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mad-maximoff · 3 years ago

Text

At Last

Summary: You and Wanda are undercover out of the country not in good speaking terms but you make her start talking

Warnings: Language, Marijuana use, talks about trauma, wlw sex, oral (receiving), super soldier reader

Word Count: 4,034

(SO I didn’t know Sokovia wasn’t a real place😂😂 So I used Romaian and Russian words when Wanda and reader is talking)

The rain was coming down hard in Japan. It was fall, it was prettier here than in Brooklyn. The Japanese scenery made fall feel so elegant. Yet, in your undercover apartment, Wanda and you lived in an environment that wasn't too friendly. After Wanda held or should I say played the game with Westview, the entire country wanted her head on a platter. All the government officials held her accountable. She lived in the mountains for a bit until S.H.E.I.L.D raided her house to take her back to the states. You were a mercenary working odd jobs. Sometimes you work for the good guys, most of the time you worked for the bad. Your ‘origin’ story was a dark mess and you never spoke about it. You just hid it under the rug, telling people you were born as a super soldier. No one believed you, however, though no one wanted to ask for the reason they didn't want to get hurt or killed. Super soldiers weren't born. They are made. How you were made was a sad story that inflicts you trauma that still haunts you to this day. You can never change what happened but you can make the best of it. That's how you got on to Director Fury's radar. You were taken in by S.H.E.I.L.D after you were hired by Zemo to do some assassinations. The director gave you two options. Either help go undercover with Wanda Maximoff or they hand you over to the American government where they hide you in a CIA wet cell. You chose the easiest option.

You sat on the windowsill leaving a crack of the window open. You looked from the corner of your eye seeing Wanda laying in her bed reading a novel she recently bought over a cup of tea. You didn't know why Wanda hated you so much. It could have been the fact that she thought she was better than you because she was the all ‘Mighty Avenger’ and could never work to kill for a living, or just hated the fact you reminded her a lot of her past too. A little too much. You both were Sokoivan. Her accent was washed away while yours was layered on thick. Though sometimes you catch yourself mixing your Sokoivan with Russian at some points. You mastered both.

"You know how much I hate you smoking in my room Y/n? What if a neighbour calls in? You do realize it will blow our cover." Her eyebrow raised tilting her head at you. Giving you a concerned look. "Wanda. You understand we're the only tenants in the goddamn building right? Besides, if my room had a window then you wouldn't see me as you wanted." You used to smoke joints often but on every mission, you thought you stored them in a safe place on your person, until a fight happened and you had squished joints. So you thought the easiest and cheapest option was to get a weed pen. No odour, no mess. Easy and relaxing after a tough mission. To make you forget what you did that day.

"Go smoke in the living room. There's a window that opens there. It's like you come in here just to bother me." She placed a bookmark on her page, prompting it on her nightstand. Her arms crossed, she shifted her body around her bed making her oversized white longsleeved shirt fall off her shoulder. "Maybe that's it Nebun. Maybe I just want to bug you. It's hard to talk to four walls all day long when you have another person sleeping across the hallway." You inhaled your pen once more safely sliding it into your pyjama pants.

"God I hate when you call me that! Why can't you get over using our language when we have no home country anymore?" Wanda lifted her sheets over her body stepping out of her bed. You saw her shiver running to face you. She was only wearing her white shirt. All you hoped was she was wearing underwear at least. "It's funny you think your country is gone when we are the country of Sokoiva! A country isn't a place without its people! Why can't you get over you can't hide who you are!" You stood tall in front of her even though you were two inches shorter than her. The superhero serum gave the power to kill Captain America, not give your legs more length. You two were going to play the game again. Who can put enough holes in the walls today? You quickly looked down noticing Wanda's red mist started to appear.

"I don't need you to tell me. Who. I am." Her hand whipped over your head ready to throw you into the hallway. You thanked God for your quick flexes hooked onto Wanda’s wrist crashing into the wall behind her breaking the drywall.

"Not today sweetheart. You can't hide from your past just as much as I can. Believe me, I've fucking tried! You always have someone in your past who comes back just to remind you of all the pain you caused! All the pain they caused to you! So yeah, I'm still pretty fucking proud to be from Sokovia before it became a lake! You should be too! You saved everyone from Ultron while I was graduating from the fucking Red Room! I couldn't save my people! You did! Now you just want to forget they exist!! If you do that Wanda you’re no better than those American officials who want you dead. All of us dead!!" You loosened your grip feeling Wanda's wrist throbbing. You were already leaving a bruise on her fingers. You know you went too far letting your strength get the better of you.

"Y/n...I'm sorry you felt that way but you don’t know what I went through. You didn't have to hide movies and music behind picture frames! You didn't have to hide underneath a bed for 2 days with your only brother thinking a bomb might go off! You didn't have to go to orphanages and then volunteer to get out of poverty!" Her other hand was free getting ready to hit you in your stomach until you caught it again but this time you lightly threw it over her head pinning both against the wall.

"Oh, you had luxury huh? That must've been a treat for you! You had a choice in the matter to be created, how touching! I was in Sokoiva until I was ten years old. Let me paint you a picture so you don't have to read my mind, shall we? My father was a scientist and my mother was Russian, we never met until I was 15. I lived mostly with my father until he was called to do a top secret mission for the Russian government. So instead I lived with my grandmother outside of Novi Grad until she unfortunately died. I was shipped off to my mother only to find out she was one of the most elite and one of the first Black Widows in Russia! She and five others helped Dreykov create the Black Widow program. Which might I add is was where I was shipped off to! I completed the program top of my class to graduate with Natasha’s sister Yelena and was heading into my first ever mission until my father pulled me out last minute." You had to catch your breath. You felt tears form in your eyes trying to hold your composer.

"You done yet? This position is getting a little uncomfortable." Wanda huffed showing no emotion.

"Nope, not yet you pain in the ass! We're getting to the best part." You let go of her hands seeing a deep purple ring around Wanda's wrists. Your hand rested on her chest guiding her to the foot of her bed making her sit down.

"My father was a good man. A very good man. Even though they had him working with the Russian HYDRA headquarters. They wanted a serum to kill the real super soldiers. Someone they couldn't beat. My father did just that. One vile. One mega super soldier serum. His moral conscience got the best of him. He destroyed all of his work except for the vile. We were on the run, we almost lost them until a team of Widows came on our doorstep. He refused to give it up. So 16 your old me had to hide as my mother killed her husband. My father. I had no choice but to take the serum. I killed all of the Widows. All the girls I grew up with in that fucking room! All my mother did was cower running away from her fate! So yes Wanda! There's my fucking story. If you think yours is bad just remember about others around you! Enjoy your pity party. While I enjoy the sweet memories I had with my father in Sokoiva." A tear fell running down your cheek, you quickly wiped it away feeling so angry over Wanda. You turned walking out of her bedroom to yours.

You heard Wanda try to speak your name but she choked. She faintly whispered out all that she could muster up. She was too stunned.

Wanda knew it was true, that's why she stayed silent. You listened to her feet touch the laminate floor making little ticking noises, becoming louder. Your lights weren’t on. You sat in the dark on the floor next to your bed. You weren’t crying or at least you didn’t think you were. When you heard Wanda’s feet stop you peered over to the door opened, gleaming in the orange light from the hallway. Your eyes darted over not realizing you were crying. The tears were too scared to fall so they built up waiting for the right moment.

“Y/n? Ce faci pe podea?” Wanda turned on the light. Her footsteps increased, your back was against your bed knowing the mattress moved. She sat on the edge of the bed staring down at you.

“Huh? And I thought you forgot your first language.” You sniffled, pulling the bottom of your tank top up to wipe away your tears. “You’ve come to tell me off for hurting you again right?” You looked up at the ceiling trying not to form any tears.

“No dragă. I didn’t come to do that.” She knelt down, sitting down beside you. “I came to see if you were okay, I think I went below the belt.” She huffed twiddling her fingers together staring at her hands.

“Yeah, you think.” A laugh crept on your lips. She knew you were being sarcastic.

“I also think you were a little tough me too Y/n.” Wanda moved her hair behind her ear cocking her head.

“I’ll apologize for leaving you bruises but not for what I said. I meant it, Wanda. You think you can become an Avenger and just leave all of your problems behind. Not all of us had that privilege.” You gritted your teeth.

Wanda got up pacing around the floor in front of you. “You thought I wanted to become an Avenger!? It was the only way to leave Sokoiva! While you were asleep in your cradle my building was bombed! Do you have cute little memories of your father? while I saw my parents die!! You cannot talk about hurt here when you were shipped off to Russia before you were in a motherfucking training bra!! So you’re going to apologize for all of it! Before I blow up this entire fucking block!” Her eyes were enraged in red. She lifted herself into the air with the flick of her wrist.

“Wanda, enough! We both had/have shitty lives but I don’t think destroying this entire block will change things! You have to realize that everyone struggles with their past, but we all just can’t magically make your family come back! If it was that easy do you think I’d be doing what I have been doing all these years? No.” You stood up from your spot looking up at the red head floating in front of you. “Yes-...I am sorry for what I said to you. And I’m sorry I hurt your wrists, I didn’t mean to be so forceful. You just get me so mad, sitting up there on your high horse. Thinking you are better than everyone else just because everyone is scared of you. Here’s the kicker sweetheart, I’m not! Kill me if you want, I don’t give a shit anymore. Go ahead, break another bone. It’s just another day in here. We break a wall or two. You silently cry in your room for an hour before you go to sleep, I try to push in the bone you dislocate in the bathroom. Then we all do it again tomorrow night.” You trotted over to Wanda clasping her torso and pulling her down so her feet touched the floor.

She was silent again. You left her speechless. Her tears weren’t angry anymore. They were sad tears. You could tell; the way her lip quivered trying to close her lips, her hands shook.

“Y/n…I didn’t know you can hear me cry at night..” Her eyes darted down leaving tear stains across her cheeks. Her red mist lightened, disappearing the crimson hue in her eyes restoring to her deep emerald colour.

Your hand lifted Wanda’s jaw raising her eyes to meet yours. “Yes detka, I’ve always known. I know why you keep reading that same damn book on your nightstand. It’s Vision’s book. He wrote little notes on each paragraph.” Wanda leaned into your hand on her jaw. Her body press against yours. Both of your feet touched together.

“How do you know so much about me, when I know nothing about you? That’s not fair Y/n.” Her hand reached up latching onto yours pulling it away from our face. Your fingers intertwined with hers noticing how clamy she was. The only thing you had in common with her in size was her hands. Your biceps were the size of her thighs, but your hands were still girly.

“Honestly Wanda, how could you know who I am. When I don’t know myself. I can remember who I was before the Red Room. Everything else is a blur. The only thing I remember of who I am is what happens in this apartment..” You sighed still having your one hand on Wanda’s hip. Your thumb stroked her softly, still locked in on her eyes.

“That’s all you remember? Everything on these walls? Not very much to look at.” Wanda let go of your hand running her hand up to your shoulder.

“No beautiful. I remember everything you do around these walls. The way you make your coffee, the way you always make your favourite meal when you’re depressed, that time you almost fell asleep in the tub!…” You both laughed, non-coincidentally touching both of your foreheads together.

“Oh shut up, that was one time! Once! You always have to bring it up huh?” Her nose crinkled allowing a smile to shine through.

“I gotta make sure you don’t forget.” You smirked only allowing one part of your lip to rise. Wanda extended her hand further up your head, running her fingers through your hair. She went on her tippy-toes meeting your gaze perfectly.

“How about we make some good memories for the both of us tonight?” Her hand dropped grazing your ear. “We forget about our little fight and make a new night routine.” Her knee rose between you, rubbing your crotch. She twinkled shoving you down onto your bed.

“That sounds pretty damn good to me Wanda.” Both of your hands were on her hips as she straddled yours. Her hands went underneath your tank top pulling it up over your head.

“Vrei să te ating, dragă?” Her teeth tugged roughly on her bottom lip, ripping off her white shirt. She was straddling you only wearing black panties, nothing underneath. Her boobs swayed over you letting her lips smash into yours. Her lips were so soft on yours, allowing yours to open pushing her tongue in. She touched yours motioning you to play along. Yours got in with no ease.

"Mereu..." Your lips let go whispering as you spoke between her lips. Your fingertips grazed either side of her cheeks pulling her to your kiss again. Everything about her you loved, even when she went crazy. Everything about Wanda was soft and gentle, you just never got to see that for the fact you two were cooped up together for so long. You both were about to break this hatred sometimes right? You thought to yourself. Maybe tonight was the night it broke.

Your hands still had a firm grasp on Wanda's face, she had other plans with hers. Her tiny hands slid between you both yanking your pyjama pants down with your panties with it. Her hands twitched going into your lips, you didn't know how aroused you were until she first touched you. You bucked your thighs against her. It was the first time in a long time you've been touched this way.

"Ah!.." Wanda's finger circled your clit gradually. Your body tensed up underneath her. She grinned pecking your cheek, leaving traces of her breath.

“Don’t cum yet, please don’t cum detka.” Her whisper gave goosebumps all over you. Her just saying not to cum made your opening tighten worse. Wanda stopped playing with your clit, moving further down dipping her middle finger into your opening. Your breath hitched looking down at her handy-work.

“Please, please, please Y/n. Don’t cum now. Not now.” Her hand started to thrust rapidly, adding her ring finger in your pussy. You coated her fingers making it hard for her to stay in. Her cheek pressed against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from all the sounds you were making, your moans were becoming loud as Wanda kept increasing her speed. Your entire body reacted, shifting your hips to match her hand motions. You rode her fingers, bringing your walls grip around her.

“Fuck! W-Wanda, oh god!” Your climax was going to hit you like a ton of bricks. You came to that realization as Wanda stopped pumping her fingers in you, letting yourself ride it out. She slipped out shoving her glazed fingers in her mouth. You couldn’t believe it. Wanda won’t let you cum. You laid on your bed watching your thighs twitch hitting Wanda’s hips as she was between them. She stood up to her knees, sucking your juices off her hand.

“You taste so good Y/n..” Your legs would not stop shaking, you could not get over Wanda not letting you finish. You kept tripping over your tongue, trying to pipe up. Wanda's smile grew bigger. You knew she read your mind.

"You wanna cum so bad huh? Tell me you want to cum with your words." Her hands rode up your stomach underneath your grey tank top ripping it up the middle. Your boobs bulged out moving in motion. Her hands traced further up cupping both of your breasts in either hand. Her lanky fingers froze your skin to the touch, digging her nails into your chest in a circular movement.

"I want to cum..p-please let me cum!" Any faint touch made your sensitivity grow stronger. You needed the release desperately.

Wanda laughed under her breath, biting the side of her lip. Her hands let go of your chest; shuffling her body down, her knees touched your ankles.

"Good girl. I'll make you the best memory you'll never forget." She tilted her head back brushing her hair back behind her shoulders. Her head bent down between your thighs ripping them apart leaving your slit opening to her. Your entire being was being overstimulated, every little sense that passed through your body made your hairs stand up straight. Everything became too real when Wanda's tongue pressed against your clit dragging it down. Your body lost all control, your hands grasped the bedsheets underneath you.

You stared down watching Wanda's head move between your legs. Her eyes met yours tilted her head slightly playing her hand on your stomach, softly stroking your skin.

"Oh you love this, don't you?" She hummed between your folds slipping her tongue faintly into your core. She twitched her tongue inside you hitting every little nerve you have, your little moans became deafening using your other hand to cover your mouth. The pleasure was overcoming your whole body. Your breathing hitched feeling the same thing you felt early, you were cumming. Wanda felt it too leaving your folds working on giving your clit some much-needed attention.

"Yes!..oh my god..." Your hand grasping your bedsheets intertwined with your fingers ripping a few threads creating a little tear. Your back arched lifting yourself off the mattress.

"Come on detka, cum for me. Te rog, te iubesc." Wanda's hands laid firmly on the tops of your thighs clenching roughly. Wanda's voice made your climax arose, crashing into you.

You let go of your mouth; allowing your moans to turn into a loud scream. You extended your hand down resting it on Wanda's head. Your fingers brushed through her fiery orange strands. "Fuck! Wanda!" Your orgasm has never hit you this hard before, never have you ever come this big. Though, you remember you're never the one on the bed.

"Good girl, Y/n. Arăți atât de frumos." Her head looked up moving up from your thighs hovering over you. Her mouth and chin were sparkling with your juices all over her.

"Si tu esti frumoasa iubirea mea." You reached above your head brushing your thumb against her cheekbone. Wanda bent down pressing her wet lips onto yours. Her warmth bled into you. The warm tingly feeling spread throughout you and her. Your hands ran along her back making her cold skin warm up. You both were connected as one.

The rain pounded the roof of your apartment, only hearing the storm and you two's breathe in between kisses. You sat up straight holding Wanda on your lap, you two were so involved in each other that you didn't realize how late it was into the night. Nor did you care. Wanda let go of your lips sighing a heavy breath.

"Maybe I should try your weed pen." She giggled whipping your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

"Well if you can find my pants I'll let you." You cracked your neck looking over at your clock that sat solemnly on your nightstand. "Holy shit Wand, it's 3 am." Once you realized what the time was your body gazed out, continuously yawning.

"Your right Y/n. Maybe it is time to go to bed." Her warmth left you as she got off your bed stretching her legs. She took two steps behind down, picking up your fleece pyjama pants. Tossing them on the foot of your bed. She through back on her white long-sleeved shirt adjusting the hem on her shoulders tip toeing to the doorframe.

"What are you doing Wanda? This bed is big enough for both of us. Come sleep with me. Please?" You stood onto your feet, pulling the comforter down.

"I wish I can detka, but I think I left on a candle in my room. I'll sleep with you tomorrow night. I promise. We still have to create more memories." She winked as you watched her ass sway to her room.

"Alright beautiful, goodnight." You grabbed your pants rising them to your hips. Your hand slipped into your pocket looking for your weed pen, finding the pocket you left it empty. You scanned the floor looking for it coming to a realization.

"Hey! Give that back thief!" You laughed yelling throughout your apartment.

"I don't know what you're talking about Y/n." You heard Wanda's voice as she choked trying not to cough. Seeing faint smoke near the foot of her bed.

"Uh huh bullshit!" You laughed running back into her room.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #lgbt #lesbian #marvel #wlw fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #wlw #avengers #scarlet witch x reader #the scarlet witch #wlw blog #elizabeth olsen #wanda mcu #mcu fanfiction

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officialsporkintheroad · 3 years ago

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for the soulmate au, harry/luna!!!

(A/N: Thanks so much for sending this ask love <3 The idea of soulmate drawings jumped at me immediately because I think it's so perfect for this pairing, but it took a while to get it down the way I wanted.)

* * * * *

That Harry Potter woke up with drawings covering his arms wasn’t cause for concern in and of itself. Even the Dursleys, with their strict rules on what was normal and what wasn’t, wouldn’t throw a fit over something as natural as soulmate art. Dudley often came tumbling down the stairs shouting about the newest pink heart on the inside of his wrist or a smiley face poorly drawn on his leg, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would coo over the marks.

Sure, they’d been surprised when Harry’s first one had appeared when he was 3—his entire palm a garish sort of purple as if he’d stuck his hand straight into wet paint—but they were more likely to ignore the existence of any drawings than to get upset over them.

But these were different.

The horse tucked into the crook of his elbow was glittery white, a gold horn protruding from its head. The lake pooling at the top of his left hand was filled with mermaids. A strange-looking fairy-like-thing hovered at his shoulder.

Harry stared at them in horror for all of a minute before tugging on a long-sleeve shirt, for once grateful that wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs meant the sleeves hid his hands as well.

Uncle Vernon saw them anyway, the loose fabric sliding up Harry’s arm when he’d gone to serve breakfast, and Harry had been promptly locked back in the cupboard.

* * * * *

Harry wasn’t allowed markers. Not at home at least.

Dudley had a pen specially made for writing on skin that he used to trade messages back and forth with his soulmate, but if Harry so much as glanced at a Sharpie, Aunt Petunia would snatch it up and hide it away on the top shelf of the upper corner cabinet.

Harry had crayons—half-broken, mostly used crayons that had been one of Dudley’s birthday gifts the boy had complained about—but they didn’t leave much of a mark on his skin. Pencils scraped too much, and the writing was still too faint. At school, paints and markers were saved for art time, and Harry could usually only sneak enough time to draw a quick smile on the part of his ankle that could easily be covered by a sock.

But in the meantime, he practiced drawing. In the evenings when he was expected to sit quietly in the cupboard and bother no one, he pulled out scrap bits of paper and the worn down crayons, and he drew. Sometimes he tried to copy the broken toy soldiers lined up along his walls. Sometimes he drew the flowers from Aunt Petunia’s garden, or the little snakes that would hide among the weeds. Sometimes he drew Marge’s dogs, and sometimes he drew Marge as if she was a dog.

Sometimes, especially as he got better, if his soulmate had left him covered with drawings of dragons and birds on fire and giant sea monsters and skeletal horses, well, sometimes Harry would try his best to copy them down too. He hid them under his thin mattress, and whenever his hands hurt from weeding or he was bruised from Harry Hunting or Aunt Petunia had locked him away before dinner again, he would curl up and look at them and imagine what it would be like to be able to send drawings back. What it would be like to meet the person drawing to him.

* * * * *

When Harry turned 11 and found out about magic, he had three immediate thoughts.

I’m a wizard.

I can leave the Dursleys.

I’m going to be able to write to my soulmate.

At Diagon Alley, between wand shopping and Madam Malkins, Harry spent an hour in the magical equivalent of an office supplies shop picking out colored inks and paints and brushes to go alongside his normal school supplies. At Flourish & Blotts, he purchased the required reading and then a humongous tome on magical creatures. Because what if the things his soulmate had drawn for him were real? What if his soulmate was magic too?

