment bag over the back of his dining chair and stepping towards you. Both his hands go to your waist, and you freeze up as he steps close enough to press his forehead to yours. Your heart begins to wildly beat when his hands slowly begin to rub your sides. 

“Let me spoil you. To make up for all the dates I’ve missed. Please?” His lips dip into a small frown and you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. 

He’s gone out of his way for you, and you are being so ungrateful. 

But it is so hard to say yes. Guilt is pooling in your stomach, and you just want to disappear into the shadows and be forgotten about. That is so much easier than Matt holding you, saying such sweet things.

You don’t want to ruin everything. 

You close your eyes as you have a war inside yourself. All you have to say is ‘Yes’ and you’ll make Matt happy, but the monster inside of you keeps dragging your mind into a pit. 

Matt wants to treat you like a princess, but how crushing will it be when he decides that is no longer the case? Can you take that?

The corners of your eyes start to sting and your monster starts to mock you for getting worked up over something as simple as being asked on a date. 

Why can’t you be normal?

Why can’t you accept this?

Why can’t -

The thoughts cease as Matt’s lips press against yours, soft and sweet and tempting. You respond hesitantly.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes into your mouth, making you shudder. “You deserve it.” 

“You deserve it!” Minnie chirps from beside your knees and you very suddenly remember where you are and what you were doing. You try to pull away from Matt, thinking Minnie hasn’t seen the two of you like this yet, and it might confuse her, but he keeps his hands firmly planted on your hips, not letting you go. You don’t try to fight it, instead, you turn your head away, trying to hide away in your shell. 

You know there is no way you will win this. Matt is determined and he clearly has Minnie on his side, so, very hesitantly, and feeling like you are going to throw up at any moment, you nod into Matt’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

Mouse lets out a deafening cheer and you feel her dart away.

“LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP!”

Matt laughs at her excitement over something she doesn’t understand, while you tuck yourself into his hold, wondering how long you have before he ends up shattering your heart into pieces.

---

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

false god | blaise zabini x reader

song; false god [taylor swift] pairing; blaise zabini x pure-blood!slytherin!fem!reader genre; arranged marriage, angst, hurt comfort, fluff, sort-of-e2l word count; 4,7k timeline; deathly hallows warnings; swearing, references to sex/hook-ups, references to battle injuries, questionable views on muggle-borns summary; you had been betrothed to blaise zabini practically your whole life, and while you moved in the same friend group, he had always avoided you. you tried to understand, you really did, but were you really so undesirable?

happy belated valentine's day!!

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"they say the road gets hard and you get lost when you're led by blind faith."

——————————————

The ring of plated white gold and emerald jewels had sat comfortably on your left ring finger ever since you had been big enough to wear it. It was worth a fortune, as your parents frequently reminded you, so it would be disrespectful to the Zabini family to not wear it with pride. You obeyed, even though Blaise - your affianced - had not worn his (more masculine) twin ring for as long as you had known him.

Sometimes you would catch the pitying looks of your mutual friends whenever the sun shone just right on the piece of jewellery, catching everyone's attention. They all knew that Blaise avoided you, never spoke to you, but it was an unspoken matter. You did your best to never show your hurt on your face, and be a strong and positive woman, like your parents had raised you to be.

You just wanted to make them proud.

It's not that you were in love with Blaise, not by any means. You would have to have actually spoken and bonded with the man to reach that stage. Regardless, rejection hurt, especially when you had no part in the arrangement of your marriage either. You were in the same position as he was, yet he acted as if you were at fault for the situation he found himself in.

You weren't a bad person, and you were at least decently attractive - was it really so bad to be betrothed to you? Why couldn't he just make the best of a bad situation and try to get to know you?

***

The Hogwarts Express had never been colder, even the warm red seats looked sallow and grey, reflecting the sullen looks on everyone's faces. You let out a sigh, pulling your thick jacket tighter around you and sinking into the cushions. Pansy was sat next to you, chewing on her lip thoughtfully as she stared at the water droplets cascading down the window. You hadn't said a word to each other apart from a greeting.

In fact, everyone on the train seemed to be sitting in silence.

Slytherin was the only house with almost full attendance from its students, as even the families who didn't support the death eaters felt confident in the safety of their children thanks to their blood status. The same couldn't not be said for the other houses, which had lost a good chunk of their students due to parental fears. Especially the muggle-borns - every single muggle-born you knew in your year had not shown up to catch the train.

It wasn't a mystery as to why: showing up to the school that was now overseen by Voldemort as a muggle-born was a death wish.

Despite its pure-blood status, your family didn't support Voldemort. That's not to say that they didn't have prejudices against muggle-borns, or that they would let you marry one, but they certainly didn't wish death upon them and would likely be okay with you befriending them. Just as long as you kept your bloodline pure.

The L/N family had remained a neutral party during the First Wizarding War, and were doing the same now during the second.

"Have you seen Draco?" Pansy asked, not even looking at you.

"I think I saw him at the platform at one point."

She hummed, and the silence fell again.

You began biting your nails.

***

The reign of Severus Snape as headmaster of Hogwarts had officially begun, casting an even more intense shadow over the school. As a Slytherin, this was actually quite good news, but you weren't so selfish that you could disregard the wellbeing of the other houses. Plus, the subject changes like Defence Against the Dark Arts becoming simply- the Dark Arts- were quite jarring.

"Can someone pass me the roast potatoes?" the emotionless voice of your fiancé rang out, signifying that he was talking to you. Normally, when talking to your other friends, he would smile, say please, even laugh. But when he was talking to you, he would do so indirectly and without emotion.

Sure enough, you were the person closest enough to the roast potatoes, but you decided to hold back in fulfilling his request, instead locking eyes with him. "Say please."

His eyes bored into yours for a few moments, before he scoffed and said, "Please."

"Was that so hard?" you mumbled, passing over the potatoes. Your friends had gone silent during the exchange, some of them sending pitiful glances your way. You were sick of being treated this way, both by Blaise and your friends, even if your friends did have good intentions.

You resumed your meal, aiming to at the very least enjoy the food of your last ever welcome feast at Hogwarts.

***

All you knew about Blaise was what your parents and friends had told you.

He was a pure-blood, and the son of a beautiful witch who had been widowed seven times under suspicious circumstances and become richer every time. As far as you could tell, it was highly likely that one of these dead husbands was Blaise's father. Admittedly, it made you nervous to marry into such a family, so perhaps it was a good thing that Blaise was so unwilling.

But your mother had told you that you had nothing to worry about, as Ms. Zabini only ever married bad men, and used it as a means to eradicate them.

"A noble cause."

Still, you had the rights to be nervous.

"Back to school party tonight," Millicent bounced up to you and announced, "Just us Slytherins."

"A party?" you had forgotten that such an event existed, given the misery of the world.

"I mean, yeah, we all need a pick-me-up," she shrugged, "It'll be in the common room. Bring firewhiskey."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but ultimately decided that drunkenness was just what the doctor ordered.

***

In your defence, you had started off slow with the drinks, mixing with lemonade and gradually sipping over a long period of time. However, once that system had (slowly but surely) gotten you drunk, all bets were off.

"Shots!" someone had shouted, and next thing you knew you were downing your sixth shot, after however many mixed drinks you had.

You stumbled away from the dancers to where some of your friends sat chatting, having the sudden feeling that you weren't too far away from passing out.

"Pansy..." you slurred, flopping on to the sofa next to her.

"Salazar, Y/N, how much have you drunk?"

Ignoring her question, you mumbled, "I feel amazing."

"A little self-control next time, yeah?"

You waved her off, no longer feeling like you were about to pass out so stumbling to your feet. You looked around the room with your eyes squinted, deciding that another drink was an excellent idea.

As you were on your way over - your friends calling after you - your vision became blurrier, until you bumped into a hard chest.

"What the fuck?" you cursed, narrowing your eyes and looking up at the person who inconvenienced you.

"Zabini," you muttered.

"Should you be getting another drink?" he asked.

You blanked him, "Does it kill you to be nice to me?"

He said nothing, biting on his inner cheek.

That was when the feeling of passing out returned, only this time in tenfold, making you drop forward. Your eyelids were heavy, you had to close them, and your body was heavy too, too much effort to remain stood up...

The only things you remember seeing after that were flashes of the stairs down to the dormitories - but you weren't walking, so how was that possible? And then throwing up in a toilet bowl, with your hair for some reason out of the way.

And then cushions, and quilt. But not yours: they smelled gorgeous, so you nuzzled your head into the scent and sighed dreamily.

***

When your eyes slowly peeled themselves open the next morning, your head was pounding and you were quite disoriented. Initially, you seemed to be tucked up in your own bed, but upon closer inspection you realised that the forest green decor was not in the usual place of the Slytherin seventh year girls' dormitories. In fact, this was a room that you had never seen before.

"You're up."

Your eyes shot towards the entrance to the connected bathroom, and every limb in your body froze as you laid eyes upon Blaise Zabini, already showered and dressed even though it was a Saturday.

"What- I-" you stuttered, sitting up in bed. You were relieved to see that you were still in the party clothes from the night before: you weren't opposed to a hook-up, but you would've liked to remember it.

"Relax," he sighed, "You blacked out last night. Carried you down here because I can't go down the girls' stairs."

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together the events, "Right..."

He said nothing, moving over to the dresser to spray a fragrance on his wrists. He truly was your typical classy rich boy. You took this opportunity to look around at the other beds in the room, seeing that the curtains were drawn around one in particular.

"Your beloved Pansy is in there."

Salazar, had she and Draco had sex while you were sleeping in the same room?

"At the very least they put a sound-proofing charm on," Blaise confirmed that thought, and you couldn't help but remark that this was the most he had ever spoken to you.

"Where did you sleep?" you had to ask.

This time, Blaise blanked you, his dark oak eyes void of emotion.

"Next to you," he eventually said, making your breath hitch. "Like we're not engaged, L/N," he scoffed, making you scowl.

"Since when have you acted like it?"

He didn't reply, and you decided that if you let it escalate to an argument, you might wake up the others. So, you forced yourself out of bed, picking up your shoes and leaving without another word.

Walk of shame, here you come.

***

Typically, if one of the girls in your dorm stumbled in the morning after a party in their clothes from the night before, there would be immediate questions of what happened and with who. But, when you entered your dorm, you were met with silence. Partially because half of the girls were still asleep, but mainly because the girls who were awake avoided looking at you.

Daphne was the only one forward enough to say something. "I saw Blaise carry you down."

To be fair, that would explain the lack of questions about hook-ups. They hadn't suspected that the two of you had sex. You simply hummed in response, just wanting to strip yourself of your clothes and makeup and crawl under your own duvet.

But Daphne still wasn't forward enough to ask if that meant your engagement had become a less cold one, as that would be entering the territory of the unspoken agreement to never mention the elephant in the room of Blaise's unwarranted disdain for you.

So, you were able to settle into a new slumber unhindered.

***

The party had been a pleasant but unfortunately temporary distraction from the miserable atmosphere that was Hogwarts. Learning the dark arts made you feel dirty, unclean - like you were announcing to the whole world that you were a death eater. You knew you weren't, and that you would never receive the Dark Mark, but you couldn't help but feel like a bad person.

You knew, however, that being a Slytherin meant the other houses looked at you with disdain, and also that many of your friends weren't entirely opposed to the Dark Lord's cause. It was something that made you sick to your stomach, yet you refused to voice these thoughts to anyone.

