#I can’t imagine the British doing any better a job at it than we can | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelylogans · 1 year ago

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the parent trap

CHAPTER TEN: domine dirige nos

Remus spends a great deal of time weighing the most British way to say hello. He’s going to have to repress throwing in a what’s all this then, guv’nor? the entire time.

⁂

It’s hard to believe that eight weeks have gone by, Roman reflects as he looks around their cabin.

All their battle plans have been disassembled, the pieces of it packed carefully away to avoid any prying parents who might cotton onto their plot too quickly. Their beds are stripped, their trunks are packed (the pair of them packing their own trunk and helping the other twin pick out an outfit for the plane and subsequent reunion with each parent) and the cabin looks just as empty as it did when they first arrived.

“Big day’s here,” Remus says, and Roman turns to look at him.

He looks only minorly uncomfortable in Roman’s tweed suit; Roman can’t blame him in this blasted heat. He has Roman’s case in hand, Roman’s earrings in his ears, and even though they’ve done this sort of thing before, it’s still rather jarring.

“All right,” Roman says, adjusting Remus’ bright lime duffle over his shoulder, pushing Remus’ sunglasses up onto his head, Roman in green checkered shorts, and a jean jacket over a green, barely-clean Camp Walden t-shirt; Remus assures him that this will track well with the adults. Roman can only imagine this is the case, considering Remus had never once voiced interest in seeking out laundry services during their entire roomateship.

“Tell me what the plan is when you get to London.”

“Arrive in Heathrow, where Uncle Logan will pick me up,” Remus says promptly. “Do the handshake, get in the car, be subtle, blame any weirdness on jet lag. You?”

“Arrive in San Francisco and switch planes for Napa County airport,” Roman recites.

“And chew your nails on the plane.”

“Ugh. And chew my nails on the plane. Papa will be there to pick me up and drive us back home. Maybe Virgil also, but most likely just Papa. Pa,” he corrects, enunciating it in Remus’ accent.

“Reunite with Pa.”

“Reunite with Dad,” Remus says quietly.

They are both quiet at the enormity of this.

“Okay,” Roman says, and looks to the last piece of the cabin they have to pack up. “Last things.”

“Last thing,” Remus repeats.

Roman picks up Paddington from what has become his usual spot next to Cuppy, briefly kissing Paddington’s fuzzy little forehead.

“Take care of him,” Roman says anxiously.

Remus squeezes Cuppy tightly to his chest before he extends Cuppy to Roman.

“You’re probably going to do a better job with him than I ever did anyway.”

Their childhood bears change hands; each boy turns to lay their bear carefully in their luggage. Well, Remus tries his best to settle it neatly, finding a spot nestled within one of Roman’s jumpers; Roman figures chucking it in where it fits tracks well with Remus’ personality, just barely doing enough to make sure that Cuppy isn’t pinched by re-zipping his bag.

“Okay,” Roman says, and he inhales, exhales. “Okay. When we walk out of those doors… I’m you.”

“I’m you,” Remus repeats.

In unison, each boy takes on the habits they’ve spent six weeks observing. Remus straightens his back while Roman slouches; Roman cocks a hip to the side and settles his sunglasses low on his nose while Remus does up his top button; Remus starts to stride out of the door while Roman swaggers.

From now on, I am Remus Parker.

And I’ve never even heard the name Roman James.

⁂

When Roman said this was a looong plane ride, he was not kidding.

He shuffles through his carryon to make sure it’s as organized as Roman would have it. He digs through his pockets for anything fun to play with—no luck, but he does find his notes that he’d smuggled away. He reviews those to stay up-to-date on the minutiae of the life he’s about to steal.

That takes him about an hour.

Only about twelve hours to go.

Remus groans to himself and thunks his forehead against the plastic food tray.

Sleeping eats up about eight hours; the in-flight movie takes up another two.

And, very suddenly, the plane tilts, and the pilot comes over the crackly intercom, and Remus seeing his uncle and Dad is very suddenly less a vague in the future and a much more solid just about now.

Remus’ hands go up to his mouth, and he just barely stops himself before he bites down with a vengeance, instead adjusting to sit on his hands. Roman doesn’t chew his nails; Roman taps his foot or bounces his leg or messes with his hair.

So Remus starts bouncing his leg, staring out of the window as the plane breaks through the clouds, swooping low over the gray skyscrapers and massive churches and winding roads of London.

My Dad is somewhere down there, Remus thinks, and he starts bouncing his leg faster.

⁂

Okay, so when he thought just about now, he’d handily forgot the business of departing the plane.

Which takes. For. Ev. Er.

If everyone would just hurry up and grab their bags from the overhead bin—

But it’s fine, because now Remus is speedwalking through the hallway that attaches to the plane—Roman would know the word for that, so Remus just resolves not to say it—and racing into the gate, then through customs, holding his case tightly, turning to look through the crowds…

No, that man with spectacles has entirely the wrong hair color—that one almost looks right, but he’s too short—a similar suit as to what’s in the photographs, but the wrong face entirely—

Remus clambers up onto a seat to stand on, looking through the crowds, straining his neck, until—

“Roman!”

Remus turns his head; bustling through the crowd, hair a similar shade of brown as his and Roman’s, yes—there he is.

Remus’ Uncle. So strange he’s got an uncle!

(Yes, technically their dad’s cousin, he knows.)

“Uncle Logan!” Remus blurts out, grinning, and Uncle Logan’s upon him quick; before he can even think about it, Remus leans forward and wraps his arms tightly around his Uncle Logan’s shoulders.

Before Remus can panic if that’s something Roman would do or not, Uncle Logan is already holding him, lifting him up, and depositing him back on the ground.

“I missed you!” Remus says loudly, over the rush of the crowd in the airport.

“I’ve missed—goodness, Roman, what have you done to your hair?”

“Dyed it!” Remus says, combing his hand through his hair the way he’s seen Roman do it. “There was a boy in my cabin who—oh, it doesn’t matter, anyway, do you like it?”

“It’s very modern, isn’t it?” Uncle Logan says, briefly smoothing a hand over Remus’ hair. “Is this your first step toward trying out… oh, what are they called. That boyband boy, he has them—?”

“Frosted tips?” Remus says, then, thoughtfully, “I hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe I will.”

“Well, regardless, it’s very fashion-forward of you,” Uncle Logan says, then he extends a hand.

Remus doesn’t gulp, even though he wants to: this is his first real test.

One shake—two—three—then Remus sticks out a hand, Logan puts his hand on top, the Remus’s then Logan’s again, down with their hands and up—they hit backs up of their hands, clap up middle down down down, snap to the hip—bump one hip, then hop for the other—grin to each other—then swap places, and shake hands once more.

Uncle Logan smiles at him. “Welcome back.”

Remus lets out a soft sigh of relief.

“Come along, then,” Uncle Logan says, gathering Roman’s case. “Let’s get you home.”

Remus beams up at him.

⁂

Oh, wow, this is swanky, Remus thinks, trying to be subtle about running his hands over the nice leather.

Uncle Logan and him are seated in the back of a chauffeur’s car, Uncle Logan occasionally switching from reading the society pages of the paper to asking Remus the occasional question about camp to watching as Remus stares out of the windows, trying not to be too obvious about gawking at all the landmarks that speed by.

Big Ben—the London bridge—Remus abandons all pretense and just starts leaning out of the open window at that point—Westminster Abbey—Buckingham palace—

“Eight weeks at camp and you’re acting like an American tourist,” Uncle Logan says, amused, folding down one corner of the newspaper.

“Camp makes you appreciate home more, I guess,” Remus says, distracted by some street performer holding still as a statue. “Oh, Uncle Logan, look at the guards with their funny little hats!”

“You’ve seen the guards a thousand times!” Uncle Logan says, the edge of a disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“But never with dyed hair,” Remus retorts, “and never after eight weeks away from home!”

Uncle Logan simply shakes his head and returns his attention to his paper, murmuring something about children.

They keep driving past great big museums and churches—a lot of other buildings Remus is sure are historically important for some reason—and they turn onto a quieter side street, lined with roses and hydrangeas, and Remus is suddenly very sure they’re coming up on Pembroke Lane.

Remus sits abruptly back in his chair, rolling his window up and combing his fingers quickly through his hair.

“How do I look?” Remus asks Uncle Logan.

“Only a little like you’ve just spent the past thirty minutes with your head out of the car window.”

Remus combs his fingers through his hair a little more aggressively as the car meanders through the lanes, and suddenly they’re pulling up to a door and they’re slowing down and—

And there’s a set of columns with the number 7 on them.

“Here we are,” the chauffeur says, putting the car in park, before he gets out and opens the door for Remus. “Home again.”

“Thank you,” Remus says breathlessly, staring up at the house.

There’s an open window, and curtains that move with the faint suggestion of someone behind them.

That could be my Dad.

And Remus is up the stairs and his hand is on the great golden knob before anyone else can open any doors for him.

Roman’s sketch, come to life in roaring color; the walls are painted a faint shade of orange, the stairs curving up the wall just like in Roman’s image. Remus takes a deep breath and sidesteps into the parlor, yes, that’s right, that’s what Grandfather calls it—

Only to see a banner hanging from the ceiling above the arch that leads into the less formal dining room.

WELCOME HOME ROMAN, it reads, with Roman in a glittery red script, streamers hanging down, and Remus can’t help but grin at it.

Roman probably would’ve loved that.

There’s a faint cough, and Remus jolts to attention—yes, there’s the doorway to the study with the leather chairs and the towering bookshelves, and Remus scampers toward the sound as quickly as he can.

Remus comes face to face with—

A newspaper.

Remus chews his lip, before he clears his throat.

“Grandfather?”

It comes out reedier and higher than expected, but the newspaper folds and suddenly there’s a man; white-haired and balding, bespectacled, besuited, be-tweeded, be-mustached, a pipe in his mouth, just like Roman said he might.

“Is that my little boy?” Grandfather exclaims in amazement, taking the pipe from his mouth and removing his glasses. “That tall, gangly thing?!”

“It’s me,” Remus manages, dropping Roman’s case to the floor as Grandfather stands, spreading his arms.

“Welcome home,” he says, and he embraces Remus. Remus wraps his arms around his Grandfather—his Grandfather!—and hugs him for all he’s worth.

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“Uh-huh,” Remus mumbles, burying his face into his Grandfather’s chest, covered in tweed as it is. “Great time.”

“What on earth are you doing?” He says, amused.

“Just… smelling.”

“Smelling?” Grandfather chuckles. “Whatever for?”

“I’m making a memory,” Remus says. “Whenever I think of you, Grandfather, even if it’s when I’m all grown up, I’ll remember that you always smell of—” he takes a big whiff, “peppermints and pipe tobacco!”

“Be a dove and don’t tell your father I was smoking when you got back, hey? I’ve told him I’ve cut back,” Grandfather says, chucking his chin, and Remus thinks of Pa and misses him so intensely for a moment, just a moment, and—

“I never do.”

“Good lad.”

“Roman?”

A voice floats down the staircase, through the parlor and the study, a lovely voice like one on a radio or a nature documentary with a smooth accent just like Uncle Logan and Grandfather’s and Roman’s.

Remus jolts for the archway of the parlor, where he stares up at the face of the voice in question.

Remus’ entire body locks up for a moment.

He looks almost entirely like his photograph, except at this angle Remus can see the port-wine stain splashed across his cheek and he’s changed the way he styles his hair. His Dad is dressed in tailored palazzo pants, brown, high-waisted, and cinched at the waist with a crisp white shirt, with pretty gold-and-pearl dangly earrings and a matching bracelet.

He’s still so handsome; even outside of the elaborate suit he’d worn for his wedding all those years ago, he looks like a movie star.

And then Remus is running.

“Dad!”

“You’re back!” His Dad says, quickening his pace down the stairs, and Remus flings his arms around his shoulders, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

His father presses a kiss to his temple, and smooths a hand over his hair just like Roman said he would, and Remus inhales like he did with Grandfather too. Remus’ burgeoning vintner nose picks up freesia, sandalwood, sage; some fancy, expensive cologne to match with the rest of his glamorous appearance.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Remus says, and hopes beyond hope he isn’t snotting into his father’s fancy shirt. What a first impression that would be, even if his Dad doesn’t know he’s making one!

“And I can’t believe it’s you,” his Dad says, putting his hands on his shoulders and pulling back to look at his face. “And with dyed hair!”

“A boy I met at camp did it—do you like it? Do you hate it?” Remus says anxiously.

“I absolutely love it,” his Dad reassures him, smoothing a hand over it. “Very unique! Whichever friend of yours helped with this managed a good dye job for a boy your age! Oh, and a switch to silver, I see,” he adds, touching Remus’ earrings.

“Uh—yeah, I thought I’d try it.” Remus says. “Silver and diamond—old classics, right?”

“It’s all very chic,” his father says warmly, and Remus glows from the praise. His Dad thinks he’s chic! “Experimenting with your style is precisely what you should be doing at this age. I’m very proud of you, finding ways to express yourself like this.”

His Dad is proud of his self-expression!

“Any other surprises?” His Dad says, grinning. “I’m afraid I shall have to have a stern word with any of your camp counselors if you managed to sneak off and get a tattoo or something.”

Remus laughs, wiping a hand under his eye and shaking his head.

His dad cups his face and sweeps his fingers under his eyes.

“What is it, Rome?”

“I’m sorry,” Remus chokes out. “It’s just—I’ve missed you so much!”

“Oh, darling,” his Dad says, leaning in to hug him again. “It seems like it’s been forever.”

Remus snuffles, leaning harder into the embrace. “You have no idea.”

⁂

Roman, Janus thinks as he observes his son carefully splitting open a scone and smothering it with jelly, seems a bit… different.

He seems mostly recovered from his tearful little wobble on the stairs—at least, he’s been devouring the tea that Logan’s set up for them both.

(Logan, the neat freak, is unpacking Roman’s luggage to tuck it all away and start on laundry. Clutter seems to give him hives, always has, since they were children together and Logan would categorically refuse to leave any room without returning his books to the shelf and the toys to their proper places.)

Perhaps it’s just because he’s a few centimetres taller. Or he’s jet-lagged, or it’s the hair, or he’s recovering from eight weeks spent around a boisterous crowd of teenage boys.

There’s something. Janus just can’t quite put his finger on it yet.

“Should I get more?” Janus says, watching Roman carefully as he attempts to fit the scone into his mouth whole. “Would you rather a late lunch or an early dinner? I know plane meals aren’t necessarily the most appetizing…”

Roman shakes his head, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. Janus waits patiently as he chews, takes a small mouthful of tea, and swallows.

“It’s been ages since I’ve had a proper tea, s’all,” Roman says, before he picks up a sandwich.

“Well, I can certainly understand that,” Janus says, picking up a sandwich himself. “No one makes a cuppa quite like a James. I’ll have to thank Logan again.”

Roman nods eagerly in agreement, about to shove the sandwich into his mouth before he hesitates and takes a much more manageable bite.

Americans have eroded his table manners, Janus thinks but doesn’t say, taking a sip of his own tea.

“Tell me all about camp,” Janus says. “Have you made plenty of new friends?”

“Some,” Roman says, then, gesturing to the streak in his hair, “The guy in my cabin who helped me do this—Augustus, but everyone calls him Gus—I guess I got closest to him. He’s an American, he lives in California.”

Janus’ back stiffens. Ever so slightly. Not so much that Roman can tell.

“Have you ever been to California?”

Hm. Maybe he could.

“Once,” Janus says in a light, airy tone, setting down his sandwich. “A long time ago, before you were born.”

Roman accepts this without much commentary, instead changing the subject to how Camp Walden looks; Janus has heard some of this from Logan, but it’s nice to hear it in Roman’s own words.

And also to steer away from that particularly smiley, tall, infuriating, dishy subject—

Stop, Janus orders himself, and refocuses on Roman’s descriptions of the lake, watching the way his hands cut through the air as he describes it.

(It’s no use; Janus thinks of him at least once a day, (oh he’s lying to himself with that number) more so when Roman smiles in that way he does, that same dimple flashing out of his cheek.)

And then Janus’ landline rings.

Janus sighs in frustration, setting down his teacup. “I’m sorry, dear, would you mind—”

“No, go on, go on,” Roman says, getting up himself; Janus crosses the room, picking up the phone and placing it to his ear.

“Janus James speaking.”

He turns slightly to watch out of the corner of his eye as Roman meanders to his dresser. Roman lifts his cologne to his nose, sniffs it, and examines the label; he sets it down, and then lifts the lid of his jewelry box.

Little cad is probably trying to find some jewelry he can pretty-please borrow it for just thirty seconds Dad please, Janus thinks in amusement. He hopes he does; Janus thinks those imitation-emerald teardrops might suit him well, now that it seems like he’s taking steps outside of his red-and-gold signature colors...

An aggrieved sigh makes its way through the phone lines. “Hi, Janus, it’s Vendela.”

“Ah. Hello, Vendela,” Janus says, trying not to wince; if Vendela is calling, then it’s probably a fiasco. “How’s the photoshoot going?”

“No one can make a decision and everyone is five minutes away from nuclear war, from the sounds of it. I mean, really, we’ve had this look set for ages—”

“Precisely—we’ve had it set for ages, can’t you manage without me? Roman’s just gotten home from camp.”

“Oh, bring him, please, if that’ll get you here!” Vendela urges, then, in a whisper, “this photographer they’ve brought is a nightmare, honestly, and this director of photography barely knows lace from satin, so he’s no help at all—”

“Okay, hold on a moment.” Janus puts his phone to his shoulder. “Roman?”

Roman turns from where he’d been tracing the frame of one of Janus’ sketches, the first design that had really netted him any sort of main-stream attention.

“Would you mind terribly coming to the studio with me?”

A huge grin bursts out on Roman’s face. “I’d love it!”