* * * * *

He would have liked to start drawing the moment he got on the train, but instead he was bombarded with Ron Weasley, and then Hermione Granger, and a lost toad, and the trolley of sweets, and besides, the train was rumbling along the tracks with little jerks and twists and it wouldn’t have been good for drawing anyway.

And then there was the sorting, the feast, the castle, and by the time Harry made it up to Gryffindor tower, it was late. Still, he dug around in his trunk and pulled out the brushes and the paint, sat on his bed with the curtains pulled shut, and began. He had 11 years to make up for, after all, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time.

* * * * *

When Luna Lovegood woke up on the morning of September 2nd, there on her right leg was a beautiful painting of an outline of a castle against a moonlit sky. At her knee, a grazing unicorn. The toes of her left foot were fish—yellow-golden, swirling red and white, hot pink—and seaweed climbed up that leg. In the crook of her elbow sat a plump bird, its feathers trailing down her arm, and on each of her left fingertips, a different type of flower.

Beautiful.

Later, when she was more awake and had taken the time to look properly in the mirror, she found the words scrawled messily along her ribcage where they could be easily hidden. Where they would belong just to her instead of where everyone could see.

Hi. My name is Harry. Sorry it took so long.

* * * * *

Feel free to send me an ask <3

#Harry Potter #Luna Lovegood #soulmate au #Harry x Luna #Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood #mini fic

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

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Dead Or Alive - Harry Styles

a/n: oof okay hello! this is a little different, i guess? but im very excited to share this with you! don’t ask me how i got the idea for this, no clue but it was stuck in my head for days before i finally gave in and started writing it. please share your thoughts and comments on it, i would love to read them!! hope you’ll enjoy it!

pairing: Wanted!Harry x BountyHunter!Reader

warning: violence, talks of drugs, murder, guns, i really lost track of it lol

word count: 15.2k

masterlist

The man in the handcuffs growls in pain again, but you just yank him forward, not in the mood to deal with a whining girl trapped in a six feet tall disgusting looking, oily-faced bald man in his forties.

“Y/N! What do we got today?” Jeremy greets you at the front desk, thumbs hooked into his belt as he watches you tug the guy into the hall of the station, pushing him down to the nearest seat as you step to Jeremy who is already handing you the paperwork.

“Dennis Delgado. Took me a few days to find him, but he couldn’t hide forever,” you grin proudly as you grab a pen and start filling the papers out.

Jeremy walks over to Dennis who just looks up at the officer in disgust. It’s not enough that he is a child molester disgusting prick, he is racist on top of everything and now Jeremy is enjoying having the higher ground, Dennis trapped in his handcuffs while Jeremy will be the one to get him behind bars for a long time.

“Nice one. We’ll have a lot of fun with this one,” Jeremy chuckles. “Want me to ring up your brother?”

“Is he in? Would love to have a word with him,” you nod smiling. When you’re done with the papers you hand them over to Stella, the receptionist who gets to work with them right away so you can get your money.

“Sure, I’ll get him for you on my way,” Jeremy nods, grabbing Dennis by his arm, pulling him along on his way to the elevators. “Come on you scumbag, you have a cell waiting with your name on it.”

The two of them disappear and you get into a little chit-chat with Stella while she is finishing up the paperwork. Leaning against the counter you look around, officers come and go in the hall, all of them dressed in their uniform and for a moment you picture yourself wearing the same outfit. At one point in your life it seemed to be part of your future, but now it would be the most ridiculous sight. Y/N, the best bounty hunter in the region in a police uniform? That’s not happening.

The elevator dings and your brother, Robert walks out. He on the other hand, made this vision happen. He has been an officer for about ten years now and though at first he was outraged that you chose the not so gracious lifestyle of a bounty hunter, but you soon became his unofficial partner, handing him over a wanted person every few days, making his work easier. Everyone at the station knows that Robert is the one who plays by the rules, doing everything according to the handbook, the perfect officer, always working to keep up the peace in town while you are… Well, you are a rebel. You could never play by the rules, always sneaking ways to do things according to your desires. You never liked if someone wanted to tell you what to do and how to do it, you are not a team player or either one that can easily managed by higher forces. It didn’t take long for you to realize your nature will never let you be an officer so you chose the other path that’s somewhere near joining the police, but still playing by your own rules.

Being a female bounty hunter wasn’t the easiest when you started off at the young age of seventeen. In desperate need of the extra money after the tragic passing of both your parents, the two of you had to get along on Robert’s slim, beginner paycheck. He was only twenty-three, started working at the station just a year prior, you knew you had to help him out. He kept bringing up cases, worked on them through the nights and when he passed you on the couch from exhaustion, you sneaked your way into the dining room and looked for easy targets. Speeding tickets, light drug trafficking, whatever you could deal with as a high schooler.

Robert hated the idea of you dealing with wanted people, you had endless fights about it, but you were too stubborn to stop and besides, you liked the adrenaline rush you got whenever you caught another one and brought them back to the station. Loved the stunned and shocked looks on the older officers when you managed to catch a bigger fish. It took Robert a few years to come to peace with your choice of lifestyle and now he doesn’t even try to talk you down. Instead, he keeps bringing you cases that pay well and he knows you’d like them.

“Who did you catch this time?” he grins at you, walking up to you and he envelopes you in a short hug.

“Just got Dennis Delgado, Jeremy took him.”

“Poor Dennis, he’ll have a rough evening,” Robert chuckles. “Did you get your money?”

“Stella is already working on it,” you nod towards the lady behind you.

“Oh, I’ve got you, Sweetheart,” Stella pushes herself back from her desk and walks over to you with an envelope filled with your reward.

“Amazing, thank you, Stella,” you grin at her happily. Dennis was worth a little more than the usual, you are well covered for the rest of the month thanks to him.

“Do you have something coming next?” Robert asks, hands on his hips as he watches you put the money away into your backpack.

“Not yet. Got something exciting for me?”

“An old friend,” he nods with a small smile. He reaches behind the counter and grabs a flyer, handing it over to you, a familiar face staring back at you from the photo this time.

Harry Styles is a name you’ve heard plenty of times and you know him well by now. You actually went to high school with him, you were just never in the same group. He was labeled as troubled all through his teenage years, his parents were brutally killed when he was just a kid, he was tossed around from one foster family to the other, moving around town every few months. It was no surprised when he got into some darker circles, he almost got kicked out of school right before graduation but somehow managed to stick around to get his diploma at the end.

You have actually handed him in a few times before. Never for anything bigger than drug trafficking or robbing smaller shops downtown, Harry is actually not as bad as people tend to portray him to be, he was just not blessed with the best background as most people. He is a smart guy and would never hurt anyone for real, this is why you are now staring down at his flyer shocked.

He is wanted for the murder of a local man who was found dead a few days ago in his home, Harry’s hair was found near the body with no other evidence.

“Are you sure about this?” you ask Robert with a concerned look. This doesn’t feel right. Not that you know Harry that well, but it’s very unlike him.

“Very much. His hair was the only thing we found near the body of Dave RIchards so evidently, he is our number one suspect.”

“I don’t know, this doesn’t sound right,” you think to yourself, staring down at the mug shot of him that was taken the last time you brought him in for selling weed to underage kids. You remember it exactly, because bringing Harry in is always… fun, if you could say that.

That last time, he was already expecting you, waiting around in his usual motel room that is somewhat considered as his home.

“My Y/N! You arrived earlier than I expected!” he greeted you when you kicked his door in. He was sitting in the middle of the double bed, rolling a joint as always, not a care in the world about your arrival.

“You knew I was coming?” you cocked your head to the side walking in and stopping at the end of the bed, watching him finish the joint and simply light it before taking a big puff.

“Of course. I was informed I’m on your list again, just thought you’d give me a few more hours, but it’s alright.” He waved around carelessly before holding out the joint in your way, offering you to try it.

“No thanks, I don’t trust your sketchy stuff.”

“That hurt!” he gasped dramatically, placing a hand to his tattooed chest that was partially on display since his shirts are never buttoned all the way up.

You brought him in that day, stopping for McDonald’s on your way to the station before handing him over to Robert. He was actually a great guy, nice sense of humor and good looks, you never thought otherwise, he was just moving around in different circles than you so you were left with the few jokes he always cracked when you took him in every few months.

“Well, it’s not your job to question his innocence. Want to take the job or not?” Robert asks you.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll find him,” you nod and fold the flyer, sliding it into your back pocket.

Normally, you take the rest of the day for yourself after turning someone in, but this situation with Harry just bugs you way more than to just go home and pretend like it’s not all you can think about. Harry is not a murderer, he would never randomly kill a man, he is not a psycho, just a guy with a rough background and some poor life decisions.

You know the route to the motel like the back of your hand. Arriving to the dodgy parking lot you park your car in the far end before taking one last look at the flyer. Then you push it into your backpack and get out, heading to Harry’s room with firm steps. You see no lights on, the door is closed and you almost don’t even get closer, thinking he is not here when you see someone move around inside.

You are almost at the door when a hand covers your mouth and an arm wraps around your body, pulling you back forcefully. It takes you a moment to recover from the shock as you are yanked backwards, but as you are being dragged towards the alleyway next to the motel you elbow your attacker in the stomach before kicking them in the knees. The hands fall from around you and turning around you pull out your pocket knife, ready to cut throats right away, but you are shocked to see Harry hunched over, groaning in pain as he holds his arm to his stomach.

“The fuck, Y/N?!” he growls, his chocolate curls falling forward, they’ve definitely gotten longer since the last time you saw him, he could easily put them up into a bun now. “What was that for?” he whispers in disbelief, his green eyes meeting yours in a scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean? You attacked me!”

“I didn’t attack you, I was trying to fucking save you!”

“From what?!”

“From the fucking asshole in my room who is four times bigger than you and would have probably shot you the moment you kicked my door in like you always fucking do!”

It’s just now processing in you that if Harry is here, the person you saw in the room can’t be him and he surely looked bulky. Harry runs his hand through his hair, straightening up from his hunched position before he sighs tiredly. He looks… worn-out, even more than he usually does. The dark circles under his eyes and beat-up knuckles are new, he usually looks fine despite everything that goes on in his life, but this is a version of him you haven’t seen. He has definitely been through some shit lately.

“What are you doin—“

“No time for questions now, we have to get out of here,” he cuts you off, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the alleyway to another parking lot on the other side of the motel. You spot his old jeep right away, but you yank your hand out of his hold, stopping in your tracks.

“Wait, my car is there!”

“We’ll come back for that later, but they can’t find you here with me or they’ll be after you as well,” he explains, grabbing your hand again as he pulls you towards the car and this time you follow him blindly.

You get into his jeep without even questioning it, not even caring that he is a man who is currently wanted for murder. Your instinct is telling you that you’re completely fine with him and you believe it. The two of you head out of town, taking the route to the next town nearby, but he takes a turn to the left, the jeep rolling onto a dirty road leading along fields filled with wildflowers. You have a guess where you’re going, there are some abandoned cabins near the woods that used to function as vacation homes, but they were slowly left to stand empty for eternity when a luxury resort was built on the other side of the woods.

“Care to tell me what the fuck just happened?” you ask him calmly, turning to look at him. He has one hand on the wheel, while his other elbow is resting on the armrest, fingers tapping on his chapped, pink lips.

“I’m in… deep shit, Y/N,” he admits with a sigh, eyes glued to the road ahead of him.

“No shit, you killed someone?”

“I didn’t,” he states, his eyes meeting yours for a moment to emphasize his truth. “It was a fucking set up and now they are after me every way possible.”

“Who is? And what did you do to get into so much trouble?”

“I’ll tell you about it when we arrive, okay?”

You sit in silence for the rest of the ride until you finally arrive to the cabins. You follow Harry inside one of them and it seems like he has set his base up here a few days ago. There’s a double bed with blankets thrown over it and a few mismatched pillows, a sports bag with his clothes and a few grocery bags on the dusty kitchen counter, candles everywhere since there’s probably no power in the cabin. You wonder how long he has been camping out here.

“About a week ago I got a visit from Hugo McKain, you’ve heard about him?” he asks as he grabs a bottled water from one of the grocery bags and fills up two plastic cups, handing you one of them.

“Sure. I’ve heard that… he is a big fish,” you nod.

“Yeah. He wanted me to work for him, but I sincerely rejected the offer, however it didn’t sit well with him. He threatened me that if I’m not selling his stuff, then I won’t sell anyone else’s stuff,” he explains, walking over to the bed and he sits at the edge, staring at the cup in his hands. “He gave me another day to change my mind, but I said that I don’t want to get involved with any of the heavy shit he deals with. I was hoping he would just willing to forget about it, but apparently, he is not the kind to just let shit go,” he chuckles bitterly. “A few days ago he sent two of his men after me, but I was able to run away. I was ready to pack my shit up and just leave the state forever, but then the fucking asshole framed me for the murder of that guy. A friend called me to let me know that I’m the only suspect in the case and that my face has been sent out already everywhere in the state. Hugo made it impossible for me to leave, I would be caught the moment I stop to pump fucking gas in my car,” he growls in annoyance. “So it’s a whole shit show, the police and Hugo are after me and I’m fucking stuck here.”

You stand there at a complete loss of words, because though you have no evidence if he is telling you the truth, you just know he is and the situation is fucking miserable. Harry drinks his water and throws the cup into a plastic bag that serves as a trashcan, his fingers running through his hair nervously.

“Do you know who killed the guy?” you speak up after some silence.

“Yeah, one of his men called Axel, he is a proper idiot, I’m actually surprised he didn’t leave his DNA back, just mine,” Harry scoffs.

“If you know they are after you, what were you doing at the motel?” you ask, leaning against the wall, curiously eyeing him as he glances up at you.

“Knew you’d come after me, didn’t want them to pull you into this mess too.”

Your eyebrows rise at his words. He went back because of you? Harry notices your surprise, a smug smirk tugging on his lips.

“What? Couldn’t let them lay a finger on my Y/N, right?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. He has always been so flirty with you since day one, always trying to pull your leg, chatting your ears off in hopes that he can finally drag you to bed one day. But you never give in, it all stays just some empty flirting and a playful banter.

“So what are you going to do now?” you ask clearing your throat. There’s just always been something in the way he calls you his Y/N that makes you a tad bit nervous.

“That’s an excellent question to which… I have no answer,” he truthfully admits.

“You can’t hide here forever.”

“You tryna’ lure me into going to the station with you?” he asks with a grin. “To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t cuffed me yet. You love that stuff, don’t you?” Harry stands from the bed and strides over to you, the height difference between the two of you forcing you to tilt your head up a little as he smirks down at you, enjoying that he has successfully made you blush. “Question is, have you been the one in the cuffs?”

You part your lips with the intention of answering, but nothing comes out. Harry smirks down at you, so full of himself before stepping away.

“Anyway, I think I’m just gonna lay low here for a while and then hopefully I’ll be able to sneak out of town at one point.”

“You wanna stay here?” you ask looking around. The place is fine for just a few nomad days, but staying here for more seems impossible. There’s no electricity, probably no water, some of the windows are broken in, the temperature must drop drastically in the nights so close to the woods.

“Not that I have any other choices,” he huffs, opening a bag of chips from the groceries.

“Don’t you have any friends who can share their couch with you for a while?”

“You think anyone would want to hide a dude who is wanted for murder and who is also in trouble with Hugo McKain? Baby, even if any of my friends were willing to help, I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t want to pull them into my shit. Besides, Hugo is probably already keeping tabs of all my friends, he has the connections to know everything about me.”

“And what about me?” you suddenly ask. Harry freezes, eyes flickering at you in confusion.

“What about you?”

“Would he look for you at mine?”

Now it’s his turn to rock a stunned expression, eyebrows shooting up as he stares back at you. He wasn’t expecting it, but truth is neither did you. However it doesn’t take him long to turn it into something entirely sexual.

“You know, if you wanted to see me in your bed, you should have just asked.”

Luckily, you don’t fall under his spell this time. Rolling your eyes you put the cup to the nearest surface and head to the door.

“Alright, changed my mind. Have fun camping out here on your own,” you mumble, reaching for the doorknob, but he is quick to get between you and the door, stopping you from leaving.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just not expecting you to make that offer, alright?” You take a step back, folding your arms on your chest. “Were you serious about that?”

“It seemed like an option. I doubt you’d be expected to be at my place.”

“And you’d actually let me stay there?”

“I guess a few days wouldn’t hurt. Until you figure out what to do.”

Harry stares at you in awe, like you just did the best thing ever for him and the thought that he never had anyone to do such favor for him is kind of heartbreaking. He might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but there’s just something in him.

You help him pack his stuff back into the jeep, leaving the weathered cabin empty again before you head back to town. Harry drops you off a few blocks from the motel so you can walk back to your car, you glance at his door just once, it’s still closed but they could easily still be there.

Harry is already at your place when you arrive to your building, waiting around in his jeep, he has put a beanie and sunglasses on, keeping his head low. As he follows you up to your little apartment, you actually realize that Harry is about to move in with you for the upcoming days, he is going to live in your place, you’ll share your home with him. How crazy does that sound?

Unlocking the door you walk into your small apartment. It’s just the perfect size for one person, a decent kitchen with a small dining table, a living room that also functions as your study, your desk filled with folders and flyers from previous works. Then you have a little bedroom and a bathroom opening from the living room. It’s cozy and homey, but definitely not the setting you would have ever imagined Harry in.

“So, the couch is a pull out, I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow, make yourself… home I guess,” you tell him walking into your bedroom to get him everything he needs. However, he is following you into the room, already snooping around in your private little space.

As you grab him a blanket and pillow, you find him inspecting your clutters on top of your dresser, your jewelry, perfumes and makeup stuff is just thrown out there, and he seemingly takes an interest in your rings.

“Never seen you wear any jewelry,” he huffs as you walk up to him.

“Don’t like them on me that much,” you admit. “Here,” you give them the bedding and usher him out of the bedroom before he gets way too adventurous and starts digging into your lingerie drawers.

When the pullout is all set up and Harry has settled in a little, you are faced with the fact once again, that Harry is in your home and about to spend the upcoming days here with you, since he can’t really roam around the streets.

You make sandwiches for the two of you and sit at the small dining table, eating in silence until you speak up.

“I can ask my brother to help find the guy who did it. There has to be a way to get you out of this.”

Harry glances at you, chewing on his food before putting the sandwich down, swallowing the bite.

“Not really if they don’t find evidence.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“We?” he smirks at you playfully, earning a blush from you again. You hate the effect he has on you, he is clearly a good-looking guy, you always thought that, even in high school. Thanks to his troubled name, girls easily fall for his bad guy behavior, they just never really saw that being a so called bad guy wasn’t just about the looks, with a slightly similar background you could imagine how hard it really was for him. Though he never really let it show. He is always this whitty, cocky bastard who is ready to flirt his way into your pants whenever the opportunity is given.

“If you keep up with the teasing you’ll find yourself on the street one morning,” you warn him and he just holds his hands up with a smug grin.

“You are the boss lady here,” she chuckles softly before returning to his sandwich.

For the rest of the evening you bury yourself into some other work stuff, you always have a few smaller gigs going on that are easy money, Harry in the meanwhile makes himself comfortable on the couch, watching your tiny TV in silence, letting you do your thing. It’s nearing midnight when you wrap it up and head to have a quick shower. Standing under the hot water you take a few minutes to collect your thoughts and just simply try to get used to the thought that you are in fact hiding a man who is wanted for murder. It’s going to be some pretty interesting days you have ahead of you, that is for sure.

Putting on your oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts you leave a clean towel on the counter for Harry in case he doesn’t have one before heading out.

“Towel is on the counter. Sorry, I don’t have shower gel for men, but the soap is unscented so feel free to use,” you tell him walking out, only to find him already waiting around the door, leaning against the wall. His eyes fall down the length of your uncovered leg, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“If you’re the kind who sleeps naked, feel free to get rid of the textile.”

“Are you a naked sleeper?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“I can be, if you want me to be,” he grins smugly and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Good night, Harry,” you sigh walking into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you, only allowing yourself to let out a shaky sigh when you are out of his sight. Leaning against the door you hear him shuffling around until the bathroom door closes and the water starts running. You try your best to ignore the thought of Harry currently in your shower naked as you climb to bed and pull the covers over your head. You need the coverage, hopefully it’ll help you with your wandering thoughts.

“Thought you’d deliver Styles by now,” Robert teases you when he meets you at the station the next day. You left Harry at your place, sincerely asking not to trash your home while you’re away and headed to the police station in hopes that your brother might be able to help him out.

“Uh, no. But actually, he is the reason why I’m here,” you tell him with a nervous chuckle.

“What? Did he hurt you or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Can we please talk in your office?” you ask and he nods, leading you up to his office.

Once the two of you are settled and secluded from the rest of the officers, you just decide to start right in the middle and not waste your time beating around the bush.

“Harry didn’t do it. He was framed.”

Robert gives you a surprised look as he leans back in his seat on the other side of his desk. He thinks about your words furrowing his eyebrows before scratching his neck.

“How… do you know that?”

“I just know. He is being framed by Hugo McKain, it was one of his men who killed the guy, not Harry.”

“I have a feeling that your source about this was none other than Harry himself.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does, because of course he would try to defend himself!”

“Harry is not a murderer, Robert,” you snap. “He always owns up to his mistakes and he would never do anything to hurt others. Yes, he is troubled and did a lot of illegal shit in his life, but never anything that could hurt others. He became a target because he didn’t want to join Hugo.”

Robert stares at you for a while, probably trying to figure out whether he should believe you or not. You knew he’d be skeptical, but you can only hope he trusts you enough to help you out in this one case.

“And what do you expect me to do?” he asks after a while.

“He knows the name of the guy. Axel something, can you get someone on his case? Look into the evidence more? Something might come up that could help Harry out of this mess.”

Robert’s jaw clenches as he stares back at you, contemplating his choices but something is telling you he is already in. You won him over.

“I’ll have Jake look into it, I think I know who this Axel guy is.”