Not even Christmas could cheer you up, when before the colourfully decorated castle walls had filled you with a joy like no other. It didn't even feel like Christmas, it was as if all the saturation in the world had been lost, leaving behind a cold, dull grey hue. You had never been so sure of the fact that you would go home for Christmas than you were that year. At least your home wasn't shadowed by the rule of Voldemort, even if it was a tad cold and empty.

"I'll see you in the new year, yeah?" Daphne said to you, pulling you into a hug, "Have a good Christmas."

"You too," you returned the embrace, "And happy new year."

She smiled at you, and that was when you caught sight of Blaise in the corner of your eye. You hadn't spoken since the events of the Slytherin party, primarily because you had avoided him. But, he was walking towards you.

"Merry Christmas," he said monotonously, and Daphne took that as her cue to disappear.

"Merry Christmas," you said curtly back, picking up your trunk as you prepared to get off the train.

"Our families are having dinner together over the holiday."

You hesitated in your movements upon hearing that, but decided against replying, instead leaving him stood there with an expressionless face.

***

It wasn't that your parents didn't love you or care for you by any means, you knew that if you refused to marry Blaise Zabini they wouldn't disown you. But, they were raised with certain values and customs, and you had been raised into them as well. You wanted to make them proud - you just wished that the husband they had picked for you was a more willing participant in the arrangement.

So, when Blaise Zabini and his recently widowed (for the millionth time) mother arrived on your doorstep, the smile on your face wasn't entirely false. There were some truth to your emotions, despite the current state of the world.

"As you know, Blaise and Y/N are in their final year of Hogwarts," Ms Zabini spoke proudly once you were all sat around your dining table, "I believe it's time we start planning the wedding."

"I couldn't agree more," your mother replied, "It should be an elegant affair."

"That goes without saying."

You chewed on your lip.

"Y/N, what colour theme would you like?" your mother asked.

Your breath hitched, as you tried to scrape together a daydream of your dream wedding.

"Maybe pastel green?" you suggested timidly, "Since we're both Slytherins."

Ms Zabini nodded her head approvingly, "Is that agreeable to you, Blaise?"

The man shrugged, "Whatever Y/N wants."

"That makes things easy," the widow said, "It shall be a wonderful event."

***

After dinner, your collective parents had left you and Blaise to your own devices, suggesting that you show him your room. Part of you was surprised they were allowing a boy into your bedroom with no supervision, but you supposed some formalities were wavered due to your engagement to be married.

Blaise snorted when he entered your room: covered in moving posters and animated Lego sets, your four poster bed being pink and frilly with enchanted butterfly decor all around the wood.

"It's a bit mismatched," he said simply.

"It's home."

He raised an eyebrow at that, and silence consumed the both of you. The tension that hung in the air was thick, making you feel like you would go insane if you didn't say something.

"I'm not that bad, you know."

Blaise turned to face you from where he was sat at your desk, meanwhile you had perched on the end of your bed.

"I get that being tied to someone not of your choosing is a bit suffocating - believe me, I know - but you could make it easier for yourself by actually trying to get to know me."

"I do know you."

You rolled your eyes, "You know what I mean, Blaise," his first name was a foreign taste on your tongue, "You could have a worse wife than me."

He appeared to ponder your words for a while, stewing in the dampening tension of the atmosphere meanwhile you anxiously awaited his response. It was as if every action he took was intentional in making your nerves spike.

"The truth is, Y/N, I resent you."

You sat, stunned.

"My freedom to choose has been taken away from me."

Your blood boiled, making you stand up, "And I'm to blame for that? I'm in the same situation as you are, you knobhead."

He said nothing.

"I wasn't the one who made the decision. Stop acting like you're the only one here who's having a hard time."

Blaise went to open his mouth, but you carried on.

"Not to mention, there are people out there dying in the war right now," you vaguely gestured towards the window, "You should count your lucky stars that the biggest problem in your life is having to marry me!"

You scoffed, watching as he stared wide-eyed at you. After you realised he had nothing to say, you left the room to head down to the kitchens. Salazar, you needed a cup of hot chocolate after that whole ordeal.

***

The dark grey clouds cast a grim shadow over the once buzzing atmosphere of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and they only seemed to get gloomier by the day. It was all you could do to stand on the sheltered bridge as you watched rain pour down, even though it was meant to be Spring. The mood of the wizarding world had always had a strange effect on the weather.

Your gloveless fingers were beginning to grow numb in the cold, but you didn't move, nor make any attempt to warm them up. You just wish that you could say that your low mood was for something as selfless as the current danger muggle-borns were in. But, no, you were egotistically thinking about your own qualms - i.e. your upcoming wedding with a man who hardly looked your way.

Ever since the argument at Christmas, he had gone back to disregarding your existence, apart from the few occasions you would catch him staring at you when he thought no one was watching. Aside from that, both your mother and his were frequently owling you about decisions for the wedding, which was making the whole ordeal seem a lot more real than it did before.

"L/N," the last voice that you expected to hear called out from beside you.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to turn around, as if you were paralysed.

"You'll freeze to death out here," he spoke again, this time closer to you, "Everyone's wondering where you are."

Slowly, you turned your head to look at Blaise Zabini, your sallow eyes boring into his.

"They're looking everywhere for you."

"Tell them I'm fine," you eventually spoke.

"I don't think you are, though," he sighed, "You look like you're one minute away from hypothermia."

You shrugged, "Nothing magic medicine can't fix."

Blaise rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand, "Fuck, you're like ice."

That was when he started dragging you back to the castle, and you didn't have the energy to resist at all.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?"

You scoffed, "Like you couldn't guess."

He didn't reply to that statement, instead saying, "We're getting you warmed up."

He sat you in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room, wrapping a forest green blanket around you and placing a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hand. Your friends gathered around you, asking questions about where you had been and if you were okay, but you replied to none of them. Eventually, Blaise urged them all to give you space, letting out a sigh in the process.

Your heart twisted, and you attempted to suppress the pain by sipping on the drink.

It burnt your tongue.

"Careful," Blaise murmured, sitting on the sofa behind you.

You didn't even have the energy to scowl.

"We have our NEWTs soon, you have to take care of yourself."

That wasn't the only thing you had soon.

"You don't have to pretend like you care," you eventually forced out between chattering teeth.

You paused - waiting for him to say something. Anything. Part of you was praying to the gods above that he would say he wasn't pretending, that he did truly care. Instead, his silence was deafening, and your heart twisted and turned all that more. Why couldn't you just hate him?

Who would have thought it would be such a curse to have feelings for your fiancé?

***

Dust swarmed your senses, wrenching at your lungs and causing you to cough horrifically like you were a seasoned chainsmoker; you could barely see a metre ahead of you, and it was all you could do to shield your eyes with your arm as you progressed forwards. Through the crumbles and cracks, you could hear yells of Latin, thrown aggressively and with raw passion that had your blood spiking.

As far as you could tell, you were still in the dungeons - but you needed to get out of them, as they appeared on the verge of collapsing. You hadn't particularly engaged in any duels yourself, both because you were a coward, and because you lacked duelling skills. However, you had aided some students against the death eaters here and there on your progression through the castle.

You couldn't take a completely neutral stance like your parents.

You coughed harder, spluttering as your feet found stairs and began to climb up them - stumbling, but not falling.

"Help," a strained voice called out, making you assess the situation around you as best you could. As you inched further towards the left, you could make out the figure of someone stuck under rubble halfway up the staircase. You moved even closer.

"Blaise?" you croaked out.

A groan.

"Fuck," you mumbled, quickly muttering a spell to lift the rubble off of him. You saw the blood staining his clothes and gasped.

"It snapped my wand," he said, wincing as he tried to move.

You did your best to help him up, letting him rest his weight on your shoulders as you continued to push up the stairs.

"The dungeons are about to collapse," you said, carefully navigating your way around the corner once you finished the stairs.

"The whole-" he groaned, "-castle is."

You grimaced, "You need a healer."

But getting to the makeshift hospital ward without getting caught up in a duel would be quite a challenge. Then, it suddenly hit you.

"Which side are you on?" you quickly asked.

He scoffed, "Which side do you think? I'm still here." He then hunched over with an even louder groan than before, you swiftly moved to support his weight more.

Most Slytherin students who were either neutral or on the side of the death eaters had abandoned Hogwarts instead of staying to fight. You were a coward, but you would never have been able to forgive yourself if you had left. Instead, you found yourself stuck in the dungeons, some way, somehow.

"You stayed to fight," you murmured.

He went to say something, but another sharp pain coursed through him.

"Fuck," you cursed.

***

By some miracle, you reached the hospital ward with minimal further damage, and managed to get Blaise seen to instantly. You were amazed that they didn't question two Slytherin students being on their side, but you supposed it made sense: they were the good guys.

As you watched them take his shirt off to assess the damage, a glimmer of something against his chest caught your eye. It was connected to a thin silver chain that dangled around his neck, showing slight signs of wear and tear, implying he didn't even take it off when showering. When your vision cleared, you realised that the shimmery object along the chain was none other than the white gold band of green jewels that was the matching pair to the ring on your finger.

A lump caught in your throat, "You're wearing it," you choked out.

Blaise's eyes were shut, but he smiled tiredly, "Always."

Tears pricked at your eyes.

***

Eventually, what would be known as the infamous Battle of Hogwarts ceased fire: Lord Voldemort had fallen at the hands of Harry Potter. But there weren't cheers.

There was only devastation.

The wreck that the once majestic Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had become, and the subsequent deaths of thousands of kind-hearted people who had so much life to live. It was the epitome of bittersweet to watch people going around clearing up after the battle. You were grateful to be among the living, sat next to Blaise as he slept restlessly on a mat on the floor.

There wasn't really anyone else for you to talk to in the aftermath after all: Slytherins were quite isolated from the other houses, and hardly any Slytherins had stayed.

You allowed yourself the luxury of taking Blaise's hand in your own and squeezing it gently, letting a solitary tear cascade down your cheek. Was it relief? Was it hope? Was it happiness? Or was it sadness? Melancholia? Regret?

You didn't know, you simply allowed the feeling to wash over you.

"I didn't stay to fight," Blaise said out of nowhere, his voice gruff and quiet.

"Hm?"

"I stayed because you stayed."

Your heart jolted at his words, "Really?"

"Of course," he peeled his eyes open, "'Til death do us part."

You squeezed his hand again, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you act like you hated me?"

He sighed, appearing to be gathering as much energy together as he could, "I resented you, yes, but I- I was also scared of hurting you. You know what everyone thinks of my mother - that she's a-" he coughed, "-serial killer. Killing her husbands."

You admired his smooth face, despite its cuts and gashes.

"I was scared of becoming her, and I didn't want that to be your fate."

You reached out a hand to graze his prominent cheekbone, letting the tiniest of smiles tug at your lips.

"We'll be okay, Blaise," you murmured softly, "You're not like her."

He smiled slightly, wincing in the process. "No arranged marriages for our kids?"

You nodded, "No arranged marriages for our kids."

***

Your parents walked either side of you as you made your way down the grassy aisle, the summer heat blazing down on to the prettily flowered meadow. In your hands was a bouquet of white and pastel green peonies, and on your figure was a gorgeous princess ball gown that cost a small fortune. All your family and friends were stood up from their seats, gazing at your every move. Blaise, proudly stood at the altar in a black suit with a mint coloured waistcoat, was no exception. His eyes were trained into yours, making your heart flip tenfold.

