tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, rom-com, coworkers to lovers, fake-dating, slight slow burn, spencer wears glasses, angry love confession, coming on age, family rivalry, spencer is a gentleman
Chapter 1: The Proposal
Your hands hold the satin paper with elegant lettering. The little card read:
“Dear cousin, I hope you can finally bring somebody to my wedding. Xoxo, Lisa.”
You squint.
“Of course I'm bringing someone to the wedding, cousin,” you thought.
Lisa.
Lisa was the type of girl everyone noticed in a crowded room. She was always the best dressed, the lovely one, the one who brought home the hottest guys. And she was your number one rival.
It all began when you were just two little kids. You brought a wildflower to your grandma—she brought a whole bouquet.
Then, in primary school, you got an A on a test… and she got an A+.
In high school? Same story. Even though you were captain of the swimming team, she somehow managed to be number one in almost every sports club.
And now?
Now that you’ve landed your dream job working at the BAU, surrounded by the most brilliant minds in the country—
Lisa had two master's degrees and was marrying Kyle Johnson: neurosurgeon, ex-top model, and your family’s favorite human being.
You were sick of it.
“So…” began Emily, “that’s why you were so angry earlier?”
“Kyle Johnson? Damn, that guy’s abs are all over the internet,” Morgan said.
You raised an eyebrow at him. Garcia chuckled.
“And what are you planning to do? The wedding’s in a month. You think you can find someone by then?” Garcia asked.
You sat at your desk and put your hands on your head.
“It’s not just that. I need to bring a man better than hers.”
Everyone giggled. And you whimpered.
“Statistically speaking, the probability of finding a man who outperforms Mr. Johnson in both intellect and social appeal within a month is... quite low. However, with optimal conditions and strategic planning, it’s not impossible.” Spencer said, dropping one of his classic statistical gems into the conversation.
At that moment, an idea lit up in your mind. You stood up from your chair and walked straight to him.
You looked at him with deadly precision. He stared back at you, confused.
“Do I have something on my face?” he asked innocently.
“It’s you!” you exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“What do you mean by—? Oh,” Garcia said, catching on.
“Reid. Be my boyfriend. Please.”
“I am extremely offended that you didn't think about me at any point. Did I ever cross your mind?” asked Morgan dramatically. “Reid? Really?”
You laughed at him.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” pointed Garcia, rolling her eyes. “I totally see what she sees.”
“Reid could talk about neuroscience for hours,” commented Emily.
“He has three PhDs,” added JJ, who’s just joined the conversation.
“And he's beautiful,” finished Garcia with a wink.
Spencer fidgeted awkwardly, clearly not used to being the center of this much attention.
“I… I suppose I fulfill some desirable partner attributes,” he mumbled.
You grinned and pointed a finger at him. “See? Humble and brilliant.”
Morgan throwed his hands in the air. “Alright, alright! I surrender. I’ll just be the ridiculously handsome, emotionally available best man at the BAU. No big deal.”
Everyone laughed.
“So… would you be my boyfriend at my cousin's wedding?”, you asked, looking at him with a mix of mischief and desperation.
“Hmm, I don’t think that is a good idea because… I mean, statistically speaking, pretending to be in a relationship can lead to emotional confusion and—”
“Come on, Reid!” interrupted Morgan. “Aren’t you capable of beating Johnson at neuroscience?”
Reid stopped. Blinked. “I… I am pretty much capable.”
“And you’re ten times hotter when you start explaining complex theories without blinking,” added Garcia with a smirk.
Reid froze.
“Am I… hotter?”, he asked doubtfully.
"If you pretend to be my boyfriend at my cousin’s wedding... I’ve got something you might like.”
Reid raised an eyebrow.
"What could possibly be worth me pretending to be socially competent?”
Without saying a word, you pulled out your phone, unlocked it, scrolled a bit… and flashed the screen at him.
"Recognize this?”
Reid leaned closer, adjusting his glasses.
"...Wait. That’s the first edition of A Study in Scarlet. That binding is from 1887. Who has this? Where did you get this photo?”
"Don’t worry about that. Just know it could be in your hands soon."
He looked at you.
Then at the photo.
Then at you again.
And swallowed.
He sighed like you've just offered him a deal with the devil.
"Fine. I’m in."
He stared at the picture one more time, visibly geeking out.
You walked back to your desk thinking: “Oh crap, now where am I going to get the first edition of A Study in Scarlet?”