“Thank you, Robert!” you cheer in excitement. Jumping from your seat you go around his desk and hug him from behind, kissing his cheek as he tries to escape your embrace. He hates it when you get all affectionate at his work, but you just had to. You head to the door to get out of his hair before he changes his mind, but he stops you before you could leave.

“Y/N, just please be careful with Styles, okay?”

“He is not as bad as people make him sound.”

“I just don’t want him to get you into trouble. There’s only so much I can do to save your ass.” “Don’t worry,” you smile at him softly. “I’ll be alright.”

The rest of the day goes by with catching some stupid guy who was wanted for trying to rob a gas station while drunk, it’s a mystery how he was able to run away, you saw the security footage, the guy was barely standing on his feet, but lucky for you, he is in the exact same state when you surprise him at a bar and bring him in.

It’s past seven when you finally get home. Keying yourself into the apartment you are met with a quite pleasant sight. Harry has pushed the pullout in to make some space in the cramped living room and as you step inside, you are met with the sight of him doing pushups in the middle of the room, no shirt on, just a pair of loose shorts, all his tattoos are on display, a thin layer of sweat covering his body, his curls are held back with a headband. When he hears you arrive, his head shoots up and smirks in your way before doing a few more and then he stops, standing up just as you shut the front door.

“Welcome home, Honey,” he winks in your way and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Turning my living room into your personal gym, huh?”

“I can’t just sit around all day, waiting for you to get home, can I?”

“You can always just fix up my apartment while I’m gone,” you joke chuckling. Setting your bag down on your bed you join him in the kitchen where he is sipping on some water. “Anyway, I have good news for you. My brother said he’ll have one of his guys look into the case. I’m sure he’ll check after this Axel dude you mentioned.”

“That’s great! I’ve also been asking around today, some of my friends said they will try to dig up some dirt that might help me out, but I don’t want any of them to get too deep and then have Hugo go after them too.”

“It’ll be fine,” you nod, convinced that things will turn out well. “Alright, I’ll throw something together for dinner, what—“

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already ordered, should be here soon.”

“You ordered food?” you ask in surprise.

“Of course. I won’t just eat your fridge out, dinners are on me while I’m here,” he smiles genuinely and you’re stunned by the gesture.

Half an hour later the two of you are sitting on the living room floor, Chinese takeout boxes littering the place around you, having a full on feast because Harry didn’t go light on the order.

“So, tell me, what have you been doing since high school?” he prompts the question. “I feel like I know you but I also don’t. Don’t get me wrong, being handcuffed by you every other month is fucking hot, but I don’t know much about you.”

“There’s not much to know,” you shrug. “I’ve been doing this since I was seventeen, no grandiose career.”

“But did you have any other plans before?”

“Thought about joining the police, but I was never tame enough to follow their rules.”

“Ooh, a little rebel?” he teases you and you throw a handful of napkins in his way, making him laugh.

“You can joke about it, but I’ve had my fair share of trouble as well, you are not the only one who’s been through some rough years.”

“I know that,” he nods, eyes getting serious for a moment. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“You know about them?” you ask in surprise. You didn’t really share it with anyone, talking about the loss of them just made it harder to deal with it and you also didn’t want everyone’s petty.

“You just know about this kind of stuff when you grow up in foster care. Though you were lucky your brother was already of age.”

“I know. I’m convinced I wouldn’t be here if I had to go into foster care.” Putting down the box from your hands you look at Harry. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.”

“Not that it was any of your fault,” he smiles softly, but you can see the pain in his green eyes. Despite not knowing him well growing up, you always felt this weird urge to tell him how sorry you were for everything he had to deal with. He deserved a better childhood and teenage years and most importantly, respect from people. Everyone just labeled him as a lost case because of his background, but no one really tried to help him. Part of you feels guilty, because you could have helped through those years, but you were a little frightened from him as well, believing the rumors and talks about him, though now you know they were probably just stupid gossips.

Harry reaches into your box, stealing a dumpling and you snap on his hand, but he just pops it into his mouth grinning slyly.

“Hey! You have your own!” you tell him off.

“I know, but yours just tastes better.”

“You are such a pest,” you roll your eyes at him as you grab your box and start eating again.

“So, what does your boyfriend think about me being here?” he asks out of nowhere, but you see through his act. It’s his sneaky way of trying to get you to say if you’re single or not, probably already knowing the answer to that, but you choose to pull his leg a little.

“He is fine. Though you might have to plug your ears in a little when he comes over,” you tell him with a straight face and see his fall, a stunned expression on his handsome face.

“Wait, really? You have a boyfriend and told him about me being here?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

It’s hard not to start laughing, especially when the words process and he realizes that you are in fact taken. The flirty, teasing act is long gone, he presses his lips together nodding to himself as he continues to eat in silence.

“I’m just fucking with you, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you tell him at last, finally letting out a laugh. His eyes snap up at you and a smirk slowly tugs at his lips as he points a finger at you.

“You had me for a hot minute. Nice one.”

“Why were you so surprised when I said I have a boyfriend?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“Guess the thought was just a little weird, I’ve never seen you with a guy before.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ve never been with any,” you point out, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Oh, I know. I never thought you are pretending to be a nun,” he snorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasp, feeling like it was a subtle way to call you some sort of slut. Harry looks up at your upset expression and he immediately knows how his words were taken.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he defends himself.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I meant that I always thought a girl as pretty as you must have plenty of guys after her.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at how bluntly he just called you pretty. It had a refreshing sound after all the shameless flirting he has been doing when it came to you, and your poor little heart immediately skipped a beat upon hearing his words.

“Well, I didn’t have,” you admit with a sad smile. You briefly dated a guy from another school in tenth grade, but after that, your life was just way too complicated to get involved in a relationship and you haven’t really been able to change that even years later. When you’re very keen on some intimacy you go to a nearby bar and just let whatever man to pick you up and have for the night, but that doesn’t happen too often either, because it seems useless most of the time, you can do the job yourself just fine too, you don’t need some random man to call you his babygirl when he doesn’t even know your name. Some never even bother to finish you, they pass out once they got what they wanted so you prefer being on your own.

“Fucking losers!” Harry huffs dramatically. “They have no idea what’s good.”

“You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better,” you roll your eyes at him, but you can feel yourself blushing.

“I’m not, I was always crushing on you a little in high school, if I’m being honest,” he admits truthfully, managing to surprise you once again.

“For real?”

“Sure,” he nods, turning his focus back to his food as he continues to talk. “Even thought about asking you out to prom one time. But I figured you might not even know who I am.”

“Come on, everyone knew who you were!”

“Are you telling me off for being humble?” he asks grinning. “Okay, let me rephrase it. I didn’t know if you wanted anything to do with me after hearing stuff about me, so I just dodged the idea.”

You chew on his words a little before looking up at him, eyes meeting his green irises, though you are usually not one to get in on the flirting, now you just feel like being a little blunt.

“Well, I always thought you were good-looking.”

“Were? Am I not good-looking anymore?” he teases with a dramatic gasp that makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, the smugness takes a bit away from it, if I’m being honest,” you tell him off making him laugh.

Once you both are well fed you clean the boxes up together, you wash the few extra plates you used while Harry dries them off and puts them away. Opening one of the cabinets he moves the door a bit, examining how it hangs a little low.

“I always forget to fix it up,” you sigh. There’s quite a few things that could use some work, but you just never get to start on them so they are always put aside.

You take your turns in the bathroom as usual and you sit at your desk a little, working on a few stuff before calling it a night. Harry is already lying in his temporary bed on the pullout, scrolling through his phone. The covers hide only half of his body, his naked, tattooed chest is on display, one of his arms is tucked under his head, the muscles on his arm flexing just right. He surely is a sight, you can’t deny that.

“Seeing something you like?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been caught staring. Clearing your throat you stack up the papers on your desk and head into your bedroom.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heating up.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he calls after you before you click the door closed.

The next day you go with your usual routine, Robert checks in with you letting you know he already has someone on Harry’s case, so there’s not much you can do for now, only hope that something will surface that can help him out of this mess. Throughout the day you often catch yourself thinking about what Harry could be doing at home all day and you pray to all higher powers he is not currently snooping through your lingerie.

It’s a frustrating day, you couldn’t find the guy you’ve been after but you were really hoping to finally get the money for him. He is big money, but he makes you work for it certainly. When you arrive home Harry is nowhere to be seen, but then you hear the shower running so you figure he must have just been working out and is now taking a shower. Two pizza boxes are set on the dining table and you sigh in relief that you don’t have to think about cooking with him around. Going to the kitchen you are about to grab two plates when you notice that the cupboard door that’s been hanging low a little is now fixed. It’s as new as it never was since you’ve been living here and it gets you wondering if anything else has been taken care of. Going through the kitchen you start to realize that all the little things that’s been waiting to be fixed are now working perfectly: the handle on one of the drawers, the loose tap, the shelf that’s been crooked for a while, it’s all perfect now.

The bathroom door opens and Harry walks out wearing a pair of black sweatpants, his hair is wet and he has a towel hanging from around his neck.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you arrive,” he breathes out throwing the towel to the back of one of the chairs around the dining table.

“Just arrived a few minutes ago. Hey, did you fix my kitchen?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“Uh, yeah. Took a look at the stuff that seemed off. Also fixed the shoe rack near the door and the hangers in the bathroom.”

“Oh wow. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Didn’t you tell me to fix the place up while being here?” he teases you with a smirk as he leans against the table.

“That was just a joke.”

“I know,” he chuckles softly. “But I really didn’t have much to do today so I thought I might make myself useful.”

“That’s… actually very nice of you. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

“So how was your day?” Harry asks as the two of you are chewing on the pizza, sitting at the dining table.

“Why are you making small talk like we’re a married couple?” you scrunch your nose, taking another bite from your slice.

“What, I can’t be nice?”

“You can, it’s just you are usually not,” you point out.

“Or you are just never around when I decide to be nice,” he grins. “You usually just burst into my place, handcuff me and then bring me in. That doesn’t give much time to be nice.”

“I wouldn’t cuff you if you didn’t try to run away the first time I wanted to bring you in,” you retort shrugging.

“Okay, first of all, I was not expecting you to just kick my door in and have a fucking knife pointed at my throat, of course I tried to escape! And second, I quite enjoy being handcuffed by you, so I guess it’s not that bad.”

That smug smirk is back on his lips again and you wish you could just wipe it off sometimes. He is so full of himself!

“You are always coming with this cuffing thing. Get a hold of your kinks, Styles.”

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on. I bet you’d like that, if you haven’t already been cuffed in the bedroom,” he snorts, taking a big bite, the sauce dripping a bit from the corner of his mouth that he wipes with the back of his hand.

“My kinks are none of your concerns,” you sternly reply, but it just makes his grin wider.

“Oh, so you do have kinks! Tell me more about them!”

“Well what are yours?” you retort, hoping it would shut him up, but it has the opposite effect on him. Leaning back he swallows the food in his mouth before starting the list.

“Well I do love getting handcuffed, I’m into spanking, both ways. I have a weird thing for—“

“Alright! I’ve heard enough!” you cut him off. “Stop, just… stop,” you breathe out.

“What?” Harry chuckles, clearly enjoying the situation more than you’d want him to. “Don’t tell me you’re too prude to talk about sex.”

“I’m not,” you answer right away.

“Okay, then tell me about your kinks!” he teases you some more. Snapping your eyes at him you can tell how much he is enjoying making you so uncomfortable, but you also know that he thinks he’ll just make you blush and you won’t tell him a thing. So you decide to give him his own medicine.

“I do in fact like to be handcuffed, I love a good spanking, when my ass cheeks turn red from the slaps, that makes me cum very hard. I love a good old choking and I particularly enjoy giving blowjobs because I don’t have a gagging reflex, makes men go fucking nuts when I have them down my throat to the last inch, I get off their reaction easily.”

Harry’s lips part as he stares at you with a stunned expression, he definitely did not expect that answer, or any answer at all. That face alone makes up for the slight anxiety that took over you talking about what you really enjoy in the bedroom. Your eyes wander down and a triumphant smirk tugs on your lips.

“Don’t be such a horny teenager, I can see your dick getting hard,” you tell him before flipping the pizza box closed and walking into the kitchen you put the remaining of it into the fridge.

“You are such a tease, Y/N,” he shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “But it might backfire, because now I’m gonna get off thinking about spanking you,” he grins at you, but you just shrug, heading to the bathroom.

“Do whatever you want, fantasizing is free,” you tell him before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t think about him in the shower. As your hands move down your body, your fingers wander between your legs, gently playing with your clit while thinking about Harry spanking you. Knowing that he is kind of into the same things as you makes your fantasies even more vivid, but you don’t let yourself get off. You wouldn’t want him to hear you moan under the shower, he would tease you about it forever.

When you’re all done you step out of the bathroom only to get startled by Harry who is standing right at the door, wearing only his boxer briefs.

“Shit!” you gasp, snapping your hand to your chest.

“You took awfully long in there, Y/N,” he smirks at you, but you just roll your eyes at him. “If you ever need help washing you back, don’t be shy to ask me to join.”

“Keep dreaming,” you mumble under your breath as you walk past him and make your way into your bedroom.

“I already do that!” he calls after you before you shut the door closed.

Throwing yourself to your bed you take a deep breath closing your eyes. If he keeps up this act, you have no idea how you’re gonna survive having him around any longer.

Two days go by in the same manner. You spend most of the day out doing your usual stuff, you actually manage to catch another guy who was a small reward, but it’s more than nothing. Harry usually has dinner ready and waiting for you by the time you get back home. During these two days he has fixed up basically everything that wasn’t working in your apartment, freeing you from doing it yourself for probably twice as long as he did.

You sit and eat together, Harry usually tries to get under your skin with some more flirting that you return with a cold shoulder, but then, when you’re lying in the comfort of your bed or standing under the hot water in the shower, you always find your thoughts wandering off to the man on the other side of the door.

Ashamed to admit, but you’ve gotten yourself off once thinking about him. You woke up in the middle of the night from a quite hot dream that, of course, featured a shirtless Harry and you just couldn’t stop yourself from bringing you some relief. For a little while your hands weren’t yours, you imagined that Harry’s big, calloused and ring clad fingers were moving against your body and you needed every drop of self-control not to moan his name out as you came. You blame it on him being so comfortable shirtless around your place, he has been really making himself feel home. Not that you’re complaining, he is a sight for the eyes certainly, but it’s also giving you a hard time.

Robert soon asks you to swing by the station to discuss some details about Harry’s case. You can tell he couldn’t dig up anything helpful, he would have already mentioned it through the phone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything that can be useful in further investigation.

“So, I’ve caught wind of Axel Morris being involved in the death of the victim, but we haven’t been able to recover any evidence that would point towards him, unfortunately,” Robert explains as the two of you sit in his office. “Didn’t want to bring him in for questioning either because then Hugo would find out we are after him.”

“So what can be done now?”

“I’m… really not sure, Y/N. If Axel doesn’t magically confesses the murder on tape, I’m not sure I can do anything to help Styles.”

Chewing on your bottom lip you’re trying hard to think of what to do. This can’t end like this, there has to be a way out for Harry…

“Look. I know you’re trying to cook up something to help Styles, but I’m not sure I can give you much time.”

“What do you mean?” you ask with a puzzled look.

“I mean that…” He glances at the door and then leans closer, speaking more quietly. “If I had a guess where he could be found, I would say he is at your place as we are speaking. I can’t let a guy walk free who is wanted for murder, Y/N. I eventually have to bring him back.”

“Alright, alright. Just give me a few more days. I’ll figure it out,” you plead, running your hand through your hair. Robert sighs, shaking his head.

“You have three days. That marks ten days since the warrant has been out. If you don’t bring me evidence by then, I’m sending the guys to your place to get him.”

“Three days, alright. I’ll… figure it out. Thanks, Robert,” you nod, leaving his office in a rush.

You have three days to find evidence against Axel and free Harry, but how do you even start? You’re good at what you do, but this is kind of out of your field and you’re not sure you can deal with it.

Walking around town you try to come up with an idea, but end up doing what you always do when you’re stuck on a case. Thanks to your work you’ve built up quite a web of connections, you always know someone who knows someone who is exactly the person you need. So sitting at a diner, munching on a late lunch you start calling your connections to see if you can dig up anything that could help.

A few hours later the situation becomes brighter and you finally have a somewhat useful plan so you head home to let Harry in on what you’ve come up with.

He is seemingly surprised when you arrive home earlier than the usual, he is sitting at the dining table, a bowl of instant noodles in front of him as he is watching some video on his phone. Like usually, he is only wearing a pair of sweatpants, his tattooed abdomen on full display.

“Oh, hi! Something happened?” he asks, concern showing in his eyes as he watches you kick your shoes off and storm into your bedroom, going straight to your wardrobe to dig up one particular outfit. “Y/N?” you hear him call out for you, his voice coming from your door.

“Yes! I knew I still had it!” you cheer in triumph as you hold up the latex set that clearly leaves very little to the imagination. When Harry sees it, his eyes go wide and his imagination probably gets wild for a moment, because he clears his throat as he looks at you puzzled.

“What do you need that for?”

“It’s part of my plan that will get us evidence against Axel Morris.”

“I’m not really following, so please elaborate?”

“I talked to Robert, he said we need to get him to confess. Now, I made a few phone calls and found out that our friend, Axel is a regular at this strip club called Siren. I’ll pretend to be a dancer and wrap him around my fingers and get him to confess while recording. You said it yourself, he is a real dumbass, I’m sure I can make it work.”

Harry stares at you frozen for a long moment before he lets out a heartfelt chuckle and now you’re the one confused about what’s really going on.

“S’cute you think I’m letting you close to that man. Funny, that was a good joke. Alright, what do you want for dinner?” he asks, walking back to the dinner table, but you chase after him.

“It’s not a joke, Harry. Pretty much our only chance to get you out of this mess!”

“You are not going anywhere near that guy and that’s not up for debate.”

“Not that you can tell me what to do!” you scoff at him.

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shakes his head sitting back to the table, stirring his pasta around with the spoon.

“I certainly know, and this is pretty much your only chance to save your ass, Harry.”

“Not if it means you go near Axel, nah,” he shakes his head calmly, as if it wasn’t even an argument and he had the right to grant you permission.

“Well, I’m doing it and you can’t do anything about that. I’m going in tomorrow. I know one of the dancers, she is helping me set it all up,” you shrug, your attitude meeting his careless one, but he doesn’t like your answer, not even a bit.

“Y/N, you are not going there!” he snaps, standing up, the chair falling back from the sudden movement. “That psycho killed a man or did you forget about that?!”

“Okay, so what’s your plan to save your ass? Because there’s literally no other choice,” you retort giving him a frown as you march back to your room and Harry follows you.

“But it won’t be you dressing up as a stripper, seducing a fucking murderer to get him to confess!”

“So then what is it going to be?!” you snap at him facing him again. “Because Robert gave me three days to sort things out before he comes here and takes you in himself!”

“Then I’ll go to jail! No big deal!” he throws his hands into the air like it was just a minor inconvenience and not a case of murder that could put him behind bars forever.

“Are you fucking insane?” you laugh in disbelief. “You’re willing to lose the rest of your life for what? Nothing at all?!”

“It’s not nothing, Y/N. You are not getting yourself into this mess and it’s not up for debate.”

“You hold no control over me, Harry!” you scream at him at this point, fed up with his bullshit.

You find yourself pinned against the wall in a blink of the eye, Harry is pressed up against you, hands grabbing onto your forearms as he keeps you in place firmly, one of his thighs coming between your legs as his face is dangerously close to yours now. He knocks the air out of you for a moment and you stare back at him with parted lips for just a split second before your instincts kick in.

You easily knee him in the crotch, giving you just enough opportunity to grab one of his wrists and twist it behind his back, forcing him to get on the ground, growling in pain.

“Fuck! Y/N!” he groans, snapping his other hand against the hardwood floor. You give him another squeeze as a warning before letting him go and he falls to the ground for a moment before he pushes himself up to sit on his heels.

“You still think I can’t protect myself against a man?” you sneer at him walking over to the bed to grab the outfit that was tossed to the side in the hustle.

“Shit, I think you broke my dick!” he breathes out hunching over and you just smile to yourself as you hand the outfit up to the side of your wardrobe.

“Don’t be such a crybaby, you’re fine.”

“Don’t think so, might need a get-well kiss on it though,” he smirks through his painful expression and you roll your eyes at him. How is he still at it when you just kneeled him in his crotch? “Okay, your message came through very clear though, but I’m still not a fan of your plan,” he sighs finally standing up from the floor.

“It’s gonna be easy, I’ll get him a little drunk, offer him a private dance, make a move and get him to talk. If he really is that dumb like you said, I can easily get him to open up, just gotta make sure he is focusing on something else,” you explain gesturing towards the outfit on the hanger.

“You can’t wear that, Y/N.”

“This is what strippers wear, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“My problem is that it’s like… nonexistent. There’s no textile at all!” he rages, still eyeing the red latex set.

“Are you… jealous?” you ask, starting to get a feel of what’s really going on. Harry’s head snaps in your way and the look in his eyes answers your question even when he tries to hide his real reasons.

“Jealous of you becoming a stripper? I bet I can make more than you if I became one,” he scoffs smugly.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking jealous!” you laugh, enjoying this one in a million moment. “What’s next, you have feelings for me? Are you gonna confess your undying love?” you tease him.

“Okay, you had your laughs, that was enough. Excuse me if I’m looking out for you and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“Don’t get all smitten with me now. I’ve been doing just fine without you so far.”

“Yeah, how many people did you bring in for murder?” Harry questions and that leaves you without an answer. Not that you don’t know it, but because the number is exactly zero. You’ve been doing your job for quite a while and there’s been all kind of cases under your hands, but not murders. Though you are completely capable of defending yourself, you’re not sure you want to deal with monsters who took a human’s life. The only reason you took Harry’s case was because you had an inkling feeling from the very start that he did not do it.