Meeting him in front of the officiant, you passed your bouquet off to Pansy before allowing yourself to truly smile in your fiancé's presence. He took your hands into his and squeezed ever so slightly, as the officiant began to speak.

It felt like forever before the vows.

"I, Mr Blaise Zabini, promise to take Miss Y/N L/N to be my wife, and to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."

He slipped the ring on to your finger, where it settled above your engagement ring.

The attention was then on you.

"I, Miss Y/N L/N, promise to take Mr Blaise Zabini to be my husband, and to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part." You pushed the larger ring on to his finger.

"I now, by the power vested in me, pronounce you husband and wife."

Blaise swooped down to kiss you warmly on the lips as cheers erupted from the crowd, and you found yourself smiling into his lips.

"I love you," he whispered. Words he had never spoken before.

"I love you too."

'Til death do us part.

—————————————

masterlist

written; 27/12/2023 —> 15/02/2024 published; 16/02/2024 edited; —/—/——

💜 starshine pt. VI 💜

Rhys x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

summary: when after more than a century, things finally begin falling into place.

notes: I can't believe how long this took - both writing this next part and the actual things happening *facepalms*. and these twoooo 😭💕. I can't. they make me feel so mushy and happy and all giddy and warm. and all of you, loving this so much, make me feel even more mushy and happy and giddy, so thank you so much for staying with me on this!! if everything goes to plan, this is actually the second to last chapter, and we are, finally, getting somewhere ;)

______________________________________________________________

With a sharp inhale, my eyes snapped open, and my breath staggered.

The sheets were clinging to my skin, damp with cold sweat, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs as blood rushed through my ears and my gaze darted over a high, dark ceiling and for a second, panic and a dull pain rose in my chest, my body frozen still.

Then I realised that a weight was resting over my stomach and a scent was flooding my senses, so achingly familiar, my muscles melted.

Quickly, I turned my head, and my lungs squeezed.

In the silvery light of the moon shining through the windows, I could see Rhys' dark shape stretched out on the mattress next to me, the dips and planes of his muscular back rising and falling slowly with his even breaths. His head was resting on the pillow next to me, his face turned my way, brows smoothed over and eyes closed, his dark hair unruly and tousled, swirls of darkness stretching over his broad shoulders and down the arm that was loosely resting over my waist, his skin radiating warmth through my thin nightgown.

My heart soared before free falling, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the echoes of screams and laughter in my ears, the feeling of cruel darkness and bound magic and hands slipping away into nothingness.

Suddenly, the air felt too stiffled, too stale, too reminiscent of the nightmare that had been reality.

Hastily, I slid out from under Rhys' arm, pushing the covers to the side and slipping off the mattress, my feet quick on the cool floorboards as I darted over to the huge windows soundlessly, tearing at them until they were open and a soft, cool breeze brushed over my skin.

My heart squeezed tightly, and I breathed in, quick and deep, the scent of sweet petals and night leaving an ache growing in my chest as my gaze darted over the garden below that was bathed in starlight, flowers glowing and faeries floating over the water reflecting the galaxies above.

My fingers curled around the window handle before loosening, and something in my chest quivered when I let my forehead sink against the cool wooden frame and squeezed my eyes shut.

I could still feel the heavyness on my chest, the ache pulsing under my ribs as images flashed before my eyes, and something closed around my throat.

Sliding my hand off the window, I looked over my shoulder towards the bed, and the ache in my chest soared at the dark shape still motionless on the mattress, breathing evenly.

Fighting against the sudden pressure in my throat, I moved, quickly slipping past the bed and out of the room.

The house was silent as I hastened soundlessly down the stairs, my long sleek nightgown swishing around my ankles as I slipped past the table and opened one of the big windows leading out onto the terrace. The gentle night breeze whispered over my bare arms and shoulders, and I squeezed out into the night, the stone of the terrace cold under my feet as I moved down the steps before it was replaced by cool, soft grass.

Faeries were swishing through the glowing flowers, darting towards me and showering me in golden dust, tittering softly and curiously before whizzing away again.

Slowly, my steps calmed, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air, feeling flowers and high grass brush my hands, warmth slowly spreading through me that seemed to stem from the earth itself.

Next to the pond that reflected the galaxies twinkling over the mountains, I let myself plop down into the soft grass, stretching out and staring up into the sky. My palms pressed against the earth, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the soft hum of energy that slowly travelled through me, golden light lazily flooding through my veines until my chest squeezed and my breath shuddered.

My heart tipped over; I opened my eyes, and movement at the edge of my field of vision made me turn my head.

Something rose and pulsed gently under my ribs when I saw the dark figure standing on the terrace.

Even from a distance, I caught the moment violet eyes clocked me by the pond, bare shoulders sinking a little, swishes of darkness whispering into nothingness as Rhys' gaze pierced mine. Then he moved, beginning to slowly walk down the steps.

Resting my cheek on the grass, I watched as he came towards me, movements smooth and elegant, his tousled hair black like ink in the night, violet eyes reflecting the silver and purple above. His pants were sitting low on his hips, and something twisted in my stomach at the sight of shifting muscles disappearing into black fabric.

The silk of his pants swished against my skin when Rhys crouched down and let himself plop down onto the ground next to me. Then his shoulder brushed against mine and he stretched out on the grass, one of his hands sliding up to rest on his stomach. His body dwarfed mine even shoulder to shoulder, my feet barely level with his shins, and I stared at the side of his face as his gaze dragged slowly over the night sky above, something dipping and swerving, squeezing and fluttering in my chest as my eyes flickered over his nose and lips, the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones, and suddenly, my breath hitched in my throat.

“What happened?”

Rhys' quiet voice, deep and a little raspy with sleep, tore me out of the pulsing feeling under my ribs, and when I blinked, he turned his head to look at me.

I tried to swallow against the flutter in my throat, the ache in my chest that staring at him had awakened. Rhys seemed to misinterpret my silence, one corner of his lips tipping up gently as his gaze slowly moved over my face.

“As far as I know, you don't usually wake up in the middle of the night to lay around on the cold ground.” There was a soft twinkle in his eyes, but it couldn't hide the barely there crease between his brows, and something dipped in my chest when my shoulder brushed his and I felt a clenching sensation in my chest that wasn´t mine.

I blinked again, and the soft ache under my ribs pulsed.

“I had a dream.”

Rhys' gaze moved over my face. Then his quiet voice vibrated through me, gentle and even.

“What kind of dream?”

Something closed around my throat like an iron fist, and I stared at him, feeling a weight settle on my chest and pressure rise in my throat and eyes.

“The mountain,”, I whispered.

Rhys blinked, and I could see the muscles in his shoulder shifting, growing still.

“It used to be worse.” I tried a lopsided smile, but it felt weak, and a little uneven. “But it still comes back, once in a while.”

Rhys stared at me. Then he mumbled softly: “What do you dream of?”

Something started skipping painfully under my ribs.

“I see the faeries.” My whispered words were barely audible as my gaze dragged over Rhys' face, trying to ingrain every angle into my memory as pressure began to rise in my throat. “Caught and chained, tortured and mutilated in the revel. And I can't help them. I'm caught in the crowd, and I try to move, but no matter how much I fight, it's like I'm watching from outside my own body. And their pain breaks me apart.” My voice was weak, the images rising in front of my eyes causing the ache in my chest to grow.

“And then I see you.” My whisper broke as the pressure in my throat became unbearable, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Rhys' face, even as my vision blurred and my lips quivered.

“And she's torturing you, and I can't move. I can't get to you. And I try to tell you, scream at you that I'll get you out, but I can't speak.” My breath trembled as the ache in my chest spread, taking over every inch of my body until my voice broke and I felt something hot run over my cheek.

“And then I wake up, and I'm alone. Seeing you, finding you, was all a dream. And I can't feel you.” I inhaled quickly, hotly, my chin trembling. “You're gone.”

Through blurry eyes, I saw Rhys stare at me, still, frozen. Then a muscle in his cheek shifted, and he rolled onto his side; his warm, calloused hand slipped up my neck to cradle the side of my face, and Rhys leaned down to press his forehead against mine.

“I'm here.” His deep, husky voice travelled through me, vibrating with sorrow yet so steady and firm, my breath shuddered.

My eyes squeezed shut as the ache in my chest rose and overwhelmed me, and I twisted, wrapping my arms around Rhys' shoulders, clinging to him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck and felt hot tears roll over my cheeks, the ache in my chest pulsing.

“Look at you,”, Rhys mumbled hoarsely, his hands sliding over my waist as he slipped his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his chest. “Really thinking it'd be that easy to get rid of me.”

A wet laugh bubbled in my chest.

“Wouldn't it?”

“No.” Rhys' mumble was steady, if only a little rough when he dropped his nose into the crook of my neck, causing a gentle shiver to travel over my spine. “You know I'm too much of a selfish bastard for that.”

I inhaled shudderingly, feeling my lips rise weakly as I whispered into his skin: “No, you're not.”

“I am.” A calloused hand slid up over my back, the arm around my waist pulling me in tighter as Rhys curled around me and buried his nose at my shoulder, his low voice vibrating through me as he mumbled steadily: “Even if my soul was dragged from this world, I would still claw my way back to you.”

Something rose in my chest, wild and violent, and my eyes opened, a curtain of tears leaving the world blurry as Rhys' quiet voice washed through me.

“No one will ever keep me from you, take me away from you again. Wherever I go, it'll only be with you.”

My heart soared before giving out, and I dug my fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling my leg slide over his waist as his tall body curved around mine.

“Sounds impractical,”, I whispered thickly, my breath hitching and causing my voice to break a little.

Rhys' lips curved against my skin.

“We'll make it work.” His quiet words vibrated through me, steady and soft. “I'll just have to follow you like I always have.”

My chest tightened harsly as warmth pulsed through me, and I whispered, soft and weak: “What if I go somewhere you can't follow?”

Rhys slid his arms closer around me, burying his nose against my skin as he mumbled back hoarsely: “There's no place in this world, or beyond, that you could go where I wouldn't follow.” I could feel him swallow, then he added softly: “I'll always find a way to you.”

My heart tightened as my breath caught in my throat, and I clung tighter to him, feeling his body shielding mine as I curled into his chest and turned my head to bury my face in his neck, squeezing my eyes shut, my body shuddering with my exhale and the weight of tears pressing on my throat.

“Why?” The whispered words were trembling, thick, spilling past my lips before I could stop them, fueled by the ache rising under my ribs. But Rhys just swallowed, his deep voice soft in a hoarse mumble.

“You know why.”

My heart twisted and rose, higher and higher. My breath caught in my throat, and my lips quivered as I hastily burrowed my face in his neck and tried to breathe against the ache pulsing under my ribs.

The breeze whispered through the trees, faeries floating over the pond as the stars twinkled in the sky. Rhys held me until my lids were heavy, tears dried on my cheeks, my heart thrumming steadily against my ribs. Then he gathered me in his arms and moved to stand.

Something rose under my ribs, and when I pulled back just a little, my arms still slung around his neck, Rhys dropped his forehead against mine, his breath fanning over my skin as he turned.

My heart swelled in a flutter, and I clung to him, his arms holding me steady as Rhys started to walk back towards the house. I curled my arms around his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling warmth pulse through me, strong, steady, Rhys' nose brushing my cheek when he pressed his forehead against my temple, carrying me up the stairs.

☆

I woke with the gentle morning breeze brushing over my skin, the scent of daybreak dew and fresh air filling my lungs, and my body buried in a warm chest, with the heavy weight of arms slung around me tightly and a scent in my nose that, even in the haze of sleep, made something tumble under my ribs.