⁂

And so they’re off through the streets of London again, Remus now admittedly a little loopy from the whole meeting his Uncle and Grandfather and Dad and that tea may have been a bit more caffeinated than he’s used to and also the jet lag—but Roman had said it would get worse if he went to sleep earlier than he usually went to bed according to local time, so up Remus will stay with absolutely no napping.

His Dad holds his hand when they walk along major streets, which, if it were anyone else, Remus would probably protest, but as it is, Remus is happily swinging their hands between them and is only vaguely aware that he’s probably jabbering Dad’s ear off.

“—and eventually I ended up winning a key to the kitchen in a poker game, so I could get into the kitchen at night like all the older boys at camp.”

“Yes, I remember you wrote me about that. Odd tradition, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Remus says in an enthusiastic tone he realizes is a bit off for Roman on this particular subject, but he hastily adds, “Dad, there are so many weird American foods!”

There. He’s righted the course. Roman had been very enthusiastic about the concept of American foods.

“I don’t doubt it,” Dad says, amused, then, craning his neck to look ahead, “ah, blasted traffic! They’ve started construction up there since you’ve been gone.”

Remus nods, pretending he knows anything about London roads.

“All right, hold on tightly, now, we’re taking an uncharted course.” Dad says, and Remus falls in quick step alongside his Dad as they skirt around cars come to a dead stop in this traffic, heading quickly for another sidewalk.

“What was your favorite?” Dad urges, squeezing his hand once they’ve gotten past all the cars. “Of all these weird American foods you tried.”

“Chili,” Remus blurts out, curses himself for saying his favorite food rather than Roman’s, and then realizes that Dad probably wouldn’t have asked if he already knew what Roman’s favorite American food is.

“Isn’t that some sort of stew? Odd choice for summer.”

“Nice on rainy days, though,” Remus says, craning his neck up to look at the cloudy, overcast skies above.

“Yes, I suppose a nice warm stew is rather nice on rainy days—and we’re back on course,” Dad says, adjusting the brown, buttery leather satchel slung over his shoulder with his free hand. “Just a bit longer now, Roman, I wasn’t expecting us to have to deal with a fashion emergency today…”

“S’allright,” Remus says contentedly, skipping over a crack in the sidewalk. “I like the studio. An official photoshoot sounds fun.”

“Well, I’m pleased one of us thinks so,” Dad says. “Tell you what—we’ll stop at that dreadful little chippy you like on the way back. I’ll phone Father and Logan for their orders, remind me to do that after the shoot, won’t you?”

“Deal!” Remus says happily. Roman had raved about fish and chips; Remus is excited to try for himself.

And soon—very soon—a building Remus has only seen in sketches:

JANUS JAMES is on the building above an awning, and Remus pulls his Dad up to the window, gawking at the mannequin.

The mannequin is wearing a dress that would look perfectly at home in a Disney movie: a full, ballgown style skirt, dramatic lace details, the back studded with buttons like pearls.

They’ve also put a Vespa in the display. A full, real white Vespa!

“Wow!” Remus says.

“Well, I had to do something while you were away at camp,” Dad says, amused, and Remus curses himself again: what if this had been a design that Roman had seen a hundred times before?!

There’s a mannequin clearly meant to be a spouse, too, in a suit that matches-mostly-but-not-too-matchy, in Remus’ professional opinion; he stares up at it thoughtfully.

“You know who would look beautiful in that?” Remus says, pointing. “Like, really beautiful?”

“Who?” Dad says, still examining the display with a critical eye.

“You.”

That gets Dad’s attention. “Me?!”

“You look really good in white and pearls!” Remus says, gesturing to his outfit today; Dad’s added a matching brown coat to his flowy pants, and the buttery brown satchel is resting casually on his shoulder. Remus is frankly uncertain how he still looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine after walking through city streets for so long.

Dad snorts, reaching over to gently tweak his ear. “I think this jet lag is making you a little loopy.”

Remus cannot deny that. Especially in comparison to what must be Baseline Normal Roman Behavior.

“C’mon,” Dad says, physically turning him away from the window and towards the door. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”

They enter the boutique, and Remus, wary of his near miss with the window, tries his absolute best to act like he’s never seen the inside before.

But it’s really something.

There’s flowy white gowns made of almost every material and style Remus can think of, and quite a few he can’t even name; suits are tucked alongside one side of the building; and Remus can’t get much of a closer look at the impressive chandelier or the couches meant for people to spectate dress shopping without losing track of his Dad, who is heading for a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY with the sort of confidence that, Remus assumes, can only come from having his name on the building.

Remus falls into step beside him as Dad traverses up the stairs, past a few assistants who bid them both hello and keep going, and finally, he opens a door ahead of them.

“All right, I’m here,�� Dad announces, removing his jacket and satchel and tossing them onto a nearby chair without breaking stride on his way to the mode.

Remus gapes safely at the scene before them. Makeup artists, lighting technicians, the director of photography, and some of who must be Dad James employees who are fixing the train of the models’ dress all turn to look at him.

“Ah, we’re saved,” says the woman who Remus is pretty sure is Vendela. “Sorry—we don’t know what to do with the veil…”

“If she wears it, it covers the back of the dress,” the photographer explains, “if she doesn’t, it looks—”

“Incomplete,” Dad finishes for him. “Quite right. Now,” he addresses the model, “can you try turning sideways with your chin up?”

The model positions herself accordingly.

“Yes, I see the problem,” Dad says, putting a thoughtful hand to his chin. “Can I have the veil?”

An assistant quickly hands it over.

“Roman, darling?”

Remus startles, not expecting to be included in Grown Up Business Of Import.

“Pass me one of those hats on display in the window, will you please?”

Remus scuttles over to the display in question; he’s not really sure why his Dad has requested a hat rather than a tiara (several on display to the right) or a jeweled headpiece (one’s already attached to the veil, but there are more options in the display to the left) and hesitates at the sight of his options.

He picks the two fanciest—tophats, one entirely black and one entirely white—and moves to his Dad, holding them up for approval.

“Which do you like best?” Dad prompts him.

Remus cannot help but feel like this is some kind of test.

“The white one,” he says.

His Dad shoots him a smile, quick and secretive, and takes it before schooling his face back into a businesslike, stern expression. “Me too.”

The sense of approval washes over Remus with the enormity of an ocean wave.

“Try this,” Dad says, doing some sort of magic to affix the veil to the hat and passing it to the model. “Yes, toss the veil straight back and turn, I want to make sure the detail comes through…”

And as the model turns, Remus suddenly understands why he went for a hat rather than a tiara or a headpiece: the hat’s taller than a tiara or a headpiece would be, making the veil a bit shorter, which means the detail on the back of the dress is much more obvious.

Dad steps back, too, out of path of the camera, as various assistants and the photographer and director make sounds of approval and ahhs.

“See that? Beautiful, how it falls just there,” Dad says, then, to the model, “Don’t worry about the bouquet as much, just remember to look happy, it is,” with a sarcastic smirk, “your wedding day. What number is it now, your fifty-seventh shoot you’ve done with us?”

That does make the model laugh, and the camera goes off with a great flashbulb pop, and Remus witnesses his first ever high-fashion photoshoot.

Dad is too cool.

⁂

There must be something in his face by the time they get to the chippy, because Dad calls the chauffeur to come meet them there and drive them the rest of the way home.

As they wait—for both the orders and the car—Remus takes his chance.

“Dad?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Doesn’t designing all these wedding gowns ever make you think about getting married again?”

There is something almost like panic in his Dad’s eyes. Interesting.

“Or at least,” Remus pushes, “make you think about the F-word?”

“The F-word!” Dad exclaims.

“My father,” Remus says, trying to look innocent and probably failing, but Dad is too preoccupied by letting out the relieved laugh of a parent who realizes they get to live another day without explaining profanity to a child.

“Oh, that F-word.”

Remus raises his eyebrows at him.

“Well—no, actually,” Dad says. “I’ve never worn a wedding gown, you see, much less when I married the F-word.”

Dad’s name is called; they shuffle forward to accept their boxes of greasy food, then back to their waiting place. Remus thinks it might be a little bit torturous to wait until they get all the way back before eating this.

“You can’t avoid the subject forever,” Remus says. “Can you tell me what he was like, at least?”

His Dad sighs, chewing the inside of his mouth, before:

“He was quite lovely, to tell you the truth,” he says, then, quieter, “when we met, he was actually entirely lovely. Lovelier than I thought I’d ever… well.”

That tracks well with Remus’ standing of Pa, but Roman doesn’t know that.

“Did you meet him here in London?” Remus pushes.

“No—we met on the QE2.”

“The what?”

“The Queen Elizabeth II. It’s an ocean liner, it sails from London to New York,” Dad says. “You know how I am about flying, and I suppose your father wasn’t too fond of it either, and the opportunity presented itself—he told me he’d always wanted to try a cruise.”

Remus waits, quiet.

“We met our first night on board the ship, we were seated next to each other at dinner, and I suppose that’s history. He’s an American, you know.”

Remus digs deep for an appropriately sappy, Roman-esque question.

“Was it love at first sight?”

Nailed it.

Dad simply laughs, cranes his neck, and says, “Oh, look, there’s the car!”

Remus lets out a little sigh to himself, but he lets the inquisition go as his Dad shuffles the boxes and opens an umbrella for them both on their mad dash to the car, trying their best to avoid any puddle splatterings.

It’s not like, Remus reflects gleefully, I don’t have loads of time to keep asking him all sorts of questions.

previous chapter | masterpost | next chapter

#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

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ponds-of-ink · 1 year ago

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Head-canon rambles about the Entity Rabbit in Ruin

I’d call these “theories”, but I currently have little to no basis for any of these.

Oh and uh.. in case anyone’s wondering who Entity is, it’s this guy from the Ruin trailer.

Yeah, he’s got a bunch of spoiler-filled info now and I have thoughts.

*So, if I’m understanding this correctly, this guy is/was the security system for [Redacted due to endgame spoilers]. He did a pretty decent job, though there might be something up with him.

*If that’s the case, then he might be the first rabbit in a security position that actually tried to help us. Maybe.

*I say all of this because he acts like he wants to snatch us up and take us somewhere. This could either be interpreted as “oh he wants to shake us by the shoulders and call us an idiot for coming back here” or “oh he wants to mess us up even more than Ruin’s endings”. The fact that he can’t talk to us directly is a shame, because I have a feeling we’d get more answers if he could.

*He was definitely installed post-Security Breach. Did Vanessa construct him as one final safeguard or did someone else do it at Fazbear Entertainment’s command?

*His more fluid movements have this thoughtful and controlled feeling to them. The only time he rushed was when the opportunity to catch Cassie was right in front of him. So, I guess that means he canonically thinks before he acts most of the time.

*Also, he is really determined when it comes to protecting those security nodes. Sure, he’ll wait it out a little to see what happens. But if you keep that mask on for too long and he catches onto your AR shenanigans...

*Anyway, he’s gotta be really salty after getting sucked back into the machine. He had this one golden opportunity to catch up to Cassie and.. do whatever he needs to do idk.., but then the machine pulls a Ghostbusters and traps him in there. After, what, a couple of hours nonstop chasing this kid all around the Pizzaplex?

*It would be really funny if he’s supposed to have William Afton’s British accent. I dunno why, but imagining this glitchy rabbit furiously pounding on the security machine and yelling in that kind of voice cracks me up a little.

*I am going to resist the urge to suggest that this guy is William’s actual newest form because his origin is so up in the air right now. At least I can be certain that he’s most likely not The Mimic.. For now.

*The good news is that we might get more of him in Help Wanted 2, of all places. We are returning to VR after the VANNI mask is introduced, after all. Why not explore more of this weird guy’s backstory where he can actually wreak some havoc?

*Basically, I think he might be a little misunderstood and deserved better. He may have been a villain with his own agenda, but boy did he sure do his job.

*Also I really want to give him a hug even though I know he’d send a distress signal to the nearest animatronic. I am willing to take that risk.

#entity fnaf #fnaf ruin #fnaf ruin spoilers #fnaf headcanons #character analysis

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chelleztjs18 · 3 years ago

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Half Love (Ch.3) - Beneath The Surface

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader ; Katie McGrath x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n's relationship with Lizzie has been in a rough situation and goes downhill. What should Y/n do when there's no choice left to say and new future opens up with someone new in it?

Warning: This is a collaboration book with my co-writer / friend @stonemags it’s an 18+ series. Angst, angst, fluff, smut, and swearing words. I do not own any pictures, GIFs, name, brand, song titles and anything I use in this story.

A/n: Hello.. welcome back to this series! This chapter is one of my favorite I wrote for this series so far. "I Love You" by Billie Eillish and "Beneath The Surface" by Dream Theater inspired me on writing this chapter. Happy reading!

Series Masterlist

Three months since the last time you saw Lizzie, the woman who loves you and crushes you at the same time in the past one year. The woman whose acts gave you heartaches then soothe it all over again only to hurt it again without even realizing it that made you want to be free from it yet you stayed because you love her and you know she loves you. She does, she just doesn't realize how much her acts hurt you. Does she really? Well at least that was what you have been telling yourself until you can't take it anymore.

You finally left her and everything you both had, everything you both have built together for four years that has collapsed slowly in the last year. The steps you took three months ago leaving her for good were the most painful steps you could ever imagine even though you know it was the best thing to do. You didn’t know it would hurt you more leaving her than staying in the loop of pain. You loved her too much and you could never see her cry, especially if that was caused by you leaving, you wished you could’ve ran back to her to comfort her and voluntarily dive back into the relationship but what about your tears? What about the suffocation you have been struggling with by yourself? What about yourself that you are slowly losing? These questions keep you walking that day on the painful path to find yourself again and to let her find someone else who is willing to love her the way she wants them to and don’t mind losing themselves, and you know that person isn’t you.

You thought after you left, it would be easier for you. Yes, you finally feel better from all your pain. Yes, you slowly gain yourself back but like a powerful magnet pulls, it keeps dragging your heart back to missing her and everything you had with her. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you have to move on, you can’t lie that you still love her, and you still care about her. You thought taking a break from your theater job and staying in a different state will make it easier, you were wrong and you hate that it doesn’t help at all.

It has been nice to live with John in the last three months. You were involved in John and Emily’s engagement, you were happy for them but as Emily moved in, you don’t want to be their third wheel. You decided to find an acting job in theater. As luck would have it, you found one in New York’s Broadway, it has been your dream. So without hesitation, you told John about your plan to move there.

“Are you sure? You will be there by yourself, no friends or anybody you know. I mean, I can always ask my friends’ help if you need anything urgent.” John asks and his protectiveness over you shows. “Yes, I’m sure. I have always wanted to have a chance to work there. It’s my dream. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. You both need your space here, I don’t want to be in your way.” You explain.

“Oh no, you are never in our way, y/n. I love you, we love you. You are like a sister to me too.” Emily’s broad British accent tries to give you assurance to make you stay.

“I know, Emily. I love you guys, I appreciate all the help from both of you but I think this is the best way for me to distract all my mind so I can move on from Lizzie faster and easier, I need to move on from her.” Sadness written all over your face.

“Okay, if you say so but promise me you will call me if anything happens, okay?” The brunette actor agrees with you with a condition. “I promise.” You nod. “We will miss you, y/n. We’ll come visit.” says the blonde woman in front of you as she holds your hand and gives you the warmest smile.

_____

You quickly settled with your job in New York, great pay, great coworkers. You live in a cozy decent loft by yourself. Things start to work out, and it has been a year and a half since you moved here. Emotional and mental wise, you made a lot of progress too. Less and less pain or brokenheartedness. You even think that you manage to slowly but surely move on from Lizzie. You feel light as a feather in your life right now. You feel that the universe is with you, and pave a great path to your new life. You couldn’t even believe that you got a big role in a movie that will open the door for you to a bigger cinematic career .

Today, you have to attend a cast bonding meeting party. You are excited to meet the whole cast and crew. It’s the first meeting, you haven’t got any details about who plays who in the movie. You only know about your character. You try to look your best to give the best first impression. You arrived quite early. Thanks to your great social skills, you have talked to some people there.

Lizzie arrives with Scarlett. “Dang, how many casts and crews are gonna be for this movie?” Scarlett comments in a whisper as soon as she sees the crowd. “It’s very crowded, I already feel uncomfortable.” Lizzie answers to her friend’s comment. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Take a deep breath. It will be fun.” Scar tries to comfort her best friend next to her and they walk further into the party.

As if the universe has something planned for both of you later on, both you and Lizzie keep missing on finding each other in the party. You mingle from one person to another, so does Lizzie or when you walk away from one spot to another, Lizzie comes to the spot you left and misses you just by a few seconds.

Once or twice, Lizzie notices your perfume. The scents that she loves but mostly the scent that she misses. It even caught her brain in a short circuit when she smelled it. Her heart instantly wishes that you were here, but her brain quickly beats the wish your heart makes and replaces it with some common sense that it’s impossible for you to be here.

Those quick brush of your perfume to her nose bring rapid flicks of memories in split seconds followed by pain and sadness in Lizzie’s heart even though her mind is multitasking talking with people. Her smile disguises the knot of sadness that forms suddenly in her stomach when the tiny bit of your scents barge into her nose.

An hour into the party, for endless mingling and introductions with the casts and crews, she is separated from Scarlette who is also busy doing her part in this cast bonding meeting party. She pulls herself aside from everybody and stays at the bar alone having an apple martini for a break from everything. And the scents of yours that were left in her brain makes her mind now start to wonder how you are, where you are and what are you doing.

Her heart aches thinking about you, thinking about how much she misses you. She feels empty inside even though she is in a room full of people.

All of a sudden a voice calls her name and quickly gets her attention. She turned to the voice, it was the director, Ben. He comes to Lizzie to ask her to follow him and she obliged. “Liz, I want to introduce you to the person who plays the other main character.”

“Sure. I’m so excited to meet them.” She answers as she follows him. As she walks closer, she hears Ben call your name. “Y/n. Come here.”