After that conversation, the team regrouped to go over the new case details. Everything worked out fine.
At the end of the day, Spencer approached you.
“Um… I was wondering… I mean, I don’t really have a lot of experience in, uh…” he started.
“Yeah,” you interrupted with a small smile, “but don’t worry, we can make it work.”
“How?”
“We’ll practice. Tomorrow I’ll bring a document with all the important data about me. You should do the same.”
That night, you slept very well because you knew you could beat that arrogant girl.
The next morning, you arrived at your desk whistling a cheerful tune, in an unusually good mood.
You were in such high spirits, it was almost suspicious. You dropped your stuff, made a beeline for the coffee pot, and poured yourself the usual.
Before heading back, you casually slid the folder onto Spencer’s desk, like it was top-secret intel. A couple of minutes later, Spencer walked in and handed you his folder without a word—just that little knowing smile.
You opened it and blinked—it was extensive. Like, color-coded-tabs-and-footnotes extensive.
“Morning, turtledoves,” Morgan greeted, shooting a smug look your way.
You raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Spencer just sipped his coffee, unfazed—as if he got called a “turtledove” daily.
Penelope entered the room, dressed in one of her unique outfits. She was all smiles.
“Morning, sweetie,” she said, looking at Derek. “Morning, turtledoves!” she added in a sing-song tone, glancing at you and Spencer.
“What…?” you began, but didn't finish the question. Did everyone agree on calling you both “turtledoves” now?
“I’ve just had the best idea ever!” Penélope exclaimed.
“What’s that, baby girl?” Derek asked.
“You two should go on a date!” she said, looking straight at you and Spencer.
“What?” you asked, baffled.
“So that you don’t get nervous at the wedding. You’ll get used to each other!”
Spencer blinked, processing. “That’s… actually not a terrible idea.”
You snapped your head toward him. “Excuse me?”
“I mean—statistically speaking, shared experiences before high-pressure events can decrease social anxiety.”
Penelope clapped like it was her birthday. “See?! Science agrees! It’s settled then. I’ll plan it.”
“No, no, no. Nobody said anything about planning,” you protested. “Besides, we already got the information needed.”, you said as you lent her the folder Spencer gave to you.
“What is this?... Lists? Bullets? Colors? Post its? Oh no, that's so anti-romantic. I cannot accept it.”
“Garcia…”, you said, scratching your head. “This isn't about romance…”
“Oh, but I insist, turtledoves,” she said with a mischievous grin. “It’s for the sake of the wedding. You want it to be perfect, don’t you?”
Derek laughed. “Garcia, don’t scare the kids.”
Spencer looked vaguely horrified. You? You were already making a mental list of escape routes. Oh God, what did I get myself into?
Summary: A fake dating AU. Lies always have consequences; you just never imagined they would look like this. You should have known better… Aka the one where shit hits the fan.
Warnings: a lot of swearing, rudely interrupted fluff, implied stalking, creepiness and sick beliefs leading to violence at its finest, kidnapping
Story Masterlist
Coming back to work was a true life-hazard.
First of all; you didn’t sleep properly. Basically not at all. You couldn’t get Steve out of your head, the feeling of his lips on yours and their taste, his hand on your face, on your hip, the sensation under your hands, the sincerity of his tone when he spoke about you two together— all of that kept you awake, ruminating in your head, lines between reality and fantasy blurring in the restless slumber keeping you company the whole night.
Second of all; there was a pile of paperwork to fill since you had been absent for the past two days.
And the worst of all; your colleague was there. And she was terrible at hiding her curiosity, downright gawking at you, her eyes following your every movement, every nervous shift in your posture, not single one of your sighs escaping her attention.
Hint: you were mostly sighing because you could feel her glare on you and you knew she wanted to ask about everything, but gave you the opportunity to start talking on your own, while being passively aggressive as fuck and driving you insane.
You didn’t have the slightest idea what to tell her, because you sucked at lying, you felt bad about lying to her in the first place, but you also signed an agreement on confidentiality.
So… where did that leave you?
You sighed again, leaning your back onto the backrest of your ergonomic chair and crossed your arms on your chest, spinning the chair to face your friend.
“Yes, Irma? Something on your mind?” you asked slowly and she grinned.
“What the fuck is happening?” she blurted out, using the swirling hair as a means of transport, wheeling to you and despite yourself, you snorted at her ridiculousness.