My breath hitched softly, and I opened my eyes. My gaze focused on sunkissed golden skin and dark twisting tattoos over strong collarbones, and a muscled arm cushioning my head.

My heart toppled, and something in my stomach dipped.

You know why.

Rhys' hoarse voice echoed through my head, and suddenly, the flutter in my chest grew until there was a soft ache pulsing under my ribs.

Feeling a weight on my throat, I turned, sliding out of Rhys' arms as carefully as possible. My heart was thrumming against my ribs when I slipped out of the room, and trying to fight against the chaotic whirlwind in my head and chest, I moved down the stairs.

Golden morning light filtered through the windows facing the front garden, painting patterns onto the carpet and the books filling the shelves. I dragged open the window doors leading out onto to the terrace, breathing in deeply as my gaze moved over the garden dipped in the first golden sunrays, fairies whizzing through the air, carrying dew drops, giggling and tittering, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs.

Filling the kettle and putting it onto the stove, I pulled a pot from the cabinet, and a cup. Then, my hands no longer busy, I slowly turned, leaning back against the counter as my fingers flew over the cold marble, up to the ends of my hair before settling for fiddling with the thin strap of my nightgown as I stared into the garden, my heart pounding in my chest.

You know why.

Something in my stomach tumbled.

I did.

I had for a while, had felt the thought looming, bright and powerful somewhere under the surface. The beginnings of a realization, a vague shape, like an unspoken thought, a distant knowledge that I refused to grasp.

Because acknowledging it, just thinking it out loud would mean something so big, so terrifying it made something squeeze in my chest.

An explanation as to why Rhys had kept coming back to me. For the way he stared at me, the twinkle in those violet eyes, for that rising feeling in my chest I couldn't place and that radiated from him, for the closeness, the touching, the blatant flirting and the things he said, casually, easily, so so sure.

It made something rise in my chest.

There was something, a reason, a realization, just under the surface. And it terrified me.

Because what if I was wrong?

What if what Rhys was supposedly feeling was just fleeting, or not at all what I made it out to be?

What if what I was seeing was what I wanted to see – and not what was really there?

Something closed tightly around my chest as the flutter in my chest rose, soared higher and higher.

It would mean a broken heart.

My breath shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Gods, I'd been an idiot. Not realising, maybe refusing to see how my soul reacted to the male with the stars in his eyes, how my whole being seemed to respond to him.

I had fallen. Maybe slowly over the span of a century, maybe with a crash the first time I'd met him and felt him behind those walls.

Something squeezed under my ribs. It twisted before rippling away soundlessly, and a trembling breath left me as I opened my eyes and stared out into the garden, wide-eyed and utterly terrified.

I loved him.

Maybe, it had always been there, lurking under the surface, in the way my breath seemed to hitch whenever I stared at him and he smiled.

I loved him. Was in love with him. So fiercely, so deeply, so all-consuming that it made my chest thrum, caused my heart to twist and soar, until the feeling filled my body. Slowly, creepingly, it had taken up every part of my soul and my being. Had made him a part of me, his pain, his anger, his sorrow, his happiness, all mine in a way nothing had ever been before. Had made him beginning and end and everything in between.

I loved Rhys.

“Shit,”, I whispered softly.

There was a low, deep chuckle behind me; and I jumped and whirled around.

Rhys crunched his brows against the light, purple eyes tired and twinkling, his voice, rough with sleep, vibrating through me when he mumbled with a smirk: “Ouch. Not usually the way I'm greeted.”

My fingers dug into the counter as I stared at him in shock, trying to breathe, my eyes wide and my heart pounding against my ribs. There was a pillow crease on his cheek, which I hadn´t thought physically possible, his hair was tousled and muscles were shifting under his bare skin as he moved past the table and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, heat was washing over me, and I tried to tear my gaze away, pull myself together. But my body refused to listen, stayed frozen in the spot as I stared at him wide-eyed, my breath hitching harshly, and Rhys slowed to a stop. His gaze flickered over my face, and a soft crease formed between his brows.

“Darling?”

Maybe my shields had never been any good, and he'd been able to sneak past them all this time. Or maybe, the feelings whirling in my chest, the chaos and panic in my mind, were simply too loud, too strong, bursting through me, echoing outwards at a volume that meant he didn't even need to be in my mind to hear them.

Either way, Rhys stilled. Became frozen in the spot as he stared at me. Then his eyes shifted.

Turned swirling and bright like the galaxies in the night sky as the crease between his brows melted away into nothingness and he exhaled like he'd been waiting for a century.

“All this time.” His soft voice was hoarse as his gaze dragged over my face, slightly feverish, drinking me in. “And you still didn't see.”

My heart dropped and I could feel my lips part – then something in my chest shifted, and soundlessly, a wall crumbled.

A barrier of the mind, built around the male a few feet away, slowly collapsing into itself.

My heart caught in my throat, and my eyes darted up and widened as something in my chest rose.

I could feel everything.

Emotions so strong, they took my breath. Twined together so firmly, they were barely discernable, desperation, adoration, want, need, twisting together into something hot and rising, growing into something all consuming.

I'd always felt Rhys, but never like this; had never felt his emotions, so deep and powerful and clear that they turned my doubts and fears to stardust, the ache in my chest blowing away into the sky, until my breath shuddered and my heart settled.

I inhaled softly, feeling my lips part as the emotions that weren't my own pulsed in my chest, steady, firm, unrestrained. Then I raised my head, and Rhys swallowed, his iris a night sky as his gaze dragged over mine, deep and feverish and swallowing me whole as he mumbled hoarsely: “There it is.”

A soft, breathy giggle bubbled in my throat as I stared at him, feeling pressure building in my throat and a flutter rising in my chest, growing with every second.

My fingers shook a little as I took a hesitant step forward, followed by another, and another, my eyes darting over Rhys' face, my heart swelling. He had grown completely still, like the smallest move could scare me away, like there wasn't something pounding against my ribs and swelling in my throat, causing tears to rise into my eyes as I lifted a hand and placed my palm on his chest.

The feeling of Rhys´ warm skin sent a shiver down my skin, just like the quick, racing beat of his heart as I stared up at him, feeling my bottom lip wobble a little even as I started to smile, slow and beaming. Then I opened myself and the whirlwind under my ribs.

Rhys' eyes widened.

A shuddering breath ran through him, and his hand flew up to cover mine, fingers curling around mine, holding on almost desperately, like he was afraid I'd pull away, break the thrum of emotion flooding through me into his body. Then a soft sound broke from his chest, and Rhys moved, forward and forward until my arm was trapped between us and the whole of his body pressed against mine, his free hand sliding up to cradle my face, and my heart caught in my throat when he dropped his head to press his forehead against mine.

The flutter in my chest rose, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and breathed out shakingly.

Rhys made a soft, hoarse sound deep in his throat, his hand slipping down the side of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he pressed closer, and my heart shuddered. I could feel his body towering over mine, the way the muscles in his biceps shifted when his fingers slid closer around my hand, his warm chest pressing against mine -

Heat twinged low in my stomach, and my fingers curled against his chest.

A gentle shudder ran over Rhys' warm skin, and my breath hitched when he dipped his head to the side, his nose brushing against mine.

My heart rose into my throat, and I swallowed, my hand uncurling slowly as I slid my palm down his chest. I could feel his muscles tensing under my touch as a shiver ran over his skin, his fingers twisting into my hair, and a tingle travelled down my spine when Rhys slowly nudged his nose against mine.

Something dropped very low in my stomach, heat rising up my body.

I swallowed, my free hand rising to cling to Rhys' side, and when I pulled my head back a little, just enough to look at him, his breath grazing my skin, my heart rose.

Rhys' eyes were glazed over with a heat that made something twist in my stomach. His iris was hazy and a few shades darker under heavy lids, a muscle in his jaw shifting and throat working, and his gaze was molten where it was glued to my lips.

My breath caught in my throat.

Even when Rhys had stared for too long before, something heated in his eyes, it had always been brimming under the surface, never quite so obvious.

Now, nothing was hidden. His breath was uneven, his lips parted and throat working, and his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, were swirling, feverish, wanting -

Rhys' fingers curled into my hair, and my body shuddered, something whirling and rising under my ribs as I dug my fingers into his skin and raised my chin without having control over it, Rhys' hot breath grazing over my skin when my nose nudged against his.

A deep sound rose in Rhys' chest, his eyes shifting into something even deeper and darker, and his hand slid into my hair when he dipped his head, his nose brushing against the side of mine, tantalizingly slow. Something clenched harshly in my stomach when I felt his hot breath grazing my lips, and a tingling shiver ran down my spine when I sank back down onto my heels and Rhys followed me, calloused hands pulling me closer and head dipping to -

"Hello?", a melodious, happy voice chirped from the terrace, and my heart jumped; my eyes flew open as I lightly pushed at Rhys' chest and whirled around, and Mor walked through the open window doors.

"Anyone he-", her gaze met mine, and she slowed to a stop, one corner of her lips quirking cheekily.

"Am I interrupting?"

My heart missed a beat, and I hastily looked back over my shoulder, only to find Rhys' eyes on me like maybe, they had never left. There was a twinkle slowly spreading through his iris, and my heart rose in a flutter, because something had changed, obviously, something in that thrum against my ribs, and yet -

I narrowed my eyes in a soft glower, and Rhys slowly started to smile, lazy and brilliant.

"What are you doing here, Morrigan?" His deep voice rumbled through me even with him a foot away, his twinkling eyes never leaving my face.

Mor crunched her brows, seemingly completely unbothered as she turned in a circle with a flourish.

"Well, you hadn't even told us this place existed until yesterday, and -", she looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly, "I was curious." Her twinkling amber eyes found mine, and her smile softened, though the light in her eyes seemed to brighten. "It's beautiful."

Something rose under my chest as my gaze flickered towards the garden without me being able to help it, my breath catching in my throat. "It is."

I could feel the weight of eyes on me, a tingle travelling over the side of my face, and I blinked, clearing my throat and grinning sheepishly at Mor. "Sorry, didn't really expect anyone -"

"Obviously." Mor's lips twitched into a smirk as her eyes moved from Rhys, lounging against the counter in only pyjama pants and staring at me, towards my long nightgown, and I winced and quickly crossed my bare arms in front of my chest, feeling heat rising in my cheeks as I crunched my nose.

"You want some tea?"

"You know, actually,", Mor turned fully towards me and raised her brows, "I also came here because I thought it could be fun if I showed you the city today?" Her lips twitched, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Have some one on one time, if Rhys isn't too bothered by that." She winked at me.

"Why would I be bothered?" Rhys' eyes stayed on my face, one corner of his lips curving upwards.

"Well, you did keep her from us for more than a century, without telling us about her even once; which, by the way, is ridiculous." Mor's lips curved. "It's almost like you were afraid we'd steal her away from you or something -"

"Can we get breakfast?", I quickly interrupted, because Rhys' eyes had started to twinkle in a way that made shivers dance down my spine and something twitch in my stomach.

Mor turned her gaze away from Rhys, her knowing smirk bleeding into a genuine, beaming smile when she widened her eyes.

"Obviously! I'll show you all the good places, and more; do you have your dress yet?"

I blinked, then I turned my head towards her and crunched my brows.

"What dress?"

Mor parted her lips. Then she sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, turning towards her cousin with an exasperated look.

"Rhys, you prat; you haven't told her?"