You turn around facing Ben...and Lizzie. The smile you patched on your face when you hear him call your name, quickly drops into a frown and surprise face. Lizzie’s breath softly hitched. Her green eyes widened in surprise and lit up. Her heart jumps up to her throat leaving her speechless, meanwhile your jaw drops. Your heart almost stopped.

You clear your throat. “Yes, Ben? What’s up? I thought you were going to introduce me to the other main cast?” You try to ask in a cool and calm tone to cover your shock hoping that it wasn’t Lizzie. “Yes! Here she is, Elizabeth Olsen but everybody calls her---” Ben excitedly introduces her to you as you interrupt him. “Lizzie. Everybody calls her Lizzie.” You said as your gaze automatically locked on hers, you tried to look away but her warm green orbs kept pulling you in.

“Oh yeah, everybody knows that everybody calls her Lizzie. Stupid me.” Ben misunderstood you. “So Liz, this is---” Ben tries to introduce you to her but Lizzie cuts him off. “Y/n.”

How your name slips out of her lips in her voice, it doesn’t help you at all for not being awkward and mostly surprised. “Wait, how did you know? Do you know each other?” Ben asks cluelessly trying to put two and two together. “Yes, we do. She is someone from...my past.” You tried to talk but it was hard for you.

Hearing you calling her someone from your past felt like a knife to her heart. She tries not to crumble inside, but she is. Her lips slightly open, she tries to say something but she couldn’t, leaving a chance for Ben to talk more. “Well that’s awesome. It will be a great reunion for you two! Well, I’m gonna leave you both alone, so you can catch up and find the bond again.” Both of his hands pat your and Lizzie’s shoulders as he leaves.

A weight settles on your heart and hers as well. Your heart wrenches. Your throat clenched. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat. Her eyes are glistening and she is trying hard not to blink to keep her little tears in her, tears of happiness and pain from the past. You look down for a few seconds, she can see your eyebrows are furrowed as you take a deep breath. You put your hands in both of your pockets and you secretly clench your fist in it.

You can hear her shaky breath, her bones ached. She feels numb all over and she could barely move. “Y/n.” Oh how your name floats in her voice, you forgot how much you love hearing it but now you remember. It still gives you soft yet strong electric-like waves that make your heart skittered and weaken your knees.

“I’m--I’m gonna go for a smoke.” You quickly turn around and walk away from her even before Lizzie gets the chance to say something. She quickly tries to follow you but she fails because she gets stuck with some people who try to talk with her. She talks to them but her eyes, her mind, her focus and her heart are with you.

You quickly walk outside as if you are trying to save your life. Technically, you are. It was getting harder for you to breathe. You try to hyperventilate and as soon as your heartbeat calms down, you smoke for a little bit. You try to gather yourself and put up a stronger foundation and a bigger wall for Lizzie later. You hear a soft voice with a thick accent. “Hi. Are you okay?”

You turn your head searching for the owner of the voice and you find a beautiful grey eyed woman with pretty black hair. all tied up to a high ponytail, letting her bold jawline and striking cheekbones show. Her lips are covered with a deep red lipstick that shows a stark difference from her light skin color. All the beauty she has right in front of you makes you speechless and not blinking for a few seconds. She waves her palm in front of you to bring you back from your daze as she giggles. “Are you okay, dear?” She lays her hand on your right shoulder.

You blink a few times and realize she asks you a question. “Uh y-yeah. It was just--” She finishes your sentence. “Overwhelmed? Sometimes it happens to me too, you know, mingling with too many people for hours, trying to do small talks. I’m Katie.” She smiles and offers a handshake. “Katie? As in Katie Mcgrath?” You nervously ask as you accept her hand, dumbfoundedly looking at her holding her hand and forgetting to shake her hand.

She giggles. “Guilty. Yes, I am Katie Mcgrath. Nice to meet you and you are---” This time, you take your turn finishing her sentence. “You wouldn’t know me, I’m new. I’m--” You are surprised with her interruption. “Y/n Y/l/n. Nice to meet you.” She shakes her hand shortly after she mentions your name and you realize and you follow her handshake rhythm.

“Nice to meet you too, Katie but how do you know my name?” You ask with a confused face but this time you feel calmer and have your confidence back with you. You feel her soft hand brush yours as both of you let go of the handshake. “Well, I was talking with the director and I saw you, a very attractive new face so I asked Ben, and he told me about you. I have been wanting to introduce myself to you but you have been busy talking with others too so I’m glad I have you to myself right now to talk with you.” Her red lips curve a smile once more as her vague flirt sparkling in her grey eyes.

You laugh. “Thank you, and you are attractive too, beautiful actually. I’m sorry, pardon my ‘too early’ compliment. Well, now you know who I am.” You smile. “You are sweet, thank you. I don’t think I know enough about you yet.” She answers.

“Well, I assume that we will work together, so you will know me more.” You smile as you answer her. “Ah yeah, right. From work but what about maybe from a coffee, someday?” She asks in a soft tone with a hidden flirtatious vibe in it. “Even better.” You patch another smile for her. “Uh-I think I better get inside. Are you coming in too?” You ask.

“I will stay here a little longer. I’ll see you there, y/n.” She answers. You nod. “See you, Katie.” You walk back in.

Meanwhile Lizzie, her eyes can’t stop searching for you while she is talking with other casts. Ten minutes goes first, then fifteen and twenty minutes finally pass. She starts to get anxious and wonders if you have left the party. She excuses herself and she makes finding you as her mission right now. After a few minutes anxiously looking for you, she finally found you in the crowd. Her feet have a mind of its own and quickly lead her to you. She stands behind the person you are talking with and you see her as soon as that person walks away from you.

Both of you didn’t say anything, your eyes took over all your words. Both of you look at each other as if your eyes are talking to hers. She hesitantly took her step closer to you. You took a step back and she saw it and that stopped her step for a little but she is longing for you and she moves closer to you and this time you didn't move, you couldn't or maybe you didn't want to move away from her. You want her to get closer to you. What is wrong with you right now? You thought you had moved on for good.

"Hi." She greets you nervously almost in a whisper. "Hi, Liz." You return her greetings, you clear your throat. “H-how are you?” She asks nervously. “I’m good.” You try not to ask her back. “Th-thats good.” She looks nervous, she rubs her own arms awkwardly up and down and something on her hand catches your eyes , she looks away every now and then. “How about you? Good?” You finally ask her.

Every word you let out feels like a bunch of little knives stab to your heart. It feels like a sledgehammer hits straight to your stomach when you see her still wearing her promise ring. You don’t know what to do. You want to jump to her and hug her? Yes. You want to run as far as you can from her and everything? Yes. Oh everything is killing you right now.

“I-I-uh I’m good, never been better now that you are here.” Her eyes lit up in excitement and glistenned in pain at the same time. Her jaw tensed. You can see her swallow hard as she takes a nervous deep breath.

“Are you---happy?” You can’t help yourself to ask. “When? Right now? Or the past year?” She answers you with a question. “Why does it matter?” You throw back a question to her. You want to know both answers but you don’t want to show it.

“Because it will be two different answers, y/n.” She answers you nervously, her voice is shaky. Her left hand fidgets with her necklace, her right hand folds in front of her chest supporting the left hand by the elbow.

“Oh, okay.” That’s all you try to say while holding back yourself to ask more and trying your best to show her that you don’t care, opposite from what you feel inside. Yes, your heart is screaming telling your brain that you still care and it only gets harder for you when she lets down her left hand only for you to find she is wearing YOUR promise ring in her necklace. Yes, YOURS. Your throat is thickening with your emotion. Your chest feels suddenly painful.

“That’s all you are gonna say? Oh okay?” Lizzie looks at you with very sad eyes, pain screaming in her eyes. You try to look somewhere else to avoid her gaze that has been trying to catch yours. You press your lips, then you let out a harsh breath.

“Well, my question was ‘Are you happy?’ not ‘Were you happy?’, Liz. So I'm sure it was pretty clear.” You steal a glance to her sad green eyes. The green eyes you miss. You miss the feeling of getting lost in those green eyes, the eyes who used to show love for you a long time ago before it changed, filled up with anger to you the last year before you left her.

“So are you--happy?” You internally curse yourself for stealing a glance at her green eyes, making you feel the care that you thought was already long gone, making you ask her one more time if she is..happy..without you.. Yes, that was what your heart wanted to know and you can’t lie about it, not to yourself.

Her gaze bouncing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. She is looking for that sparkle that used to be there in your eyes when you were looking at her, admiring her or the smile you patched specially for her every single time after you told her you love her. She missed your voice saying that to her, whispering it into her ear. She feels the air gets too thick for her to breathe when she sees your ring finger isn’t wrapped with your promise ring. Oh she wishes, she really does wish you still wear your promise ring with her that will loudly tell the world that you are hers and she is yours, instead it’s hanging on her necklace chain and it hurts her and frustrates her at the same time.

She gathers herself to finally answer you. “I--I don’t know how to answer that, y/n.” She stutters as she tries hard to hold back her tears. “Well, then I don’t know what to say either, Liz.” Flat and cold, the tone you give her when you answer her as the result from fighting your own eyes not to keep looking back at your promise ring in her necklace. You are betrayed by your own eyes and your heart right now. Your heart suddenly feels homesick, not to your New York apartment, nor your childhood house nor John’s place but to your home with Lizzie that you both used to share, or perhaps you miss her because she was your home.

All both of you can do right now just standing there looking at each other, fighting the intense pull between two of you, fighting the huge urge to fall into each other's hugs. As soon as Lizzie’s lips are slightly open to say something, Ben announces that the meeting is starting soon.

You clear your throat. “Uh, well, I’ll see you inside, Liz.” You walk into the meeting room. She quickly tries to follow you but she is slowed down by the other casts and crews that are walking in as well in front of her. Scarlet catches up to Lizzie as they are walking in. “Liz,I’ve been looking for you. Was that y/n you were talking with?” The blonde asks her best friend.

“Yes, it was.” She answers quick and short as her eyes aim for the seat next to you. She grabs Scarlet’s hand and walks quickly to the seat but it wasn’t quick enough. She halts her steps as soon as she sees Katie take the seats next to you. “Is this seat taken?” The black haired woman asks you with both her hands holding drinks for you and her.. “No. You can claim the seat.” You answer her as you smile. Lizzie sees you answering her with the same smile, the smile that used to be hers and for her only.

“What happened? Let’s go sit over there.” Scarlet pulls her to walk with her to the only seats that haven’t been taken yet, across you.

Her heart is burning watching you sitting next to Katie, how you smile at her and how she looks at you. She even notices her hand sometimes slightly brushes yours and you are okay with it. Her heart beats quickened at an uncomfortable pace, heat crawls to her face. She unconsciously clenches her fist. She can’t focus on the meeting, she barely listens to any words. Scarlet notices and tries to comfort her, rubs her arms gently. “I’m sorry, Liz. I know it’s hard, but try to ignore it.” She whispers.

Lizzie doesn’t answer anything, she lowers her head then closes her eyes for brief seconds to get her focus back to the meeting.

The meeting is finally done. Everybody goes out to get their car and go home. Lizzie searches for you and finds you smoking outside. She rushes her steps to you. “Y/n?” One more time, you heard her voice calling your name and it still has the same impact on you. You take a deep breath then turn your head to her. “ Yes?”

“So uh, where do you live here?” She asks as she tries to open a conversation to catch up with you. “Oh, I live at Brooklyn, Ocean Hill actually"

"Oh okay. I live a block from there. Maybe, if--if you are okay with it, maybe we--uh--we can practice our scripts together?” Lizzie asks as she shyly tries to look at your eyes then look somewhere else. You try to keep it cool in front of her, try to disguise your tiny bit of excitement yet nervous as well. “Yes, sure. I don’t see why not.”

“Great. Uh, what's your plan after this?” She pushes her luck for this question, her stomach turns as she anxiously waits for your answer, hoping that you have time for her today. It’s ironic, really, how the table has turned, you used to hope and ask for her time and now she anxiously asks you and hoping that you will give her a little bit of your time.

Then comes Katie. “Y/n, the car is ready. Are you ready to go?” She asks you with a smile, lays her hand on your shoulder. “Uh yeah, hold on a sec, Kat. I’ll see you in the car.” You answer. “Sure, okay.” Lizzie watches Katie’s hand slide down slowly off your shoulder as she turns around and walks to the car.

"I'm sorry, Liz. I already have a plan after this. I'll text you. See you." You explain then you walk to Katie's car and Lizzie's question stops your steps.

"Do you still have the same number?” She asks and you turn around to answer. “No, but I have yours.” You answer. Confused with your answer, she quickly explains before you walk away. “But my number changed.”

You stop after you open the car door, standing there looking at her shortly before you answer “Yeah, I know.” Then you get into the car and leave with Katie. Lizzie was left perplexed with your answer. As she watches Katie’s car slowly disappear in the distance, she is thinking about how you told her that you know her number changed. Her mind ponders on how do you know? It means you know her new number but how did you get her number and most importantly why did you try to find her new number? Does it mean you still care about her? But if you do, why are you going out with Katie?

Questions and thoughts are bouncing around like crazy in her thoughts in such a short period of time until Scarlet’s voice stops everything in her mind.

“Did y/n just leave with Katie?” Scarlet asks. “Yes. Fuck.” Lizzie answers and swears under her breath, knowing how complicated things have become for her to win your heart back.

Ch. 4 - Fitting In The Memories

A/n: Welp, that was today's dose of ANGST from me, peeps! Let me know what you think. Reblog, like and comments are appreciated! Follow me for more! Thank you and see you in next.

Cheerio!

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harryspet · 4 years ago

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please don’t bite | p.parker, s.rogers, b.barnes

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark!steve x reader, hints of dark!natasha/dark!bucky x reader, vampire!steve/bucky/natasha, vampire au, vampire blood addiction, withdrawals, kidnapping, dubcon, intoxicated sex, oral sex (female recieveing)

A/N: hello, it’s been forever! I was in the middle of writing this when @cherienymphe announced her “Cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge” so I decided to join in! She’s one of my favorite dark writers so please check her out if you haven’t.

In which addiction leads you into a den of vampires.

taglist: @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan

main masterlist

word count: 3.7k

You piled all the dollar bills you had in your pocket on the table, “There. We can just use this.” You plopped down beside your boyfriend on the couch, fully feeling the headache you’ve had for the past two weeks. It was like your brain was pounding against your skull and sending painful waves through your body.

“This is twenty bucks and a … grocery store coupon for … shampoo,” After counting it, Peter flicked the money back onto the coffee table, leaning back with you. You tossed your legs over his lap and he wrapped his arm behind you, “So we have fifty bucks between us … great.”

“That’s enough, right?” You asked, barely able to hear yourself think through your headache.

“It’s like two-hundred just for a small vial,” A shiver ran through your body and Peter pulled you closer. Not only did the heat not work in the shoebox you two called an apartment, you were starting to get random chills and it was another rough winter in New York.

“Fuck,” You cursed, “Fuck, fuck-”

Peter shushed you, “We’ll be okay,” Peter said, trying to be strong for the both of you though his body was punishing him even more than yours was, “I got a gig by the pier, and by the end of the week, we should have enough.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you clutched his chest, “That’s too long. We’ll die before then.”

“We’ll be okay,” Peter insisted though he didn’t quite believe himself.

Vampire blood was one cruel mistress. It was hard to remember your lives before you took your first sips of the addictive potion. You both had everything going for you, highschool sweethearts that became successful college students but that was all gone now. You can’t hold a job or go to school when you’re on vampire blood. The highs last hours and, when you have enough of it, weeks can go by without you noticing.

“What was it like? Drinking from the vein?” You asked him, the taste of the blood was faint on your lips as you tried to remember the exact taste.

Peter’s head tilted back as he stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, “Like Heaven on earth. Like eternal life …. like nothing any normal human would ever feel. So good … jesus.”

Sometimes Peter wished he never introduced you to the taste but he’d forget all about it when you were high together. The sex was unbelievable, vampire blood being a strong aphrodisiac, and your love felt even stronger, “I want to try it,” You thought out loud, “If I’m gonna die soon, I-I wanna try it.”

“You’re not gonna die. Our brains are just totally miswired right now,” Peter groaned, turning his face towards yours. He kissed your forehead and, for a moment, it eased the pain. You tilted your head up to kiss the sides of his mouth. He tilted his head to the side and you kissed deeply. He pulled away suddenly and his eyes gazed into yours, “What would you do?”

“W-What?”

“What would you do to taste it from the vein?” You swallowed and your throat ached.

You nodded your head, “Anything. Oh god, anything, Peter.”

You’d sensed he’d had an idea and a weak grin began to pull at your lips. That quickly fell as Peter pulled away from you. You expected him to be excited but he was completely solemn, “I have an idea,” He said, “You can say no … but if you don’t say no, you have to promise that things will be how they used to be afterwards.”

“How they used to be,” You couldn’t even think that far back. You couldn’t imagine a single date, single birthday card or New Year’s Eve kiss while you were in so much pain, “Sure, Pete. We just need a taste a-and that’ll clear our minds and things we’ll go back to how they used to be.”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, your stomach growled. You’d gotten dressed up, put on light makeup, and styled your hair for whoever Peter had taken you to meet. You didn’t quite care anymore because your headache continued to cripple you over the past few days.

You pulled your jacket tighter as you waited on the steps of the gentrified brownstone. Peter pressed the doorbell nervously, watching as you shiver in your small, black dress. Peter dressed in his finest slacks and button down but was very aware that he probably wouldn’t be the center of attention tonight. He reached out to grab your hand which you happily took.

“Why is he making us meet him so late?” You whispered, shivering.

“He’s a vampire,” Peter shrugged, “They’re like nocturnal, I guess.”

Peter had reached out to ring the doorbell again when the door suddenly opened. A red headed woman opened the door, her hair cut short and a sultry smile on her face. You could tell instantly by the shine in her skin and darkness in her eyes that she was not like you.

“Peter,” She greeted, smirking, “You look … hungry.”

“And cold,” He added, sensing your uncomfortableness as she took him in like he was her prey.