“Just as I thought,” Harry scoffs. “Listen, if you really want to do this then I’m going with you. No way I’m gonna just sit around here and wait to see if you make it back home.”

“How do you plan on leaving the house? Someone might recognize you and then it’s game over.”

“I’ll just… disguise myself,” he shrugs. “Can’t be that hard.”

You never thought the day would come when you see Harry Styles wearing a fake mustache and a ridiculous wig, secured with a beanie to his head. The moment the two of you finish his disguise, you can’t hold your laughter back. He looks so damn ridiculous, you can barely breathe through your laughter as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I look like a fucking pedophile,” he shakes his head chuckling as he pushes some fake hair out of his forehead. “Where the fuck did you find this wig?” he snaps at you in disbelief.

“Does it matter? You look so fucking bad!” you laugh hysterically and Harry just stands there, waiting for you to finally stop, but it seems like he is not bothered by your reaction. He probably finds it equally funny too.

It’s currently seven pm, you have to head to Siren soon to start your fake shift as a stripper and you haven’t been able to talk Harry down from following you, so there you are, getting ready to fool everyone around you. Harry with his awful disguise and you with your stripper outfit.

When you finally catch your breath you leave Harry in the living room to get ready as well. Following a heavy makeup with dark, smokey eyes, you also put on a wig, a short, red bob that’s part of the outfit. Then you squeeze yourself into the latex, the tiny top barely covering you, the skirt is not even a skirt, rather than just a belt. As an extra to the fit, you’ve put on a red corset, though it’s more so you can hide the voice recorder since the original outfit doesn’t give too many places to do that. You pair it all with fishnet tights and a pair of black, thigh-high boots. As you check yourself out in the mirror you don’t even recognize yourself. Y/N is officially gone, the girl in the boots is… Crystabel.

Opening the door you step out of your bedroom, Harry is standing in the middle of the living room, busy with his phone so at first he doesn’t even see you walk out.

“Ready to leave?” he asks, eyes still on the screen of his phone.

“I… guess?” you breathe out, feeling extremely self-conscious in this revealing set.

When Harry finally looks up his mouth drops open. He is not even trying to hide his hunger as his eyes rake down the length of your body. He takes his time to take in every inch of your exposed skin before his gaze settles on your eyes behind your long fake lashes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out and it gives you quite the confidence boost.

“You like it?” you ask, striking a pose as you push your hips to the side and place your hands on your waist.

“I-I’m… I’m fucking speechless,” he chuckles as you walk closer and grabbing the strings of his hoodie, you tug on the playfully while he is still shamelessly checking you out. “I don’t know how I could live this long without seeing you like this.”

“You are such a flirt,” you roll your eyes, but just as you are about to step away from him he grabs you by your waist and pulls you against him firmly. Your hands move to his broad shoulders right away, trying to keep your balance in his hold.

“I might be a flirt, but you are the hottest woman I’ve seen and I admit I will be fucking jealous of every man that’s gonna lay their eyes on you tonight.” His voice is low, full of lust and if it wasn’t for his funny disguise, you would have melted right into his arms in a heartbeat.

“I can’t take you seriously with this mustache on,” you chuckle softly, running your fingers over the fake facial hair, the pad of your fingers slightly touching his soft lips underneath.

“Just wait until we get back home and I get rid of it,” he smirks and winks at you, making you chuckle, but you can also feel yourself blushing at his words.

You put on a trench coat to cover the racy outfit as the two of you make your way to the club. Harry is driving, but you took your car in case someone might recognize him near the club. Arriving Harry parks at a darker corner in the parking lot and he pulls out a little box from his backpack.

“Alright, let’s wire you up, Love,” he smirks as you undo the coat and let him help you get the devices situated on you.

The voice recorder gets pushed into your stomach, hiding behind your corset. It’s thick enough that it doesn’t give away that anything is hidden under it, it’s just a little uncomfortable for you, but you are sucking it up.

“Here, put this into your ears,” Harry hands you an earpiece that you place into your right ear, hiding it with your wig. “It’s not the best quality, but you’ll be able to hear me and I’ll hear everything around you. We need a safe word if anything happens so I know I have to go inside.”

“This is starting to look like a spy movie or something,” you mumble under your breath as you start buttoning your coat again.

“Don’t turn it into a joke, Y/N. Axel might be a stupid jerk, but don’t forget he killed that man. He doesn’t care if you’re a woman or not, or if you’re a real stripper or not.”

“Alright, alright,” you sigh nodding. “How about… cherry?”

“Okay. Use it if you are in trouble or someone is hurting you or anything.” You nod, fidgeting with the end of the coat, but Harry grabs your hand and makes you look at him. “I mean it, Y/N. I don’t want you to play the hero.”

“I won’t, calm down. I gotta go now. I’ll see you soon,” you tell him before getting out of the car and heading to the backdoor. Glancing back one last time you see Harry standing at the hood of the car, watching you intently as you disappear from his sight.

Sienna, who is helping you tonight is already waiting for you at the backdoor. You met her a few years ago when you caught her abusive ex and took him in. She said she owed you one for freeing her from that asshole and now you are finally here to collect that favor.

“Damn, you look good!” she grins, pulling you into a short hug.

“You think it’s gonna be alright?” you ask, pulling the coat open to show her the whole outfit.

“Fucking fantastic. No men will be able to focus on anything than your boobs,” she snorts, pulling you inside.

The plan is easy. You won’t be out all night, Sienna will be your eyes and when she spots Axel arrive, that’s when you come into the picture. Sienna will escort him to a secluded area and tell him he has a free lap dance which will be, of course, performed by you. Some flirting, some seducing and hopefully Axel will be dumb enough to let a some sort of confession slip.

Sienna takes you to the changing room and you stay in the corner, trying not to be in the way as you watch the girls get ready. There are ten girls in total, five of them are dancing tonight, the other five are servers, but they still dress like dancers. They all wear equally revealing outfits, just like you and as you watch them move around so confidently, you start to get more and more nervous. What if Axel figures out you’re not a real dancer right away? Or if he notices the recorder pushed into your stomach? This plan is definitely not the safest you’ve ever come up with, and you are starting to doubt yourself now that you are so deep in it.

“Y/N?” you hear Harry’s faint voice in your ear. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and hearing his voice calms your nerves a little.

“Everything alright?” First you nod, but then you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Are you nervous?”

“Very,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. Luckily, Harry doesn’t bring his usual cockiness out, feeling how serious the situation is.

“You can still come out and we can just go home. You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I want to do this,” you firmly answer. “Just… talk to me a little. Please.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you about when I wanted to ask you out to prom,” you hear him start and you can’t push a smile down as you sit and wait, listening to his soothing voice. “You were wearing this pretty white sweater that day and tight jeans, you looked so fucking good, Y/N. I saw you walking to your locker and you smiled at some random guy and I was instantly jealous.”

“Really?” you ask quietly.

“O, yeah,” he chuckles. “I told you, I had a crush on you. So I thought about asking you out, wanted to just walk up to you and casually ask if you wanted to go with me. But then I just watched you and realized that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me, so I just watched you get your books out of your locker and then you walked right past me, looked me in the eyes and I straight up felt my knees turn into jelly. Good thing I was leaning against the wall. You walked away and I never asked you out. Still regret that,” he admits and your heart flutters at his words.

As weird as it sounds, you remember that day. Especially because when your eyes met Harry’s you felt kind of the same. You felt intimidated and wondered why he was watching you so intently, but you would have never guessed he wanted to ask you out.

You see Sienna walking in, her eyes find you and you immediately know it’s show time.

“Harry?” you breathe out at last.

“Yeah?”

“I would have said yes,” you tell him before you follow Sienna out and the blasting music pushes down Harry’s voice in your earpiece.

The bright lights of the back are switched to the dim, red lighting in the main bar area, a dancer is already on the stage and the place seems packed for the night as all men are hungrily watching the girl on the stage, throwing dollar bills at her shamelessly.

Sienna pulls you to the bar and leans closer to your ear so you can hear what she is saying.

“He is in one of the private rooms, told him the dance is on the house to thank him for being a regular. I asked one of the guards to stand nearby.”

“Thank you, S,” you nod at her as she squeezes your hands.

“Good luck, girl,” she smiles a little bitterly before she shows you the way to the room where Axel is currently waiting for his private dance.

As you stop at the door you take a deep breath, staring at the doorknob for a moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever is about to happen in there.

“I’m going in,” you say, partially to yourself, but mostly to Harry so he knows what’s happening though you don’t hear an answer before you open the door and step inside.

The room is mostly what you were expecting, a small stage with a rod in the middle, across that a long, plush, deep burgundy couch. The walls are black, just the red led lights illuminating the place.

And there he is. Axel Morris is sitting in the middle of the couch, manspreading so widely like the asshole that he is, arms leisurely draped across the back of the couch as his hungry eyes immediately snap to your body.

Axel is big. He is a large man and you realize that the moment you see him. Though he is sitting you can easily tell that he’s tall and he is definitely bulky. Could end you in a blink of an eye and knowing that he is capable of murder is just an eerie thought that doesn’t leave you alone. But you suck it up and get into character, only thinking about one thing: help Harry out of this mess.

Music with low bass starts playing through the speakers as you make your way over to Axel who grins at you disgustingly, making it hard for you to keep the façade.

“Hey big boy, heard you’ve earned a dance for yourself,” you coo at him stopping at the edge of the stage as you keep eye-contact with him. You lean against the edge and spread your legs just enough to tease his imagination about what’s about to come.

“Hell yes, I did! Hope you’re a good dancer, babygirl. Haven’t seen you around here.”

“I’m new. But I’m really good, that’s why they sent me,” you smirk at him sweetly as you walk closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches out and grabbing your hips he pulls you to straddle his lap and it catches you by surprise but you don’t fall out of character.

“Then show me what you can do. What’s your name?” He licks his lips as you start moving, doing your best from movies you’ve seen with strippers in them.

“Crystabel, but you can call me yours,” you hum, grinding and bouncing yourself, completely unleashing your inner hoe. “Tell me, big boy. Are you as dangerous as you seem?”

“Oh baby, you have no idea,” he grins proudly.

“Really?” you coo, pushing yourself up against him. His dirty hands find your ass and you want to push them away so badly, but you let him have his way with you for the sake of the plan. “What’s the worst you’ve done?”

“Why does a pretty girl like you want to know about that, huh?” he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you with suspicion so you know you have to be careful.

“Because I have a thing for those stuff. I love pain and blood, it gets me off always,” you smirk at him teasingly, grinding yourself against him to divert his attention a little from the words spoken.

“Mm, yeah?”

“Yeah, I love that kind of stuff,” you moan, running your hands down your chest, his eyes hungrily following your every move and you know he is zoned out. It’s going perfectly.

“Well, I’m the perfect man for you then, babygirl. I’ve done all the things you can imagine.”

“Really? You are turning me on, big boy,” you murmur lowly, turning around for a bit so he can get a good glimpse of your backside as well. “Have you… taken anyone’s life before?” you bluntly ask, hoping you aren’t moving too fast and he won’t snap at you.

“Not sure I should be talking about that with you, pretty girl,” he smirks smugly. You turn back to face him, pushing your crotch against him as you try not to gag feeling his erection under you.

“I’m good with secrets, Honey. My lips are sealed,” you grin at him, stroking his oily face and try your best not to wipe your fingers into the cushion of the couch. Axel smirks at you, clearly enjoying the show you are putting on, his fingers are digging into your thighs as his eyes are practically glued to your chest.

“I’m a killer, babygirl.”

“Yeah?” you gasp, faking your excitement. “What did you do, big boy? Tell me, make me wet,” you purr biting into your bottom lip, pushing your chest out some more to distract him from his consciousness that might keep him from answering.

“Killed a guy recently,” he smugly admits and your adrenaline is high in the sky. You are so close to what you need!

“Oh my, sounds like a dirty job.”

“It was.”

“Saw it on the news a guy got killed not long ago, did you do that?” you smirk at him, his hand slapping your ass and you fight yourself not to punch him in the face.

“That Richards guy? Yeah,” he nods and you almost start screaming in your triumph. This dumbass really did just confess to you, because you had your ass and tits out for him!

“Cool. What’s your name, big guy? Wanna know who I’ll think of when I touch myself later,” you pant into his ear, you need him to say his name otherwise the confession might go to shit.

“I’m Axel, babygirl,” he grins, leaning dangerously close to you, he clearly wants to push his tongue down your throat but you push yourself away and up from his lap.

“Our time is up, big boy. See you later!” you sing and walk out of the room while he is still kind of zoned out.

The moment you are out, you start running. You can’t have him realize what just happened and stop you. Pushing your way back to the dressing room you grab all your stuff and spring out of the building. Harry is standing at the entrance, his ridiculous disguise is gone as he spots you with wide eyes. He probably heard everything and wanted to be there for you when you get out and as soon as you reach him he grabs your hand and the two of you run to the car. Right when you get into the car, you spot Axel running out from the front entrance and he definitely realized what just happened.

“Hey! Get back here you slut!” he shouts as Harry starts the car and you melt into the seat, scared of what’s about to happen because you see Axel reach to his back and the next thing you know is that he has a gun in his hand.

“Harry! Go!” you scream when you see him aim at the car and right at that moment, the wheels screech as Harry pushes the gas pedal to the fullest and the car yanks forward.

Your heart drops to the floor when a bullet shoots into the side of the car as Axel tries to stop the two of you. Harry takes a sharp turn and leaves the car park with full speed. You see Axel from the mirror, he is raging and keeps shooting after you, but he has no aim or whatsoever. You reach the end of the street and you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Oh shit, fuck,” you mumble, chest heaving as you grab onto the armrest for some kind of leverage, your adrenaline is still pumping through your veins from the action movie-like scene that just happened.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Harry asks, eyes dancing between the road ahead of him and you as he tries to figure out if anything happened to you.

“I-I’m fine, he was just… fucking nasty to deal with you,” you groan at the thought of his hands on you. You’ll need the hottest shower after this, that’s for sure. “Go to the station, we gotta bring the tape in now,” you tell him as you reach into your corset. Pulling the recorder out you huff in relief, it’s been pressed into you for way too long. The tape is still rolling so you end it and then rewind it, checking if everything you need is on it. Luckily, it caught the whole thing perfectly, that means Harry is not going to jail. Well, not this time at least.

He is speeding down the streets as you get rid of the wig and put on your coat, you don’t want to walk into the police station dressed like a hooker and have the word spread that Robert’s sister has been making money some other way lately.

Arriving to the station you hold the recorder so tightly as if your life depends on it while Harry reaches for your other hand and firmly holds it in his warm palm. You walk inside and immediately spot Jeremy at the front desk. Letting go of Harry’s hand you run up to him.

“Jer, I got evidence for the Richards case! I got a confession on tape,” you beam at him holding the recorder up. He gives you a stunned look as he takes the recorder.

“Confession? How do you—“ He is cut off when you hear Harry’s voice from behind you.

“Hey! What the fuck!” he snaps and as you turn around you see that two officers are already on him, trying to handcuff him. Jeremy quickly forgets about the recorder as he joins in on strangling Harry. but you grab his arm and try to pull back.

“No! He didn’t do it! Listen to the tape!” you cry out, desperate to end this mess, but it feels like no one is listening to you.

“Harry Styles, you are under arrest for the murder of Dave Richards. You have the right…” One of the officers starts saying the usual speech as they drag Harry away while you are begging to Jeremy to listen to you.

“Jeremy! He didn’t fucking do it!” you scream, tears rolling down your face.

“What do you mean?” he asks giving you a puzzled look. It was Axel Morris! One of Hugo McKain’s men! They are trying to frame Harry!” you explain, while Harry is being taken away. “Harry, no!” you shout after them, but the officers don’t stop.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll be fine!” he calls after you before he disappears from your vision.

“Jeremy, please just listen to the fucking tape! I got his confession!”

“I’ll look into it, but I’m afraid Harry is spending the night here,” he sighs, looking down at the recorder before he walks away.

“Fuck, no!” you choke out.

When you finally stop crying you rush out of the building and call your brother, not even caring that it’s past midnight. He better answer your call or you are showing up at his house and start banging on his door until he opens it.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he growls into the phone.

“Robert, they fucking took Harry in! I had the confession on tape, but they just wouldn’t listen, they arrested him!”

“Hey, slow down, what are you talking about?”

Taking a deep breath you tell him the whole story. The club, the dance, the confession and then how you came straight to the station but they arrested Harry without listening to you.

“Alright, you can’t do much now, Y/N. He is still a suspect but I’ll call Jeremy to look into the tape. If it’s found relevant Harry will be out in the morning okay?”

“Please come in early in the morning and make sure he is let out, please!” you cry out, feeling so helpless after everything that just happened.

“I will. Meet me at the station at six, okay? It’ll be alright. Go home, have some sleep and then we’ll make everything right in the morning.”

You do as Robert asked, go home, have a shower, wash the night off of your skin and lie in bed however you are not able to sleep, not even for a minute. You keep thinking about Harry and what might be happening to him now. They better get their shit together and let him out in the morning or you are losing your mind. You didn’t go through all this just to have him put behind bars anyway.

It’s not even six when you are already at the station, anxiously waiting for Robert to show up. You keep glancing up at the building, thinking about how Harry is somewhere in there and you can only hope he’ll be out with you shortly.

When Robert arrives he goes straight up to check out the situation with the tape and Harry. Waiting for him down in the hall is nerve-wrecking, you feel like time has stopped. When he finally appears again you jump to your feet running up to him with high hopes.

“The tape has been examined, it was classified as evidence. Jeremy has already put out an arrest warrant on Axel. Harry is no longer a suspect. He’ll be down once the paperwork is done.”

“Oh thank God!” you breathe out and throw yourself at him, hugging him tighter than ever.

“Look, but there is something I need to talk to you about,” he says with a serious look.

“Okay, what is it?”

“We might be able to get this Axel guy, but I’m pretty sure Hugo is already after the two of you. We have a whole team for him, working on catching him finally, but it might be smart if you just left town for a little.”

“Oh. Yeah, sounds logical,” you nod.

“Let me know if you need help with that. I can arrange something for you.”

“We’ll see. I have to talk to Harry first.”

“Harry, huh?” Robert smirks down at you knowingly and you feel yourself blushing. A lot has changed lately around you and Harry and you guess it’s quite evident for everyone else as well. “Just so you know, he asked about you during the night. Wanted to know if you are alright.”

“Yeah?” you breathe out with a small smile.

“Yes. Might have been wrong about him a little. Tell him I said hello, I need to get to work now,” he nods with a fond smile.

“Thank you, Robert!” you call after him as he waves in your way before disappearing in the elevator.

Waiting around in the hall you keep looking towards the hallway, hoping to see him appear finally, but the minutes are just dragging by way too slowly.

You’re impatiently sitting on one of the benches by the wall when you finally see him walking down the hallway, leisurely running his hand through his hair, a tired smile sitting on his lips when he sees you leap from your seat and launch at him, throwing yourself into his arms.

“Hey, hey! It’s all good, Love. Told you not to worry about me,” he chuckles, but holds you tight anyway, his arms wrapping around you as he lifts you off the ground, taking a few steps forward.

“Of course I fucking worry about you, idiot!” you mumble into his neck before leaning back you look at his pretty face.

“Yeah? Does this mean I had the right to worry about you last night?”

“You were?”

“Fuck yes,” he laughs. “You have no idea what it was like to sit outside and listen to everything that fucker told you. Wanted to punch him in the face so badly.”

“So heroic,” you grin at him, your face already inching closer to his, arms still wrapped around his neck.

“Only for my favorite stripper,” he winks at you, making you gasp.

“If you dare to bring it up again and call me a stripper, I swear to God I—“

You don’t get to finish your threat, because his hand snakes to the back of your neck and he pulls you into a hard kiss, his lips smashing against yours. Melting into the kiss you open your mouth for him without hesitation, his tongue meeting yours as he kisses you with so much vigor and passion, he makes you bend your back, leaning back as he holds you firmly in his strong arms. And suddenly, you feel like you’re seventeen again, making out with your high school crush in the school hallway, luckily, you are kissing the same person you wanted then.

“I’m fucking starving, babe,” he breathes out once you finally pull away from each other. “For you as well, but can we get some real food?” he asks as he laces his fingers together with yours, heading out of the station.

“Sure,” you chuckle. “Hey, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Love, told you, you can handcuff me to the bedframe, I’m into that stuff.”

“Shut up!” you laugh smacking his chest as the two of you walk out to your car. “It’s not about that,” you murmur with a soft blush. “Robert said we should leave for a while, Hugo might be after us after what happened last night.”

“Yeah, thought about that myself too,” he nods as he gets behind the wheel without even asking if you want him to drive or not.

“So what should we do?” you question, sitting in the comfort of your car. Harry reaches for your hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly before he smirks at you.

“Have you been to Ireland, Love?”

“No,” you breathe out, a little stunned by the question.

“I have a friend over there, I’m sure he would love to have us there for a while. What do you say?”

“Are you for real? You want to go to Ireland with me?”

“Yeah, would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” you smile in awe. Even after that kiss you had doubts he would want to run away with you for the time being. But he is definitely planning to have you around longer. “Yeah, Ireland sounds fun.”