“Well, you’re staring at me the whole day while I’m working through this big-ass pile of papers, that’s what,” you shrugged light-heartedly, while your heart in fact sped up in your chest.
Why hadn’t you just kept your mouth shut and let her come to her own conclusions only?
“Har, har. Spill it. I leave you alone for two days…” You left her alone, thank you very much, because you hadn’t as much as shown your face in the office. “You’ve been ignoring me.” In that respect, she was correct; she had been blowing your phone and you blatantly ignored her. “You can’t escape me now. So…what the hell?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she huffed, patting her feet on the ground again, her inching closer. “Congrats and all that, glad that the heart-eyes exchange that’s been going on for a while escalated and you finally got together, but what is all that interview and engagement bullshit?”
You groaned, turning back to your table, and let your forehead meet the desk.
Right. Irma was convinced that there was something going on between you and Steve (she very pointedly called it ‘eye-fucking’, god bless her for saying ‘heart-eyes’ just this once) ever since you had started going to lunch with him alone – courtesy of Sam being busy at the moment and hence not being able to join you two and your friendly lunch date.
“Got the sentiment, not the words, hon. Spill it.”
You huffed, your lips barely moving as you were practically kissing the table. “It’s…” What was the word they always used? “…classified.”
“Oh come on! I’m your friend! And who am I gonna tell?” she exclaimed, half-offended, half-excited. “I’m totally harmless!”
She… had a point, right? Who was she gonna tell? She was your friend and she even covered for you when you messed something up, she was loyal to the company, being there longer than you and—and-
And you still couldn’t spill your guts to her.
Or could you?
Raising your head and meeting her expectant gaze, you kept your mouth shut as you reached for your phone and started typing.
Peripherally, you could see her frown in discontent and confusion.
“I’m sorry, are you ignoring me again, young lady?!”
You held up your index finger, sent the text and then you resumed to ignore her.
She rudely waved her hand in front of your face when you returned to the paperwork.
“It’s classified,” you repeated absently, distractedly reading over the lines of the document, checking for typos.
Irma threw her hands in the air and refused to leave, looking over your shoulder as your heart nearly gave out with the insane pace it was set up in.
Had she always been so nosy?
You almost jumped out of your skin when your phone started vibrating, lighting up with Steve’s face.
You hadn’t spoken or texted ever since the taxi dropped you off at your apartment after the interview. You had spent the rest of the night alone, perfectly content with a take-out and your intrusive thoughts about ridiculously attractive and kind supersoldier keeping you from some quality sleep.
“Your boyfriend’s calling you,” your friend pointed out, grin in her voice as you sarcastically thanked her for her observation and accepted the call.
“Hey- hey, Steve,” you stuttered to the phone nervously, not expecting him to react to your stupid text so soon, with a phone-call no less.
“Hey,” he greeted you courtly and you gulped, avoiding your friend’s gaze. You were dating Steve; whatever he was about to tell you, you shouldn’t look spooked when talking to him in front of anyone who wasn’t involved. “I assume you’re talking about your office-mate?”
“Y-yes.”
Your breath was knocked out of your lungs when he proceeded to tell you her full name, social security number, her marital status and names of siblings and parents.
“Yeah, that’s… eh, that’s her.”
Your colleague raised her eyebrow questioningly.
“Do you trust her?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Her records are clean, but we can’t have her telling tales anywhere.”
“Yes,” you confirmed, trying to sound firm.
The idea of confiding in someone who wasn’t an Avenger and didn’t have a penis was way too tempting and you started to getting giddy on the inside, already feeling the relief at the mere idea of spilling it to someone.
You melted into your seat when Steve spoke up again, his tone much more like the one you were used to, hell, softer even.
“I understand this must be difficult for you. You deserve to talk about it with your friends and I… I understand that maybe you don’t… you don’t want to talk about it with me. Just… you can, you know? You can tell me anything, doll,” Steve coaxed you, voice falling an octave.
Yeah? How about I tell you that I think I love you? What would you say to that? Can I tell you that? Because I really want to, especially when you’re using that stupid, stupid petname-
“…but I understand. It’s your call. If you trust her, you can tell her.”
There were literally no limits to Steve’s kindness, you were sure of it. You truly were doomed, weren’t you? How could you not love him?
“Thank you, Steve. I… really appreciate it. I… I trust you too, you know?” you whispered, momentarily forgetting he wasn’t the only one hearing you.