“Right, come on in,” Peter led you inside the expensive home and out of the cold winter. You pressed yourself closer to him, not only because you were still shivering but because you’d never been alone with a vampire, “Steve will be here any moment.”

The woman led you down a corridor and you passed modern art sculptures and other expensive decorations you didn’t quite understand, “Steve?” You perked up at the mention of someone else.

“That’s, uh, who we’re meeting,” Peter said quickly.

“Unfortunately, I’m booked tonight. A sweet young thing I met a few weeks ago. British accent, total dreamboat, but Steve will take great care of you two,” She led the two of you into a dining room where wine and horderves were laid out, gesturing for the two of you to take a seat, “Let me take your jackets.”

You looked at Peter and he nodded, “It’s okay,” Hesitantly, you slid off one of your sleeves and you felt her eyes begin to burn into the skin of your neck. Your arms weak, you lifted it out to her and she graciously accepted it. Peter did the same, taking a seat and waiting for you to do the same. Your eyes were still on the mysterious woman until Peter grabbed your hand.

“I hope to see you both soon,” She smiled again, leaving the room, “Keep your eyes on this one, Pete.”

You turned to him, your eyebrows raised, “How do you know her?”

“That’s her,” Peter said, grabbing the bottle of wine, “I told you about the first time I tried it from the vein. I think she has a thing for young guys. Or young anything.”

As he poured himself a glass, you reached out for a cracker and tried not to eat too fast as you pushed them into your mouth, “Why’d she look at me like that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

“You’re a virgin,” You almost snorted, “I mean, your veins are. You’ve never been fed off of.”

“Oh,” You swallowed, taking his glass from him as you washed down your food, “I don’t wanna be. That’ll hurt, right?”

“Don’t worry, that’s not what we’re here for.”

Feeling some of your energy return, you stood up from the dining table, deciding to look closer at all the artifacts, “Y/N, what are you doing?” Peter asked, his fingers rubbing his temples, “Sit down, please.”

“Why do they have food if vampires don’t eat?” You asked out loud, annoying him further. There seemed to be a million framed pictures on the wall and you studied them as you passed along. They seemed to transform from black and white to fully in color, polaroid to digital.

“For their human prey, probably.”

“Prey?” A deep voice spoke up, surrounding the room, bringing Peter out of his chair and your head turning quickly, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter rushed out, and you wondered how he could muster up so much energy to be nice, “I didn’t mean …”

“No worries, I try to be polite but I am a blood sucking demon after all,” The blonde-bearded man smiled. He was so muscular, you’d pictured someone skinny and frail. “Won’t you introduce me to your …”

“Girlfriend,” Peter said a bit sadly. He wasn’t sad that you were his but that this was the saddest excuse for a date night, “This is Y/N.”

You raised a hand to wave but he crossed the room to take your hand. He kissed your knuckles, smiling charmingly as he looked into your eyes. Blue eyes, you weren’t expecting those either. Despite the porcelain skin he looked quite human. His suit was black, and his white shirt was pressed nicely beneath it, like he’d just returned from an important event. You smiled back weakly, “Pleasure to meet you, doll.”

“It’s … nice to meet you too.”

You felt Peter’s eyes on you as your hand fell back down to your side, “You two look like you’ve seen better days,” You moved closer to Peter because, despite his kind smile, you didn’t fully trust him.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Is it that obvious?” The nice clothes couldn’t hide the fact that they hadn’t had any vampire blood in almost three weeks. It was amazing that they were still standing.

“I think I can help you both out,” Steve assured you two, “If you had enough of the horderves, you can follow me upstairs.” He turned and Peter grabbed your hand as you all left the room.

“What exactly do we have to do … you know, for the blood?” Looking up at Peter, you worried that he was nervous for reasons that he was not telling you. Steve led you to the stairs and, as you climbed, you couldn’t help but look at all the photos that lined each wall. The upstairs wasn’t lit, making it feel like you were stepping into a story with a not-so-happy ending.

“Peter didn’t tell you?” Steve asked, not bothering to turn around. He led you down the hall to what you assumed was the master bedroom.

“Not everything,” Peter said quickly.

You expected some kind of evil den but the room was quite normal. High ceilings, brown upholstered bed, a view of the neighborhood, and a fireplace. You and Peter stood awkwardly, looking around, as Steve made his way over to the fireplace. He leaned down to turn a dial and moments later, it sprouted with fire.

“Peter,” You nudged him, your brows furrowed. He didn’t say anything which worried you more. Steve stood up, taking off his jacket which made your heart begin to race. Some of the fear disappeared quickly as he rolled up his white sleeves … exposing lower arms.

Now, your mouth was watering, “There’s no need to worry, doll. I already promised Peter that no harm will come to the two of you. But you do understand that this is a trade? I give you my blood and you give me what I want.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted, “And what do you want?”

“I want to watch,” He stated, looking the two of you over, “I consider myself somewhat of a voyeur, I like to watch when people are intimate.” You looked back and forth from him to Peter.

“Y/N, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Peter spoke quietly, worry in his eyes.

“Of course not,” Steve smiled, already a bit aroused by your shocked expression. He reached into his pocket to pull out a pocket knife, its handle having an old and intricate design, “But I think it’ll be very enjoyable on your side of things. The blood will certainly take the edge off and I won’t overstep my boundaries, I promise.”

“And we’re supposed to trust a vampire … ,” Steve stepped closer, pressing the knife to his skin.

“We don’t have another option,” Peter said, his eyes focused on Steve’s vein. Peter let go of your hand, the addiction taking over as he moved closer to Steve. Steve cut into his arm, the crimson running down it but not a drop touched the floor before Peter pressed his lips to the wound.

When Peter pulled away, his head tilted all the way back, as the sweet serum traveled down his throat. You were still staring in shock, the scent reaching your nose, and drawing you further in. It took everything in you to keep your feet planted and your fingernails dug into your palm as you watched.

Peter smiled, blood on his lips and mouth, “Y/N,” He drawled, “Please, taste it …” He walked towards you, his hands outstretched. The blood on his lips, you could smell it, and you wanted to taste it so bad that it was hurting you. When he leaned into your lips, you didn’t stop him. His tongue entered your mouth and you felt the high he was feeling.

Your vision began to blur a little as your head tilted back. Peter’s hands were holding you steady as the biggest smile spread across your lips. It was like tasting heaven, something beyond reality and you wanted to never let that supernatural feeling go.

You felt a foreign hand against your back but you felt like welcoming any touch under the influence of the drug. As Peter pulled his lips away from you, your eyes opened to Steve’s as he was offering you his wrist. With the taste already on the tongue, you gladly accepted more, Peter’s hands roaming over your body as you drank.

You weren’t sure how you made it to the bed, it felt like you had floated. Peter was right, he was so right, were all the words you could think. You heard those words, felt Peter’s hands, and watched as Steve’s lips turned into a mischievous smile.

Steve stepped away, the cut on his arm already healing, as he made himself comfortable in a lounging chair by the fireplace. He had to give it to the kid, he seemed to know your body much better than he expected for a guy his age. Either that, or you couldn’t tell what was what at the moment and it was all just pleasure in your glazed over eyes.

Your head tilted to the side so Steve could analyze every detail of your face. Your dress was pulled down at the top and the bottom rolled up past your stomach. Peter held your legs firmly, biting and kissing your thighs as he made himself comfortable between your legs.

“God, I fucking love you,” Steve smiled at Peter’s words. Your back arched up as he finally pushed your panties aside, tasting your warm center, “You smell so good. You taste so good.”

You cried out his name, biting down on your bottom lip, and Steve imagined you accidentally drawing blood. You wouldn't have noticed, there was already blood dripping down your chin. Steve liked how loud you were, he didn’t like the girls that held everything in, and he liked even more how Peter took your mewlings as encouragement to lap at you faster.

“Fuck,” You cursed, gripping the sheets tightly. Steve felt his pants begin to tighten though he promised himself he would wait, “Fuck, fuck!” You finally came and Peter crawled up your body in order to kiss you on your lips.

He fumbled with his belt and Steve felt his desperation to be inside you. He was still slow with you when he finally entered you, much more patient than Steve imagined he would be. He kept things slow so you could adjust. He made love to you, kissing your neck, “Is that good?”

You nodded eagerly, “Y-Yeah! Like that …. I love that, Petey. Feels so good … feels so good.”

It was more than ecstasy. The blood mixed with the love of your life, you thought you might cry knowing that no other feeling could compare.

Steve watched the young lovebirds through several rounds and several different positions, your stamina never seeming to run out. Like any other drug, the high relieved the side effects but it didn’t last forever. Eventually, you and Peter floated to sleep.

You slept through the entire morning and you thought you’d wake in Peter’s arms. You could face any shame and guilt if you were with him but, when your heavy eyes finally opened, you were alone. Your palm against your head, you sat up in the bed, a little bit of sun creeping through the curtains. Looking down, you were completely naked most likely from last night's escapades.

You felt dirty, for more than one reason. “Peter,” You whispered, stepping out of the bed to look for your dress. Covering your chest, you kneeled down to check beneath the bed, “Peter.”

You breathed heavily, trying to push down your anxiousness as you struggled to find your clothes. When the door of the room opened, you panicked, grabbing ahold of the comforter and pulling it against your body.

It wasn’t Peter or Steve but a dark haired man, abnormally muscular for a vampire just like Steve. He tilted his head as he looked at you, “Where’s Peter?” You asked immediately.

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow, shutting the door, “Ohhh, Peter. Right. The boyfriend.”

“Where’s Peter and who are you?” You continued, your eyes wide with fear. Bucky ran his hand over his beard before folding his arms over each other.

“I’m Steve’s … friend,” You began to recognize him from all the photos, “There’s a few of us who share this house, you know. And I heard you all last night, I asked Steve if I could join the fun but sitting on the sidelines is a bit boring to me.”

You didn’t care, “If you’re not gonna tell me where Peter is-”

He rolled his eyes, “He’s with Natasha I think. He woke up still craving. Are you craving something too, dollface?”

“Nothing from you,” You shook your head though the idea of his bleeding wrist did pop into your brain, “I-I need to see him.”

“Be my guest. Are you going naked?” You scowled at him, “Go clean up first, please. There should be something for you to wear in the bathroom.”

The two of you stared awkwardly until Bucky realized you weren’t going to move until he left the room, “Fine,” He raised his hands in defeat, “They always get shy in the morning.” He mumbled to himself as the door shut. You quickly hurried to the bathroom, shutting and locking it.

Why the hell was Peter with Natasha? She’d look at him like she wanted to devour him, in a completely non-vampire kind of way. And he’d left you all alone for that man to find you. Sure, you’d done things last night you weren’t proud of but he’d promised that things would go back to normal after.

You freshened up in the sink, throwing on a night blue, silk nightgown. You had to scrub the dry blood off of your lips and your inner thighs and you were forced to relive the night. Everything was perfect but as soon as you thought about who watched and probably got off to it, you only felt guilty. You felt even more guilty that you were craving more blood.

The room was empty when you stepped back into it. Tip toeing over to the bedroom door, you made sure to check to see if the coast was clear before stepping out into the hallway. You thought you could find Peter, snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and take the two of you home even if you had to carry him out on your back.

“Natasha warned me to keep an eye on you,” He appeared in front of you so suddenly that a small shriek left your lips. You backed up quickly only to run into another tall figure.

“Bucky, you’re going to hurt her,” Steve warned, his deep voice sending chills down your spine.

Bucky smirked, “No blood, no foul.”

“You say that now.”

You stepped away from both of them, your back pressing against the nearest wall, “Would you like breakfast, doll?” Steve asked, catching you off guard.

“You should get something on your stomach, doll,” Bucky seemed to mimic Steve’s concerned nature which caused Steve to press his lips into a frustrated, thin line.

“Where. Is. Peter? I want to go home.”

“He’s-”

Bucky interrupted him, “You can’t go home.”

“Buck-”

“There’s no use in sugarcoating it,” Bucky stepped closer, resting his arm above you, “We need new blood bags and it’s not like you guys have much to go back to.”

“We’re not blood bags-”

“We’re all blood bags,” Bucky chuckled, “You guys need us too. Anyways, it’s not a request. Steve is just nicer than me but we’re all going to take what we want.”

You slipped away from him, your feet pushing you even though you knew you were faster. The only reason Bucky didn’t chase after you was because of Steve, “Peter!” You called out, running down the hall, “Peter!” You frantically opened each door you walked past until you got to the end of the hallway.

When you stormed in, you found him shirtless, sprawled on a bed. Natasha, in a robe, was in front of a vanity, brushing through her red hair. You hurried over to the bed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders, “Peter, we have to get out of here.”

He smiled, softly grabbing ahold of your arm, “My love, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” He was so high that you weren’t even sure if he was really seeing you.

Tears pricked your eyes, “You promised, Peter. You promised.”

He shushed you, “It’s okay, just give me a few … hours. We’ll be … okay.”

You felt hands on your waist that you didn’t fight. She brushed a piece of hair from your face, touching your cheek with her freezing hand, “I knew you’d like her, Buck. They're both so perfect,” Natasha guided you away from the bed and towards the door where the other two vampires were standing, “So who gets the first bite?”

“Steve’s had his fun. She’s mine tonight.”

hope you enjoyed that fun little one-shot!

1K notes · View notes

littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe.

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

SAFE AND SOUND

a/n: this one took a little longer to write, but im so happy its finally finished! its not what i originally planned, i started a whole different plot but hated it so started again, but i might go back to the first story, so maybe more bodyguard!harry content is gonna come! anyway, hope you’ll enjoy this one!

pairing: Bodyguard!Harry X Reader

warning: use of weapon (no one dies), mentioning of cancer (no one is sick), sexual content

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

“This is not up for discussion, Y/N. What you are doing and what you are about to achieve soon might upset a lot of people that hold great power. We can’t just assume you’ll be fine, walking around like anyone else in the world.”

Your boss, Julian explains it to you, leaning onto his desk, trying his best to keep his cool about your protest to get you a guard to watch out for you and keep you safe. It’s been an ongoing struggle and fight you two have been having these past weeks and it became a burning situation since you’ve made some major progress in your project.

“I’m not some kind of royalty to have security with me all the time,” you grumble rolling your eyes.

“Not just royalties have guards, Y/N. Just accept it, that you’re valuable, your work is very important not just to our company but to the whole world. Do you not realize how big it is? You are close to having the cure to cancer, Y/N! You can easily get a Nobel-prize for that!”

“I know that it’s important, but no one knows me, no one will see me on the street and know who I am or what I do!”

“It’s not about the people on the street. The world is a dark place, darker than you could imagine. Please, just… I want to know that you’re safe.”

Staring back at him with your arms folded on your chest you contemplate his words. You can see the rationality in his words, it’s just that you don’t want to break your routine, you don’t want people around you all the time, you don’t want to end your privacy like that. But Julian is right, your work is important and there have already been a few attempts to steal your researches, but they miserably failed. However that doesn’t mean they will be stopped the next time as well.

“One guard,” you speak up. “Just one. I’m not gonna have a whole fucking team,” you tell him raising your eyebrows. He lets out a relieved sigh, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Reaching out to the phone he presses the buzzer that signals to his assistant, Monica outside and a few moments later she walks in, accompanied with a tall, suited man, his green eyes immediately falling to you upon entering the room.

“Y/N, I took the courage to pick him out for you myself. This is Harry Styles, the best you can find in the city if not in the country,” Julian introduces him as he pushes himself away from his giant mahogany desk, walking closer to the man as they shake hands firmly. You stand up from the armchair you’ve been sinking into these past ten minutes and unsurely hold out your hand to the man.

“Harry Styles, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself, a thick British accent lacing through his voice and the way his green irises stare back at you, you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. Mr. Styles is undeniably the most charming and handsome man you’ve ever met, with his perfectly carved cheekbones and chiseled jawline, pink lips and those enchanting green eyes framed by his thick lashes. There’s something in his appearance, something feminine, but still, he holds so much masculinity at the same time, it’s hard not to be enamored by him.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you mumble your name, shaking his hand slightly before letting go of it.

“Details about your cooperation have already been discussed with the security agency and us, but of course, your word is what counts, so we’ll walk over the whole plan with you as well,” Julian explains to you and you nod shortly.

The three of you move to the conference room and the next hour goes by with working those so called details out, some of them are ridiculous, some of them you can get used to, at the end you are left with a somewhat bearable plan, but one thing is for sure. Harry Styles will be a big part of your life from now on.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The tiny pack of sugar tears open in your hands, but you put too much effort into it so the countertop is now covered with the content of the pack instead of ending up in your paper cup.

“Fuck,” you growl, dumping the empty pack into the trash before grabbing another one, hoping it won’t end up the same way.

“Let me help you,” a smooth, male voice speaks up next to you and Harry grabs the pack from your hands as he places his own coffee to the counter. You let him tear the pack open easily, pouring the sugar into your drink without problem before he puts the lid back to your cup.

“Thank you,” you mumble, closing your tired eyes for a split second. You’ve been overworking way too much these past weeks, it’s starting to shut your system down, but you don’t want to rest, not when you’re so close to finishing your project.

The past two weeks have been major, you finally made the progress you’ve been working towards for months now, letting you step into the last phase of your work finally. But it’s been a quite stressful time as you’ve been eager to finish as soon as possible, but that meant little to no time spent outside of your lab.

Harry shoots you a reassuring smile before you both grab your drinks and head out of the café in the direction of your workplace.

The past three months were one hell of a ride when it comes to Harry. You didn’t hide your dislike towards his continuous presence in your life, standing by your side wherever you went. It frustrated you, made you feel like you didn’t have your freedom any longer even though he never did anything to make you hate him. He was considerate, respectful and only wanted to do his job, yet you still gave him a hard time at the beginning, right until the need for his work was proved.

Two months ago someone broke into your apartment while you were out, they searched through the whole place, looking for something. Well, not just something, they were clearly interested in anything connected to your research, but luckily, you’re not dumb enough to just let these stuff lay around your home.