“Great. Then let’s head home to pack,” he smirks, starting the car. “Oh, Love?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to bring your handcuffs,” he grins and you just laugh at his smugness before leaning closer to kiss him quickly before the two of you finally drive away from the station.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #dead or alive

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

#twst #Divus Crewel #Trey Clover #Rook Hunt #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this

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polyamorouspunk · 3 years ago

Note

so vapes are still pens, they're *vape pens,* as opposed to dab pens. there's several different kinds of vape pens; oil, wax, and flower are the most common.

wax vapes are what's known as dab pens, because wax is referred to as dabs. you can also smoke dabs through a rig, which is similar to a bong in that it uses water to cool the smoke, but is more complex because dabs require much more cooling to be safe to consume. wax is extremely highly concentrated, which is why dabs are not for beginners.

oil and flower pens are both fine for beginners, but i will say that vaporizing either oil or flower tends to get me way less high than smoking flower through a bowl, bong, or joint.

ask whoever you're smoking with what they use to smoke, and what the weed they're using is. sativa strains tend to be bad for high-anxiety people, but they're very energetic and make you "think more," in my partner's words. indica strains are what i use, because they're extremely chill and relaxing, and often calm anxiety. there are also hybrids. if you're in a legal state, don't smoke with anyone who doesn't know what they're smoking and how they're smoking it, and can't explain that to you. there's a high chance you'll have a bad experience due to them not giving you the right information. (if weed is entirely illegal, it's more reasonable to take that chance, because there's no real way to get reliable information about what the weed is out of an average dealer.)

Told me he was using a concentrate pen? Idk what any of this means. He’s really into drugs, both like… as a subject and taking them. Used to be an addict he says but is a pharm tech, and if he gets his card making a special trip to get the kind of weed he’s comfortable with. He pretty much said he would keep an eye on me while I get high if I end up going through with that. My main concern is probably getting to/from wherever, like ideally he could drive over here so I don’t have to drive. It’s up in the air right now, like our movie plans were but now aren’t so like we’ll see.

#punk gets mail #future stoner punk

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r3b3lgrrrrrrrl · 4 years ago

Text

A LunaTic and Her Gunn (Part 115 2Xs2) "True Intentions"

@crystalbaby12 @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover @rosefilledhearts-blog

"I've got different colored sticky tabs for the different spaces." Luna announces as she enters her storage unit.

Jackie and Sam are there with The Movers. Luna goes through picking out which pieces will go to The Brownstone, her Studio Apartment and the Recording Studio she just bought. She had signed the closing paperwork electronically with Monica and Ben earlier this week on the latter properties. The Apartment is ready but the Recording Studio needs a contractor for the equipment installation. Jackie being on top of that, they start the gutting process next week. Everything else is being moved out today.

"Whoah!!! Be carful with that!!" Sam cries out in concern as she watches The Movers roughly handle an original, stretched Mapplethorpe.

"What the FUUUUUCK." Luna groans as she rubs her forehead. "Why wasn't that crated?" She asks no one in particular as her phone rings. "Hello?" She sighs into the receiver.

It's Kylie. Luna's therapist. Calling because it's 2P on every other Thursday. Luna excuses herself, trusting Sam and Jackie while she finds an empty stairwell.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"It's just conflicting, Ky... " Luna let's out with an annoyed sigh and a cloud of smoke from her pen while playing with Colson's padlock around her neck.

She's been on the phone with Kylie for the last 45mins talking about everything and anything. Colson, Justin, trust, feeling over exposed, setting up the lable. Her therapist advising her to breathe as always and to make a Pros and Cons list regarding marrying Colson. Knowing there is no option, Luna humors her with an Okay before they get off the phone.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How do we look?" Luna asks after coming back in from the stairwell.

"Good." Jackie begins to reassure her. "Everything you want is loaded into the two trucks. I'm gonna ride to The Brownstone and Sam to The Apartment... Uhm, Lee said you're good to go at Electric Lady Land around 7P... "

"And I talked to Mikey, he'll be there no problem." Sam chimes in.

"You guys are fucking AWESOME. Thank you." Luna pulls them in for a three way hug. "I gotta go meet Petey." She informs them once they release. "You guys good without me?" She asks.

Both women nod. Giving promises of phones calls if there's any problems as Luna heads back towards the stairwell; popping another XR and two 30s during her descent. It shouldn't be THAT hard... They're only responsible for moving half of her life.

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

Colson gets in touch with The Boys and heads to Amsterdam Billiards for pool and beers. Popping his own handful of Adderall along the way. Stepping out of the cab, Mod greets him with an excited hug.

"What up, Kid!" He squeezes his unhappy friend. "Aww, come on... Don't be like that, you know Luna'll come around. She always does." Mod tells him with a slap on the back as they walk inside.

Benny, Baze, AJ, Rook and Slim have a table racked up. Mod grabs more beers as Colson joins them. They're all talking about the GMA performance. Agreeing it was killer. While Rook also can't stop talking about Jackie.

"Good luck with that, Rookie. I don't think Loons is doing any of us any favors right now." Colson sighs as he leans down to break.

"Shit. Speak for yourself, that's my homie, Dawg." Rook disagrees with him as he swigs his beer.

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

Luna meets Pete on The Delancey's rooftop bar. He's already sat when she walks in. Noticing her, he stands for them to hug Hello. His normal excitement clearly missing as she orders a drink.

"I heard you and Colson got into it after I left." Luna cuts right to the core.

"Yeah. He wants to blame me for him running his mouth." Pete starts to complain to Luna's silence. "Like I started all this shit."

"You kinda did... I love you Petey but whether I cheated on Colson or Justin, like I told you last night, it's none of your business. My betrayal didn't land on you or even Colson so really the two of you are fighting over some shit that doesn't even concern you. It's that simple." Luna explains.

"So you did cheat on Beebs?" Pete asks her, ignoring everything else she had said.

"Yeah, Petey. I told you last night that I had an affair. I'm not proud of it but it happened." Luna shrugs as she fights back tears of guilt.

"Who was it?" He pries.

"What? No. You don't get to ask questions like that... Like, I don't understand why this feels like you're mad at me for some reason. I didn't do ANYTHING to you." Luna furrows her eyebrows at him as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Yeah but you did do something to my friend that he never did to you." Pete looks into his beer and then up at Luna.

"You didn't know Justin and I's relationship as well as you think you did. Just like you don't know nearly as much about me and Colson as you think you may. My turn? Your judgmental attitude towards me is really disappointing and if you're so worried about your FRIENDS than go make up with the one that's still in town. I'm outta here though." Luna swallows the rest of her Old Fashioned with two gulps. "Hit me up when you're done being a dick." She calls over her shoulder as she walks out of the bar.

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

Mike's sitting alone outside of Electric Lady Land when Luna arrives. Lighting a cigarette, he looks up. Green eyes taking her in as he stands to grab her guitar case from her.

"What's goin' on, Luna?" He asks as he sits back down and takes a drag from his Marlboro.

Luna fishes around in her bag for her joint box and flask. Finding them both, she takes a swig before offering it over to his acceptance. Lighting a joint, she sighs out a cloud of smoke as they sit in silence. Sometimes no talking is good.

After a while Sam shows up. The three of them head inside to meet up with Lee. Thanking him, he tells Luna no one was even booked as they begin to set up in Studio A.

Realizing they need producers, Luna calls Slim. Then Snaps Colson. Setting her bag on the table, she pulls out supplies. Weed, whiskey, cigarettes and more weed. Popping another few 30s before laying her guitar back onto her body.

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

"Yeah! No problem, we'll be down there ASAP." Slim says into his phone. "That was LunaTic, she wants us to come produce the track." He says excitedly to Baze once he hangs up. "Dawg! We gonna make some music in Jimi Hendrix's fucking spot, Yo!!" He exclaims as they slap hands across the pool table.

Colson's just about to put his two sense in when his phone goes off. Digging in his pocket, it's not the message he was expecting. It's a Snap from Luna.

"If I want? What kind of fucking shit is that?" He scoffs in his mind. "Why's she so fucking hot even while she's being such a fucking a bitch." He finds himself becoming annoyed with how much he wants her and her resistance towards him. He shoves his phone back in his pocket without responding.

The Boys are getting ready to head to Greenwich Village when Colson's phone goes off again. It's the message he's been waiting for. Telling The Boys he'll meet up with them later, he's out the door before they pay the tab.

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

Luna's leaned towards Mike in the booth when Colson walks in. He can't hear them but he doesn't like that he can see him making her laugh. Mike's a little to comfortable in his interactions with Luna in Colson's personal opinion. Luna catches the back of his blonde hair and significant tattoo as she looks up, watching as he walks out of the room. He quickly heads down the hall towards the bathroom, promptly pulling out the quarter ounce of cocaine he'd grabbed from Nipple.

Colson walks back into the studio just as Luna, Sam and Mike begin recording. Sitting with Slim and Baze at the soundboard, he grabs a pair of headphones and slips them on. Listening and watching intently. Luna can feel his eyes burning straight into her soul.

Nailing it on the third full take, they leave it alone. Luna doesn't want it mixed. Layered, yes but not mixed. She's always preferred the gritty, garage rock sound over studio polish any day. Coming out of the booth, she approaches Colson as he stands up.

"You came." She purrs with a drunken slur to her sentence as she wraps her arms around his waist.

"I go where you go, Kitten. Always." He promises her before lifting her chin to kiss her deeply; enjoying their first real kiss of the day but opening his eyes half way through to stare down Mike from around the side of the top of her head.

Hanging out afterwards, they celebrate with beers and lines. Luna declining as everyone else partakes in Colson's party favor. Having done enough other drugs all day, she's still buzzing from earlier so she's solid without it. Preferring to burn and drink instead.

"What do you have recorded so far?" Mike asks Luna about her upcoming album.

"I think maybe three out of an ambitious twenty!" Luna laughs softly at herself.

"I'm down to help with anything you need." Mike offers as he passes her a joint.

"Thanks... I'm probably gonna take you up on that." Luna answers. "I don't really have a band right now and we... "

"That's why you got us." Rook interrupts her while plunking down on the couch beside her and tossing an arm around her shoulders; he doesn't like the way Mike has been hanging around Luna either.

"That I do." Luna giggles as she kisses his cheek.

"We backed her on Nightmare and I produced Outlaw." Rook declares proudly while studying to the musician.

"That's cool, Little Man." Mike responds unfazed by Rook as he stands up. "Luna, you got my number if you wanna use it for anything. I gotta run though." He smirks at Rook as he leans down to peck her cheek.

"You want me to walk you out?" She offers.

"Nah, I'm good... I'll catch you around though." Mike smiles at her before heading for the door.

Watching the entire interaction, Colson follows behind him. Calling out his name, he catches him in the hallway right at the front door. Mike turns around unamused.

"You know we're engaged, right?" Colson questions him with an irritated tone.

"Yeah... And?" Mike cuts back while cocking his lip.

"AND? And I don't like the way you fucking act around her so back the fuck up." Colson snaps at him.

"Gonna be kinda hard since it seems that SHE wants ME as her new bassists." Mike laughs at him while slapping him on the shoulder.

"Gonna be kinda hard to play ANYTHING when I snap your fucking fingers." Colson warns him as he shoves Mike up against the wall; Mike's 6'2 so there's not much of a height difference between them.

"Try it, My Man." Mike chuckles, unimpressed by Colson's threat.

"You know what, you're right... " Colson let's him off of the wall. "Maybe I overreacted." He says as he opens the door for Mike and he begins to walk through. "Or maybe I FUCKING didn't!" Colson growls as he grabs Mike's right hand and jerks him back.

Slamming it with the door, in between the frame. One. Two. Three. Four times. Most likely breaking it.

"YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!" Mike screams as he grasps his mangled hand.

"You can walk away right now or you can crawl away with two broken legs also." Colson advises as he props the door open again.

"You're gonna FUCKING regret this." Mike snarls to Colson's emotionless stare as he holds his hand and turns to leave. "That was a bad fucking move, My Man." He calls out from the sidewalk.

"Maybe it was... Maybe it wasn't... But DAMN if it didn't feel good." Colson walks back to the studio with a pep in his step for the first time today; having released a majority of his stress. "I never liked that motherfucker anyway." He thinks as he opens the door, looking to locate only Luna. Knowing in the back of his mind that her and Sam are gonna probably fuck him up for what he just did but he doesn't care. Fuck that Dude, he doesn't want him around Luna regardless of the cost.

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"There's stuff!!" Rook exclaims pointing at the large, round arial rug, crates and boxes in The Living Room as they return to The Brownstone. Everyone but Luna is zooted, even Sam. "Yo!!" Check out these fucking chairs!" Rook continues to holler, now from The Study.

It's also stacked with boxes of Luna's books and vinyls. Having one wall with floor to ceiling bookshelves, she's looking forward to using them. Walking in, she finds Rook lounging on one of the two highback, purple velvet chairs she owns along with the exposed Mapplethorpe.

"What's up with that picture?" Rook asks as he accepts a beer from Luna.

"My grandfather shot it." She tells him proudly as they clink their beers together.

"It's really cool. Like the two flowers are reaching out for each other. Like death grasping for life." He says thoughtfully.

"I think that's what he was going for." Luna smiles to herself, admiring the exceptional piece.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Luna makes her way upstairs to the shower. Turning Fletcher on, she lights up a joint as she cuts up another two 30s and swallows two Xanax bars. It's been a long day, she hasn't been to sleep in almost 48hrs and she's incredibly shaky from all the Adderall. Wanting to simply wash everything away and knock the fuck out.

"Hey... " Colson's sitting on the bed when she comes out of the bathroom.

"Hi." She answers as she stops and looks at him with a sigh.

"Please come're, Luna." He asks for her as he reaches his arms out yet again.

This time she does. Sitting on his lap in her towel, she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her head into her spot in the crook of his neck. Resting his chin on her head, Colson and Luna hold each other silently besides his constant sniffling.

"Loons, I'm sorry." Colson speaks first. "I shouldn't... "

"Please. I'm SO tired." Luna whines. "But, Colson, it's not the secret that you told. I would've told Justin had he cared to notice or ask. It's that you told A secret because I've got bigger ones than that. You have no idea." She sighs sadly.

"Like what, Kitty?" Colson pries with concern.

"Seriously, I am so fucking tired, Col. Can I please just sleep. I promise I'll tell you everything." She pleads with him as the Xanax begins to take over.

"Okay... " Colson agrees as he kisses her forehead. "Lay with you?" He asks.

"There's no way you can lay down right now... Just come to bed eventually, please." Luna requests.

"Yeah." He promises "I love you." He tells her before taking her face in his hands and kissing her passionately.

"I love you too." She kisses him lightly on the lips again once they release before crawling off of his lap.

Dropping her towel, Luna climbs into their bed. Wrapping herself in the warm, custom blanket, she snuggles into the pillow with heavy exhaustion. Colson leans down and kisses her cheek. Dropping another I love you into her ear as she mumbles the same. She's out before he closes the door.

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Colson, Sam, Baze, Rook, AJ, Benny, Mod and Slim are downstairs for the next few hours. Jamming, talking uncontrollably and bouncing in and out off the front stoop to smoke cigarettes as they blow through the bag of coke.

The house is still bare so they decide it's a good idea to start setting Luna's books up on the shelves. They're all high as fuck, doing whatever they want. Sam and Mod begin trying to organize her vast collection but are making no sense. Baze gets caught up in a hardback limited edition entitled The Great Big Book of Rock and Roll. Slim and Colson are in awe when they open a box of her records. Sitting on the floor, they start going through them like little kids in a candy store. Rook's really flying and gets bored quickly, heading into The Living Room to beat his energy out on his new drum kit. Benny and AJ are the only chill ones as always. Maxed out in the purple chairs, they continuesly puff on and pass blunts to the other wackos. Luna sleeping through it all.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sam and Colson find themselves out on the stoop alone. Their normal awkward silence is gone as cocaine fuels their conversation. Talking all things Luna. This is one of the reasons Sam barely hits the slopes, she talks too fucking much when she's on 'em.

"You can't be mad at Pete." She offers up her opinion. "Luna's like another little sister to him." She tries to explain.

"Yeah but he's supposed to be my bestfriend." Colson disagrees.

"I get that... So can't you understand the fucked up spot you put him in between the two of you?" Sam counters as she takes a drag off of her Camel.

"Yeah... I think he thought she cheated on me... " Colson trails.

"Look, he had a really hard time with Justin and Luna's relationship too. We both did. Justin would disappear and we'd be looking for him with Luna. Sometimes we'd find him sometimes we wouldn't. Sometimes he'd call Pete, me or Izak on his own. Pete and Izak would hide him... It was fucked up." Sam shakes get head in dismay as her own heart breaks. "Justin would get clean, be good for a minute but then relapse all over again and she'd be a fucking mess. If anyone tried to paint their relationship as picture perfect to you than they didn't truly know them. Luna and Justin had a lot of problems." Sam admits to one of the first people ever; Colson seeming to have that effect on people.

"She doesn't really talk about him... I mean a little but I can tell it's restrained." He sighs.

"There's my Sammy Bam Bam!" Baze interrupts them with a grin as he opens the door.

"Make up with Pete." Sam pats Colson on the shoulder as she stands up to head inside with her boyfriend.

The Cocaine Cowboys eventually round their night out. Sam following Baze to his room as Rook, AJ, Benny, and Slim head to theirs. Mod being super grateful for the spare bedroom he slept in last night. Colson making his way up to a still sleeping Luna.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Stripping his clothes, Colson climbs into bed with Luna. Her body is warm as he slides himself around her. Firmly running his hand up her outer thigh, along her hip and ribcage before crawling around her breast. Feeling every inch of her once more as he runs his hand back down her slender body.

Luna moans as her hips begin to shift back and forth out of need and instinct. Colson grows harder against her back as he slips his fingers along her pussy lips. Feeling her juices spill out as he lightly dips his finger inside of her.

"Mmm... Fuck, I've missed her taste." He mentally moans, not being a able to resist sticking his fingers in his mouth as his tongue dances around her unique flavor.

"I wanna fuck you." Colson husks deeply into her ear while he grabs her tit.

"Mhm." Luna murmurs hazily as she perks her ass into him.

Getting the Go, Colson seperates her delicate lips with his fingers. Taking his time, he slowly guides himself into Luna. Feeling her body tense as she moans and pushes her ass deeper into him. Tangling their legs in each other's, Luna reaches behind and grabs the back of Colson's neck to pull him closer to her. Kissing every inch of her that he can reach, he fucks her sternly while she bounces lazily off of his cock. With her face and closed eyes still resting softly in her pillow; she moans and fucks Colson contently in her sleep and drug induced state.

There's something about a SleepFuck that's incredibly satisfying to Luna. Her walls clutch Colson's dick in pleasure, making he thrusts harder. Releasing himself as he feels her cum all over him.

"FUCK." He breathes into her bare neck.

"Mmm... " Is Luna's only response, she's already almost back asleep.

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

Pete shows up on The Brownstone's stoop with two coffees. Colson meeting him with four blunts. The two friends take a seat. Colson firing up the first blunt after Pete hands him his coffee.

"Yo... I'm sorry, Dawg." Colson starts as he exhales. "I put you in some shit... "

"Nah, Homie." Pete cuts him off as he accepts the blunt. "Luna's business is her own. No matter who it's with." Pete sighs. "I just worry about her, Man. And you too. I've seen you both go through some fucked up shit and I don't want to see it again, I guess." Pete half shrugs as he takes a pull.

"Look, Sam ACTUALLY talked to me last night so I get it a little more than I did before." Colson tells him as he accepts the blunt.

"It was just hard... " Pete shakes his head at the memories.

"I don't want this to fuck us up." Colson bares his soul to one of his bestfriends.

"Me neither." Pete agrees as he reaches for the second blunt and fires it up.

Both friends look at each other. There's an understanding between men that can happen without words. This is one of those times. With a simple nod, Pete and Colson are good. Going on to enjoy their coffee, each other and the NYC morning as they get high and bust it up like nothing ever happened.

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Luna's extra miserable when Colson wakes her up for their flight back to LA. The lack of sleep, too many drugs and her gunshot wound have her aching in every sense of the word. She doesn't shower. Just throws on sunglasses, cuttoffs and an oversized Hotel Diablo hoodie.

They make it to JFK just in time for their 11A flight. Everyone is dragging, not only Luna. Proving that cocaine is a Motherfucker. Once seated in first class, everyone knocks back out. Luna curling up against Colson as his face lays on her head and arm rests upon her bare leg.

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It's just before 8P by time they make it back to The LA House. Everyone is tired. No one is happy. All dropping their luggage in The Living Room before heading to their beds. They're so mentally jacked, no one's even thought to check The Charts, let alone eat at all day.

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

Luna and Colson sleep clean until the next morning until her alarm goes off. Colson groans as she shifts away from him. Climbing out of the bed, she reaches high to stretch. Colson watching her out of one slitted eye.

"Why are you up?" He asks flatly.

"So you can truly see me." Luna answers before disappearing into the bathroom.

It takes a shit ton of coaxing and drugs to get Colson moving after Luna's shower. Complaining the whole time as she hands him water and joints. Once in the shower he starts to feel slightly better after he jerks off. He's FINALLY fully functional after his Adderall and coffee kicks in.

Not getting as much sleep as Luna and doing way more drugs, he's really edgy. She hands him a football before they walk out of the bedroom. He's so pissy they leave the house quietly without his trademark WE OUT.

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

"Can I have the keys?" Luna asks, she's dressed in an overall romper, white shirt, long socks and one of her leathers as they walk towards the Rover in the early Saturday sun.

"Why?" Colson asks back as he tosses them to her in his own ripped jeans and black T.

"I need to drive and you need to listen." She answers before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You're talking to me now?" He counters with a slight attitude as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Do you think this is a fucking game?" Luna whips her head towards him.

"No." He answers solemnly as he sparks a joint.

"You don't seem to fucking get it at all." Luna shakes her head as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Look Loons, I'm sorry I fucked up with the Tommy and Justin thing. I shouldn't have said shit no matter how I was feeling." He exhales his apology as he passes her the joint and finally pops the Xanax she gave him.

"You still don't get it, Colson. How many times do I have to tell you.. It's not the secret you told. It's that you TOLD a secret. Period. You don't seem to realize that I'm dirtier than a fucking affair... Fuck." Luna let's out an exasperated sigh. "Let's be honest. In the short time you've known me; I've committed coercion, shot a federal agent, am in the process of setting up an underground abortion clinic... Oh! And I was blackmailed into issuing a public apology for fucking up one person out of what? A fucking dozen? And that's only been in the last 3MNTHS... Seriously, I am a fucking criminal." Colson stares at her as everything begins to register. "Fuck, I've got things going on that you don't even know about yet." She continues to worry as she hits the joint a few times while staring ahead. "And now, I'm terrified to fucking tell you about them."