You could imagine the subtle lift of the corners of his lips – lips that kissed you yesterday, oh dear God, lips you dreamed of –, the gentle light in his eyes, yet with a tiny cocky spark in the irises… you could picture all of that only by hearing the tone of his voice when he answered.
“I hope so. You’re doing alright after yesterday?”
No. “Y-yeah. You?”
He sighed tiredly. “Work is work is work and the PR is sending me e-mails that are basically just streak of curses – I’m learning new words today –, because their phones won’t stop ringing. I’m fine.”
You chuckled, imagining Steve’s eyes widening and his cheeks flushing at every new swearword, probably a new term for a manhood.
“Aww, you poor baby,” you cooed, your lips automatically curving in a smile. “Do you want me to beat them up for you?”
“God, no!” he blurted out, sounding almost as if he panicked at the image of you trying to sock the employees of personal relations in their jaw. Whether his horror was caused by the fear for them or you, you’d never know. He chuckled then. “Thanks for the offer though.”
Someone tugged at your skirt and you realized that you were, in fact, not alone in the room.
“Anytime, Steve. Gotta go back to work now. Stay strong?”
“I’ll try. Same to you. See you for lunch?”
You grinned. “Yep. Sam already told me he will be our bodyguard. Brave man,” you teased Steve and you could practically see him rolling his eyes.
“Brave man,” he mimicked, as if jealous. “He sure is. See you then. Have a nice morning.”
Was it a hobby of his to cause your heart to burst with his insufferably gentle voice or something?
“You too, Steve. Bye.”
“You two are honesty disgusting. If I wasn’t so happy for you, I might puke. And did you just ask your boyfriend for permission to tell me? Really?!” Irma instantly chimed in and you shot her a look to cool her down.
“Yes. I told you: it’s classified,” you deadpanned. “I’ll tell, but not now, not here. Girls’ night?”
She pumped her fists in victory gesture and you sighed, mentally preparing for an interrogation. You had to go somewhere where they had no desk-lamps; she would aim it to your face for dramatic effect, you were sure of it. You couldn’t believe she was almost five years older than you sometimes.
“I thought you’ll never ask, future Mrs. Rogers.”
You grabbed the nearest paper, hoping it wasn’t important, and scrunched it up. With your perfect toss, it hit her square to the middle of her head as she unwisely turned her back to you.
She snorted in laughter, but let you breathe for the rest of the workday.
The evening couldn’t come fast enough.
Contrary to what you thought when learning you’d talk fake relationships with Irma in the evening, the day actually passed in a blur; a very exhausting blur filled with work, with a highlight of the lunch with Steve and Sam. You only attracted a few more glances than usual, people discouraged by the two Avengers glaring at them if they lingered with their eyes for too long. At the same time, Sam served as a mediator for you and Steve, keeping the conversation light and off potentially dangerous topics like kissing, so that was… nice.
Naturally, you thought the night would turn out nice as well. Which… it did? Kinda…? The alcohol helped.
Irma, the amazing friend she was, got you tipsy first, listened patiently and then proceeded to tell you that you were in some deep shit, totally screwed – or not screwed at all, to be precise – and that it would blow up to your face, because you could be terrible at communicating and voicing your feelings, which was why you were in this situation in the first place, because otherwise you and Steve already would have been a couple, you could have, if you just opened your damn mouth and told Steve how you felt weeks ago, after which he would have kissed you and screwed you against a wall or something, because eye-fucking, duh, I keep telling you that.
You had a wonderful girl-friend. Was it too late to call Sam?
But in the end, confiding Irma in felt really good and overall, it was a great night.
You should have known something was going shit all over it.
As tipsy as you were, you and Irma agreed to take a walk rather than call a cab, saving money and reducing the danger of throwing up.
What an idiotic idea since you lived over twenty blocks from each other!
The moment her door clicked shut behind her, you snuggled up into your coat and started walking; at much faster pace than before. Not that it was easy in the heels, because of course you were wearing heels; it was girls’ night and you wanted to feel pretty and you hadn’t anticipated walking a long distance in them.
Silly you.
Feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol which had been warming you up before vanish, you shivered, looking over your shoulder when a particularly loud guy from a group of drunks by the near-by bar yelled how much he loved America.