Rhys stared at me, his violet eyes twinkling when he said, deep voice absentminded: "Was busy."

Mor huffed, her lips quirking. "I bet you were."

Rhys just lightly rolled his eyes, and I quickly mouthed prat?, causing him to glare softly at me.

Don´t you dare.

Feeling a slow, beaming smile take over my face, I widened my eyes and mouthed prat, and Rhys huffed, his lips curving until a wide grin made his cheeks crease.

Mor cleared her throat, and I quickly tore my eyes away from Rhys' face, feeling heat bleed into my cheeks when my gaze met Morrigan's, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

"Haven't told me what?", I said quickly, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly and fighting against the blush growing on my face.

Mor sighed, but her lips curved as she raised her brows. "Summer Solstice."

My heart rose in a flutter, and my gaze darted towards Rhys as my lips parted.

"You - you celebrate that here?"

"Well, not on a huge scale like Summer and Day,", Mor waved her hand dismissingly, "but Rhys has started throwing a party every year still, because, well -", she smirked, "any excuse for a party is a good one."

Rhys' lips curved softly as his eyes pierced mine, a twinkle in their violet depths that made my breath hitch.

"Anyway, he holds it at the River House -"

I blinked before raising my brows.

"Another house?" I felt my eyes widen slightly as my head whipped around and I stared at Mor before quickly looking back at Rhys in disbelief, but he just shrugged, his smirk feline.

"Anyway, when we started doing the celebration, we decided to hold it there because the garden is just beautiful this time of year, though,", Mor turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes almost wistful, "definitely not as beautiful as this one."

My breath hitched as my gaze followed hers, and something fluttered against my ribs.

"The longest day of the year."

Rhys' voice made my heart dip, quiet like only I was meant to hear, and I blinked before tearing my eyes away from the garden, something rising in my chest when I found his twinkling eyes on my face.

"I know." I felt my lips curve softly even as I suppressed the urge to swallow, my eyes moving over his face. "The fairies dance through it, all night long."

Rhys' gaze pierced mine, deep, twinkling, like maybe, he could see the memories of midsummer nights in a wild garden and a dress whirling around my ankles.

"Maybe they'll dance with us if you're there."

I stared at him, and my heart began to slowly flutter against my ribs, more wildly with every second as I started to smile slowly.

"Is that your way of asking if I'll come?"

Rhys stared at me, something swirling in his eyes when he mumbled, slow, deep, steady: "Will you come?"

My breath caught in my throat, and I blinked. Then I widened my eyes and whispered cheekily: "I don't think I have a dress."

Rhys' gaze heated. But before he could open his mouth, Mor chimed in, beaming happily.

"We can get you one! Today; I mean, it is in two days, but I'll take you to the best dressmaker of the city, you'll love it; and she'll have it done in time!"

I felt my lips part quickly, but before I could even make a sound, there was a soft huff; a familiar scent washed over me, and fingers slipped under my chin, closing my mouth again.

"Don't even think about it."

My heart jumped and eyes darted up, and Rhys' lips curved.

I huffed and twisted my neck to get a better look at him, feeling my brows crunch in protest, but Rhys just sent me a wink. "You know arguing is pointless. I´ll get you a dress one way or the other."

Glowering up at him even as something jumped high in my chest, I narrowed my eyes even further when he smirked and dipped his head to mumble: "Just say thank you."

His warm breath brushed over my nose, and my heart dipped.

Staring up at him, I scowled gently. Then I turned my head and sent Mor a brilliant, cheeky smile. "Thank you, Mor."

Rhys huffed, sending me a glare, and Mor smirked and winked.

"My pleasure." She raised her brows and clapped her hands. "Alright, let´s go! Though you,", her lips quirked, "might want to change first."

When I moved back down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed and tying off my braid, Mor was crouched in the middle of the garden, watching the faeries that seemed a little weary but curious when she beamed at them.

"You know she's going to put you through trying on dozens of dresses?"

My heart skipped, and my gaze darted towards where Rhys was leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and one corner of his lips curving as his eyes raked over my face.

"So?" I felt my lips quirk.

Rhys' iris twinkled.

"A lot of it will be Night Court fashion." His gaze dragged slowly over my body, one corner of his lips curving into a slow, lazy smirk. "It usually means little fabric."

I stared at him as heat pooled low in my stomach, and suddenly, something started fluttering against my ribs violently.

Slowly, I began to walk backwards towards the terrace, sending him a growing, mischievous smile.

"If you want to see me scantily clad, you just have to ask."

Rhys' gaze darted up, his gaze narrowing in and growing dark and heated, and feeling my heart catch in my throat, I smiled beamingly and turned around with a breathed laugh, hopping out onto the terrace to meet Mor at the foot of the steps.

☆

Feeling a breeze brush some hair into my face, I breathed out softly, the warmth of sunlight dappled over my face making my lips curve without my doing.

"So..."

I blinked before opening my eyes and lowering my head, and Mor crunched her nose, looking at me curiously. "What's so special about Summer Solstice?"

We were sitting on the steps of a fountain, the water splashing and bubbling in our backs, a thin paper bag between us on the grey cobblestone, smelling of the buttery pastry I had bought in a shop in one of the countless alleys.

Mor had kept her promise, taking me for breakfast in a small café right at the Sidra. Then she had pulled me into the maze of alleys, streets and squares.

First, she'd taken me to the workshop of her favorite dressmaker, located in a beautiful townhouse in the Rainbow, the artist's district. It belonged to tall, slim High Fae who was clearly familiar with Morrigan, and who had, very happily, pulled all the stops when Mor had winked at her.

Mor had made me try different silhouettes, and I had wandered the aisles and aisles with fabrics, my breath catching at the colors and stitchings. We'd agreed after a while, and when we left the shop, there was a rough sketch and fabric sitting on the dressmaker's desk and my heart was beating against my throat.

Now, the afternoon sun was shining in the sky over the small park that stretched over a little hill surrounded by tall sandstone buildings, their roofs glittering in the light. Trees rose into the sky, offering shade, sunlight was dappled in swaying patterns onto the grass and cool stone of the fountain where we had decided to take a little break, and my feet were aching and my heart was full.

I needed a second to tear my eyes away from the sight of the city stretched out before the mountains. Then I blinked and crunched my brows, looking over at her.

"What do you mean?"

One corner of Mor's lips curved gently. "You just... you looked so surprised."

I felt my heart rise in a soft flutter against my ribs, and I hesitated for a second, then I turned my head and gently narrowed my eyes at her curiously.

"How long have you been... celebrating it like this?"

Mor furrowed her brows, shrugging softly as she plucked a piece off her pastry.

"Not long actually. I think Rhys decided to make it a new tradition not quite a century ago, fairly out of,", she blinked, her words slowing as her eyes suddenly began to twinkle softly, "thin air..."

I stared at her, a quick flutter beginning to build in my chest.

"What does it mean to you again?" Mor stared at me, her lips curving.

"It's..." I swallowed softly. "It's a celebration. Held by the fairies, every Summer Solstice. They gather and dance, from evening until deep into the night. All of them, sprites, pixies, nymphs, wraiths, all coming together, celebrating light and life and -" My breath hitched. "Magic."

Mor's warm eyes were glittering.

"You think he -" My voice broke off, my breath catching in my throat.

"Started celebrating it here because of you?" Mor's lips tipped upwards, and she blinked and raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in the light. "That does sound awfully like him."

Feeling my heart pounding against my ribs, I stared at her, something suddenly tingling in my stomach.

Mor's smile widened a little. Then she blinked.

"You know, he never told us about you." She raised a brow, her iris sparkling. "Not once."

I huffed gently.

"I know." Shaking my head softly, I turned my head, crunching my brows gently as I blinked into the sunlight. "He told me about that, after I got mad because he turned up, winnowing in even though he was badly wounded and exhausted,", a breath left me, "idiot."

Mor giggled, and I felt my lips curve.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor´s gaze flicker over my face, warm and bright. Her throat worked. Then she whispered softly: "Thank you."

I blinked. Something in my chest rose and tightened as my gaze darted towards her, and Mor breathed out, her smile a little uneven when she stared back at me.

"I've known Rhys practically my whole life." She furrowed her brows gently, her eyes swimming with emotion. "He's always carried - a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it just got more when he became High Lord. He always took on everything, had to be strong, for everyone. He lets us know when things are heavy, but - he never fully lets us in." She huffed. "He doesn't want to burden us." Shaking her head gently, she hesitated before looking over at me, one corner of her lips rising gently.

"But then he started disappearing, just for a few hours, sometimes more, sometimes less. He never told us where he was going;", she raised her brows, "I always assumed he was just - taking a breather somewhere, taking some time by himself. But whenever he got back, he had that light in his eyes." Her iris started to twinkle as she stared at me.

"That was you." She blinked, her voice a little hoarse when she whispered: "You saved him. Because you saw something in him he lost the ability to see. And because when you showed him that, he believed you. Because he saw something in you too. That same thing that makes him stare at you like you put the stars into the sky." She swallowed gently, and her eyes flickered over my face. "It's like with you, he can just be."

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her, something suddenly tight in my chest.

"He told you all of that?", I whispered.

Mor's lips quirked gently.

"Not everything. But enough." Her gaze flickered over my face. "He told us about you only after he came back from -" She broke off, her eyes welling with grief. Then she looked back up at me, her iris shimmering as she raised a corner of her lips.

"He was - a wreck, when he got here. But you - you kept him afloat. He was waiting for you. It felt like he was holding his breath. And then you turned up and..." She breathed a brilliant smile. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Mor sniffled and beamed. "It's like he's come back to life, in a way he's never been before. Like something has - settled, fallen into place."

Something welled over in my chest, and I turned my gaze ahead, fighting to swallow against the pressure in my throat as I stared down the hill and over the roofs of the city, glittering in the sun, trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Yeah,", I whispered.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze move over my face, bright and warm. Then she turned back ahead as well, and together, we stared over the city.

"It's beautiful,", I mumbled softly.

Mor´s lips curved upwards, her voice a little hoarse when she mumbled back: "It's the Court of Dreams."

☆

The sun was disappearing beyond the mountains, painting the skies pink and violet, the first stars twinkling high above when I slipped through the gate and breathed in the scent of flowers and grass and warm evening air.

Mor had dropped me off at the winding street before winnowing away, pulling me into a hug so tight, my ribs cracked, but I had just squeezed her back, feeling the scent of her perfume rising into my nose and her hair tickling my skin.

Slowly making my way around the house, I inhaled deeply, feeling warmth spread through my chest when I saw fairies whizzing through the air over the pond, giggling and chasing each other.

"You took your time."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Rhys, lounging on the steps leading up to the terrace, watched me, his violet eyes reflecting the stars blinking in the sky when he lightly raised a brow. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me, leaving me here all by myself -"

A soft snorted laugh built in my chest, and I sent him a cheeky grin. "I'm sure you were perfectly fine entertaining yourself for once."

"I wasn't. I got so bored I actually went to do some work."

Giggling softly, I gently kicked his leg before plopping down next to him, breathing in deeply. His scent rose into my lungs, and my heart missed a beat.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys' twinkling iris flicker over my face. "Did Mor drag you from shop to shop until you fainted from exhaustion?"

I crunched my brows and looked over at him. "Why, do you think I look the part?"

Rhys' lips curved.

"Did you find a dress?" His gaze drank me in as a crease formed in his cheek, and I stared back, my breath catching and my heart thrumming against my ribs.