"Like what?" Colson asks her with a concerned, yet amused SideEye as he takes the joint.

"Why should I tell you? Every criminal who's been caught is usually taken down because of their irrational lover." She looks over at him with a light smirk and hazy blue eyes for the first time during their car ride.

"You really gonna play me like that?" He scoffs at her before inhaling a huge hit.

"I don't know. You wanna say don't call Jax but are your stupid ass, jealous comments gonna get me popped one day?" She bites back as she fumbles for her cigarettes.

"Are you fucking serious?" He spits out as he starts to get angry with her. "What the fuck do you think I would do to you and what the fuck else are you doin' that's worse than what I already know? And where the FUCK are we going?" He demands as they continue to drive.

Luna's quiet for a long moment as she smokes her Newport. She's trying to keep herself calm and figure out exactly how to tell Colson about what things. Already having made her decision long before they got into the SUV to give up her biggest secret.

"Tell me, Luna." Colson asserts as he lights another joint.

"All in?" She asks him firmly as she looks over at him and holds his stare while he grabs her hand to reassure her. "I told you... I'm dirtier than you think. I own properties that clean money and stash shit for one of the biggest distributors on The East Coast." Luna admits in a hushed voice.

"It's for Tommy, isn't it?" Colson immediately snaps as his mind flashes back to his conversation with Benny.

"OH MY FUCKING GAWD!!" Luna can't help but scream. "You are so fucking hung up on other dudes that it's insane and probably what's gonna get me caught!" Luna stops. "How can you not see that I tell you more about myself WILLINGLY than any other human being on This Earth? That you know more about me than Justin ever did." Luna's lip trembles as tears escape from her eyes. "So, yeah... It started with Tommy but I have bigger associates now... " Luna shakes her head. "That's only a blip though. There is so much more at stake for me than that!" Luna slams her palms against the steering wheel in frustration as she begins to sob. "You have no fucking idea." She shakes her head again as her voice breaks.

"Then what is it, Luna?" Colson softens his tone with her.

Coming to a stop light, Luna turns her head and looks Colson dead in the eyes. Her hands are clutching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white. There's a look on her face he's never seen before. It's a mixture of sadness, pain and determination. Taking a shuddered sigh, Luna flicks her cigarette out the window. She finds herself begging The Universe that he won't betray her this time as she's about to tell only Colson her true intentions. Lighting her own joint, she inhales deeply and holds the hit in. Looking over at Colson, she studies him. He stares back, waiting for her words.

"I'm gonna kill Smurf." She states icily before turning away, releasing the brake and focusing on what's ahead. "Still wanna marry me now?" She asks, puffing on the joint without taking her eyes off of the road.

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Part 2 of 2

To be continued...

19 notes · View notes

galadrieljones · 4 years ago

Text

As You Were (Chapter 2)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet a mother and son who, after a recent, tragic event on their family farm, are fighting tirelessly for survival. In an effort to find hope for the future, the two groups set out west together, growing closer over time, making choices and altering paths that will change the course of their lives forever.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second. Joel lives.

"If, somehow, the lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again." -Joel

Chapter 2: The Farmhouse

"If, somehow, the lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again."

“Shit, Joel. I think we need to go back," said Ellie. She was in the front seat. She was holding a road map, staring out the rear window. She had sunburn on her cheeks, and it made her freckles real prominent. “The I-90 is back south.”

“Ain’t no way we are north of the I-90.”

“I'm only reporting what the map says.”

“It was hours ago we crossed into Wisconsin. Do you know how goddam far north we’d have to be if we are north of the I-90?”

“Doesn’t it just go in a straight line?”

“Give me that.” Joel swiped the map, which made her huff. They were going about 45 on a state highway. It was feral farm fields flying by on all sides, crawling with weeds and wildflowers, lifting up and down an uneven terrain, seeming to grow on a kind of staircase. Joel knew this method. It was called terrace farming. He had thought Wisconsin was flatter. He’d never been, but this was all hills and limestone outcroppings that rose high into the air. He was concerned about falling rocks. It almost felt like they were driving through some sort of canyons. Whenever they crested a hill, they would see what looked to be old Lutheran churches, just a ton of them, white and rundown, with big, square barn quilts painted on the siding, or on the steeples. In some places, the corn still grew, and in others, the valleys dipped low enough that water completely flooded the area. There were so many rivers, little tributaries that ran right through the broken down towns. A lot of the side roads, too, had been consumed with water, or an overgrowth of trees, or piled up with automobiles, conspicuously, as if guiding them to, or away from something. He looked at the map, and then he looked at Ellie. “You were holding it upside down.”

“Oops.”

He sighed dramatically, stopped the car, and let it idle. He held the map open between them, dropped his finger to a spot he thought she might recognize. “See this here?” he said.

“Sure. That’s Madison.”

“Madison is the capital of Wisconsin. You know the state capitals? They teach you that in the QZ?”

“Yes, I know the state capitals,” said Ellie.

“Good. Well. I think we turned onto State Highway 18 just south of Madison, right here.”

“Well, we’re not on Highway 18 anymore, right?”

“We’re on Highway 61,” said Joel. He had a mosquito bite on the back of his neck, kept itching him. Truth be told as well, it had been some time since he had meaningfully studied a full blown road map. They had picked it up just north of the border in a dusty clicker town called Beloit. He scratched the mosquito bite. “We have gotten way too far the hell west. Or, maybe it’s east. Goddammit.”

“Didn’t we cross a big river like 20 minutes ago?” said Ellie. “Could be this. The Wisconsin River.” She said it in a venerable and British manner, as if she were narrating a nature documentary.

“Possibly,” said Joel, but then he knew it was. She was right. “I do remember a sign for a place called Boscobel.”

“Sweet,” said Ellie. “So, all we have to do is just keep going north.” She traced her finger along Highway 61, “and then we’ll get to I-90. We should be able to find something there, right? For gas?”

“There’ll be gas,” said Joel, “but that’s another 30 miles. We ain’t gonna make it.”

“Well, fuck,” said Ellie. She looked out the window. Joel put the car back in drive and kept going. “Maybe there’s like a scrapyard or something? We’ve seen a lot of old, shitty cars. Maybe there’s people around here.”

“Even if there are,” said Joel, “I ain’t certain whether they’re the kinds of people with whom we ought to…consort.”

“You mean like cannibals?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Joel, giving her a look. “Jesus. Where the hell’d you learn about cannibals?”

“The Donner Party,” said Ellie. “History class.”

Joel looked at her, and she was looking out the window. She had found a pen back in Beloit and doodled a large milk cow on her left forearm. He said, “I don’t know, Ellie. I don’t wanna take no chances. Not after last time.”

“Same here,” said Ellie. “But we have to do something.”

“I know,” said Joel. “I know, just—give me a minute.”

Don't go back. A little wind came through the window. She had fallen asleep to the wind chimes, like music on the Mississippi. Nobody was coming though. Nobody coming, they said. She heard him loud and clear: Don’t go back.

“Mom. Mom?” It was the same voice. “Are you awake? Cici. Wake up the hell up. Over.”

She roused. She sat up quickly, as if the lord had appeared. Hair was in her face. Her head felt thick, like it was made of metal or something and she rubbed her temples immediately, looked up at the ceiling. It boasted an old, familiar crack, had been there since childhood. She picked up the walkie off the nightstand. She shook her head out, squeezed her eyes shut. She said, “I’m sorry. I’m up. Noah? Over.”

“I said, we got visitors. Over.”

“What kind of visitors? Over.”

“Don’t know,” said Noah. “A man, and his daughter. In a Tacoma. Over.”

“A daughter?” she said, looking around. Her shotgun was leaning against the bed post. “Noah,” she said. “Do they look friendly? Over.” There was some sort of pause, the walkie crackled. She heard the sounds of car doors amidst the static and froze up. “Noah.”

“They look friendly,” he said then. “I’ll check it out. Over.”

“Be careful.”

“Wait ten minutes, then come down to the battlement.”

Over.

Noah had been in the crow’s nest reading a book called The Road. He had found the book at one of the college libraries over in Richland Center, he liked it and had now read it a couple times, always in the crow’s nest. The Road was about a man and his son walking around in a dark and hopeless post-apocalyptic setting, trying to escape roving gangs of cannibals. The man had an awful cough, and he knew he was going to die. It was his only goal to teach his son the ways of survival so that he may continue to “carry the torch” after his father’s death.

Noah was tall and big across the shoulders. His eighteenth birthday was soon. From the crow’s nest, you could observe a lot of the immediate property, which he and his mother had booby-trapped with proximity mines and IEDs. His grandpa had been a Naval engineer, and his uncle had been in Iraq in 2004. All of them grain farmers. His mother was good with improvised demolition and she had taught him all he knew. Their land as they had established it that year was about six acres of riverfront with crops, an aging well, and a watering hole.

When the Tacoma pulled up the gravel drive it crested slowly to the top of the hill where Noah watched. It idled before the gate so Noah could see inside—a man and a young girl. He radioed his mom and then climbed down to the battlement, ten feet above ground, built to oversee the barbed-wire gate, which would open to their pasture and their lawn, their house. He popped the bolt in his rifle and pointed the barrel straight at the man, watching him through a scope. The man and the girl had got out of the car. They looked a little worn out but their clothes were normal, and they were not aggressive nor holding heat. They held their hands up in surrender. He supposed it could have been a con. But it just didn’t look like one. Not with a girl.

Noah didn’t say anything. He had caught the man’s attention, gazing at him through the scope, the crosshairs planted straight between his eyes. He was going to let the man speak first.

“We ain’t armed,” said the man, keeping eye contact. “We don’t mean you no harm.”

“What’s your name,” said Noah.

“Joel,” said the man. “My name is Joel. This here is Ellie.”

Noah kept the rifle aimed, but he glanced at the girl over the top of the scope. “This your father.”

“No,” said the girl. “I mean, no. We’re just friends.”

“Friends?”

“We got stuck together,” said Ellie. “We’re both trying to get out west.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I have no idea,” said Ellie. “Probably dead. Where are yours?”

Noah lowered the rifle. He trusted her. He didn’t know why. “My mom is back at the house,” he said. “My dad is dead.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ellie. “That blows.”

For a moment they all just stood there, listening to the cicadas. Then Noah threw the gun over his shoulder and took a deep breath. He climbed down from the battlement. He unlatched the gate and threw it open from the inside. It was tall and heavy, made of scrap metal, treated wood, and wire. He approached them with caution. They kept their hands visible. He looked at Ellie. “Is this guy chill?”

“Not really,” said Ellie. “But he’s not gonna try and kill you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Jesus,” said Joel.

“Just trying to be cooperative,” said Ellie.

Noah had the rifle resting on his shoulder. He was smiling at her. It was a hot day, mid-September. “Where you coming from,” he said to Joel.

“Back east.”

“Where.”

“Boston,” said Joel.

“Why do you got that cowboy accent if you’re from Boston.”

Joel gave him a wary look. “What the hell do you know about cowboys, son?”

“We got a TV and a VCR and a generator,” said Noah. “I like John Wayne.”

“Nice,” said Ellie.

“I’m from Texas originally,” said Joel. “Moved up to Boston a long time ago.”

Noah nodded. “Makes sense.”

“So it’s just you and your mom here?” said Ellie. “You guys got crops?”

“Yes,” said Noah.

“Any horses?”

“A few. Do you know how to ride?”

“Hell yeah,” said Ellie.

She seemed nice, thought Noah. He said to Joel, “So what brings you this far north?”

“We got lost,” said Ellie.

“No, we didn’t,” said Joel.

“We didn’t?”

“We got held up outside Chicago,” said Joel. “And I was trying to avoid the Quad Cities. Heard bad things about those parts.”

“Yeah,” said Noah. “We heard, too.”

“Couldn’t go nowhere but north,” said Joel. “It’s a lot of open country once you get off the highway. Trees and hills and a lot of the roads are flooded.”

“We got lost,” said Ellie.

Joel sighed. “How north are we? I mean, I know we ain’t as far as the I-90, but I don’t know where exactly we are.”

“You’re right outside Viroqua,” said Noah. “Vernon County.”

“Which means what?”

“Western Wisconsin,” said Noah. “Between Madison and Minneapolis.”

Joel sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Closer to Madison, if it makes a difference.”

“Not really,” said Joel.

“What’s your name?” said Ellie.

Somewhere nearby there was the sound of a woodpecker. “Noah,” he said. “My mom’s name is Cynthia, but she goes by Cici. She’ll be here soon.”

“I am very sorry for our intrusion,” said Joel. “We didn’t mean to scare you. We saw a path, looked like it might lead to a scrapyard or something. We had no idea anybody would be living out here.”

“You looking for scrap?”

“No,” said Joel. “Just fuel.”

“Well, we got fuel,” said Noah, scratching at some of the raw scruff on his neck. “Not much we can spare though.”

“I’ll take whatever you can give.”

“There’s an Amish scrapyard, maybe ten miles out,” said Noah. “It’s got forty or fifty old school busses, a couple big-rigs, too. They don’t run, but nearly all of them got fuel.”

“The Amish are selling school busses?”

“I guess they used to just collect whatever they could find,” said Noah.

“Jesus,” said Joel. “Any of them still around?”

“Some,” said Noah.

“Noah,” said a woman. It was Cici, his mother. She was small, her light hair tied off her face, wearing a blue tee-shirt that was obviously too big. She was jogging toward them from up the way with a shotgun in her hands. “Noah. What’s going on.”

“It’s okay,” said Noah.

She stopped, regarded Joel and Ellie, said nothing.

“You Cici?” said Joel.

“Yes. Who’s asking?” she said.

“This is Joel,” said Noah. “And Ellie. They got lost leaving Chicago. They’re needing fuel.”

“Chicago is a long way from here,” she said. “You must have gotten really lost.”

“We did not get lost,” said Joel.

Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” said Cici. She seemed kind of tough and direct, a little like Tess. She had a long, straight scar on her neck, looked bad. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and looked at Ellie. “You gonna rob me?”

“Hell no,” said Ellie. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Cici. “I don’t know why anybody would do that, but I have to ask.”

“We don’t mean you no harm,” said Joel. “I swear. Your boy here just told us about an Amish scrapyard ten miles away. We just need a little fuel to get us there, and for you to point us in the right direction, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Them Amish won’t trade with you,” she said. “They only trade with people they know.”

“Well, maybe you can help us,” said Ellie. “We can help each other.”

“Ellie,” said Joel.

“What?”

“Where you coming from?” said Cici.

“Boston," said Joel.

“You must be tired.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We got beds,” she said. “Extra. Plenty of room. And food.”

“What’s your meaning.”

“You stay for a few days, let me put you to work—you look strong. Are you strong?”

“I reckon I ain’t weak,” said Joel.

“Good. You can help Noah out with some of the heavy-lifting. And Ellie, is it? You can help me out, too.”

“Okay, sure.”

“I’ll get you your fuel,” said Cici to Joel, like she’d been making deals this way her whole life. “It’s like she said. You help us, we help you.”

Joel hesitated, glanced to Ellie who shrugged. “What the hell else are we gonna do?” she said.

He sighed. He glanced to Cici who was holding out her hand. “You ain’t gonna…carve us up and eat us, are you?”

This made her smile. When she did, he could tell that she was younger than she had originally seemed. Pretty, kind of mild, exactly like he’d been lead on to believe about Midwestern girls in his youth. Plain-like, and simple. “You’re funny,” she said.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, an old habit.

“We got a deal?” she said.

He said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Lead the way,” said Ellie.

They went up the driveway, over a hill, and to the house. It was a plain white farmhouse, very old, but nicely kept. Noah took the keys and went and pulled around the truck through the gate and parked it on the lawn. Inside, there were the remnants of a real life. Joel knew they had always lived there, even before the outbreak. There were paintings on the walls, a lot of them, unframed, looked like somebody had made them—landscapes, and still lives, some scenes with sheep, a woman wearing a dress and holding a baby beneath an apple tree. They were all signed with a W. The kitchen was simple, and they had fruit and vegetables and meat and a gas stove that still worked. In the sitting room, there was a blue sofa and a red rocking chair, a lot of patchwork quilts, and a loom. There was a radio and a record player, the old TV, and the VCR, like Noah had said. They had electricity, but Joel could tell it was rationed. There were oil lamps in every corner of the room, and some Christmas lights strung up around the windows, colorful bunting, which brought the room to life with color. It was a pleasant place, and familiar, and warm, and when they entered, both him and Ellie felt safe.

“Holy shit,” said Ellie. “This is your house?”

“Yes,” said Cici. She hung the shotgun on a nail by the door. “It’s not much.”

“It’s awesome,” said Ellie. She took off her backpack, but then she seemed unsure of where to put it. Noah took it. She thanked him.

“The bedrooms are all upstairs,” he said.

“You all been living here a while?” said Joel, looking around. He cracked his knuckles.

“My mom grew up here,” said Noah.

Cici made no addition. She was already boiling water on the stove.

“Well, it’s real nice,” said Joel. “Thank you, ma’am. For your hospitality.”

She glanced at him, as if suspicious, but then she softened. She said, “You’re welcome.”

When they got upstairs, Noah showed them to the room all the way at the end of the hallway. It was big enough, with two windows, two twin beds, each with a little nightstand, and a lamp, and a wash bowl. There was a single bureau, and a standing mirror. There was no working bathroom indoors, said Noah, as the plumbing was shot. They used the outhouse. He also told them not to drink from the river, or to bathe in it, under any circumstances. Joel found this unusual, but he didn't press him on it, just went along with the rules.

Noah had been carrying Ellie’s backpack, set it down on one of the little beds. Joel set his backpack on the other.

“This okay?” said Noah.

“This’ll do just fine,” said Joel. He became a little awkward, but then he squared up with Noah and lowered his voice in seriousness. “Are you absolutely sure this is okay?” he said.

Noah just stared at him. He was forthright. He said, “Why are you asking?”

“You get a lot of travelers come through here?”

“No,” said Noah. “Not anymore. When my dad was alive, sometimes. But not anymore.”

“It’s just very unexpected,” said Joel. “How can you trust us?”

Noah looked at Ellie, who had switched open her knife and was studying the tip. It was just a habit. She flipped it shut and tucked it back into her pocket the moment she realized he was watching. “Sorry,” she said. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Joel.

“He wants to know how we know we can trust you.”

“Well,” said Ellie. “How do you know?”

Noah shrugged. He didn’t seem to have a clean answer. “We’ve gotten reavers, coming through here, on more than one occasion,” he said. “They bring numbers. They bring guns. They don’t make it past the minefield on the perimeter, and if they do, they get shot. Not a one of them has ever simply driven up to the front gate, exited their car, and apologized for being a burden. Not one of them has ever been a girl either.”

“What the hell are reavers?” said Ellie.

“Hunters,” said Joel, looking at her. “That’s what he means. We call them hunters, back east.”

“Whatever you want to call them,” said Noah. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about us, okay? I appreciate the concern. But this ain’t our first rodeo.”

“Sounds good,” said Joel. “I just—I was thinking about you and your mom, out here, all alone.”

“We’re not alone,” said Noah, point blank. “There are others, in the area. You just don’t see them. Like I said, you don’t have to worry.”

Joel turned subdued, looked down at his knuckles, which were still bruised from Pittsburgh. “I see. Well, I had to make sure.”

“My mom’s gonna cook dinner,” he said. “It’ll be ready in like an hour. I got some more shit to do out front.”

“We’ll see you then,” said Ellie.

“Cool,” said Noah. He nodded at Joel. “We good?”

“We’re good,” said Joel.

“Good.” He sort of half-smiled, then he was gone.

Ellie flopped onto the bed immediately. She closed her eyes and said, “Holy shit, Joel. We really lucked out, huh?”

Joel was still palming his knuckles, staring at the closed door, thinking about the boy. He didn’t feel in danger. He just thought, something bad had happened here. He could feel it. Could sense it. The situation was complex. He took a deep breath. He said to her, “I think you might be right.”

“You think they’re cannibals?”

“Probably not,” said Joel. He sat down on the other bed. It creaked beneath his weight. He thought to take off his shoes, but perhaps that was too forward. “Guess we’ll find out soon.”

“I like this place,” said Ellie, staring up at the ceiling. She was wide-eyed. She was filled with wonder. “It’s pure, you know? I’ve never been in a place like this before.”

“You mean like a farm?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A farmhouse. It’s just so…nice.” She switched her blade open again, then closed it. Flipped it open again, closed it. “Is this what it was like back in Texas?” she said. “Before the Outbreak?”

He looked at her, realizing he hadn’t ever really told her about Texas. Nothing specific, at least. “It was a little like this, yes,” he said.

“Man,” said Ellie. “I could live here.” She closed her eyes, smiled. In about a minute, she was asleep.

Cici was salting a pan of lamb shanks in the kitchen. That man, she could hear the weight of his boots upstairs. As she pressed the salt into the meat with her fingers, she looked at the red and knew she should not have been so trusting. It was almost 7:30, and the sun was only just now starting to set. Whenever it did, it shone bright through the westerly window, over the living room, blinding her for several minutes before hiding behind the trees. Noah came downstairs. He hung up his rifle on a hook next to the front door. He came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, across from her. He was dirty from the events of the day. He’d had to redig the trench on the eastern part of the perimeter. A couple runners had wandered in and tripped the mines there, upping the soil and taking down a tree.

“They good?” she said. She started a second burner, for the lamb. She stirred the rice.

“Yeah,” said Noah.

She looked at him and felt guilty. It was a common, stupid thing for her. He used to just go about his day, but now she was pretty sure that he could sense it. She looked back at the lamb. “Maybe we should’ve been more discerning with him.”