You could relate, partly at least, by one half to be precise, because after your heart-to-heart with Irma, you were pretty certain you were at least a tiny bit in love with its infamous Captain, but who cared. You didn’t feel drunk anymore and other drunk people scared you.
Hell, everything seemed frightening to you now for some inexplicable reason, especially since another guy from the group catcalled you as he noticed you turning around to glance at them. You quickly whipped your head back and quickened your pace.
Turning around the corner, you sighed in relief when you heard them start singing, apparently not too upset you disappeared from their view.
It was only about a minute later, when a shiver ran down your spine, a premonition of something dark, shady, chilling. Vaguely remembering that glancing over your shoulder and actually spotting the person whose eyes you felt following you might only encourage them, you kept glaring ahead, yet couldn’t help but add to your tempo. Your feet were starting to hurt, but you didn’t give a crap, feeling your heart jumping to your throat, beating wildly, your chest feeling tight.
You were confident enough that people didn’t recognize you throughout the whole night at the bar, let alone identifying you as Cap’s girl on the night New York street; everyone was much more focused on the fact that their beloved Captain liked it so he put a ring on it, rather than actually giving you a second glance, you were sure. And contrary to the popular belief, people – even of New York – had other things to live than for Avengers’ romance.
Still, you were a woman – a stupid lone woman walking the street at night, in heels no less, and really, just how did you make such a stupid decision at your age? To be fair, you were fake-dating a man you likely loved, so the bar was set very low.
And because despite your poor decision-making you were still a grown-up, so you did the first thing that came to your mind.
No, you didn’t call a cab.
You called Steve.
You were surprised when he answered after two rings only; perhaps you shouldn’t have. Steve Rogers was always at his friends’ disposal.
Steve Rogers was also very sleepy when he spoke.
“Hey,” he greeted you, quietly and you could punch yourself for waking him up. Of course he was asleep! It was like… oh, two a.m. already. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry!” you blurted out instantly, feeling like an idiot.
Not because Steve was always asleep at two a.m. – in fact, you had the privilege to know that there were times when he was desperately trying to fill his sleepless nights with pretty much anything, as nightmares, his restless brain or the serum coursing through his veins kept him awake. You felt like an idiot, because there had been a little chance he actually would be asleep and you just ruined it for him.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I woke you up. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry-“
You would swear that even over your babble, you could still hear someone’s steps approaching and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to walk faster.
“You’re not an idiot,” Steve’s soothed you, voice still rough with sleep. You could hear some rustle; bedsheets, you assumed. “What’s wrong?”
I’m shitting my pants, because someone is following me. I think.
You gulped, pushing yourself to speed up without breaking into a run and nearly sighed in relief when the person behind you resumed their pace.
“I’m on my way from the bar. It’s stupid but… I feel lonely?” you explained, lowering your voice and judging by the sharp inhale on the other end of the line, Steve understood you felt hella lot more than just lonely. “Could you… could you maybe stay on the phone with me? Please?”
“Of course I will,” he was quick to assure you, but you heard him moving around his room now. Could he be- “But I’ll do you one better. Where are you?”
“Steve, you- you don’t have to do that.” You instantly felt bad, mostly because the idea of him coming to get you sounded like heaven and it caused your gut twist in guilt, because you had no right to ask that from him. “You’re not obliged to—it’s not like– like you are-“
-my boyfriend.
“Hey. You might not be my fiancée, but you’re my friend. When my friend doesn’t feel safe, I’ll go get her so she will.”
You could weep at that, both regret you were nothing more but friend and at the tone he said it, warming you from inside out despite the fear still at your heels. You slowed down just a fraction, tension in your shoulders easing, your chest finally expanding as you inhaled generously, not realizing you had been barely breathing before.
“Thank you, Steve,” you whispered.
“Of course. Anytime,” he threw your earlier remark back at you and you couldn’t help but smile despite feeling shaky on your feet. He could be so damn cheeky sometimes.
“Apparently,” you hummed. “But seriously, thank you.”
“No problem. I might have already checked your tracker so I’m coming to get you, yeah?”
Oh. Right, you forgot about that; the trackers. You had got so used to the weight of the necklace on your chest that it was easy not to think about the fact that it contained a tracking device. You felt even safer now; if anything happened, they’d find you; which it wouldn’t, because Steve was on his way.
“Now talk to me. Did you have a good time?”
You smiled at his inquiry and continued walking, almost at peace.