Even though you didn’t encounter the person responsible for it, the incident still shook your up. Knowing that someone could get into your personal space so easily, that they could have come at a time when you were home and vulnerable, it scared you. Harry was the person that eased the worry and fear in you, he took care of everything in an instant and upon his best advice, you moved to a new apartment with a higher security level. He even moved to the place next to yours so he could be as close to you as possible at all times. There was a much needed shift in your relationship after that and you didn’t see him as an intruder any longer in your life, but more as a hero.

“So would you like Italian or Mexican tonight for dinner?” Harry asks as the two of you enter the building, using your IDs you go through the massive security gates, the guards in post nodding in your way.

“Isn’t it your night to choose?” you smile at him sideways as you wait for the elevator.

“Okay, then Thai,” he smirks, making you laugh. “Hope you are not planning on eating it here again,” he gives you a warning look and you purse your lips.

“I have a lot to do, and—“

“Y/N, you need to rest sometimes,” he scolds you as if you were just a child.

“I do rest. Sometimes,” you answer with an innocent look as the elevator’s door slides open and you walk in with Harry following you right behind.

“Like once a week? Do you even sleep when you’re at home?”

“I do! Don’t make me look like I’m some kind of crazy workaholic!”

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” he sighs, giving you a hard look.

“Oh, Mr. Styles. If I didn’t know you better I would think you might have a soft spot for me,” you smirk at him teasingly before the elevator arrives to your floor and you walk out without a word. Harry just stares after you with a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks about your words. It’s funny, especially because you both know something more than just a professional relationship has been going on between the two of you, only dancing around it as the situation is a little too complicated to address now.

It’s not like any rules are tying you down, but you would rather not mix up work with your private life. You might have feelings for Harry, but you refuse to act up on them until he is out of his duty as your personal guard.

Your days are usually the same. While you lock yourself up in your lab, working with no end, Harry stay either with you in there or he hovers around the door, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Just the thought of his presence never fails to bring you a sense of comfort, knowing that you don’t have to worry about your safety until he is near. It might seem nerdy, but you can easily get lost in your work. It doesn’t feel like a job, growing up with parents who were excellent doctors and pharmacists themselves, you were doomed to be a science enthusiast yourself from the beginning. Learning has never been a task for you but a gift, as you liked to look at it.

Working overtime happens often because you lose touch with time easily once you get down to work. Nothing exists outside of your lab and you hardly realize how late it is until Harry usually warns you.

“I didn’t joke when I said I didn’t want to have dinner in here,” he steps into your sanctuary while you’re in the middle of running tests for the millionth time today. Pushing your glasses up to the top of your head while the machines are buzzing and whirling, you look up at him with a tired smile.

“Let me just… finish this one last test and then I promise we’ll head out.”

“Alright, but I’m watching you. No more tests,” he warns, sitting on one of the stools while you finish what you started.

Harry never really asked you about your work, for a while you weren’t even sure if he knows what you’re doing and why it’s so important. It was never discussed at the beginning and he never brought it up later either. But judging from the time he spends near you at the lab he must have picked up a few things about it surely.

The machines stop working and the tiny beeping sound signals that the results are out. You grab the long printed paper and start scanning the data, chewing on your bottom lip as you hope to find what you’ve been looking for all day. The numbers are coming in great, but it’s been like this for a while, it’s the end that never matches up with your expectations. So when you get there and see the graphs showing the result that you’ve been dreaming of since the start of the whole project years ago, your mouth falls open in disbelief even though it’s what you’ve been working for all this time.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“What?” Harry’s head snaps up in alert, jumping off the stool.

“I… I did it,” you breathe out, glancing up from the paper. “It’s my first time succeeding, Harry!” you start laughing, the shock taking over your whole body that you really did it this time.

“And what does that mean?”

“Come on, let me show you,” you tell him in excitement, pulling him over to the computer where you pull up all the data you’ve been working on. A virtual version of a cell comes up on the screen as you start typing, modelling what you want to show him. “This is a completely healthy cell, it’s what you are made of too, mostly,” you ass with a chuckle before another cell comes up on the screen. “And this is what cells that are affected by cancer look like.”

The difference is a lot more complicated than what you can explain to him in such a short time, but he can see it with his own eyes. The color, the shape, everything is different from the first one. Harry examines the screen and nods shortly, letting you know that he is following.

“I’ve been working on a substance that is able to not just detect the cancerous cells but it can also kill it effectively without hurting the healthy ones.”

You bring up the virtualized version of the substance you’ve been working on, a short animation showing how it can tell the two cells apart and only attack the cancerous one.

“I haven’t been able to get the numbers above 60% when it comes to succeeding in the process of selection so my whole project was about finding a solution to that. I’ve been trying to find the right substance to mix with our already existing one to solve the problem, but I haven’t been successful in it.”

“I assume until now,” Harry hum and you nod smirking.

“Yeah. The last test results came back very good, quite promising. It’s still not the end of the process, but it’s a huge step.”

“That’s great,” he smiles at you and though you know he probably understands just a fracture of the whole process, he can still figure out how important it is. “Congrats, Y/N.” “Thanks,” you breathe out, pride filling your chest as you shut the computer off. “I guess this is my cue to end the day,” you smile at him before packing up everything, getting ready to finally leave.

It’s not the first time Harry is spending the evening at your place. You often have dinner together, or watch a movie whenever you get home early enough to do that. Through the time you’ve spent together because of his job you’ve grown to be friends above everything. Good ones, in fact, which is a big deal for you since making friends has never been an easy task for you.

You bought takeout on the way home and as Harry set the table you poured yourself a glass of wine, knowing well Harry would never drink when he is on duty and he is basically working all the time he is with you, so you’re drinking alone. You both sit to the dining table, starting dinner together in a comfortable silence. It’s another thing you appreciate about Harry. He doesn’t try to talk when it’s not necessary, you hate small talk, you’d rather sit in silence than talk about something nonsense and Harry is a partner in that.

“When do you need to leave work tomorrow to get to the party on time?” he asks breaking the silence and you freeze. His eyes fall on you, examining your features for a moment before he smirks. “You forgot about it?”

“I just… thought it’s going to be next week,” you truthfully admit.

“We talked about it last week,” he smirks at you playfully. “And I told you it would be next week which is… this week.”

“I know how the days work, Harry,” you give him a look of ‘give me a break’ before you turn back to your food. “I just…”

“You just forgot it,” Harry finishes for you, and you just roll your eyes at him.

Glancing at him over the table you wonder if he’ll wear something different than is usual attire he always wears. Black suit with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons left undone, giving you a tiny peek at the tattoos on his chest. You know those are not the only ones, you’ve seen him with the suit jacket off before, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his whole left arm is covered in ink and you wish you’ve had the chance to take a better look at them.

Harry is such an intriguing person in a lot of different ways. He definitely likes to keep things to himself, not one to ask for attention and it’s not just because of his work, it’s his personality. However he is good with people, interacting with them, being social. A skill you haven’t really mastered yourself yet and you probably never will. He always seems to know what to say, you’ve never seen him even the slightest bit anxious or nervous before, the confidence he holds is unmatched and it makes it hard to not think about him in ways you shouldn’t be.

After dinner he helps you clean up, just like he always does before heading out, but before he could leave he stops and turns back to face you.

“Oh, a friend of mine is visiting from the UK on Sunday. I already mentioned it to you before, but I was hoping I could get the afternoon off,” he wonders and you nod right away.

“Of course! I’ll be just fine at home,” you smile at him.

“Thank you,” he smiles back before walking out of your place at last.

Because of the party in the evening you are forced to stop working early the next day. It’s weird to leave the office in broad daylight, but you know today can’t be one of those days when you end up seeing the new day in the lab.

Harry was right yesterday, you completely forgot the whole party thing, meaning you didn’t plan anything ahead and you had nothing to wear, so through the day you called your sister, Mara to help you out. She was more than happy to lend you anything you needed. She meets you at the office, beaming to spend some time with you finally. It’s not that you don’t like her company, but you are quite different, is all. Your sister didn’t get sucked into the world of science, though she definitely has the bright mind to take up on any field she would want to explore. But she was more into the world of art, having written her first fantasy novel at the ripe age of twenty, she is now a bestseller author at only twenty-nine with a bubbly personality and basically every trait you never owned yourself.

“Harry! So nice to see you again!” Mara beams at the man as the three of you meet up at the lobby.

“Hi, Mara,” Harry smiles with a tiny nod.

“Alright, I have everything you could need so let’s head to yours!” your sister cheers before you make your way out to your cars.

Arriving to your home Harry splits from the two of you, letting you to get ready in peace and also to get ready himself. Mara didn’t joke when she said she has everything you need, the trunk of her car is basically filled with clothes and shoes, there’s no chance you won’t find something to wear tonight.

She orders you to take a quick shower as she unpacks everything she brought and when you emit from a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around your body and one on your head, Mara gets down to work.

“So do you have a date for today?” she curiously asks while she does your makeup.

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you huff ironically. “It’s just gonna be Harry and me.”

“So Harry is your date?” her ears perk up, but you’re quick to protest.

“Of course not! He comes with me everywhere,” you mumble with your eyes closed as she is doing something on your eyelids.

“But it could be a date,” she offers and you huff in disagreement.

“You know that’s not how it works, Mara.”

“You are making it more complicated than it is! No one would blame you if you just… went for it! Harry is obviously an attractive guy.”

“Then maybe you should date him,” you bite back bitterly. Growing up you weren’t the boys’ favorite, they always paid all the attention to your sister. It’s not that you blame her or them, she always had a more capturing and lively personality that attracted people naturally. But it made you wonder if there was something wrong with you, spending all your time with your nose buried in a book or doing researches for fun while Mara was out with her friends, living her best life. Even her published books were inspired by her personal life experiences.

“Y/N,” she sighs, her hands leaving your face so you open your eyes to look at her disapproving expression. “You obviously like him so I would never do that and besides that, he for sure likes you too.”

“What’s not true,” you deny right away, but then you look at her curiously. “But why would you think that?”

Mara smirks at you tilting her head to the side, seeing right through your act that you’re not interested in Harry. Of course you are, but you choose to keep it at bay for the sake of his job.

“Y/N, I see how that man watches every move you make. It’s written all over his handsome face.”

“Of course he watches my every move, that’s his job!”

“No, it’s different. You’ll see it sooner or later,” she smiles before ordering you to close your eyes again so she can finish your makeup.

Mara does wonders to your looks, the makeup look she does on you already makes a huge difference since you don’t bother to do anything on your every days. But she didn’t stop there, she made your hair look like you just stepped off of the pages of a magazine and the dress the two of you chose was the cherry on the top. The emerald green dress was tight around your curves, showing just enough of your body to be still considered modest, but also have some spice. And though there are a lot of advantages of the dress, your first and most important thought (to you at least) was how well it goes with the color of Harry’s eyes.

“I’m a genius,” Mara sighs satisfied with her work as you slip on the pair of nude heels and put your necessities into the little clutch you’re taking with you. Just when you’re gone with everything, the doorbell rings and your heart jumps in your chest, knowing that Harry is standing on the other side of the door.

“I’ll get it for you,” Mara smiles rushing to the door as you walk into the hallway, standing a few feet behind her so as she opens the front door and Harry comes into view, over Mara’s shoulder his eyes easily find your figure standing there, feeling a little awkward and self-conscious, like you are about to go to prom with your crush. Difference is that you are not a teenager anymore and you aren’t going anywhere together together. Tonight is just work for him.

But as his bright green eyes fall on your frame and you see his lips slightly part, you can’t help but allow yourself to think for a moment that it’s more than just work. That he feels the same way about it as you do. Though you don’t voice your hopes and just smile at him faintly, hoping you don’t look completely ridiculous in your outfit.

“Harry, come on in!” Mara invites him into the apartment and he walks in, wearing his usual black suit with the difference of having a tie on around his neck, his white shirt is appearing neat and crispy and his sometimes unruly curls are now gently combed back a little so his curls are not falling into his forehead.

“Hi,” you smile at him nervously fumbling with your clutch as he takes a few steps closer to you.

“Hi. You look… beautiful,” he smiles back at you a little breathlessly as he takes a respectful look down your body before his green irises meet your gaze again.

“Thank you. You look great too,” you chuckle softly. “Should we… head out?”

“Yeah, sure!” he nods, offering you his arm and you link your arm with his instantly, hoping you won’t trip in your heels. “Lock the door when you leave, Mara, alright?” you call out to your sister who is watching you smiling.

“Sure! Have fun!”

You wave at her one last time before walking out and shutting the door closed behind you.

This party is held every year at Pharma-Z, mostly this is the time when the brain meets the money. Investors and funders like to meet the people behind the million dollars researches from time to time and this is the occasion where both sides show up. Julian always asks you to be social and try to mingle, but the whole thing feels forced and painful for you. You’d rather just be left alone with your researches and projects without having to schmooze to the people who give you the money for your hard work.

It’s held at one of said investors’ luxurious penthouse, that doesn’t even look like someone’s home with the huge outdoors infinity pool, the spacious and modern interiors and the expensive looking decoration that was put up just for the occasion.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you are here!” Julian approaches you with a drink in his hands and you’re happy to see a familiar face in the crowd. You don’t really know others from work, only your little team you directly work with and of course, your boss, Julian.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” you chuckle giving him a short, friendly hug. Julian is far from a nightmare of a boss some people have to face at their job. He is an actually nice and very smart and intellectual person. The pharmaceutical industry can be harsh and dark, the competition between the businesses is way more intent than people think. This is why you need the protection. Some companies profit off of the fact that cancer has no cure yet. They make money from all the treatments that doesn’t even guarantee full recovery. A lot of big fish don’t want the cure, because that would make them lose a good chunk of their income and some of those would even go to the depth of hurting you for being so close to ruining their business with your invention. Pharma-Z is luckily a genuine company that wants to help sick people and that’s why you’re working there.

“You know how important it is for the company,” Julian sighs, but he understands how uncomfortable these events make you feel, though he can do nothing to help you. “Harry, nice to see you again,” he smiles at the man by your side.

“Julian, nice to see you too,” he nods, shaking hands with your boss.

“Mingle a little so people can see and meet you, alright?” Julian requests and you just nod silently before he moves on to the next group of people.

You get yourself a drink to ease your nerves a little as people start approaching you. Some of them you’ve met last year, but there are a lot of new faces. Your project has brought in quite a few new sponsors and investors and now they want to meet you and talk about the research their money is going into.

You try your best to keep a smile plastered across your face as you tell the people the same thing over and over again, receiving praise and compliments on your work before moving onto the next conversation just to start over again.

You can feel your social batteries running out, not sure you can put up with another conversation with a wealthy investor who wants you to know you have a job because they gave money for your project in hopes of you bringing more money to them.

Harry has stayed by your side the whole evening, and you didn’t notice but he kept examining you every few minutes to make sure you were holding up and he noticed how tired you’ve grown from socializing for so long.

“Y/N,” he softly calls out, his palm finding the small of your back. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?” he kindly offers and you immediately understand that he is trying to get you away from the guests and the overwhelming conversations you’ve been dealing with. Nodding you let him usher you outside, finding a spot where the two of you can be a little alone.

“I fucking… hate small talks and being nice to everyone,” you let out a long and heavy sigh, as you lean against the railing, paying just one short glance at the city’s bright lights under your feet. Harry chuckles shortly.

“I figured. You’ve been chewing your lips so hard I was afraid you’d start bleeding.”

Now that he has brought your attention to it, you realize you are doing it again, so you let go of your bottom lip from between your teeth and it brings out another chuckle from Harry.

“I’m just… not good with these… social stuff.”

“I disagree with that,” he hums, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh please, if you haven’t realized it, my number of zero friends is a tell, I think.”

“Come on, it’s not zero. You’re friends with Mara.”

“But family doesn’t count, she is kind of forced to be my friend,” you shrug, making him laugh.

“Okay, but I’m your friend too, aren’t I?” You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“You spend time with me because it’s your job.”

His eyes soften on you as he leans against the railing next to you, looking so effortlessly handsome and charming, you almost need to take a deep breath at the sight of him. And the cheeky smile on his pink lips is definitely not helping your case.

“I know you didn’t mean that. You’re a smart woman, Y/N.” Reaching out he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he inches closer a tiny bit. “I think we stepped over the line of just work.”

“So… you consider me your friend?” you ask shyly.

“If you have to ask maybe I’ve been doing something wrong,” he chuckles softly, making you smile too. Folding your arms a shiver runs down your spine from the cold evening breeze. “Are you cold?” Harry asks, but before you could even say a word, he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” you breathe out shyly.

“Do you want another drink?”

“Yeah, I think I might need another one,” you chuckle and nodding he tells you to just stay there until he gets you a new one.

Turning towards the view, you enjoy the lonely moments for a little, not too keen on going back inside and keep up the façade of interest any longer. You’d rather just head home, maybe have another drink with Harry on your couch while you watch a rerun of whatever show is on TV and then fall asleep after a hot shower. You’ve been working way too much lately and it’s just now crashing down on you. Next week you definitely should cut back on your hours at the lab, the project is already going amazing, it won’t hurt if you actually had some rest before you lose your mind.

You hear footsteps approaching you and you think it’s Harry returning, but as you turn around you are faced with a stranger, a man who is staring down at you with bloodshot eyes and… a gun pointed at you.

Your breath hitches, your blood freezing in your veins at the sight and your legs almost give up underneath you.

“What… who are you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, tears already flooding your eyes as you melt against the railing as if you had anywhere to go, but you have no chance against him.

One glance at the gun allows you to see that it has a silencer on, with the music coming from inside and no one around, if he shoots you, he’ll be able to get away before anyone realizes what happened.

The man doesn’t answer, just holds up the gun, aiming right at your chest and you close your eyes, thinking that this is it. This is how your life ends, in the middle of a posh party with no one around to help you. Your lips are trembling and hands are shaking as you hold onto the railing, waiting for the inevitable to come, keeping your eyes shut, not wanting to see your killer as the last thing you see before you go.