"Yeah." My voice was a little soft, a little breathless as I tried not to stare at the curve of Rhys' lips and the small dip in his cheek, his skin glowing in the sunset.

"And?" His voice trickled over me, slow, deep, matching the volume of mine as his gaze dragged over my face, heated, swirling.

I felt my lips tick up as I shrugged one shoulder gently, innocently. "What?"

Rhys stared at me, his arm brushing against my back, sending tingling shivers down my body, and slowly, one corner of his lips curved. "Where is it?"

I huffed softly. "Not yet made."

"Shame." Rhys' eyes were twinkling. "You could let me take a peak."

I widened my eyes and whispered with a bright, cheeky smile: "Where's the fun in that?"

Rhys slowly started to smile brilliantly, his eyes crinkling, and my breath caught in my throat.

For a second, we stared at each other, something trumming in my chest and twisting in my stomach, then Rhys blinked, his eyes never leaving mine as he mumbled: "I think I might have to take the couch tonight."

I could feel my brows crunch in confusion. "Why?"

A deep crease formed in Rhys' cheek, his iris twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. "Because I'm not sure I would be able to control myself if I saw you in that flimsy nightgown again."

My heart dipped, and suddenly, something hot trickled down my spine.

"I could leave it off."

Rhys' iris hazed over, a rough sound breaking from his throat, and I hastily bit onto the inside of my cheek as a laugh bubbled in my chest, mixing with a rising, fluttering feeling.

"Beast,", Rhys mumbled, his husky voice leaving something twisting down in my stomach.

I shrugged, feeling my lips curve as I turned my gaze back towards the garden. "I mean, if you can't handle it -"

Rhys' gaze narrowed in on my face, became deep and twinkling, and something toppled in my chest as I nearly bit down onto my lip, wondering what on earth I had been thinking.

Swallowing it down, I looked over my shoulder, and Rhys stared at me, gaze molten and dark as slowly, a slight smirk made his lips curve, playful and mischievous.

"Is that a challenge, darling?"

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart swerved sharply.

I blinked, then I shrugged softly, smiling back cheekily. "I don't know, is it?"

Rhys breathed a deep chuckle and leaned forward, and I felt myself freeze when his warm breath brushed over my lips. Then he gently nudged his nose against the side of mine and mumbled, his lips almost brushing my cheek: "Careful." He pulled back just enough to stare at me, his violet iris reflecting the sky as they dragged over mine, twinkling. "I don't lose."

"First time for everything,", I whispered back breathily, feeling my heart rise into my throat, and Rhys slowly started to smile.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020 @lizziesfirstwife @brandywineeeee @t0uch-starved-h0e @sharknutz @valencia-rou @twsssmlmaa @waytoomanyteenagefeels @luvmoo @starrybeesandlibraries @corvusmorte @marmorjorts @bubnix @wallacewillow0773638 @ailyr92 @azrielshadows1nger @secretlyhers @icey--stars @awritingtree @cult-of-enji-todoroki @oksloan3 @emotional-loner @azrielslefttoe @ladybirdbeetle7 @brujitafantomatico @jurdanpotter

*+:｡.｡ A Scent of Desire ｡.｡:+*

Pairing: Academy! Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Notes: only one bed trope, childhood friends to lovers, sfw

Summary: You come from a very wealthy family in the Capitol, but despite this, you and Coriolanus grew up with an impossibly close relationship. However, as soon as you both joined the Academy and you naturally grouped with the other wealthy academy students, Coriolanus kept such interactions at a minimum and therefore spoke with you less and less. Years after you regrettably drift apart, his small family of three find themselves evicted from their penthouse. Your family graciously takes his in, but there’s only one problem: there are only two spare rooms, and Coriolanus insists on leaving those for his Grandma’am and his cousin. So of course, you offer your room to him, and that leads to something you’ve both been dreaming about since you were young.

Word Count: 1.9k

A.N: I feel like this was a little bit longer than I intended for it to be but I hope you all enjoy it anyway 😭💕

Request: from @javierpenasredshirt

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When your childhood friend Tigris Snow approached you one day after years of only communicating through letters, the desperation in her face worried you to your bones. Telling you with evident humiliation that she’d been evicted from her penthouse not too far from your own, you’d instantly offered respite to which she responded deeply graciously. Her cousin, however, was much more resistant. He’d tried as hard as he could to find another place to stay, but after they all came to the same end, he relented. Which is why he was finally sitting in your living room with his family and yours after eating the first full meal he’d had in a while.

“Darling, with Tigris and her Grandmother in the spare rooms, you’ll let Coriolanus stay in yours tonight, won’t you?” your mother arranges, sending an expectant look your way.

“Yes, of course. I can stay in the front room. I’ve got a lot of work to do anyhow, so I won’t be sleeping much either way.” you reply, Coriolanus instantly straightening his back in defiance.

“I couldn’t possibly. I’ll stay in the front room, it’s no bother at all,”

“I’ll have a maid set up one of the couches and you two can decide between yourselves who’s to take what, the rest of us should like to retire to our own rooms i should think,” your father says. He’d always had a knack for avoiding difficult decisions, and you didn’t know how intentional that happened to be.

So, after everyone had gone to rest, you and Coriolanus were alone in the kitchen so you could get yourselves a glass of water.

“You can stay in your room, I couldn’t possibly invade your privacy more than I already have.”

“I’d love to disagree with you but I highly doubt you’ve gotten any less stubborn over the years, Coryo.” you laugh, bringing the cool glass to your lips. In doing this, you missed the way his cheeks subtly flushed at your use of his nickname, having not heard it from you in much longer than he’d prefer.

“Of course not,” he chuckles, clearing his throat in an attempt to rid himself of any bashfulness you caused him, “I may have gotten more stubborn in fact.”

Barely more than an hour later, you couldn’t force yourself to concentrate on the Communications work in front of you. It was a class Coryo excelled in ( along with the rest ) so you quietly made your way from your room and back downstairs to ask for his help. As soon as you caught a glimpse of him from over the bannister, your breath caught in your throat the same way it always did when you saw him. You’d had feelings for him since before you’d even learned what love was, and you regretted nothing more than how you allowed your relationship to weaken the way it had. Even though you knew he didn’t have feelings for you, just talking to him was often enough to satiate your need for his closeness.

“Coryo?” you quietly called out his name as you approached him. He was looking upon the burning fire in the hearth before him, the light from the flames reflecting on the side of his face as he turned to face you sparking a pink blush upon your cheeks; you thanked the stars it was too dark for him to see. However, you soon found yourself regretting not putting a sweater over your pyjamas, as you were only going to sleep in a shirt slightly too big for you that covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

“Do you think you could help me with the homework for Communications? I can’t seem to grasp it,” you politely ask, trying your hardest to fight the nervousness biting at your words. He was still in his academy rouge, telling you that he’d never intended on trying to sleep. He had, however, discarded the skirt and the blazer leaving him only in his red dress pants and pale blue button-up, the sleeves of which he’d rolled up to expose his forearms.

“Of course. Do you have it with you?” he asks, and you curse yourself for not bringing it. It appeared as though you were too eager to have an excuse to talk to him to collect your bearings.

“No, I’ve left it in my room, I’ll just go and grab it-”

“We could just do it in your room if you’d like. It requires a few textbooks, and they’re terribly heavy to have to haul around,” he suggests, standing up and gesturing towards the staircase when you failed to give a response.

Truthfully, you knew if you spoke it’d come out a nervous mess, so all you did was nod and led the way back up to your bedroom. He’d been this way countless times in your youth, but this time was completely different. You’d both grown up since the last time, and the thought of him seeing such a vulnerable space made you much more nervous than you thought was rational.

You both settled onto the foot of your bed where there were multiple open textbooks, a collection of pens and a notebook open to a page full of crossed and scribbled out sentences. He began right away to help you with the work, and somehow - even with your nervousness - he managed to explain it in a way that had you questioning how you were ever confused.

After you’d finished and Coryo had helped you put everything away, he began to make his way towards the door and say goodnight, but you stopped him.

“You can stay in here, with me, if you’d like. I certainly don’t mind. The bed’s big enough for the both of us,” you offer, instantly internally cringing at how desperate you sounded. He stays silent for a second and regret begins to seep into your chest until he releases the door handle and a small smile makes its way onto his pink lips.

“If you certainly don’t mind, then neither do I.” he teases, stepping away from the door towards your much smaller, now embarrassed figure. “I’ll have to take off my clothes though. I didn’t bring anything to sleep in,” Were you going crazy from the blood rushing to your cheeks or did Coryo’s voice almost sound seductive at the end?

“Whatever is most comfortable. I’ll be in the bathroom to give you some privacy,” you calculatedly respond with a polite smile, determined not to embarrass yourself any further.

After you were sure he was in your bed, you re-entered your now darkened bedroom to find Coriolanus with your comforter only pulled up to his stomach, revealing his pale, toned chest, moonlight filtering through your window across his skin. With a difficult swallow, you wordlessly join him right at the edge, despite the valley of space between you.

“Goodnight, Coryo.” you manage to utter, your parents raising you to be polite overpowering your intense nerves.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice now deepened with fatigue.

A few minutes pass in silence and the only thing you can concentrate on is Coryo’s scent of something so inviting, a cologne made of desire or the like. However, your pining is interrupted by his voice softly breaking through the darkness.

“Thank you. I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” he says, and you smile at his admittance of gratitude.

“It’s no problem, Coryo. I’d never want to leave you without a place to sleep.” you respond quietly, turning over to face him despite the fact that you could see hardly anything of his face.

“I don’t just mean tonight. You’ve never told anyone at the Academy about my… situation, and you’ve been genuine when no-one else in that place has. That’s what I’m thanking you for,” his further admittance stuns you to silence, as it was never anything you’d ever even thought about doing. In your mind, your keeping of his secret was less of a respectable act and more of just unspoken, common decency. You acknowledged his gratitude anyway.

“Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you’ve always been so… nice. You’re not as nice to anyone at the Academy as you are to me.” he was right. You didn’t respect any of your classmates so while you’d be friendly to their faces, you detailed your disdain for them in your letters to Tigris. He must’ve read some of them. Or perhaps he’d just noticed the subtle way your expression would sour as soon as you exited a conversation with any of your classmates. Or how it never soured after you’d spoken to him.

“I respect you more than I respect them, Coryo. That’s all there is to it.” you simply reply.

“That’s all there is to it? Nothing more?” he almost sounds disappointed, but you just agree, horrified at the thought of accidentally revealing your feelings for him. But apparently the fact that neither of you could clearly see each other inspired a sort of confidence in the blond man, as the next thing he said made your heart stop.

“If it were down to my interpretation, I would’ve guessed you had feelings for me.”

Silence enveloped the room the way it had before while you desperately searched for a response to disagree with him. How humiliating it would be for him to know and to have to let you know he didn’t feel the same.

“Well, thankfully it isn’t down to your interpretation then.” you shakily respond, turning onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

“What a shame. If you did have feelings for me then I’d be able to tell you I returned them. But I suppose all of that’s irrelevant, as you don’t,” he replies, and you can hear the smugness dripping from his lips teasingly as your cheeks flush impossibly bright and your mind races with as many thoughts as you could possibly handle.

Seconds pass in silence, and you don’t move until you feel his weight shift next to you and the chill of his hand brush against your shoulder. It travels up past the sensitive skin of your neck until it lands on your jaw and after finding what he was looking for, he turns you gently to face him in the darkness. As your eyes meet, the moonlight illuminates the side of his profile in such a way that you can’t bring yourself to look away from the sight in front of you. His lips close around yours and your hand reaches to tangle in his blond curls that you’ve loved since your first time seeing them. He tastes of something sweet, something you’ve craved for so long.