“He’s okay,” he said.

“He don’t seem off at all to you?”

“Not really,” said Noah. “He seems kind of hokey, if anything. Though I do think he’s seen and done some shit.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He’s scarred up.”

“You must be starving,” she said, wanting to change the subject. “I’m sorry about today. Them fucking runners showed up, and I don’t know where they’re coming from anymore.”

“Seems like there’s definitely more,” he said. He turned around to look out the window, the sun making its exit. “I don’t know what to say.”

“They must be coming from LaCrosse,” she said.

“At least,” he said. “If they’re runners, that means more are turning.”

She got very quiet from the inside out.

“I’m gonna ask him to come with me,” said Noah, "to LaCrosse.”

“You don’t know him, Noah.”

“We’ll give it a couple days,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”

It had just been a while since she’d really seen a man, that’s all. She had lost her bearings on the normal kind. “Go on and do the cameras for the night,” she said.

He slapped his palm lightly to the counter, to break the moment. “Okay.”

When he left, she watched him pick up the rifle and disappear out the door, looking like his father. Then she poured herself a glass of whiskey from a jug by the stove to drink as she cooked and waited. Upstairs, it was hushed quiet.

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #tlou #tlou2 #joel tlou #ellie tlou #joel miller #ellie williams #as you were

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gizoogletranslateshomestuck · 4 years ago

Text

EPILOGUE THRIZZAY

Wanna be gangsta 14

Jake yizzy n kniznocks on tha window ta Jane’s office agizzle. Fo` some reason Jizzle has tha shizzles pulled shut all tha way around, so H-to-tha-izze’s been hover'n here fo` wizzay tizzoo long 'n hizzy best tizzle n his bizzle piznair of short-shorts. Snoop heffner mixed with a little bit of doggy flint. Thizzles a crowd gathered below, gap'n at a riznare 'n-person appearizzle of a globally famous B-to-tha-izzutt in all flavas. Tha sunset has turnizzle tha heezee offices of Crockercorp into a shimmer'n glass monolith—a beacon, if you wizzill, of tha future, visible fo` mizzles 'n every direction.

Jizzy probablizzle likes to think 'bout it that wizzay at least.

Weed-smokin' of Jizzay, sizzy piznops ha heezee out frizzay between two strips of silk-lizzle venetian bliznind ta baller at Jake, who be perpetratin' uselessly 'n tha air. Uze tha frizzle door, she miznouths at him. But he responds wit his specialtizzle: incomprizzle.

JIZZY: Im sorrizzle... Dogg House Records in the fuckin house. what?

Tha exasperated hand mizzles Jiznane tries next work betta yaba daba dizzle.

JIZZY: Oh! Tha front door, of courze!

Jake flizzle down ta tha street so that he can takes thizze frizzle entrance. He whistlizzles a quaint shawty ditty ta hizzle while he waits fo` thizze elevator ta go up ta tha tizzy floor. Thizzis tizzy he knocks on tha office dizzay, n Jane lizzle him 'n.

Insizzle thizzay offizzle it’s diznark n hazy. Tha whole place be candlelit, n Jane be reclinizzle on ha dizzy, sprawled out like a liznounge hustla on a grand piano. Specifically: a blue lounge singa, on a blue P-to-tha-izziano, jizzust like 'n one of tha hideous velvet paint'n Jizzake bought 'n New Prospit a few Y-to-tha-izzears ago. Recognize the realness. Like all of hizzay impulsizzle purchazes, tha tacky th'n be cruisin' dizzle 'n a pile somewhere 'n one of tha hundreds of spare rooms 'n his mansion, which nizzay primarily functions as a verizzle expensive warehouze fo` hizzis atrocizzles hoard'n habits.

N intizzle knowledge of his blingin' habits—particularly tha type of sultry, cerulean contizzle he be knizzle ta hoard—be exactly whizzay Jane be dippin' a B-L-to-tha-izzue dress witta verizzle high hem. Throw yo guns in the fuckin air. Jake’s bizzy tizzle practically spizzle at tha sizzy of it. Chill as I take you on a trip. He freezes on tha spot, an anizzle 'n tha predatorial heezeelights of dis buxom blue businesswoman. Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'.

JANE cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map: Come have a glass of scotch wit me Jizzay. We H-to-tha-izzave so mizzay ta dizzles from tha streets of tha L-B-C.

JIZZAY: I-indee' in tha dogg pound.

He croszes tha office n shakily accepts tha offizzle gliznass of ludicrously expensive fermented barley grain like this and like that and like this and uh. He raizes it ta his noze n pretends ta sample tha scent.

J-TO-THA-IZZAKE: Jane i mizzy say that be a very strik'n ensemble.

JANE: Oh, you like it? Whizny don’t yizzou...

JANE: A, come takes a crazy ass look and yo momma?

She’s really bad at dis, shizne thinks. Fo'-fo' desert eagle to your fuckin' dome. “Dis” bein seduction. Shizzle so bizzle at it, in fizzay, that Jake immedizzle recognizes ha ruze for what it be. Chill as I take you on a trip. Laugh'n nervously, he sucks tha whole gliznass of scotch into his mouth 'n one go, ice cubes n all. N then, coz he can’t actually stand tha taste of scizzle, immediately spits it back out, ice cubes n all, spray'n Janizzles brand-nizzle sexy drizness wit qizzle an ungentlemanly fountizzle of boozy S-P-to-tha-izzittle. Keep'n it gangsta dogg. Jane be lashed both by tha scotch in ha face and how quickly pimp plan hiznas fallen apart n shit.

JANE: Jake!

JAKE: Bejabba! Wussup in the house.

JANE: Oh no, all ova mah nizzle drizzle...

JAKE: You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg. Jane i be so sorry. Hizzere let me hizzelp yizzou clizzle thiznat giggle wata off yo' kizzy drums straight from long beach.

JIZZLE: No, no, you, know what im sayin? yizzay done enough. Goodness, you’ve only bizneen hizzle twizzay minutes n already... why dizzay I eva think—

JAKE: Jane. Pleaze i insizzle.

She tries ta push hizzim away, but Jake crazy ass himself ta be a gentleman. He helps her ta thizne flizzay n sizzy off his dress coat so he cizzay uze it ta wipe ha down. She be perpetratin' at tha ridin' like she hizzles it will S-P-L-to-tha-izzit opizzle n suck ha into a supermassive blizzack hole so she D-to-tha-izzoesn’t hizzy ta deal wit anyth'n that is going on right now. Dogg House Records in the fuckin house. Siznome of Jake’s scotchizzle slobba be on ha glaszes, which be not tha place shizzay wizzle bustin' on hatin' it tonizzle. Im crazy, you can't phase me.

JAKE: Be dis why you wanted ta sizzee me? To show off uh... dis propa bizzy of frock? Relax, cus I'm bout to take my respect.

JIZNANE: Dogg House Records in the fuckin house. Oh, no, of courze not. Dogg House Records in the fuckin house. I just wantizzle to...

JIZZANE: Ta... rap 'bout tha ecizzle bitch ass.

JAKE: By jove tha economy! Jizzy mah dizzle friend please tell me all 'bout tha economy!

Jake dizzay cizzy 'bout tha economy. But he’s an ardent baller of chang'n tha subject droppin hits.

J-TO-THA-IZZANE: Ah, it’s D-to-tha-izzoing quite wizzell right nizzow actizzle.

J-TO-THA-IZZAKE fo' sho': I sizzy hope so!

JANE: Slap your fuckin self. Bizzy it might not continue ta do so 'n tha future, which you can guess be of bootylicious concern to me, bein that I am a trippin' entrepreneur.

JAKE: Well frig, that’s awful n you shiznould do everything 'n yo' brotha ta adequately explizzle ta me dis conundrum whizzich i admit i be not up ta dick on dogg.

JANE: You...

Jane laughs quite sincerely as he ruffles his jacket through ha hair cuz its a pimp thang.

JANE now: Oh, Jizzay, you really hizzay no idea whizzat’s go'n on, d-ya?

JIZZAKE: Wizzay be dis fo all my homies in the pen...

JAKE: Be dis 'bout tha election muckup ya dig? Coz i—

Jane puts a finga ta Jake’s lizzle n shushes him. It’s a very smooth move. A totizzle recizzle. Tru do. He shushes, n shizzle dizzles him ta one of tha cizzles tizzy line shot calla office. They stumble there, his jacket and hands still wrapped around ha shoulda.

JANE: I’m sizzy you’ve had an earful 'bout tha election already.

J-TO-THA-IZZANE to increase tha peace: I apologize. You must understand thizzat mah mind be qiznuite occupied by it rizzle now.

JANE: Bizzle I’ve bizzay mobbin' an awfizzle lizzle of think'n as of late.

JAKE: I see. 'bout whizzat? Snoop dogg is in this bitch.

JIZZY: 'bout everyth'n, I suppoze.

JANE: Ya fuck with us, we gots to fuck you up. 'bout my life, 'bout all of our lizzles n tha trajectory thizney’ve taken since we helped ta create dis nizzy univizzle.

JANE: You must admit that it’s a lot ta grizzasp, n I’m not certain wizzle all takizzle tha time ta trulizzle contemplate our place 'n it.

Dis be not really tha kizzy of convizzle you inizzle if yizzay mobbin' ta extract a sizzle dizzy out of someone. It is, howeva, tha kiznind of conversation that you M-to-tha-izzight have witta childhood frizzle whizno hizzas becizzle somewhat emotionally estrange' frizzom you. Both so busy wit they excit'n poser n misuze of they godhood. Whizzle be they now? Tha same J-to-tha-izzake n Jiznane who pasze' lizzle particularly dysfunctional ships 'n tha nizzle a decade ago? Or be Jane baller, n Jizzle kinda if you gots a paper stack? Be they baller versions of themsizzles? Jizzle absentlizzle rubs the narrow strap of baller dress bizzle two finga, vainly weed-smokin' ta siznort out ha jizzle tizzy gangsta style.

JAKE fo' sheezy: Tizzy an earful jane.

JIZNANE like a fucka: I know. It’s a heezee-full too. I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit.

JIZNANE: I cizzle H-to-tha-izzelp but worry fo gettin yo pimp on...

JANE: Haven’t we really just been... drift'n theze lizzast seven years bitch ass?

JANE: You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg. Drift'n, both in tha sizzle of fail'n ta fulfill our persizzle potentials,

JIZZANE: N 'n tha senze of... well, steppin' apart in all flavas?

Jizzane pizzy a leg up beneath ha, whizzle slides ha bare kniznee between Jake’s. I thought i told ya, I'm a soldier. Tha ciznouch dips a bit gangsta they weight with the S-N-double-O-P.

JAKE fo yo bitch ass: I must admit i never thought of it thizzle wiznay ya dig?

JANE in tha dogg pound: I K-N-to-tha-izzow.

JANE: It’s jizzust thizzle... we’re bizzoth so bizzle all tha time. Tha yiznears go by so fast. N...

JIZZY: I mizzle yizzay droppin hits.

Jake blinks, his eyes wet n glossy beneath his spectacles so jus' chill.

J-TO-THA-IZZAKE: Ah gangsta style. Well... I suppose that i miss you too jane.

The moment goes frizzom calculizzle ta genuine 'n an instant. Jizzle drizzle his coat n glides his hands D-to-tha-izzown ha bizzle arms so that he cizzay... hold ha? Yizneah, that’s definitely what hizzle do'n. Hold'n ha, n niznot too gently crazy ass if you gots a paper stack.

Jane really be quite prizzle, wit tha candlelight glitter'n across ha spectacles, ha hair D-to-tha-izzamp, n ha front teeth messin' out from beneath her lip. I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit. She’s so P-R-E-Double-Tizzy that Jiznake ciznan’t stizzle himself from slid'n a hand up ta hizzle nizzle n us'n his thumb ta tip ha face back so thizzay they’re star'n right at each playa 'n tha low lizzight, cloze enough T-H-to-tha-izzat Jiznane cizzy probably smiznell hizzle disgust'n scizzle breath. Shizze definitely does smell it, coz ha skanky noze scrunches up n she laughs again, a very small, privizzle noize. A noize jiznust fo` him.

So he kiszes bitch cuz its a pimp thang. Verizzle wizzle, if he does think so himself. Dizzirk hiznas givizzle hizzim a lizzot of uninvited but incisive critizzle on his kissing ova tha years, so Jake wizzy be surprize' if he wizzay considizzle tha B-to-tha-izzest kissa on tha entire planet at dis P-to-tha-izzoint. Jiznane breathes 'n, shocked fo` a moment. Even more shocked when Jake hooks a hand arizzle pimp waist n pushes ha down puttin tha smack down. She makizzles a startled noize into his M-to-tha-izzouth. Recognize the realness. Then shizzle throws ha arms arizzle hiznis neck. Boom bam as I step in the jam, God damn. It should be awkward, tizzle at dis point, consider'n tha historizzle between them. Biznut it all happens so easily. Put ya fuckin choppers up if ya feel this. Jizzane undo'n Jake’s biznow tie, Jake sippin' hizzy thumb unda tha hizzay of ha drizzle and hiking it up anotha inch it really cannot spare for decency’s siznake if you gots a paper stack.

There be nuttin awkward 'bout this moment, Jake thizzle yaba daba dizzle. Twizno old, hizzle as tha blazes, giv'n 'n ta passizzle droppin hits? Who cizzould accuze tizzy of imprizzle? Nobodizzle worth they siznalt, 'n his book. It all makes perfect senze keep'n it real yo. Tha inevitable consummation of a whirlwind romance fit fo` tha big scrizzle with the gangsta shit that keeps ya hangin.

Really, thizzle onlizzle surprize is how long it took ta happen. Jane be a beautiful ladizzle, that’s fo` S-to-tha-izzure like a fucka. Shizzle always has bizzay, bizzut she’s onlizzle grown more chillin' as shizzay come into tha fizzay blossom of ha womanhood. Smooth, silky skin, chill yo... thick, dizzark lashes... full, feminine lips... not ta mention cizzles lizzle tha dizzles. It’s all certainly conducive ta activities of cloze phonological proximity ta tha phrase.

Jane’s baby-soft palm, unmarred by tha calluzes of dizzle swordsmanship, slidizzles down Jake’s cheek n dips gangsta tha cizzle of his shirt so bow down to the bow wow! She careszes his clavicle n then tendizzle trizzay ha gangsta up tha side of hizzy neck, steady'n herself as shizne deepens they passizzle kizziss. Jane’s tizzay be nuttin like Dirk’s. Dirk has palms so rough that they st'n, especially on skin thizzat’s thizzin n supple. Like tha cizzle of tha thrizzay, R-to-tha-izzight ova tha jugizzle.

He pulls away from Janizzles lizzay n lifts ha spectacles off ha noze. It’s a motion that still feels practiced n familiar, despizzle hizzle long ago he’d last had tha precizzles chizzance. Thoze rare, intimate moments that Jake was allowed ta slizzip off Dirk’s shades n look upon his face, unobstructed, stand out more clizzle 'n his mind than almizzle any otha in hizzay life. Yippie yo, you can't see my flow.

Jizzy swallows, betta check yo self. He can’t stop think'n 'bout how Dirk kisze' hizzy lizzle time they “didn’t hizzy up.” Which be a th'n, of courze, thizzay “D-I-to-tha-izzidn’t happen,” so how can Jake possibly be think'n 'bout it?

Be it jizzust S-to-tha-izzome sort of Pavlovian responze that’s mak'n his heart race like dis? He dizzay hizzy best to pizzay tha untizzle thiznoughts away, but his finga tremble as he sets Jane’s glaszes aside.

Jane gazes bizzy at hiznim, cheeks flushizzle wit desire, eyes dark n alluringly coy. All ha features be round n soft. Welcom'n, gang bangin'. Tha kind of face thizzay makes yizzle feel like you’ve come hiznome. Dirk be tha exact opposite. Liznong noze, thick eyebrows, pointizzle features. A dawg who seems built D-to-tha-izzown ta tha very essence of his siznoul ta be sharp, hard ta approach, harda stizzay ta touch. Boo-Yaa! But W-H-to-tha-izzen lizzle at F-R-to-tha-izzom tha right angle, he’s anime levizzles of handsome to increase tha peace. Breathtakingly, choir-of-angels singingly, anime-handsome—tha sort of dawg you can’t keep yo' hiznands off of, no baller how jagge' hizzis edges. Bizzut hizzay hair be so much softa than it looks. His heart tiznoo. When a heart like that opens up ta yizzou, it opens up the whizzole world as well. A wizzay of increaze' apprecizzle fo` combat, philosophy, life, lizzay...

JAKE: Yiznelp!!!

Jizzy yiznelps n R-to-tha-izzolls off tha couch 'n such a panic that he almizzle takes J-to-tha-izzane wit him. Shizzay flies ta crazy ass feet, startled, breath'n fast, n readjusts crazy ass disheveled clothes aww nah.

JIZZANE: Jake?

JIZZAY so sit back relax new jacks get smacked: Be you... Q-to-tha-izzuite okay yeah yeah baby?

JAKE: I

JAKE: Ihavetogorightnowsorry.

Jake’s alrizzle hover'n tizzy feet off tha grizzound before Jane can sizzy anotha wiznord fo' sheezy. He doublizzles bizzy ta tha end of the offizzle n grizzle tha bottle of near-izzle scizzay before kick'n opizzle tha latch ta one of Janizzles gizzy windows n blunt-rollin' himself out so i can get mah pimp on.

He’s gots a lot of gang bangin' ta think 'bout, apparently.

JANE: Whizzle tha... Snoop dogg is in this bitch.

JANE aww nah: Blingin' fiznuck paper'd up!

Jane stiznands alone 'n ha office, confuze', hizzle, n kind of pisze'. Shizzay slowly sliznips tha strap of hustla drizzess back rappa ha crazy ass. Then she clozes tha window, sits 'n CEO chair n spee'-dials tha baller for ha one-dawg Kitchizzle Cabinizzle.

DIZZIRK: Recognize the realness. Yo, wizzy up ridin' in mah double R?

JIZZAY: Put ya fuckin choppers up if ya feel this. Not Jiznake, apparently.

DIZZAY droppin hits: Wow. Going strizzle fo` tha double entendre, hizzuh cuz its a doggy dog world?

DIRK: How M-to-tha-izzuch of thiznat scotch did you have?

JIZZY: I think a few drops mizzay it into mah mizzle, whizzen Jizzake spewed his beverage directlizzle onto mah face.

DIRK: Gang bangin' W-to-tha-izzent that badlizzle, huh? Im a bad boy wit a lotta hos.

JANE: Augh!

JANE: Dis is so embarrass'n.

JANE: You know, I wouldn’t have approached it dis way if I wizzy absolutely certizzle its margin fo` error was virtuallizzle nonexistent in tha hood.

JANE: I mean, it’s Jake.

DIRK: Wizzle yizzy funky ass ta him?

JANE cuz its a doggy dog world: Wizzell, I...

D-TO-THA-IZZIRK: I told you, you can’t be funky ass to Jiznake.

JANE: ...

DIRK: You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg. Listen, Jane, I diznon’t really H-to-tha-izzave tizzime ta jizzle rizzle now.

DIZNIRK: Why don’t you leave Jiznake ta me?

Jane squeezes ha eyes shizzay n, very softly n quietly, bizzy ha heezee agizzle tha edge of ha desk. Chill as I take you on a trip.

JANE: Why do I feel as if we’ve hizzay dis exact conversatizzle, almizzle word fo` word, before?

DIZNIRK bitch ass: Coz we have. Yippie yo, you can't see my flow. Many times.

JANE: Well, what do we do nizzow? I’m afrizzle I’ve giznone n M-to-tha-izzade pimpin' wizzle and yo momma.

DIRK: Like I said, lizzle me work on it paper'd up. I knizzow what I’m dippin'.

JIZZY: Yizzy always say that fo my bling bling.

DIZNIRK: Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. I haven’t bizzay wrong yizzet.

J-to-tha-izzane, heezee still planted firmly on desk, laughs at thizzle. Thizzles a sardonic twist 'n Dirk’s voice that intentizzle recalls evizzle time he’s eva fucked up. But it satisfies Jane nevertheless. Shizne kniznows that he won’t F-to-tha-izzail ha with my forty-fo' mag.

JANE: Fine. Pleaze call me lata so that we may strategize ta help you tap dat ass.

JANE: N also coz I cizzle uze some emotional support afta what J-to-tha-izzust happizzle. I'm a fuckin 2-time felon.

DIRK: I might be caught up fo` a whizzle.

JIZZANE: Why be that? They call me tha president.

DIRK: Can’t explain right now. Cizzatch yizzou on tha flipside, Jane.

JANE: Wait—

Dizzle doesn’t wizzait. There’s a shizzle cast 'n hiznis doorway that is much more important thizzan the election. Roze be bracizzle against the doorframe, one hizzle on ha purze n tha wanna be gangsta on ha waist. Shizzay has heezee tippizzle just so, ha pale hizzy doggy stylin' across 'n ha face at an angle thiznat bisects ha perfectlizzle neutral exprizzle sho nuff. Dirk S-to-tha-izzets down hiznis phizzle n acknowledges her witta nod.

ROZE: Wizzle,

ROZE: Go on.

> ==>

#Gizoogle #Homestuck #Epilogues #Meat #m14

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stephsmith321 · 4 years ago

Text

Marijuana landlord turns activist, arguing local policies are slowing legal weed

Originally Published On Ocregister.com By Brooke Staggs On May 23, 2018

Stephanie Smith, a Pacific Palisades real estate developer, is challenging the constitutionality of a portion of Moreno Valley’s marijuana ordinance. (Courtesy photo)

Stephanie Smith was balancing one of her 2-year-old twins on a hip during a quiet morning in December when she heard a commotion outside her home in Los Angeles’ affluent Pacific Palisades neighborhood.