And then you hear the muffled gunshot, making you scream in fear, your knees turning into jelly, but the pain never comes. Instead, you hear grunting and growling as a body falls to the ground in front of you.

Your eyes snap open and you see Harry straddling the man, the gun lying near your attacker’s hand and he is trying to reach it, but before he could, you kick it away as Harry throws a punch at his face that stops him from trying too hard to free himself.

The next few moments are so busy and blurry at the same time. Your legs give up underneath you, making you fall to the ground, your whole body shaking in waves. In the meantime Harry gets the man into a position where he can be easily controlled and people start flooding out at the scene, helping Harry while security working at the party take the man, the police already on its way.

When Harry can finally step back from the attacker, his eyes fall on your figure and he rushes over to you, kneeling down next to your trembling body, cradling you into his arms upon seeing how shaken up you are.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s over, you’re alright,” he murmurs, holding you tight as your fists grab onto his shirt, your breathing is uneven, the oxygen barely makes its way into your lungs as you’re panting and gasping from the shock. “Come on, let’s get you inside, Y/N,” he gently tells you, helping you up from the floor even though your body feels like a pile of brick.

You can feel everyone staring at you, whispering behind your back as you try to hide in Harry’s arms while he walks you back inside, away from the man that tried to take your life. He walks you into one of the bathrooms and closing the lid he sits you down to the toilet while he grabs a towel and wetting it he kneels in front of you, tapping the cloth to your cheeks gently. You haven’t even realized that you’ve been sweating from the shock and the coldness feels amazing against your burning skin.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, but not even you are sure why.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he gently murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze as you shut your eyes closed. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water handing it over to you.

“Thank you,” you mumble, bringing it to your trembling lips, but before you could drink it, your eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “And thank you for… what you did.” Your voice dies down at the end, the picture of the man pointing the gun at you still living so vividly in your mind.

“No need, it’s my job after all, right?” he chuckles softly, making your lips twitch the slightest bit before you start sipping on the water.

The police show up soon and they arrest the man who refuses to talk. They also request you to give your statement about what happened, but Harry manages to let you just give them the brief story and go in sometime soon to give them your full statement so you don’t have to spend any more time there. They are quite sure the man was hired by someone who doesn’t want you to finish your project, and it’s scary how far some people are willing to go just for the money, just to keep sick people in suffering for their own benefit.

Heading home you stay silent as Harry drives, staring out the window you let the nightlights of the city pass by you while you still see the same face, the face of the man that held a gun at you tonight. The gunshot is still ringing through your ears, it was so close, so real… of course it was real! All of it was real and your life was on the line. If it weren’t for Harry, you wouldn’t be here right now.

Arriving to your home Harry helps you out of the car and you cling onto his hand as you head up to the apartment. He keys the two of you into your home, flicking the lights on and looking around before you go further inside, just to be sure.

“It’s all clear, don’t worry,” he murmurs as you nod and make your way into the bedroom. Kicking your heels off your feet you sit on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath, feeling your limbs loosening up a bit for the first time in the past hour.

Harry moves around the place doing whatever before he joins you in the room, kneeling in front of you his hands find your bare knees and your eyes meet his worry-filled green irises.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he softly asks and you nod your head. “Come on, I’ll start the water for you.”

He helps you up from the bed and walks you into the bathroom. You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do as he starts running the water in the walk in shower before he steps back to you.

“Would you…?” you ask, turning around, needing help with the zipper of your dress. Harry clears his throat as his fingers work on it and a moment later the fabric loosens around your frame as you hold it to your chest with your arms. Turning back around you peek up at Harry and you notice the slight blush on his cheeks.

“I’ll be outside at the door, okay?” He whispers, his fingers delicately touching your cheek as you nod before you watch him walk out and close the door behind him.

The hot water feels freshening, like it could burn away the memories even though it’s still so vivid in your mind. You stand under the running water longer than you intended, but it feels nice and needed. Once you’re done, you wrap yourself into a fluffy towel and walk out of the steamy bathroom only to find Harry sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting like a loyal puppy. When he sees you, he stands from his spot and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over your body that’s barely covered.

“Alright, I’ll go now, but if you—“ “Don’t!” you gasp, panic taking over you at the thought of being left alone. One of your hands grasps his arm to stop him from moving and he freezes in his spot, staring back at your fearful eyes. “Please, stay here,” you plead, voice barely over than just a whisper.

There’s a heartbeat of a pause in him as he is watching you intently and for a moment you think he’ll say no, but then his hand finds yours on his arm and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he nods.

“Okay.”

You let out a long, relieved breath as you ease into comfort. He’s staying, he’ll be with you all night, protecting you from everything and everyone.

“Can I take a shower too?” he asks softly and you nod, stepping to your wardrobe to get him a clean towel. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly,” he tells you before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door closed behind him.

You hear the water running again and you find yourself standing at the same spot as you listen to the noises coming from the bathroom. Harry is in there, soaking under the water naked and you can’t take your mind off of how badly you want to be there with him.

It’s not just because of what happened tonight, though it made you realize that you don’t have much time to waste. Nothing can assure that you’ll live another day and you don’t want to deny happiness from yourself. You want to be with Harry and as far as you can make it out, he feels the same way.

Upon a sudden decision, you pad your way over to the bathroom door and open it carefully, the warmth immediately hitting your face as you step inside and close it behind you. The glass of the shower is steamed up, you can only make out the blurry frame of Harry in there and you wonder if he heard you come in, but it doesn’t seem like that. His clothes from the night are lying on the floor in a pile, his watch that he always wears is carefully placed next to the sink.

Your hands grab onto the edge of the towel around your body and you unwrap yourself, hanging it up on the wall before stepping to the shower. Hoping you won’t scare him, you open the door, the steam immediately hugging your naked body warmly and you see him standing there with his back facing you as you step into the spacious walk-in shower.

He notices your presence, you see him freeze mid-movement before he peeks over his shoulder, his eyes falling on you as he slowly turns, facing you completely. Standing in front of him completely bare, you feel more vulnerable than ever in your life. You’re scared that he is going to send you away, that he won’t let you get closer to him and if that happens, you’ll feel humiliated, but he just stands there in his naked glory and doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a chance to shoot your shot.

Reaching up your hands slide to his hard chest, up to the base of his neck as you push your front against his, skin to skin with the hot water running down your bodies. His hands find your waist and you could cry from the feeling of his touch on you. Pushing yourself up to your tiptoes your nose nudges against his as your eyes fall closed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, stopping you right when your lips could meet. Opening your eyes you see the hesitation in his green irises that appear so much darker than they usually do.

“Do you not want it? You don’t want me?” you whisper.

“I do. It’s not that,” he sighs shaking his head slightly. “But you went through a lot today. I don’t want you to make decisions you might regret in the morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs on your lips at how considerate and protective he is over you, thinking that this might be just something that crashed over you in the heat of the moment, but it’s been in the making from the first day you met him. Despite all your protesting against him, you knew you needed him and not just as your guard. He is what’s been missing from your life all along, you just never realized it.

“There’s nothing I could regret when it comes to you, Harry. I needed tonight to open my eyes. Our days are counted, I’m done running from my own happiness.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath as his hands hold tighter onto your waist while your hands run up his neck until your fingers tangle into his wet locks.

“I need you. And not just because of tonight. I’ve always needed you.”

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m all yours,” he breathes out before his lips smash against yours all wet and hard, but it’s the most heavenly feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You become a mess, tangled in each other, lips melting together as your hands explore naked limbs and torsos, bodies pressing tightly against each other shamelessly. Harry walks you backwards until your back hits the cold tile and you let out a whimper as you arch your back at the sudden feeling, just as his head dips down, lips attacking your neck, kissing and nibbling on the soft skin. Your light leg lifts as his hands wander down your thigh, your hips pressing together and you feel how hard he is, his cock pushed against your other thigh, making you moan at the feeling. Reaching down you blindly wrap a hand around the base, giving him a few slow pumps, earning a guttural growl from him before his lips return to yours, kissing you hard and filled with passion. His hands are all over you, on your thighs, ass, back and chest, as if he was mapping your whole body wanting to remember how every inch feels under his touch.

Without tearing his lips away from yours, he blindly reaches behind him, shutting the water off before urging you to jump into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you out of the shower, placing you to the counter next to the sink as he stands between your legs, his hands once again finding your breasts as they knead them, making you whimper and shake under his touch. It’s euphoric and addictive, you already know you won’t be able to go a day without feeling him against you like this.

“Bed?” he breathes out against your mouth and you nod eagerly. Reaching to the side he grabs a towel, wrapping it around you, tapping and squeezing you to dry you off, throwing fits of giggles when you grab it and wrap it around his body as well.

The towel falls to the floor abandoned and forgotten as he lifts you off the counter and brings you to the bed, laying you down and holding himself up above you with one arm. His other hand cups your cheek and turning your head you kiss his palm gently, eyes glued to his as he settles between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” he breathes out, his lips dancing against your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

“Yes! Harry, please!” you beg with a whimper, your whole body aching to feel him inside you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, love,” he kisses you as his hand leaves your heated face, runs down your naked body until his fingers reach your throbbing clit.

He slides two digits through your already wet folds, but just to work you up even more he starts drawing circles on your bud, turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. Your fingers dig into the lean muscles on his back, feeling them twitch from his movements and one hand sliding down to his ass, grabbing a handful of him while pushing him closer to you, his erection pressing against your core.

“Harry, I need you!” you moan, not able to contain yourself any longer. You need to feel him, you need him as close as possible.

Reaching over to your nightstand you grab a condom from the drawer, ripping the package open with your teeth before you carefully grab his erection and roll the condom down his length, ready to finally feel him inside you.

He flicks his fingers on your clit one last time before his hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps while his soft lips kiss down your jawline and throat, his face hiding in the crook of his neck. Your arms circle around his shoulders, your chest heaving from the sensation as he positions himself just right, the tip teasing your hole. Harry lifts his head up, his bright eyes finding your gaze just as he sinks into you, filling you up perfectly.

“H-Harry! Fuck—“ you gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around his thick cock as he stays still for a few moments, letting you adjust to his size.

You draw your legs up, giving you more space to go deeper as he starts thrusting, sliding in and out of you oh so perfectly, inching you closer to your relief with each movement. You cup his face in your hands, staring into his eyes as if you could see his soul in them and for a split second, you feel like you actually do. His lips are parted and the cross pendant is grazing your chest while he fucks into you, never falling out of his rhythm.

You want to beg to him not to stop, to keep moving and moving, but no words can leave your mouth as your back arches, your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. You start grinding your hips in sync with his, allowing him to reach deeper into you, making your toes curl from pleasure.

“Harry, I’m gonna—I-I’m gonna—Ah!” You can’t make up one coherent sentence as your legs start shaking, feeling your orgasm taking over your body.

“I know, baby. Let it go. Let me make you feel good,” he pants, his lips kissing you everywhere he can reach, your lips smashing against each other in a messy kiss, your tongue meeting his in the middle just when you reach your high.

You moan and cry out his name, fingers digging into his flesh as you chase your release. Seeing you fall apart underneath him is enough to throw him over the edge, spilling himself into the condom as his mouth hangs agape, your name falling off his tongue as if it was the holiest glorification. Combing your fingers through his hair you hold him to your chest as he collapses on top of you, his head lying on your naked chest as you both try to catch your breath in the sudden silence that came over you without the sounds of your passion.

Rolling off of your body he slips out of you, an empty feeling taking over you right away, but he is quick to cradle you into his arms to keep the intimacy. You lay your head to his chest, a thin layer of sweat covering the both of you, but you couldn’t care less. You listen to his steady heartbeat as you draw one of the swallows on his chest with your finger, running it over the lines of the ink. You want to soak in the moment and stay in it for as long as possible, but you can barely keep your eyes open. As Harry’s fingers are gently running up and down your bare back you let your eyes close and the last thing you remember is hearing his soft whisper.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”

You wake up without an alarm in the morning and it’s the first time for that in a long-long time. You stir and groan before you open your eyes, your hands reaching out next to you, looking for the man that was next to you when you fell asleep, but there’s nothing and no one beside you now.

Panic rises in your chest as your eyes pop open and you frantically look around in the room, hoping to see him somewhere near, but you’re alone.

“Harry?” you call you as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest since you’re still naked. No answer comes and you can feel your heart rate rising instantly.

Getting out of bed you grab the nearest clothing item you find which is an old hoodie, and you put on a pair of clean panties before you carefully walk out of the bedroom, afraid of what you might find outside, but it’s completely silent and still, no one is around. Harry has left.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling the lump in your throat growing as tears are forming in your eyes.

Where did he go? Why did he leave? Is he coming back? Is he gone forever?

You can’t stop yourself from going into depth you shouldn’t, just because you don’t find him first thing in the morning, but you still haven’t entirely recovered from last night’s events and before you could stop yourself, you are thinking about the worst possibilities there could be.

And then you hear the lock turning in the front door.

Blood rushes out of your head as you freeze, afraid it’s another attacker and this time you won’t be as lucky as you were last night. But as the door opens Harry walks in with a paper bag in his arm and you can’t help, but start sobbing at the sight of him.

“Harry!” you cry out, launching at him and he barely have time to put the bag down before he catches you, locking you in his strong arms.

“Hey! No need to worry, it’s just me!” he soothes softly, his hands running up and down your back and head. “I’m sorry I scared you, just wanted to get you something to eat, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as you try your best to hold back your sobs.

“I just woke up alone and I thought…”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left while you were sleeping. But I’m back and I’m alright.”

You just nod, hugging him a little longer before you loosen your hold around him to lean back and look him in the eyes.

“So… you’re staying? With me?”

“If you want me to, yes,” he nods with a soft smile as he cups your tear-soaked face in his hands. “I’ll keep you safe and sound and I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“Just be yourself and… be with me,” you shyly ask him and he nods, his smile growing into a wide grin before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet, intoxicating kiss.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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stusbunker · 3 years ago

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Desperate Measures 1

Featuring: Alpha!Dean x multiple partners

Written for: @spnabobingo

Square filled: Alpha for Hire

Rating: Mature (Explicit in future chapters)

Word Count: ~2300

Summary: Dean becomes an Alpha for hire to help keep food on the table while Sam finishes high school. What he finds is a new kind of pack.

Warnings: Talk of sex work, drug use, poverty

SPN ABO BINGO Card

Dean walks up to the second floor offices with twelve bucks in his wallet and rent due in two days. He’s twenty one and has called this town home for only seven months. But Sam has made friends at school and John’s been less than present the past two months. It’s time to get serious.

He straightens his shoulders and knocks on the fogged glass.

“Come in,” a deep, amused voice replies.

Dean opens the door, which catches in the frame, aged wood swollen with the summer humidity. He closes the door behind him and finds a simple desk with a middle aged bearded man behind it.

“You must be Dean!” The guys got some sort of accent, British or maybe just the haughty air of someone who jumped the Atlantic often. “Have a seat.”

Dean feels like he’s on a stage, so he keeps his eyes down as he nods. At least the chairs in front of the desk look new. The man smells fake, scent blockers and too much cologne. Dean imagines he’s a beta, but can’t understand why he’s hiding it in his line of work.

Dean waits for the man to continue the interview.

“So, what brings you into the world of escort services? You don’t seem like the type who can’t keep a 9 to 5 to pay the bills,” the man continues.

Dean swallows and nods. “Got a brother I’m taking care of too, between the two of us we have done alright working at the Roadhouse, but he goes back to school in a couple weeks and I can’t bank on tourists tips for long.”

Dean finally sees the nameplate on the desk in front of his face. ‘Crowley MacLeod’ without any title beneath it. This is the big boss he’s talking to afterall.

“How’d you find out about our little operation?” Dean feels Crowley’s unwavering stare bore into his soul.

“Pamela?” Dean’s voice cracks and he swallows again. “Pamela’s a regular at the Roadhouse, told me I could make out well for myself with you.”

“Oh the little mynx. I should really thank her. You are going to fetch such a pretty penny, Dean.” Crowley almost coos. He pulls a file out of the drawer, opens it and flips the contract to face Dean. “This is the base contract, renegotiable after 90 days without incident. I need you to pass a drug test and a physical, we have a clinic that we work with. A few headshots for the website, and then after everything clears we can get you on the schedule.”

“What sort of screening are you doing?” Dean leans forward to read the fine print.

“Any boosted hormones, mostly, hard drugs can hinder your performance as well. But we don’t bother ourselves with the occasional indulgence. Sometimes it makes for a better client experience, after all.”

This all feels like a lot of effort. But then Dean sees his base pay on the middle of the page: $75/hour. He barely makes that in a night at Harvelle’s. He reaches for a pen before Crowley can give him any more hoops to jump through.

“Atta’boy,” Crowley beams and stands to shake Dean’s hand. Once Dean is in the hallway, directions to the free clinic on Singer St. in one hand, he finally exhales. If John could see him now.

He’s done with the health portion of his job application before Sam’s back from his lunch shift. Which means Dean has the car for his closing shift. Ellen never seemed to schedule them at the same time after a fight broke out between some kids with fake ids and the brothers. Sam’s just too honest to work the night crowd.

Dean still hasn’t told him about the new job.

Sam crinkles his nose at the smells of hospital Dean brought home with him, but he doesn’t say anything, just eyes his older brother suspiciously. Dean doesn’t take the bait.

“I’ll be home late, please do the damned laundry? These jeans are on their last leg,” Dean hollers as he fixes his hair in the mirror in the bathroom.

“You eat? I got some wings,” Sam offers, dropping the foam containers on the table.

Dean’s stomach growls at the temptation. “I’ll take one for the road,” his desperate compromise.

Pamela’s in her usual spot once Dean gets behind the bar. She smirks and he rolls his eyes. “You didn’t tell me your boss was a total douche.”

“Crowley? Please, he’s harmless,” Pamela purrs, a thirty-something omega, Dean’s probably her favorite bartender these days.