“I mean, it wasn’t bad at all…”
Waking up from your slumber, your first thought was that your head hurt; the second was that the pain was so immense that you might as well be in hell.
Hell seemed to be very uncomfortable; your head lulled to your side, neck craned in such strange angle that it made the headache worse and something hard was digging into your spine, not to mention you could barely feel you bottom as the surface was as unwelcoming as the flat backrest and overall, hell simply sucked.
Where the heck had you fallen asleep? This was the least comfortably chair ever made.
With a groan, you tried to move your head to a less headache-inducing position, but your body felt so heavy.
What in the fuck had happened? How had you got- where had you-
Blurry images of a dark street, roar of a motorcycle, Steve’s sleepy and yet cheeky grin as he hopped off– ‘You look like the most handsome biker-gang leader, Steve’- “Will you be my stunning biker chick then?’– gentle hands taking your coat and slipping a leather jacket on, the comforting smell— the world swaying off of its place- darkness– pain-
Gasping, you forced your eyes snap open, even the dim light too sharp for your hungover eyes; several blinks that followed did little to sooth the burn.
With a heart in your throat, you took in your surroundings; the very first thing you saw was Steve and you could cry in relief. Whatever was happening, whatever your mind wasn’t ready to supply you with just yet, it would be alright. Steve was right here–
-hunched in a metallic chair, his wrists, shins, ankles strapped to it, thick leather strip over his chest keeping him upright, because he was- he was—your breathing stopped in horror when you noticed the thin wires leading from his body, needles piercing his skin on several places— unconscious, he was unconscious and-
With a cry of his name on your lips, you lunged forward, not expecting the resistance you met with. Your voice died in your throat as you quickly scanned your body, marking that you were very much strapped to a chair as well. God bless, no needles in your body, just some sort of tourniquet reminding you of check-ups at your GP-
Jerking with all strength you could gather, you whined in frustration when your restraints didn’t give, not moving even an inch.
Tears gathered in your eyes, your other senses engaging to build an image of terror – cold was seeping into your bones, the sharp stink of mould, sweat and urine filled your nose and you could hear periodic taps, drops of water falling.
Surging forward once more with zero result, you cried out, a sob breaking from your lips.
Your frantic gaze searched the room, devices you couldn’t even hope to recognize on your left, seemingly endless emptiness on your right. And if front of you-
“Steve!” you sobbed, clearing your throat to speak louder than in a broken whisper. “Steve!”
He was motionless; you squinted in the shadows, focusing on his chest, praying you could see it moving.
Tears spilled from your eyes, this time from relief; the expands of his ribcage were there, barely noticeable, but present.
Your gaze followed the wires that led from his body to one of the machines and your stomach made an unpleasant somersault as you tasted bile on your tongue.
What the fuck was this nightmare?
The answer came from your right, a heavy metallic sound and creak, door shutting. You winced, not daring to breathe, your heart nearly beating its way out of your chest with the swift footsteps approaching.
Instinctively, you backed into the chair, ignoring how uncomfortable it was; that was the least of your worries now, being comfy.
A man of average height emerged from the dark, black hair the only thing visible from his head as he wore a plastic mask, nearly transparent with black lines in the place of eyes, nose and mouth.
You shrieked in terror when he tilted his head curiously.
“You’re awake. Good,” he stated, sounding pleased as he paced to the machines, ignorant to your paralysing panic.
You felt a tremble running through your body, your throat too tight with dread for you to speak; to demand what this was, how did you get here, how-
“The captain is taking a bit long though,” he mused and your gaze, following him previously as he flipped a switch, bringing another of the machines to life, swiftly moved to Steve’s crumpled figure.
A sting of longing and fear punched your ribcage and you finally found the courage to speak, praying it wouldn’t set the mysterious man off.
“What did—what did you do to him?” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.
The man looked up, the smile painted on his mask making you want to throw up.
“Combinations of tranquilizers. Perhaps I overdid it.”
You would have doubled over if it wasn’t for the strap on your chest keeping you upright. The edge of your vision darkened, black embracing you soothingly for few seconds.
Perhaps?!
Your eyes swiftly found Steve once more, clinging onto the motions of his ribcage like onto dear life.
Christ, he’s lucky to be even breathing.
Needless to say, you would have been much more assured if Steve was awake and if he hadn’t had… had the—the-
“The… the needles?” you choked out, a sob bubbling in your throat as the image of multiple thin needles in Steve’s body burned itself into your retinas.