He pulls away much too quickly for your preference before shakily exhaling.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he admits in such a low whisper that you could’ve easily missed it.

“Me too, Coryo,” you reply, relief blooming in your chest at the realisation that you no longer have to conceal your feelings for him. “How were you so sure I liked you?”

“You weren’t exactly brilliant at hiding it,” he jokes, laughing at your indignant scoff, before continuing “I’m kidding. I heard Arachne tease you about it after History. And Tigris left one of your letters out where you mentioned it.” You don’t hesitate to retract your hand at his admission and he laughs again before placing another small kiss on your lips.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s cute how much you think about me while you’re sitting in class.”

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new beginnings

an; Joel has completely overtaken my brain and I'm not mad about it. I kept thinking about how Joel would feel about being approached, and openly desired after everything that happens between game one and game two-although here, he doesn't lie to Ellie. (I won't say more in case anyone hasn't seen the full play through but iykyk) Enjoy a semi-well adjusted Joel. Thanks to @wheresarizona for talking me through this💜 and to @foli-vora for being the bestest cheerleader 💜

reblogs are appreciated

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ no minors, big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, a few spanks, generally clueless Joel, Ellie being a little shit (affectionately) alcohol, let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist part 2

He’d barely taken a sip of his drink when she sat down at his booth. 

“Hi.” She smiled brightly, mischief and amusement shining in her pretty eyes. He frowned at her. 

“Hi-” He took a look around, vaguely wondering if she’d mistaken him for someone else but she pressed on, introducing herself. 

“Now’s when you’d introduce yourself back.” Her smile remained, her eyes scanning him, something like interest arranging itself on her features. 

“I’m Joel.” He straightened out, watching her with growing confusion. 

“Hi Joel, it’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for him patiently. He obliged, giving hers a firm shake. 

“You need somethin’?” His tone was neutral, maybe a bit gruff but she laughed. 

“Depends. You offering anything?” She bit her lip, her drink grasped against her chest and for the first time in years Joel was shocked into silence. She was flirting with him.

“I–uh, I’m good.” He kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t how he’d meant to decline, she wasn’t deterred though, instead she rose, smile still present. 

“Come find me if you change your mind.” She winked then, and disappeared through the crowd. Leaving him with his drink, and his thoughts. 

-

You asked about him as you went about your day, bringing him up as casually as you could with your hands elbow deep in the dirt. 

“Joel? Joel Miller?” Tommy had been looking for Maria, overhearing you mention his name. 

“Joel yes, not sure about his last name-” He was smiling curiously and it clicked. “Is he your brother?” 

“Well, if we’re thinkin’ of the same guy then yes. Big, grumpy old man? Grey hair? Sour expression?” The horse he was leading knickered softly behind him. 

“Gorgeous older man, broad as all get out? Yes–is he single?” The dirt clumped by your feet as you transferred seedlings into bigger nursery pots. Tommy laughed. 

“Shit yeah, he’s single. Not sure how he’d react to you hittin’ on him though.” 

“He seemed a bit annoyed, and confused.” You conceded, “I am very interested in him.” You sighed to yourself, remembering the broadness of him. 

“You already hit on him?” His eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “God I wish I coulda been there to see that. What’d he say?” 

“Well, he basically said -I’m good- and frowned, he seemed a little lost which leads me to believe he doesn’t get approached much.” It was a crazy thought, that no one else would take their chance and speak to him. 

“Yeah I bet he did-” he was leading the horse away. “-he’s a bit closed off, but a good guy. Be patient with him!” He was off then, leading the horse towards the stables. 

-

It was another few days before you saw him at the bar again, that same annoyed expression on his handsome face. You wasted no time. 

“Hi Joel.” You slid into the spot next to him, looking up at him through your lashes. “Nice to see you again.” He frowned at you.

“Hi–” He signalled to the bartender, “You need somethin’ from me?” 

“Some company?” He pursed his lips and thoughts of kissing him flooded your mind. “Thought maybe you could teach me where you learned to be such a great conversationalist?” You raised your eyebrows and almost despite himself, he let out a bark of laughter, but caught himself quickly. 

“I am only here for a drink.” The bartender brought a glass over then, pouring him a healthy measure of something a dark amber colour. He turned with the cup in hand, facing you with something like uncertainty before making his way to the same booth from your first meeting. 

“So, Joel. Tell me about yourself.” You sat across from him, making yourself comfortable. 

“Not much to tell.” He took a gulp of his drink, scanning the room before his eyes fell back on you. They scanned you just as they did the room. “What about you then?” 

“What about me?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“I don’t think you were here when I came the first time.” He took another gulp. “Or maybe you were. I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t, I arrived about a month ago and now I work in agriculture.”

“Agriculture.” He repeated, “Growing the food.”

“That’s right, growing the food.” You nursed your own drink, taking in his features in the low light of the bar. “How old are you Joel?” He lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’d say fifty-six, fifty-seven come fall.” He gulped down the rest of his drink, “And you?”

“Somewhere in my mid thirties in a few months, could be thirty-seven or thirty-eight. I stopped counting a long time ago.” His frown deepened for a moment before he rose abruptly. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night.” With that he was gone.

-

The food always surprised him, no matter how long he’d been in Jackson, it always floored him how good it was. Warm and comforting, nothing like the dry stale things he’d eaten for–well years. 

Ellie was speaking to him but he was too focused on the food in front of him, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t listening until he felt her smack his arm. 

“Hello? Earth to Joel? Am I talking to my goddamn self?” Her face was pinched in annoyance. 

“Sorry, what?” He tore his attention away from his bowl and made himself listen. 

“I said—“ she sighed big, “Tommy says he can help us fix the garage for me.” She spooned more food into her mouth, “I want it to be like a loft.” 

“Mhm.” He grunted into his bowl, “Sure.”

“Hey Joel, nice to see you during the day.” He hadn’t noticed her come in. Seeing her standing there with what looked to be a basket of different produce made him sputter, luckily he didn’t choke. “Hi-“ she spoke to Ellie then, introducing herself with that same beaming smile she always wore. He found himself thinking about how pretty she was.

“I’m Ellie, nice to meet you.” There was something in Ellie’s voice he didn’t like, a cheekiness and he just knew he’d be hearing about this later. “So, how do you know Joel?”

“Oh we met at the bar, are you two related?” She gestured between the two of them.

“Somethin’ like that.” He spoke low, unsure how to answer the simple question.

“He’s just my asshole caretaker. The bar sounds fun though, Joel—should I leave you two alone?” She was enjoying this way too much.

“No need, I’m just making a delivery, but hopefully I’ll see you around.” She bit her lip, watching him intently as she moved a few steps away. “It was nice to meet you Ellie.” With a final blinding smile, she was off towards the kitchen.

He sighed big at the way Ellie practically vibrated next to him.

“Don’t.” He warned.

“Oh but you know I fucking will!” She was giddy with excitement.

“Stop it Ellie.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” He pinched his brow, “Can I be your best man or person or whatever? I’ve never been to a wedding—“

“Ellie quit it, it’s nothin’.” He pushed his food away, no longer in the mood to eat with the way his stomach felt, chucking it up to annoyance at Ellie and definitely not adrenaline at seeing her.

“What? Joel are you fucking blind? That woman likes you! She likes you a lot, you gonna ask her out?” He sighed again, rising from his seat. 

“Ellie, I am beggin’ you, please don’t make a big fuss.” He gave her a hard stare. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He quickly put his jacket on, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Yeah yeah, you goddamn grump.” She went back to eating, leaving him to get on with his day and he couldn’t have been more grateful. 

- 

You found him at the same booth a few days later, nursing what looked to be his regular drink of choice and once again sat with him. This time though, as you tried to make conversation it finally hit you. His attitude didn’t change, his frown remained in place, his answers were short and your heart sank. 

What you’d hoped was just a gruff exterior, a facade waiting to be taken down was now looking more like his general personality. 

I think I’m barking up the wrong tree here. 

The realisation weighed heavy in your gut as you sat there with him, forcing a conversation he obviously didn’t want to have. You watched him struggling, the cogs in his mind turning, no doubt looking for a way to get out of having to entertain you. 

“So–you got any family alive–?” His voice was unsure and suddenly you felt foolish. 

“Nope, all dead. Well, thanks for the company, I’ll leave you to it.” You shot back the rest of your drink and rose quickly, ignoring the shame and hurt swirling in your chest, moving away from him to lick your wounds by yourself. 

-

“What do you want me to say Joel?” Tommy was irritated, his back turned to Joel while he went about cleaning his weapons. 

“I’d like to know why is all, I don’t get it.” He stood at the door to the workshop, his arms crossed.

“God knows why but she’s sweet on you.” The rifle was taken apart on the workbench, holding most of Tommy’s attention. “But like I said before, just talk to her, or let her know if you aren’t interested.” 

“She’s a beautiful young woman, and I’m a grumpy old man.” He couldn’t help but kick at the floor, his mind a whir of inadequacy and confusion. 

“You got that fuckin’ right.” It was said under his breath but Joel heard it just the same. 

“I haven’t been with anyone since Tess, Tommy.” He sighed out loud. His brother's attention turned to him fully then, the tools in his hands now dropped to the table. 

“I know that, you don’t have to be with anyone if you don’t want to. Now this girl likes you, and it sounds to me like you like her back. So be a grown-up and talk to her.” His younger brother gave him a half smile, sending Joel away with more than enough food for thought. 

-

He’d had a pep talk with himself on the way over to the bar. 

Smile. 

Ask questions. 

Be nice to her.

It was a simple list but ever since things had gone to shit, Joel had found it hard to keep up with friendly niceties. Not much room for that in the world of today, things were different here though and he had to get with the program, or he’d be looking at the rest of his time on this earth alone. 

He thought back to how things had been with Tess, how naturally they'd come together, how easy–but it only seemed easy to him because Tess had been the one to go to work. She’d taken the raw anger and muscle that was Joel and shaped him, honed him and directed him towards their common goal. She’d initiated every aspect of their relationship and it was only now that he realised how grateful he’d been.

The bar was busy, his usual booth was taken so he stood near the counter, waiting for the barkeep to bring him his usual drink. His eyes raked through the room. He ignored the relief he felt when he finally spotted her sitting with a group of people he didn’t know, watching the easy way she smiled, the way her face lit up when she laughed. She spotted him then and he frowned to see her dim a bit. She raised her glass to him in greeting, but she didn’t join him like he thought she would. 

So he waited. 

He had one drink, thinking maybe she didn’t want to be rude to her friends. He had another drink, his eyes finding their way back to where she sat every few minutes, perking up when finally she rose from the table. He ran through his notes to himself as she weaved her way through the patrons, but instead of finding him, she waved goodbye to the bartender, and walked out into the night. 

Maybe she was tired. 

He thought to himself as he walked back home, ignoring the tiny voice in his head, the one that told him she changed her mind. 

He shook the thought away. She just needed some effort, what he needed to do was walk up to her and sit with her for a change. He needed to take the initiative and the next time he saw her at the bar, he would.

-

She wasn’t there. 

He asked around for her, noting that no one had seen her at the bar in a few days. 

He didn’t want to admit that he was worried about her, didn’t want to say the words out loud, not to himself, or to Tommy, or god forbid Ellie. He was, though and the feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach, a boulder he carried alone. 