“How long does the medical stuff take to get through? I have off most this weekend and I’d like the hours,” Dean explains as she listens.

“Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days, handsome.”

“Right,” Dean exhales. He nods as a couple approaches the end of the bar and gets to work.

The night is slow without any local teams playing on television. Dean keeps busy hauling things for Ellen and deep cleaning until she cuts him loose just after eleven. His tips are pathetic. But he understands she can’t pay him for a whole shift when there’s no customers to help.

She sends him home with extra fries and some to go sodas. He’s learned to accept the handouts, but he doesn’t like doing it if anyone else is around.

He gets home to find Sam hanging their clothes off the kitchen cabinets. He must have run out of quarters for the dryer. With how hot it’s been, they’ll be fine by morning.

Dean hands out their dinner, puts the extras in the fridge for breakfast. They eat in silence. And Dean is out of time. He clears his throat and wipes his hands of the salt from the fries.

“So- I’m starting a second gig this weekend. I’ll probably be working most nights for a while. Gotta show ‘em I’m invested, you know. You gonna be okay?”

Sam takes a pull off his soda, “what is the job?”

“Pamela got me the interview. Gonna be doing more or less what she does,” Dean doesn’t elaborate.

“That’s specific,” Sam snarks. “Are you gonna need the car?”

“Probably, at least at first. I’m not sure if there’s a lot of mileage, but there could be.”

“Dean?” Sam asks softly.

“Yeah?” Dean finishes the rest of his fries, chewing and watching Sam worry.

“You’d tell me if you were doing something dangerous, right? I’m not talking taking only bouncer shifts or something. But something you could get into trouble for, right?” Sam could always read him like a book.

Dean swallows and shakes his soda to see if there’s anything left besides ice. “It’s not like I’m running packages for the mob, Sam. It’s entirely legal.”

Sam looks at him like he doesn’t believe him.

“I’m serious!” Dean insists.

“Okay,” Sam huffs and flicks Dean’s wrappers back at him over their tiny table.

“Bitch.” Dean snatches the paper and stands to clean up.

“Jerk,” Sam replies, half-heartedly.

Dean’s first client is a recently divorced omega in heat. She’s almost too nice about everything, and Dean knows when he’s a little too green for her tastes. Donna keeps him for the whole weekend. Feeding him home cooked meals the whole time. He’s able to make two months’ rent his first go.

It was too good to be true.

His second client is an angry middle aged omega, who won’t shut up about how pretty Dean is. Makes Dean fuck him in front of the mirror. He feels dirty when he leaves in the middle of the night, but at least he doesn’t have to play house with the bitter guy.

He has a week with no calls, but it gives him time to catch up with Sam. Work on the car. Work at the Roadhouse. It’s that Sunday afternoon that Pam comes with another omega, Garth, he’s lanky in the way that makes Dean think drug problem, but he only orders a Shirley Temple.

“So you’re the new guy,” Garth teases, long lashes batting at Dean in an entirely earnest way. Nothing like Pamela’s flirtations.

“Uh?” Dean looks at Pamela.

“It’s okay, Deano, Garth’s on Crowley’s dime too.”

“Got it,” Dean nods, setting the cherry coated spear on Garth’s glass. “That’s me, the new guy.”

“You coming to Benny’s? Sunday funday for the local chapterhouse,” Garth says it like it’s an olden times ice cream social.

“I hadn’t heard anything about it,” Dean shakes his head. “Besides, gotta get home after this.”

“You a family man, Dean?” Garth asks.

Dean chuckles, “not like that. Got a kid brother at home. You?”

“I have an alpha, but her dad’s a pastor. So, can’t really make anything official until I’m out of the business, if you know what I mean.”

Dean whistles. “Tough breaks, man. Good luck with that.”

“But seriously, Dean, you should come. It’s just games and movies. Sam is more than welcome to tag along. It’s not like we’re having an orgy,” Pamela insists, cocks an eyebrow. “Unless you wanted to, of course.”

Dean considers it, it’s been forever since they’d had someplace to be besides work. Socializing with his new coworkers wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s dragged Sam to. “What should we bring?”

It is with a weird combination of obligation and curiosity that Dean pulls up to the well kept bungalow on the east side of town. Sam’s in the passenger seat, wearing a polo, the nicest thing he owns and Dean’s in his least holey pair of jeans. There’s a grocery store pie on the bench seat between them.

“So, since it’s probably gonna come up. My new job?” Dean looks at Sam with his hand on the door handle. “I’m an alpha for hire. All these people we’re about to meet? Hookers, Sam, so mind your manners.”

Dean crawls out of the car before Sam can complete a thought. Dean laughs at the stunned look on his baby brother’s face, “don’t forget the pie.”

Benny, another alpha that Dean’s seen in passing, opens the front door and welcomes them inside. Sam is shooting death stares at the back of Dean’s head, but Dean’s too distracted with the festivities to reply. The living room is crowded with a half dozen people sitting on the floor, draped over the couches and leaning against the recliner. It’s a really nice place, newer furniture and polished hardwood floors.

Benny introduces himself to Sam, shaking hands with the brothers.

“Thanks for having us Mr. Lafitte,” Sam says formally.

Benny chuckles. “Ain't you cute? It’s just Benny, boy. We aint that kind of fancy round here.”

Benny leads Sam to the kitchen with the pie, letting Dean to make his own introductions to the other party goers. Pamela and Garth are taking up one couch, with fellow omegas Anna and Bela on the other.

“So this is the new stud alpha I’ve been hearing about?” A raspy feminie voice comes from Dean’s left. A petite brunette eyes him dangerously. “Name’s Ruby. Glad you could make it.”

Dean offers his hand to the female alpha. She shakes it with bone crushing strength. He feels impossibly younger suddenly.

“Play nice, Ruby,” Pamela warns. “Gordon’s working the grill if you want to eat, Dean, just through the kitchen.”

Dean follows where Sam and Benny headed, through the small kitchen and out the backdoor. Benny has a fenced in yard with a rusted truck and camper combo taking up half his driveway. The grill master is also an alpha and probably the oldest person there. Dean feels his spine straighten as he approaches, a natural need to salute or kowtow to the stronger alpha.

Gordon grins at him and continues to flip the various meats on the grill. “Hey, man. I was wondering if you’d show up.” Gordon watches Dean before he continues. “Met your brother, understand why you enlisted. Takes a man to make those kind of sacrifices.”

Dean shrugs at the compliment. “Just doing it until he graduates, then he’s off to college.”

“And what about you? No higher education ambitions?” Gordon continued.

“I’m just working on getting by— figure I’ve got time to work out the rest.” Dean gives him a company smile and starts building his burger at the picnic table.

Come nine o’clock, they’re driving home with full bellies and packages of leftovers. Dean’s oddly content just listening to the wind whipping over the car until Sam starts on about how Ruby works for one of the local professors and says maybe she could introduce him.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to stick around here, right? I thought you were looking at big schools to apply to, in places like New England and California?”

“Maybe I’d just use the reference. I don’t know. It was just a thought,” Sam says nervously.

“Hey, whatever works, man. I just don’t want you to limit your options,” Dean offers.

“So, alpha for hire huh?” Dean could hear the smirk in Sam’s voice. Dean had it coming after the bombshell he left on Sam’s lap that afternoon.

“Yup,” Dean replies, unwilling to answer the unspoken questions.

“What’s that like?”

Dean turns his eyes off the road and looks at Sam and all his adolescent awkwardness. “It’s like being a sex doll, Sam. I’m not there to have fun. I’m there to get paid. Sometimes it’s okay, I guess. So far it’s been hit or miss.”

“Oh.” Sam’s teasing is nipped in the bud.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs as shame crawls up his neck. “But, it could be worse. I could be cleaning toilets again.”

Sam remains quiet the rest of the way home.

Part Two

#spnabobingo #spn abo #alpha!dean #spn fanfic #spn a/b/o #supernatural au #supernatural fanfiction #young!dean #alpha!dean x multiple parnters #escort!dean

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 2 years ago

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What We Believe - Part 6

Part three to the “What We Are” series.

‘What We See’ starts here.

‘What We Do’ starts here.

Summary: The discovery that Khonshu is back hits hard for a system that is still trying to learn to trust one another, let alone live with one another. Some old wounds get ripped open and Trust is a word filled with pain.

Warnings: I don't know. You watched the show. All of that. (emotional damage and discussion of self harm/suicide/mild violence)

Pairing: The trio are all friends here. Layla saves the day.

Word count: 2866

Part 1 Here.

Part 2 Here.

Part 3 Here.

Part 4 Here.

Part 5 Here.

Part 6: The boys meet up with Frenchie. Later, they redefine a certain contract. -------

Marc paced the flat nervously. He would stop now and then to look at the chairs or make micro adjustments to a stack of books, then would continue his wide circle.

“Marc, you are putting a rut in the floor.” Steven chided. “He isn’t going to care about the books or any of that.”

A knock came at the door and Marc froze. “This was a mistake.” He looked up in a panic. “Steven, tell him he’s got the wrong flat. Sound super British so he doesn’t know it’s you.”

“Super British?” He blinked. “What does that mean? I’m already British. And I’m not telling him to go away.”

Steven went to the door and opened it. Marc rushed forward so quickly that they nearly shut the door again in confusion.

Marc caught himself and stepped back to let his friend in. “Jean-Paul. Hey. How you been?”

“So formal.” Jean-Paul smirked. “Has this softer life gone to your head? I hear you are a married man now to top it off!”

Marc shrugged. “Yeah. She couldn’t resist my charm. I’m waiting for her to realize I’m an ass or something and leave.”

Jean-Paul chuckled and pulled Marc into a friendly hug. “The biggest ass.”

Marc awkwardly patted him on the back. “Yeah, alright alright. Hey, I’m sorry about calling you out of the blue back there. You must have been a little confused. Not hearing from me in so long then all that.”

Jean-Paul gave him a serious look. “We survived a career that most do not. We left in one piece, for the most part, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to look back. Even if you were inebriated, I am glad you called.”

Jean-Paul patted him on the shoulder then moved into the flat, looking around. He gave a low whistle. “I didn’t think you were so studious. Oh! And learning French? I thought French was beneath you.” He smirked. “Vous chien rusé.”

“Uh.” Marc gestured to the books as if that might help explain things. “They’re Steven’s. He likes to read. Bad French poetry mostly. It impresses Layla.”

Jean-Paul laughed. “What better reason to learn French than for love? I approve. How is Steven?”

Marc glanced up at one of the new mirrors. “He’s fine. So you fly now. Private I assume?”

“Of course private. Can you imagine me getting a commercial license? With my background?” Jean-Paul laughed. “I’m not wanted internationally like some people, but my passport isn’t exactly clean.”

“We can’t all be mysterious French militia up for hire.” Marc shrugged. “I also can’t help that I was better than you and got noticed.”

“Is that what you are telling yourself?” Jean-Paul took a seat and relaxed back. “Seriously though, how are you? Have you found work? If not, I could always use the help. It isn’t much, but it is honest work.”

“I still have a lot of back up from our job in Sudan. Unfortunately.” Marc pushed back any memories from that particular job that threatened to well up. “I also have a part time job as a cabbie. My own boss and all that.”

“A cab driver? Really? Never would have pegged you for being able to tolerate that line of work.” He raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of that hell hole Sudan, how is my good friend and savior doing? Jake, was it?”

Marc shifted uncomfortably then looked away. “He’s fine.”

Jean-Paul crossed his legs and folded his hands. “You and I don’t have many people we can call friends. Such is the life we had. Normal coping people don’t go to war for money. When we find friends, we keep them close. I was lucky to make three.”

Marc sighed heavily then finally let the gate down.

“Oh my god Frenchie!” Steven grinned widely. “Wow look at you! You look healthier. Eating real food now and not those horrible cans that Marc keeps locked up where he thinks I don’t notice them, I hope.”

Jean-Paul laughed and sat forward. “Steven, right? Fantastic! You know, after that first meeting I thought maybe I was going crazy. Drunk and distraught I had a hard time believing Marc came out to comfort me in a strange English accent. Maybe I think I imagined it. I didn’t bring it up. How embarrassing for me to be crying anyway.”

“At least you didn’t think you were having weird dreams about some French man.” Steven smirked. “I thought you was indigestion or something.”

“Did Marc know?” Jean-Paul looked him over curiously. “I never brought any of your visits up. I did look forward to them. You were a great comfort in those dark times.”

“Well, he knew about me, but I didn’t know about him. I take care of the times when he can’t handle the situation. Emotionally. I guess that’s the best explanation for it.” Steven shrugged. He was still doing research into their situation. It was slow going, since the other two didn’t seem to care about proper terms or how it worked. All they cared about was that it worked.

“That makes sense. Those were bad times. I hardly handled them, myself.” He patted Steven on the hand. “Thank you, my friend. You gave me hope and now here I am! Alive and well! Ah, speaking of being alive… I had hoped to be able to meet my other friend today too.”

Steven nodded. “It took me all day to talk Marc into this. He gets nervous about people seeing it. Jake’s worse, actually. He’s still on the fence about talking to you. Give me a second.”

Steven got up and moved to the back of the flat behind a bookcase and held up a small mirror. “Jake, he wants to talk to you.”

Jake gave Steven a look. “I never talked to him before. Just tell him it was nothing. He’s Marc’s friend.”

Steven returned the look. “Please? He called you a friend. We could use a few of those.”

“I have plenty of friends.” Jake huffed and looked away from Steven’s large pleading eyes.

“You have Gena. That’s one. Three if you count her two boys.” Steven glared. “Marc just has Frenchie. And he hasn’t seen him in years! Marc needs friends!”

“Way to seal the deal, Steven.” Marc spoke up from the side. “Tell him I’m a loser too. Really drive it home.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Fine. Alright. You owe me!” Jake put the mirror away and walked back around the bookcase. He didn’t move to sit down or get closer.

Frenchie looked up and took in the stiff posture and hard expression. “C'est toi! Mon ange gardien!” He knew that face. Those eyes. He realized now just how often he had seen them in the heat of battle when he was certain they were about to die. The way Marc would almost seem to disappear inside himself and then become this force of pure will to survive.

He jumped up and rushed to him, clasping his hand tightly. “You are real. I cannot believe it.”

Jake flushed and looked down at Jean-Paul’s trembling hands. “Hola, amigo.”

Jean-Paul murmured something in French, almost sounding like a prayer. He patted Jake’s hand then released him and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m an emotional wreck. Every time I think I am over those times they seem to ambush me.”

Jake nodded. “I know what you mean. Trauma doesn’t go away, does it? It waits for us like a snake in the grass.”

Jean-Paul laughed softly. “It does. I am so happy to see you when I’m not about to die.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugged. “Marc has never been good at self preservation. That’s where I come in.”

“Very true. A good friend and fighter, but not great at staying out of trouble.” Jean-Paul moved to sit back down and gestured for Jake to join him. “I’m going to guess that Marc didn’t know about you either?”

Jake hesitated then moved to take his seat. “Not until very recently. We’re still learning how to work together. Right now I mostly work the night shift. I drive the cab.”

“That makes better sense. I could not see Marc as the cab driver. It requires too much communication with people.” Jean-Paul shook his head. “We once sent him undercover for information. We never made that mistake again.”

Jake smiled. “No, he would be terrible at that. He over compensates when trying to blend in. He once tried to go to work for Steven and sounded like Dick Van Dyke.”

Jean-Paul laughed. “I would have paid handsomely to see that.”

Jake slowly relaxed. “Of the three of us, I think Marc is probably the least likely to get things done. He once stopped in the middle of a mission to go looking for his favorite hat.”

“Oh, that awful Chicago hat he always wears?” Jean-Paul made a face. “I learned years ago that if you do not give him very clear and direct orders, he will wander. If he were not such a Beau gosse I would have given up on him years ago.”

Jake glanced at the mirror and smiled. “Marc wants you to know that if we do not stop bonding over his misery then he is going to wait another five years to call you.”

Jean-Paul laughed. “Too bad! I cannot wait to meet your wife and woo her with my sexy language!”

Jake shook his head. “Careful, you will make Steven jealous.”

“Ah, Steven, do not worry.” Jean-Paul winked. “As sexy as I am, I do not care for the ladies.”

Jake glanced at the mirror and saw Steven relax a little. “Don’t be so literal, Steven. You know Layla only has eyes for us.”

Jean-Paul leaned in. “I am sorry for being curious, mon ami. I have known you all for years but never really been allowed to know you.”

Jake tensed a little but nodded. “I’m used to it.” He was used to the questions, the stares, the looks, and pretending. It took a lot to let someone into his world and each time, he prepared for the worst.

Jean-Paul gave him a hopeful smile. “You wouldn’t happen to float my way, would you? I chased after Marc for years but that oblivious idiot couldn’t tell flirting from a handshake.”

Jake flushed deeply and immediately looked down. “I..I don’t… I wouldn’t…”

Marc fronted quickly and stared. “You flirted with me? When? What?”

Jean-Paul laughed and swore in French. “Ah, Marc, you will always be the one that got away. Apologize to Jake for me. I did not mean to put him on the spot.”

Marc sat back, going through his mess of memories, trying to find any signs of flirting. “Shit, Frenchie, I had no idea. I’m married now.”

“To a lovely lady!” Steven cut in. “You’ll love her. She’s absolutely brilliant and beautiful. She’s going to love you too.”

“Right.” Marc took back over. “And Steven is with Layla too. In a way. Despite my best efforts. Jake is… I don’t really know what Jake is. I haven’t asked.”

Jean-Paul smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Jake can be whatever Jake is. He doesn’t strike me as the type to run off to live the fantasy life with a French man with his head in the clouds. He is too practical.”

Marc nodded. “If you are in town for a bit, I would like you to meet Layla. She deserves to see a part of my past that isn’t horrible. Just try not to tell her all those stories filled with lies about me.”