You’d never forget this sight in your life.
Fairly enough though, that might not be a very long time. The thought had you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Electric pulses,” he explained as easily as if he was telling you it was raining outside.
Electric- you wanted to cry and puke at the same time and most of all, you wanted to wake up from this fucked up nightmare.
“It should keep him less mobile once he wakes up. It took me quite a while to figure it out. Not an easy task to keep Captain America down.”
He seems down enough now, you thought wryly and shivered, your face twisting as you tried hard not to imagine what was being done to Steve’s body.
When you looked closely – really closely – you could see the tinniest twitches of his fingers.
Before hope could get a hold of you, you noticed the startling periodicity of those motions; he wasn’t waking up. It wasn’t him moving on his own account.
It was the pulses.
Your head spun, the whole world swaying aside, your eyes rolling back; you didn’t feel like your body belonged to you anymore as the wave of revulsion caused your insides to coil violently.
What kind of a sick monster did this to another person?
Tearing your blurry gaze away from Steve’s form, you shot the other man a loathing look, the force of hatred towards him nearly startling you.
“Stop that right now,” you hissed dangerously as if you weren’t strapped to a chair yourself, utterly helpless.
You had a feeling that the maniac smiled behind his mask, but you couldn’t tell for sure.
How did you not throw up just yet?
“You don’t make demands here.”
Electricity crackled in the air with whatever he did with the machines and you winced, your whole body tensing in horrible anticipation.
He was going to the same to you—he was about to-
“Now, I’m sure you’re curious what’s happening here…” Not really, no, Christ, just let us go- “…I brought you here to ensure your future commitment to each other will be proper.”
What in the-
He rose from his own chair, carrying what looked like electrodes towards you.
You balled your hands into fists, trying to break the restraints, but they didn’t even budge as the man leaned forward with a purpose; clasps joined to your cuffs and you felt your teeth clatter at the icy fingers of fear running down your spine.
He just wired you to a source of electricity.
Sick, he was such a sick person, whatever he had said meant–how could anyone just-
“What the hell are you talking about?” you breathed out, not having a clue where the strength to speak up came from.
“I’m simply gonna ask a few questions,” he replied, fastening the same clasps on Steve’s straps – as if the blond didn’t already have electricity coursing through his body making him fucking spasm every now and then – before turning to face you. “And you’re gonna tell me the truth. Nothing but the truth.”
At that moment, he is nine years old again, in a jauntily built house in Indonesia. His mother is there. An ashen hand hangs from the side of the mattress, dark crimson in dim light dripping from limp fingers. Magnus opens his mouth to scream, but it comes in a breathless gasp.
“Magnus,” a voice says, echoes in his ears. Hands clutch him, pulling at him. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, okay? Focus on me. It’s gonna be okay.”
Magnus blinks hard, understanding coming back to him. He trembles as his hands come to Alec’s arms, clutching at him clumsily. “A—Alec...” he utters, his eyes faltering but not reaching Alec’s face.
Rachel had an accident and woke up from coma after a few weeks. She had a *sex* dream of Quinn before waking up and well, Quinn is the only person she remembers. Amnesia. When she sees Quinn at school, she is sure they are girlfriends and kisses her... but they are not ! And San convinces Quinn to act like it, as a prank to hurt Rachel and all.
At first I was skeptical, it is rather cruel. And ultimately, it is really a nice faberry story, an enemies to lovers one, kinda fakedating but Rachel thinks they are really dating so... """fake""""dating. They are horny af, Rachel is rather cute and Quinn falls for her really fast haha
I am kinda curious because, she wakes up loving Quinn but she is surprised learning she has two fathers ? She doesn't know anymore about valentine's day ? There are kinda odd elements, but really these 11 chapters are really good. It ends rather abruptly as the author says, but it does the job haha
do people really fake-date or is that just a scam for fanfiction writers to get more readers? i am seriously curious y'all. if you have any real life fake-dating stories, please lemme know.
Harry jumped as the door to his office slammed open and a crazed Draco Malfoy entered the room, his blonde hair falling into his grey eyes in a way that had Harry’s heart flipping. Ever since he had started this fake-dating thing with Draco a few months ago, Harry kept having strange heart palpations when the blonde was near. He blamed it on the stress of being Draco Malfoy’s pretend boyfriend. Merlin knows that man took a lot to handle.