He sighed, annoyed with himself at not having been able to just express the way she made him feel, to tell her that just as she’d been looking at him - god knows why - he’d been looking back at her. He sighed again, thankful her house was just another block away, reminding himself that this town was safe, that she’d probably be busy. 

-

The sky was clear enough to see the stars, the Milky Way a great swathe across the sky. Too bright to be inside and so you’d made yourself comfy on your porch, the cooling cup of tea in your hands  your only companion for the night. 

I should see if I can find myself a dog or something.

The thought bounces around with growing interest, would be nice to have something to cuddle and keep you company.

There’s movement just beyond the walkway up towards your porch and for a second you think it might just be people walking home from the movie but the shape is familiar.

“Joel?” You’re surprised to see him here, “does Maria need something?” You’re on high alert.

“No, I-uh, I came lookin’ for you,” he slows his stride midway up the walkway, 

“Oh, okay—you need something?”

“I was just wonderin’ where you been. Haven’t seen you at the bar, and last time you didn’t come talk to me. Wanted to see if you were okay.” He scratched at the back of his neck, his discomfort apparent.

“It’s alright Joel.” You let out a breath, grateful for his worry but resigned. “You don’t have to check up on me. I can take a hint, I figured I’d leave you be.” You gave him a small smile. 

“What do you mean?” He took another step forward, inching his way to the foot of your porch.

“I mean, I get it. You’re not interested and it’s okay. I can deal with a crush, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because you don’t like me back. I’m a big girl I’ve been rejected before and no doubt I’ll be rejected again—“

“I’m not rejectin’ you I just—“ He took one step up.

“Really Joel, It’s okay, I’ll be fine and you don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“What is it you like? I mean physically, you find me attractive I guess but why? I’m a grouchy old man.” He crossed his arms, his face pinched with an almost angry curiosity. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Why am I attracted to you? I don’t know Joel. I think you’re gorgeous for one. You’re big and strong, and I like that you’re older than me. I like your face and your hands, and when I look at you I just wanna sit in your lap and kiss.” It came out without your permission but there it was, honesty. “I won’t say you aren’t a little scary, in the way that I can see you’ve probably done some things you thought you’d never have to do, but that’s the world we live in now I suppose. Can’t say I haven’t done some of that stuff too.”

“You think all that of me?” He took another step up.

“Yes, now if you don’t want that kind of attention from me, I can understand that and eventually I’ll get over you.” His hair was combed back, the grey of it catching the light of the moon.

“I don’t want you to get over me.” One final step and now he’s standing over you. “I’ll never understand why you think those things about me but I’d like to try, maybe get a drink together like a real date.”

“You want to take me out on a date?” Your heart raced, butterflies fluttering around in your belly.

“Yes ma’am. I think you’re real pretty, and I’d like to take you out for a drink. ” He smiles, making you swoon a little. “Come on, we got time.” He holds his hand out, and you take it without hesitation. 

—-

The walk home from the bar and your official first date was more akin to a stroll, the two of you weaving your way through the streets until your little house came into view. His voice was so soothing, the low pitch of it the soundtrack for the trip back and you did your best to enjoy the sound of it. He stopped when you reached the walkway and that pesky honesty bubbled up and out of your mouth.

“You ever gonna kiss me Joel?” His lips looked so soft, the plush of them a subject of many of your daydreams.

“I was plannin’ on it, was waitin’ til’ we got to your front door.” His hands dug their way into his pockets, a nervous gesture.

Wordlessly you threaded your arm with his and led him up the steps towards your door, hardly able to contain the smile and once you’d made it there, he went for it. Shy and tentative at first, a soft press of his lips to yours but it quickly changed. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, begging for entrance just as his hands moved from your shoulders to rest at your hips.

You can’t help but whimper into his mouth, can’t help but press yourself closer, stand on your tippy toes to be as near to him as you can be. 

“Come inside-“ you breathe the words onto his mouth when you both finally pull away. “Come inside and kiss me some more.” You wrap one arm around his neck, pressing the palm of the other onto his face, satisfying the urge to run your fingers through the greying patches of hair. 

“Yeah? You want me to come in?” He pulls you close, his big palms on your back, the warmth of them seeping through your layers. 

“Yes, do you want to?” You press kisses to his jaw, to his lips and neck, the beating of his heart thrums against your lips with every kiss you press to his throat. 

“God, yes.” His breathy admission makes you drip, makes you rush to open the door and pull him inside. 

He falls onto the couch and you’re close behind him, your knees bracketing his hips to fulfil all of your favourite fantasies. The smile on his face when you settle onto his lap heats your blood, it urges you to slip your hands around his neck and hold him close, to grind your aching core against the hardening pillar of his sex underneath you while you kiss him just how you’ve been wanting to. 

He moans into your mouth. His hands sweep downwards from your ribs, they land heavy on your ass and pull you closer, coaxing a steady river of slick to drip out and onto your panties. 

“I want you so bad Joel.” You bite his lip, relishing the groan he gifts you with. “I’m so fucking wet for you.” Your fingers slip through the soft waves at the back of his neck. His eyes find you and he lets out a low Fuck, his eyes lustblown in the low light of your cozy little livingroom. “Can I sit on your cock?” You ask him in your sweetest voice, “Please?” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his forehead pressed to yours and he nods. 

“Yes baby, you can have whatever you want.” 

Within a few frantic minutes, his cock was out, resting heavily against the softness of his belly. You can’t help but stare at it while moving away to quickly shed your bottom layers. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. He’s so thick, the head of him an angry red and sticky with his own arousal. 

You sat back onto his thighs, moving up to notch him at your dripping entrance–his hands guided you down slowly, until you sat flush and he was sheathed to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck you feel so fucking good.” His eyes are shut tight and you sit motionless for a moment, breathing through the delicious stretch of him. 

“So do you, you’re fucking huge Joel.” You clench around him and relish the filthy moan he lets out. His hands are heavy, gripping the globes of your ass, holding you tight to him. 

Your heart is pounding, both in your chest and in your cunt, you bounce to its beat–unable to hold out any longer. You let out a hiss at the way his fingers dig into your flesh, relishing the thought of feeling the evidence of your coupling in the days to come.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grits the words out, his mouth pressed against the collar of your shirt—too many layers. It only takes a moment to open your shirt, to pull down the cups of your bra and even less than that to have his mouth attach itself to the stiff peak of your nipple. 

It was obscene the way he moaned into your skin, his mouth a steady suck while you did your best to bounce, slick seeping out around him, finally finding the rhythm that inches you closer to your peak but his eyes close tight, reinforcing his grip on your hips.

“Oh fuck, fuck baby wait—oh god I’m gonna come—“ he let out a shudder against the spit slicked skin of your breast and you felt him twitch inside you, felt the spurt of him deep.

It was much faster than you expected. Faster than you’d hoped; you couldn’t help but be incredibly flattered.

“Jesus Christ–” His face was pressed up against your chest, his hands sweeping slowly from your ass, up to rub your back. “I’m sorry, feel like a fuckin’ teenager again.” 

“Don’t be, hell of a way to make a girl feel good about herself.” You tried to ignore the way your own climax was slipping away from you. “Makes me feel sexy.” You pulled his face up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. 

“You are sexy, incredibly sexy.” He looked so beautiful in that moment, with the flush crawling up his neck and stars in his eyes. “But I want you to come.” His hand moved, his thumb slipping into your mouth, the pad of it sliding against your tongue for a moment before he slipped it between the lips of your sex to circle around your neglected little clit. 

You couldn’t help but clench around him–couldn’t help but tighten your hold onto the grey waves of his hair as he kept up his dizzying rhythm, 

“I want you to feel good.” His voice was a velvet rasp, “I want you to come around my cock.” His mouth found your nipple then, his tongue laving at it mercilessly.

It was right there. The friction of his thumb just right, his mouth a steady suck. Heat crawled up your spine, bloomed in your core and with a final swirl you clenched around him, waves of pleasure crashing through you like waves on a shore.

“Good god—“ you folded into him, arms wrapped around his neck tight.

“I feel like I could melt into this sofa.” He was blissed out, softening inside you.

“Me too.” You pressed kisses to his cheeks, showering him with post coital affection.

“We won’t though.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye when he looked up, “let me catch my breath, then you’re gonna get it.” 

-

His grip is tight on your hips, the span of his hands on your skin is almost dizzying but you couldn’t focus on that just now. Instead you focused on the way he filled you, on the way his cock was splitting you open in the best way possible. You focused on the wet, obscene sounds coming from between your legs. 

You focused on how wet you were, on how it seeped out around him and down your thighs, on the comforting feel of his body pressed against yours. 

“That’s it baby, take it–” He snapped his hips faster and you had to put your arms up in front to keep from moving up and bumping your face into the headboard. “This what you wanted?” He bent forward, one hand sliding up the soft skin of your belly, up to hold the weight of your breast in his hand, your nipple tightening almost painfully against his palm. All you could do was moan, throaty cries of pleasure escaping from somewhere in your throat. 

His confidence was high, you could hear it in the breathy laugh he let out at your inability to speak. Could feel it as he slowed down from a heavy thrust to a slow grind, his groin pressed up tightly against the swell of your ass. 

He gave you no warning. 

A loud crack–a heavy spank made you gasp into the damp sheets under your mouth. 

It was a shock, but a very welcome one. Heat spreads through your face, it tingles its way along your skin; into your breasts and through your core and you feel a wave of slick drip out around you but he’s silent. There’s a flicker of doubt in the way he stays completely still. 

“Talk to me baby.” His voice is soft; chaste. His hand soothes over the stinging skin where his palm had landed. 

“Do it again.” You barely recognize your own voice, a low wanton thing.  

He obeys, another loud crack on the other cheek as his thrusts pick up. This time his pace is brutal, his hands landing yet another smack before he’s bent over and reaching around, his fingers a delicious swirl at your clit. 

“Soak my cock, be good for me and come.” His voice is in your ear, his teeth taking your lobe into his mouth while he bodily shoves you over the edge and into a blinding climax. You clench around the thickness of him, the muscles in your thighs tensing as you crest and the force of it pulls him under with you. A filthy moan in your ear before you feel the hot spurt of him deep inside. 

“Jesus Christ Joel–” You breathe hard into the sheets. He pulls out with a hiss and rolls to lay beside you.

“Good?” You can hear the pride swelling in his chest. “Did I redeem myself for comin’ too quick downstairs?” His drawl is more pronounced now with the way he almost slurs his words. You see the relaxation in his face when you turn to look at him. It looks good on his handsome face, almost like seeing a glimpse of a younger Joel, some long lost carefree version of him. If there had ever been that version of him at all. It was a nice image to hold in your mind, him–young and smiling. 

You laugh, giddy with pleasure. 

“It’s not a big deal, really flattering actually.” You trace a scar on his chest idly, the solid beat of his heart reassuring under your fingers. 

“Embarrasin’ more like. I didn’t want you to think I was some two-pump chump.” His hand holds yours to his skin and you ignore the way your heart races, ignore the way it has nothing to do with the remnants of your orgasm. “You got somethin’ I can clean you up with?” He pulls away to sit up with a groan. 

“What a gentleman.” You follow him. You can feel him dripping out of you when you slide to sit next to him at the edge of the bed, the perverse pleasure making you beam. “I got a better idea–” You stand and pull him up, “shower time.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He smiles, and follows you to your bathroom.

---

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hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

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

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away.