“Truths, Marc. I will only tell her the good ones. Like the time you took a restroom break too close to a jumping cactus.” Jean-Paul winked. “I helped you pull prickle thorns out of your lovely ass for hours.”

Marc frowned but there was a smile behind it. “Yeah. We don’t need to hear those stories.”

“Oh, we absolutely need to hear those stories!” Steven grinned.

Jake smiled and reached out to pat Jean-Paul on the arm. “I am glad you came, amigo.”

It was late at night and the party had ended. Jean-Paul had returned to his hotel full of food and lighter a few juicy stories of their adventures. He had even acquired a few new stories, courtesy of Layla.

She had bonded well with Jean-Paul and as they sat at the dinner table, though it was just the three bodies, it had felt much fuller as Marc, Steven, and Jake had easily shared control and slipped in and out without much fuss.

Layla had returned home, though she had given them a very stern ‘if there is trouble you will call me’ lecture. She knew what was coming.

Jake sat in the front chair, waiting. The hours ticked by and at last he felt the air in the room change.

“Jake. I have a job for you. It is time for you to be my vengeance.” Khonshu appeared to the side, imposing and standing as tall as possible in the cramped flat.

Jake smirked and looked up at the moon god. “Of course. But there are going to be some new rules.”

“Rules?” Khonshu turned his curved beak towards them.

Steven sat back in his chair and crossed his leg. “Of course. There are always rules, you silly bird. And this time we are going to examine the fine print.”

“Worm!” Khonshu nearly spat out. “My contract with you is over. I don’t even need to speak with you!”

Steven grinned. “You know, I never actually agreed to be your avatar. Marc just assumed that because we shared a body that it meant that I came with the whole package. You assumed that too. Or you just didn’t say anything because two avatars are better than one, right?”

Khonshu glared. “What is your point, parasite?”

“Did Jake even make the contract? Or did you just assume he was already a part of it too? Very clever of you to say ‘both released’ when you knew full well that we were three. I have an idea! Let’s ask Jake! Jake?”

Jake frowned up at Khonshu. “You’re a clever god. You looked inside and saw all of us and just couldn’t pass us up. Three potential Avatars for the price of one. As much as you seem to hate Steven, I think you see use for him. He’s clever. You try to get him under your heel so you can control him or turn us against him. I never agreed to your contract, I just kept going.”

Khonshu walked over to them, towering over them. “You would deny being my Avatar? Do you wish to end your service? I will find someone else. Someone worthy who appreciates what I have done for them.”

“I didn’t say that.” Jake was not intimidated. “I believe that with your power, we can help people. We can make a difference. There are people that deserve to be punished.”

“On our terms.” Marc glared up at Khonshu. I will not be forced to kill anyone. Neither will Jake. What Jake does is his business as long as it isn’t outside of reason. If he wants to block Steven and I off, he can do it and do what he wants. If we object, he has to hear us out.”

“Marc.” Khonshu almost seemed to soften. “Would you wear the suit again?”

Marc stared up at Khonshu. A god older than any of them knew. A god that had once had a family and followers. He had watched the sky change and shift and the world change with it. His fellow gods had faded away, been imprisoned, or simply left. He had been cast out due to his unwavering belief that left him unable to abandon humanity. Not content to watch, he used his avatars to carry out his system of justice.

“I am not your servant.” Marc stood up. “I am not your slave. I will not be a slave to an Egyptian god or any other god. I repaid my debt and will not be manipulated. I will find my own way to help people. I will accept your suit if you accept my terms.”

“We don’t need you, mate.” Steven put a hand on his hip and waved a finger up in Khonshu’s beak. “At any point, we can choose to walk away.”

Khonshu eyed the finger then sighed loudly. “Fine. We will see where this goes. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and Jake Lockley… I will see how well you carry my mark together. If I do not find it appealing, I also have the right to release you and find someone else. If you displease me too much, I may remove my gifted armor at any point.”

Jake grinned. “Do your worst, Pajarito. We’re a system.”

“A system is defined as a group of interacting or interrelated elements that act according to a set of rules to form a unified whole.” Steven supplied with a smile. “We work best together.”

Marc folded his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “Now, who needs our help?”

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #Layla El Faouly #jean-paul duchamp #Khonshu #This might be the end #We shall see if I find more to explore #Hope you enjoyed it

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atruththatyoudeny · 3 years ago

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Happy 28th! A new month - so new fics for you to find and enjoy! I can’t say it enough: all the authors in this fandom are truly amazing! Thank you so much for continuously sharing your hard work with us ♥ Here are the 14 fics I read and enjoyed this month:

A Hungry Heart | jacaranda_bloom | Great British Bake Off AU - famous/not famous - cliches - pining - angst - smut - 27k Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos. Or the one where the Bake Off tent has never been so hot, and it’s got nothing to do with what’s in the ovens.

Teenage Rebellion Never Worked Out So Well | panda_bear21 | arranged marriage - friends to lovers - 55k “I’m an adult!” He glanced down at Harry, who seemed anything but at the moment, where he was definitely on the brink of a temper tantrum. “We’re both adults!” Jay glanced to Anne again, before breathing out a heavy sigh. “Yes, but you’re both adults that do not have jobs and who live off of our money… Which means, you have to do what we say… or you’ll have to find a new place to live.” “You wouldn’t do that.” Louis dared, hoping his glare was enough to guilt trip his mother into calling the whole thing off. Or to tell them that it had all just been a huge joke and they weren’t actually being forced into marrying a complete stranger. “Oh, but we would.” Or the super cliché arranged marriage fic where things escalate way too quickly.

Heartbreak Hotel | noellehenry | time travel - 1950s - historical - pining - 29k British popstar Harry Styles is thrown back in time after an unfortunate accident on stage. He wakes up in a small town in the US in the 1950's, where life is slightly different from 2015. With help from Niall and Liam he tries to adjust to his new life; without mobile phones and a world wide web to keep up with the world and where showing interest in nice cute boys with bright blue eyes is a no-no. Time travel and 1950's AU where Liam is an English teacher, Niall owns the Best Song Ever record shop, James runs Corden's Diner, Elvis fan Louis is the cute boy with the blue eyes and Harry..... just tries to survive really.

Playdate | Larry_you_know | getting together - misunderstandings - kid fic - fluff - 7k When Harry’s sister asked him to pick up her son at a kids' birthday party he sure didn’t expect to be stunned by the blue-eyed brother of the birthday twins. Using his nephew to see Louis again, he falls hard and fast. But how does one turn a playdate into a real date?

tread lightly on my ground | fairytalelights | a/b/o - mpreg - touch-starved - miscommunication - friends to lovers - touch deprivation - smut - 21k No, that's the tragic part of this, the part that makes Harry feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. The father of his baby is exactly right, exactly who he always imagined himself having kids with. He just imagined them married, bonded. Happy. He didn't imagine them barely talking, tip-toeing around each other because neither of them is brave enough to talk about what happened between them. He didn't imagine the father of his child not loving him back. or, the one where Harry is having Louis' baby, but Louis doesn't know it's his.

Not Ready for This | berzerkshires | kid fic - single parents - smut - 18k Prompt for HLSummerFest2021: Louis and Harry are both single fathers and their children decide to go out on a date. The dads insist on meeting one another before they agree to let their child go out on this date.

Secret's Safe With Me | alltheselights | boss/employee relationship - secret relationship - toxic relationship (not h/l) - slow burn - smut - 59k But here’s the thing about secrets that people tend to forget—they’re deeply personal things. Tiny pieces of information about someone that they keep locked inside and only let out at certain moments, or to certain people, or not at all. Secrets have value, you see, even if only to the person holding them inside. If those secrets were to be told, if those tiny jagged pieces of someone, the parts they hold most dear, the parts they hide out of shame or fear or regret—if those pieces were exposed to someone, it would have the potential to change everything. When bad turbulence and three glasses of wine have Louis spilling all of his secrets to the man sitting next to him on the plane, it's embarrassing, sure, but it's also easy enough to shrug off and block out of his memory forever. Or at least, it was until Louis went into work on Monday morning and realized that the man from the plane is the new CEO of his company.

Marks On My Baby | thinlines | a/b/o - college/university - friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff - smut - 32k “What’s that?” Harry hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so sharp and even he winced at his own outburst. It was more of a hiss than an actual question, but for now, he was too surprised to care. “What’s what?” The omega asked, eyebrows raised and lips pinched. Harry knew he was probably mad at him for interrupting his rant, but the alpha was too on edge to bother pleasing the boy. “On your neck… Your bondmark spot…” His voice had grown low and deep, almost a growl. Who knew a single love bite on his omega friend's neck would trigger Harry this much? Certainly not the alpha himself.

Rogue | Laventriloque | a/b/o - werewolves - minor character death - hurt/comfort - past abuse - past rape/non-con - soulmates - smut - 95k “No, Liam! How many times do I have to… before you finally… NO WAY … a rogue in our pack?… cannot trust him … don’t care to know him … have enough members to worry about.” He hears more indistinct shouts before he hears pretty clearly: “His own pack didn’t want him!” Sitting here, his precious bag between his feet and everyone in the room looking at him, some with pity, some with disdain, some with curiosity, Louis feels like someone squeezed his heart in their hands and isn’t letting it go. He wills his head to stay up high and his posture to stay confident. He will not flee the room. He will not let that stupid lump in his throat get the better of him. He will stay here until Liam returns. He will take the rejection in stride and move on. Like he’s been doing all his life." -- Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindest one he's ever met.

indian summer | docklands | strangers to lovers - hurt/comfort - banter - smut - 30k Harry runs a smoothie shop, which also happens to be an ever-moving caravan. He spends one week in each location and drives straight to the next, always eager for adventure. It isn't until his van breaks down and he needs to call for a mechanic that he starts to ponder his life choices. Louis, the said mechanic, is an anchor in Harry's wild sea, but his hard metal might be too much for Harry's unpredictable antics.

A Silver Lining In A Storm (You Were Lightning, I Was Born) | FallingLikeThis | arranged marriage - royalty - a/b/o - mpreg - minor character death - murder - non-graphic violence - angst - hurt/comfort - 7k Omega Prince Harry had always known that he was going to have an arranged marriage. But after the death of his first fiancé, a man who turned out far worse than Harry thought possible, his subsequent marriage to the man's brother leaves Harry finding it difficult to trust that everything will work out. Especially considering the only responsibility he’s aware of is to give his husband, the future king, an heir.

A Twist of Fate | myfearlesslou | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - soulmates - angst - 35k Since the moment Harry presented as an omega, all he's ever wanted was to have a baby. Fate had another idea in mind for him. Giving up on trying to conceive, he decides to adopt a new born baby boy. After months of loving and caring for the boy, a strange man comes into his life, taking him by surprise. Not wanting to lose the child he's loved from the moment he laid eyes on him, Harry does whatever he can to keep the boy safe and in his arms. Even if that means following the handsome stranger to a part of the woods he's never seen before.

Trust Me Tonight | 28sunflowers | historical - royalty - regency - arranged marriage - first time - mpreg - pwp - 10k After Harry’s eighteenth birthday, his father calls him into a meeting to say that he is to be married to Prince Louis of France in just over a week. Harry is excited, of course. The arrangement is better than any he could’ve hoped for, with such a young, handsome and kind husband. There is just one issue: Harry doesn’t know what happens on his nuptials, or how to get pregnant to give Louis the heir that he needs.

i got a heart (but i don't got a soul) | tempolarriefics | mythical beings Á creatures - enemies to lovers - childhood friends - famous/not famous - soulmates - angel/demon relationship - demon/human relationship - 19k “We’re soulmates.” Louis’ eyes flick from the tattoo back to Harry’s face, where his eyes are shining with excitement. Louis wonders if he is supposed to feel excited, too. He’s supposed to feel something, surely, besides his usual bitterness for Harry. He thinks back to how Lottie had described meeting Sam, how she had known in her heart that he was meant for her even before he said his phrase. He can’t help but wonder if he would be feeling differently if he hadn’t gone and sold his soul. Or, the one where louis sells his soul before meeting his soulmate, harry is a popstar with a heart of gold, niall is inadvertently responsible for harry's boners, liam is a meddling angel, and zayn is a demon who made a mistake

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #my reads #monthly fic rec #monthly reads #larry fics #completed fics

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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So I’m guessing the answer is never, but would the cast of HP or even say Tom and Lily (the two smartest people) be able to find Kira?

The cast of HP? Harry Potter and friends? God no.

Harry Potter

Harry would enter seething rage when Kira murders Sirius (displayed on muggle news for the murder of dozens of people) and swear himself to revenge. He, of course, assumes Kira is British because Everything is British (TM).

He gets the team together and Hermione researches what Kira could possibly be in the library. She finds nothing, she notes to Harry that they have no guarantees that Kira is British or that Sirius was an explicit target any more so than the hundreds of thousands of others that Kira has murdered.

Harry kicks her out of the friend group and refuses to speak to her for two months.

Harry normally would blame Snape or Draco. He follows Draco around for two months uselessly, certain it must be him, but even Harry has to acknowledge the scale of this is... huge.

He blames Voldemort: Voldemort is Kira.

It fits his MO and everything: he's killing muggles! He killed Sirius! THAT BASTARD.

Harry is very upset that Dumbledore refuses to allow Harry to participate in the investigation/stopping Voldemort's evil evilness. He tries to enter Voldemort's dreams for once, to gain vital intelligence: he gets nothing.

He tries this for the entire Kira debacle.

Harry never realizes that Voldemort was not, in fact, Kira.

Dumbledore

Dumbledore also thinks Tom Riddle must be Kira. This is so diabolical, so heinous, that it must be him. This is the first of his twelve step plan to get the muggles to worship him as a God when he appears before them as Kira in a physical body.

Dumbledore hyper focuses on this and pumps Snape for information.

Snape has none, Voldemort's telling him nothing, which is indicative of nothing. Tom could be playing it close to the chest or else he's not Kira. Unclear.

Dumbledore goes about investigating in his usual manner which is pretty much the way he investigates everything: trying to get memories from very reluctant sources. He wastes a year trying to get Slughorn to give him a memory of a Christmas party from fifty years ago.

Dumbledore never realizes that Tom was not, in fact, Kira.

Your Intriguing AU

Per your ask though, we get to pull out all the stops. For some reason, we're in a detective AU in which Tom and Lily are partners hell bent on stopping Kira: even though nobody cares. I don't know how we reached this AU, anon, but it intrigues me nonetheless.

The Rules

No L, as that would be cheating and all Tom and Lily would have to do is follow his leave/infiltrate the muggle investigation.

Wizards also have no distinct advantage to muggles: they can't see shinigami either unless they touch the notebook. Otherwise they're just cheating.

Our Aurors

Tom Riddle and Lily Evans are partners in this weird noir spin off to the Harry Potter universe. Lily Evans is a muggle born woman that nobody takes seriously, Tom Riddle is presumed muggle born by society and no one takes him seriously, they always get stuck with the absolute worst jobs by the department.

Kira is not the job they're stuck with.

Lily, following muggle news, becomes very concerned very quickly. Someone is a) murdering people left and right with magic on a massive scale, b) using magic Lily can scarcely comprehend, c) flagrantly breaking the statute of secrecy on an international level.

She gets brushed aside: muggles die of heart attacks all the time, international wizards with more experience will take care of it, shut up and go back to giving out apparation misuse tickets.

It doesn't get better though. It gets much worse.

No one seems to be able to find Kira and has no idea what country he or she is even operating in. No one knows what magic he or she could possibly be using. And... the wizarding world is starting to take advantage of this.

Criminals previously too difficult or dangerous to catch? They run stories in muggle media, whamo, their good friend is now dead with no injuries to the auror corps. Good show, Kira.

Lily and Tom have a drunk conversation somewhere where they decide they must take this on themselves. Well, Lily does, Tom takes a bit of convincing as he, for one, welcomes their new ant overlords and has reached a level of cynicism that knows no bounds. But alright, two maverick, wizard cops, are going to track down Kira.

How do they do it?

I imagine they start where L presumably started: they look for patterns in the initial deaths. Doing this long enough, they can likely pinpoint Kira to Japan and conclude that, for a while, he seemed to kill outside the hours of 8 to 4. Kira is likely a student or else works with a student's schedule.

It's not much but the pair take extended leave and head to Tokyo.

There they probably resort to magical means and this... might get them pretty decent results depending. It's unclear how divination actually works, but it may be able to pick up traces of other to get them in Ryuk's vicinity or else get them Light's face.

(Again, this may be a bit of cheating on my part, but it's something that feels in line with what magic could accomplish and thus within the range of Lily and Tom's abilities).

Of course, the question is a) if this kid really is Kira b) how do they prove it? Tom argues there's no need to prove it, they give Kira the Kira treatment: whack him over the head and throw his body in the gutter.

Lily does not approve.

As for proving whether he is, well, that's what legilimency is for. Lily doesn't like doing that without a warrant, but they're on vacation and Tom only has so much leave. Tom reads Light's mind and... well... this is complicated.

Turns out Shinigami are a thing no one knew about. They really do have ant overlords who might kill them at any moment.

Lily decides she can't even and burns the notebook. Ryuk is devastated, Light now has no memories of being Kira, and finds himself sitting on a park bench with two Brits with the worst fashion taste in the world.

Lily wonders if they can or even should arrest Light when he appears to a) have no memories of being Kira b) Lily and Tom... have no warrant and no backing. Tom thinks they've done enough, he wants to go on vacation for real now.

Tom pats a confused Light on the shoulder and suggests he invest in therapy.

Three months later, Ryuk drops another notebook.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #death note #tom riddle #lily evans #anti harry potter #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #hermione granger #severus snape #meta #headcanon #opinion #kira #light yagami #ryuk

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thetriggeredhappy · 3 years ago

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recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”

 Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #dad!spy #father-son bonding au #shut up me #que?#in this au he picks a fake name like she does. later i think demo starts calling him norman and some of the others do as well as goofs #also apologies for montgomery i couldnt quite get away with not naming random rich guy. just barely scraped by with guards one through four #everybody talks

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