“What? Why are you in here? What’s going on?” Harry slow-blinked, taking in the sight of his unravelled colleague.
Again, the door was slammed shut and Harry flinched. “You know exactly what’s going on, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, glaring at Harry.
“I have no clue what you’re on about, Malfoy.”
“Don’t act dumb, although I know that’s pretty hard for you.”
“What in Merlin’s beard are you talking about?”
Malfoy had began pacing across the floor, mumbling to himself underneath his breath. “You can’t do this anymore, Draco. You really can’t. You’re already forming grey hairs.”
“Look, Draco. Just tell me what’s wrong or kindly piss off.” Harry raked a hand through his hair, glancing at the pile of reports due by the end of the day. Whatever Malfoy was so worried about, it had better be worth it.
“What’s wrong?!” Malfoy slammed his fists on Harry’s desk, suddenly coming out of his trance. “What’s wrong is you, Potter. You and your stupid idea to start fake-dating to make Ginny jealous. You and your stupid pretend dates and stupid hand-holding and stupid hugging, even when she’s not around. Just you. You are my problem, Potter. That’s why I’m through with this whole dating we have going on. It’s over.”
Malfoy spun on his heel and strode for the door.
“Wait!” Harry called, ignoring the dull aching in his heart. Why did this feel like a break-up when Draco wasn’t even his real boyfriend? “Draco, please. You can’t do leave without at least giving me an explanation.”
Malfoy paused, twisting his head slightly to meet Harry’s gaze. “Actually, you will find that I can.” He moved for the door, but Harry shot from his seat and blocked Mafloy’s way out.
“Don’t go. I need to know why. Did I do something wrong?”
Draco glared. “Get out of my way, Potter.”
“No. Just tell me what brought this on and I’ll let you go.” Harry stood tall under the piercing scowl of the taller man. He was desperate. Some part of Harry told him that if Draco left now, he would leave for good, and Harry believed it. “Please,” he whispered.
The blonde was quiet for a moment, the gentle patter of the rain against the window the only sound in the room. “I can’t understand you, Potter. Every time I think I’ve got you, that I finally know what you’re thinking, you do or say something that completely throws all that I thought I knew out the window.” Draco’s voice was soft, but his eyes were alight in a way Harry had never seen before. “I don’t understand why you are chasing this girl who is so clearly over you and I don’t understand why you asked me to be your fake-boyfriend. I don’t understand why I agreed to it and I don’t understand why even the thought of you even pretending to want me makes my head dizzy. I don’t understand why you brought me to all those Ministry Balls and paraded me around with that charming smile of yours and introduced me as your boyfriend, even though Ginny wasn’t there to see. I don’t get why you held my hand, even when we were by ourselves in an empty room, or why you bought me flowers every Friday, without fail. You made lunch for me when you knew I had forgotten to eat but seemed so surprised when I returned the favour. You never kissed me in public, despite me saying it was fine, but you held me for hours after my father died. Even when everything we had was built on pretend, you made me feel more loved than I have in a long time. And I don’t understand that, Harry. I really don’t.”
Harry’s mind was whirring, as he felt the importance of Draco’s words hit him all at once. He didn’t know what it all meant, what Draco was trying to tell him, but Harry knew that he needed to find out. So he reached up, placing a hand on Draco’s cheek and kissed him.
The kiss was soft and sweet, barely a few seconds long, but Harry’s heart felt like it had imploded inside his chest when Draco started kissing him back.
“I haven’t thought about Ginny in months, since we started fake-dating. And I didn’t kiss you because I was scared of how I would feel when did,” Harry mumbled as soon as he had pulled away. Draco was staring down at him in a muted shock, his pale cheeks now dusted with a red tint.
“What changed your mind?” Draco asked.
“I realised it was worth the risk.”
Draco laced his fingers with Harry’s, an action so-familiar after months of pretending, yet now charged with something new, something strong. “And how did it feel when you kissed me?” He teased, smirking slightly.
“I would say it was a ten out of ten experience. Would definitely do it again,” Harry replied, resting his head on Draco’s chest. He felt the taller man chuckle above him.
“Don’t worry, you will be.” Draco placed a light kiss to Harry’s forehead, squeezing him closer.
And as Harry smiled, thanking whatever god was out there, he realised that maybe dreams weren’t all the far-fetched, maybe fantasy isn’t too far from reality and maybe pretending to love Draco Malfoy was never pretending after all.