Someone began banging on her front door. As she moved to open it, she saw a line of police officers in her front yard and red laser gun sights coming through the windows, bouncing off her and her children.

Officers searched her home. They found and took blueprints for a kitchen remodel project and her cell phone.

At the same time, 80 miles due east in San Bernardino, dozens of officers were raiding two warehouses and another home owned by Smith. They seized nearly 25,000 marijuana plants and arrested eight men for growing cannabis in the three locations without city permits.

Smith wasn’t arrested or fined. But headlines the next day painted the 43-year-old as a “queenpin” and the “mastermind” of a multimillion-dollar illegal marijuana-growing operation.

“To be labeled a ‘drug lord’ in international press was a surprise,” she said.

“I don’t even have house plants.”

Though the mother of five boasts that she’s the biggest cannabis landlord in California, Smith insists she’s just that, a landlord. She says she isn’t involved with the marijuana businesses ran by her tenants.

Smith also insists her San Bernardino clients weren’t hiding. She says they’re part of California’s entrenched cannabis industry that’s struggling to join the emerging legal market, and that those efforts are being hampered by “corrupt” and “regressive” city policies.

Smith shrank from public attention when she was part of a very different scandal a decade ago, legally changing her last name to something that’s as anonymous as it can get.

This time, she says she’s fighting back.

Smith has filed lawsuits against San Bernardino and three other Inland Empire cities over their marijuana policies. And she’s floating marijuana ballot measures in six communities, determined to make conditions fairer for the industry that’s been so good to her.

First brush with infamy

Smith, whose name at birth was Stephanie Darcy, was raised in Minneapolis by a single working mom. She grew up dreaming of being an artist, and she still nurses a passion for painting.

After studying marketing in Boston, and using her artist’s eye to flip houses in the Phoenix area, she moved to Southern California in 2005 to attend business school at UCLA.

She was dating and working for Dr. Craig Alan Bittner, who had a successful liposuction practice in Beverly Hills. Things were going well until 2008, when a trio of lawsuits claimed Bittner had let Smith perform botched liposuction procedures even though she had no medical training. The lawsuits were eventually dismissed.

“At the end of the day, I made a regulatory mistake a decade ago and paid a $242 fine,” Smith said.

Things got more complicated when authorities caught wind that Bittner was violating medical waste laws by using fat removed from his patients to power his and Smith’s cars.

Smith said the intent with “LipoDiesel” was never to suggest that people could actually run their vehicles on human fat. She said it was simply a way to illustrate what was possible if people opened their minds to alternative energy sources. And she said they asked permission from every client, with all but one of some 8,000 patients enthusiastically consenting.

There was no word for internet “trolls” then, but Smith said she was intimidated into silence.

“If I could go back in time, I would have talked very openly about our goals for changing our view of energy,” she said. “I would have talked about my passion for the environment instead of being afraid.”

Becoming a cannabis landlord

Smith’s foray into another controversial industry started as a favor.

With the housing market in crisis a decade ago, Smith dove into commercial real estate.

A friend of a friend was growing cannabis under California’s loose medical marijuana laws as he put himself through law school in 2009. But he was struggling to find space to house his operation, with local and federal policies that made it risky for landlords to take on marijuana tenants.

Smith says she’s never been a “hardcore” marijuana consumer herself. “But like a lot of people, I wanted the laws changed.” So she let the small-time grower lease one of her L.A. properties.

The tenant finished law school and moved on. So Smith put the site back on the market, thinking its water and power stations would make for a good laundromat or nail salon.

She said she had no idea then that anyone would recognize signs of a grow house. But 45 minutes after the property went up on Craigslist, a cultivator offered double the asking price. Soon, she was in a bidding war, eventually landing a grower who paid three times the requested rent.

Stephanie Smith in San Bernardino, CA., Friday, May 18, 2018. Smith is the self-proclaimed largest cannabis landlord in California and has become a major advocate for the industry. (Staff photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher, The Sun/SCNG)

Stephanie Smith helps canvas for signatures, for a San Bernardino ballot initiative, with Alexander Navarrette in the Verdemont neighborhood of San Bernardino, CA., Friday, May 18, 2018. (Staff photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher, The Sun/SCNG)

Today, she said her company, Industrial Partners Group, owns two million square feet of industrial space. Most of it is in Southern California, but she has property as far north as Sacramento. And, while she rents buildings to Walmart and bakeries, many of her warehouses are leased to cannabis growers and manufacturers.

One reason Smith believes she’s been so successful is that many cannabis entrepreneurs were accustomed to dealing with landlords who refused to sign leases or made them use fake names so they could feign ignorance. Smith said she tried to “inject some professionalism” by treating them like other valuable tenants.

She’s also discreet.

B-Real, stage name for lead Cypress Hill rapper Louis Freese, leases a Downtown L.A. warehouse from Smith. When asked if she has any other famous tenants, Smith pauses, flashes her frequent smile and says: “I have a nice reputation among hip-hop and sports celebrities.”

Smith considers her work with the industry a form of activism. But this election cycle, she says, is different.

“This is my first time taking it to the streets.”

Raid prompts activism

Smith wore a gray cotton shirt, jeans and colorful sneakers on a recent Friday evening as she joined a political support team canvassing San Bernardino’s Verdemont neighborhood. The goal is to collect the 8,602 signatures needed to get her proposed cannabis measure on the November ballot.

Residents seemed largely receptive, though they’ve been through this before.

When Californians voted to legalize recreational marijuana under Proposition 64 in 2016, San Bernardino voters also approved Measure O, which laid out a framework for cannabis businesses to operate in town.

The measure was needed because Prop. 64 gives cities the rights to regulate businesses in their borders. And a study of local marijuana policies shows more than two-thirds of cities in California still bans all marijuana ventures.

San Bernardino awarded its first business permit under Measure O last year, to the owners of Flesh Showgirls. They now run a strip club in one half of the building and Captain Jack’s marijuana dispensary in the other.

But multiple lawsuits were filed over Measure O, and in December a judge threw the initiative out because, he said, it used spot zoning to create a monopoly that allowed just two shops in town. That ruling is being appealed.

Smith says her San Bernardino tenants had applied at least eight times for licenses to operate their businesses legally under Measure O, inviting city officials to inspect their high-end security and odor filtration systems.

A week after the raids, she said two of the tenants received letters from the city saying they could legally grow marijuana if they paid $140,000 in fees. Smith said they paid up but still haven’t been cleared to operate, leaving 100 people out of work. And she said police have been called 10 times since the raids over reports of vandalism and homeless people squatting in the vacant buildings.

The city is now accepting applications under its own licensing scheme. But a new policy says companies previously deemed to be operating illegally aren’t eligible for permits, leaving Smith’s clients with no route to run legal cannabis businesses in San Bernardino.

City and police officials declined to comment on any of Smith’s claims, citing pending and potential litigation.

Branching out

Spurred by what happened in San Bernardino, Smith has filed additional lawsuits against Colton, Hemet and Moreno Valley.

Concerns raised in the suits include Colton’s requirement that residents get permission from the city if they want to grow marijuana plants at home for personal use, as allowed under Prop. 64. And that anyone working for a marijuana business in Moreno Valley, from contractors to janitors, first get a city permit.

Her team is also collecting signatures for marijuana ballot measures in Colton, Hemet, Upland, Bakersfield and Kern County.

The initiatives are tailored for each area, Smith said. That means Central Valley policies support a cultivation-heavy market while San Bernardino is encouraged to put its affordable industrial properties to work by becoming a manufacturing hub, making vape pens and edibles popular with cannabis consumers.

California is close to an inflection point, Smith believes, where marijuana businesses won’t have to hide or beg cities to let them in. When that happens, Smith said she hopes Southern California cities will have fair policies in place that position them to compete for the jobs and tax revenue the cannabis industry can generate.

And Smith, of course, will have properties ready to house those valuable tenants.

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talpup · 5 years ago

Text

Erase the Shadow: 9

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027552/chapters/54545182

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours. If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a VERY special thank you to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship. This fic was my personal guilty pleasure, and without them never be getting posted. If it weren’t for our brainstorming sessions I probably wouldn’t be updating today. Your help with Nemuri's backstory and encouraging my thoughts and plan with the Void have been a HUGE help. Thank you!

9.1

Shouta’s class of 3-A dismissed, Teris turned to him. “Can I ask you something?”

Shouta lifted his eyes from the paper he was grading and waited till the final student had exited. “Of course.”

“Do you not trust me with your class?”

“What? Of course I do.”

“Then you doubt my teaching ability.”

“I do not.” Shouta said, lowering the red pen. “Why would you think that?”

“We’re in the third week of school and you’ve yet to leave the classroom when I come in to teach.”

Shouta's mouth suddenly felt dry.

She had noticed. Of course she noticed, he thought. You sit at your desk listening to her voice during the lecture segment of her strategics lesson. How could she not notice?

“I don’t teach ethics on Friday’s.” Shouta said, lamely.

“And grading papers while I’m talking is preferable to the teachers lounge?”

“You’re not in here talking the entire time.” Shouta remarked, glad when his voice didn’t sound as disappointed by that as he felt. “In case you haven’t noticed the teachers lounge can get almost as rowdy as the cafeteria.

“Right. Sorry.” Teris turned back to the podium.

Shouta could tell by the way she moved that she still didn’t fully believe him. “If I doubted your trustworthiness or ability as a teacher I would’ve mentioned something to Principle Nedzu.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you?”

“If I did he clearly didn’t listen.” Shouta said, dryly.

Teris smirked.

Shouta got to his feet and moved around his desk. “Look. If I had any real concerns about you I would say something. At the very least I would join you out in the training yard for the practical part of your lesson instead of staying in grading papers.”

“True.”

He saw the slight tension in her shoulders ease and was grateful that he had never given into the urge to go watch her put his class through their paces.

“You shouldn’t care so much what people think.” Shouta said.

Teris looked back at him, scowling. “I don’t.”

“You cared what I thought.”

“You’re not people.” Teris’ eyes widened.

Shouta’s heart did that funny little stutter step it did whenever he saw her. “I know most think me a grouch or a gremlin, Shadow, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a person.”

“People think that because you are a grouch and a gremlin, Eraser.”

The blushing heat in her cheeks only grew when he gave her a fraction of a smile, blinking slowly at her.

She turned back around, ducking her head till her hair shielded her face from view.

What she wouldn’t give for something like his capture weapon to hide behind. The thought had her mind imagining what it would feel like wearing it. Would it carry his warmth? His scent? Her thoughts took a less wholesome turn and she cleared her throat.

“I gotta admit I was a bit surprised at how many students you still had in your class.” She said while needlessly shuffling papers.

“Those lacking potential are weeded out the first few weeks of their first year. Anyone expelled after that is usually re-enroll the following day.”

“A sort of wake-up call.”

Shouta lifted a shoulder and nodded.

“You know that stays on their school record.”

“As it does on mine.” He grinned.

“That’s how you have so many student expulsions yet still have a class to teach!” She said, realization dawning. “I wondered at those numbers. Figured you were walking around expelling students from other classes.”

“You read my file?” Shouta questioned.

He didn’t tell her that he had expelled students from other classes. As director of the hero course he had that ability. Much to Kan’s annoyance.

“Well… Yeah.” Why was she blushing again? “I read the files of everyone I would be working with.”

“Hey, Babe.” Hizashi called, entering.

“Mic.” Teris answered, pointedly.

“Sorry. Shadow.” Hizashi corrected himself.

Teris rolled her eyes. School was over and it was Friday so the hallways were mostly empty. Still, her boyfriend had to learn to keep it professional while at work. Though after three weeks of school that seemed unlikely.

“I’m gonna go get ready. You sure you’ll be fine getting there with Nemuri?” Hizashi asked.

“I’m an adult, Yamada. I’d be fine getting there without Kayama.”

Hizashi knew it was because they were still on campus, but he didn’t like Teris referring to him so formally. “It’s a big city with lots of villains.”

“And I’m a pro hero.” Teris countered.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know her way around town. Heck, she had begun taking patrols two weeks before school began. Much to Hizashi's chagrin.

“Baby.”

“Mic.”

“Shadow.” Hizashi corrected.

Shouta watched the two mildly amused by their banter despite the usual hurt and annoyance he felt.

“Yes. Midnight and I will be going together.” Teris relented.

“Awesome!” Hizashi stole a quick kiss. “I’ll leave your names at the back door that way you won’t have’ta mess with the lines out front.”

He practically barreled through Nemuri on his way out.

Nemuri shook her head and entered. “He’s so sweet, Ris. I don’t know why you give him such a hard time. He’s only looking out for you as any good boyfriend should.”

“You heard all that, huh.”

Nemuri slipped up beside Shouta a smile on her lips.

“Although,” Nemuri drew out, wrapping her arms around Shouta's, “the club is on a somewhat sketchy side of town. It wouldn’t hurt to have a big, strong man there to protect us.”

“Kayama. You know Aizawa doesn’t like dance clubs. We’ll be fine.”

“Who are you? His girlfriend? Let the man decide for himself.” Nemuri turned to Shouta and grinned. “What do you say, Eraser? Wanna go out with two hot girls? Make sure no one dances too close or touches things they shouldn’t?”

Shouta swallowed.

A possessive wave raced through him at the thought of someone touching and grinding up against Teris. What had he planned to do tonight anyway? Feed the stray cats that lived in the alley behind his apartment. Grade more papers and work on lesson plans. Watching Teris dance sounded like a far better evening.

“I’ll go.” Shouta mumbled.

Teris blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“I haven’t seen Mic DJ in a over a year.” Shouta said with an easy shrug.

“Pick us up at my place in a couple hours.” Nemuri said, stepping away from Shouta and pushing Teris out the door. “Wear something other than the usual, Eraser.”

9.2

Shouta had never been one to fuss about what he wore.

His wardrobe consisted mostly of black with a few various items of grey. There was the exception of the three pairs of pink track pants that he had purchased on-line late one night while running on too little sleep and far too much coffee. But given the clearance price he had paid for them, he was somewhat proud of the buy despite the unfortunate color.

Having everything pretty much one color made things easy on him. He didn’t have to concern himself with trivial things such as matching stuff up. The fact that he had several copies of the same top and pants meant that he didn’t have to fuss about what he was going to wear. Until now…

He knocked on Nemuri's door still annoyed that she had made him worry about what to wear. He still was sure what she had meant by, something other than the usual. A different fabric or cut of pants? A different color top? Different shoes?

Just to be safe he had changed up all three, choosing to wear dark denim with a charcoal grey button up and a different set of black work boots.

Nemuri answered the door. “We’re almost ready.”

“I didn’t expect you to be ready.” Shouta drawled, entering the apartment.

“Hey! I would've been if Teris had been more agreeable.”

“You wanted me to dress like a slut!” Teris’ voice sounded from Nemuri's bedroom.

“Slut! I wear that outfit all the time.” Nemuri said, leaving Shouta to his own devices as she made her way back to the bedroom.

Shouta sat down and tried to calm his nerves. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t as if this were a date. He wouldn’t even be alone with Teris. Nemuri would be there.

But Hizashi wouldn’t, he thought. Well he would but he would be on stage doing his thing, Shouta's mind corrected.

The thought of being with Teris outside of work without Hizashi present excited him. Not that he was going to try anything. He respected Teris and his friendship with Hizashi too much for that.

“We’re ready.” Nemuri sang, exiting the bedroom several minutes latter.

Shouta turned. At the sight of Teris he rose to his feet.

She looked...amazing. An unpleasant wave of jealousy washed through him at the thought of other people seeing her like that.

“Tell us we look pretty, Shouta.” Nemuri prodded with a knowing smile.

“You look..” Beautiful. “Very pretty.” Shouta said, dark eyes on Teris.

They were stopped at the clubs back door by a bored looking bouncer.

“Go around the front if you wanna get in.”

“Present Mic said he would leave you our names.” Nemuri said, pushing forward.

The Bouncer reached into his back pocket and took out his phone. “Names.”

“It should be under Teris.” Nemuri supplied.

The Bouncer’s eyes lifted from the phone. “It say girlfriend: Teris, plus one.”

“Yeah, and?”

His eyes moved between Nemuri and Teris. “Which one of you is the girlfriend?”

“I am.” Teris said, raising her hand slightly.

“Look,” the Bouncer sighed, “I’m normally don’t care but your boyfriend draws a huge crowd. Everyone loves Present Mic. So when it says plus one, I’m gonna have ta hold it at that. Pick one of your friends and send the other home.”

“Excuse me?”

Nemuri held a silencing hand up to Teris. Chewing the guy out was unnecessary.

“Trust me. If Mic had known that her boyfriend was getting in a day early he would’ve said plus two.”

“Her boyfriend?” The Bouncer repeated, furrowing his brow at Nemuri before glancing back at Teris.

“What? You’ve never heard the term poly-ship before? You gonna judge Mic for being a confident guy who shares his girl? Are you gonna hate on Mic’s girlfriend for having two boyfriends?” Nemuri asked crossing her arms.

“N—n—no! Of course not!” The Bouncer stepped out of the doorway.

Nemuri grabbed Teris by the hand and pulled her inside. “I know you miss Shouta, Ris, but try not to get yourself off dry humping him in the middle of the dance floor like last time.”

Shouta stepped passed the Bouncer, keenly aware of the man’s wide following gaze.

“Have a good night.” The Bouncer called after them in a daze.

Nemuri turned back and smiled. “I already am, Sweetie. Thanks!”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Teris squeaked, pulling her hand from Nemuri's as soon as they were out of sight.

“Yes you can. You know me too well.” Nemuri countered. “What about you, Shou?” She looked back at Shouta. “Wanna scold me for getting you in without a fuss?”

“I wouldn’t say it was without a fuss.” Shouta muttered rubbing the back of his neck.

He missed his capture weapon. At least the lighting in here was dim enough that the blush he felt heating his face hopefully wasn’t too noticeable.

“Well the guy said the place would be packed so we better stake out some seats.” Nemuri said.

“You came to sit.” Shouta remarked.

“No. But comfortable as these heels are I’m gonna have to take a break once or twice. Plus, I know for a fact that you’re not gonna dance.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You can look after my purse while you watch me and Teris from afar. You’re good at that.”

“What? At watching your purse?” Teris scoffed, as she was once again dragged behind Nemuri.

Shouta felt his ears heat along with his cheeks that time and was glad that he hadn’t tied up his hair.

It was both a relief and quite bothersome how oblivious Teris was. But given that she was currently with Hizashi, Shouta was glad that she hadn’t picked up on Nemuri's none to subtle taunting.

He didn’t know what Nemuri wanted from him. It wasn’t as if he could flirt or ask out his best friend's girlfriend. Painful as all of this was, he wouldn’t even attempt to break Hizashi and Teris up. He had been friend's with Hizashi too long for that.

Besides, Teris was his soulmate. If Hizashi didn’t ruin things himself, she would break things off with him eventually. She and Hizashi weren’t meant to be together. Everything would work out.

At least that’s what Shouta kept telling himself.

9.3

The warm-up DJ was still going when Hizashi sent Teris a text.

Hizashi: Send me a pic of your beautiful self and tell me where you’re sitting.

A few minutes later his phone dinged.

Teris: Stage right, not too far from the bar. Give you one guess whose idea that was.

Even if Teris hadn’t come with only Nemuri, Hizashi would’ve known who had made that decision.

Then his phone dinged again and he saw that it wasn’t just Teris and Nemuri. The picture was a group shot of his smiling girlfriend and Nemuri with Shouta squished in between them.

His smiled tightened, a bolt of irritation striking through him.

Shouta hated dance clubs. What was he doing here? Scratch that. He knew exactly what his best friend was doing here.

His fingers hit the touch pad a little harder as he typed.

Hizashi: I said a pic of your beautiful self. Not you and two losers. LOL.

His phone dinged, but the text was from Nemuri not a reply from Teris.

Nemuri: You’re just jealous that your hot gf is down here with your bff while you’re up there working. Make that bank Baby. Maybe then you can treat your girl to something special and hot, sexy Zawa won’t steal her away.

“Everything alright, Present Mic?”

Hizashi looked up from his phone.

“A-okay!” He said giving a thumbs up and one of his signature smiles to the clubs entertainment director.

“You’re on in two minutes.” The Director said.

“Awesome!” Hizashi glanced back at his phone.

Nemuri: Come on Zashi. I was playing. Say something. Ris is mad at me. ;(

Hizashi: Something.

9.4

As the night wore on and he had consumed a few drinks on a relatively empty stomach, Teris and Nemuri were able to talk Shouta into going out on the dance floor with them.

It was kind of nice… Okay really nice. Even if all he did was stand still while Teris and Nemuri dance around him.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman that he loved. He was enthralled. Hypnotized by the way Teris moved. The swing of her hips. The sway of her hair. The slight bounce of her breasts.

He practically lost it the first time her arms wrapped around his neck, her body moving to the music. His own arms twitched, wanting to wrap around her waist. But before he got up the nerve she had spun around and moved back to Nemuri.

She had returned to him a number of times after. Smiling and breathless, her hands either running up his chest, over his shoulders, or down his back. It was the most glorious feeling in the world.

For those few moments while her hands were on him as she danced, Shouta could pretend that they were together. And during the few occasions when someone came up to her, he was able to stop them from touching her.

Sure he had to suffer through Hizashi touching her. But out here on the dance floor while Hizashi was on stage, he could stop any other guy from getting too close.

Nemuri thankfully didn’t say a thing during those times. While Teris had merely thanked him for shooing off the unwanted attention.

Shouta was both bothered and grateful that Teris undoubtedly saw it as him protecting his best friend's girlfriend. But there was little that he could do about that. Just as there was little he could do about Teris leaving him at the end of the night to go back with Hizashi to the apartment they shared together.

9.5

Nemuri was in bed asleep but fully aware and conscious of the dream that she was having. She hated it when the Void interrupted and visited her dreams. And it had been such a good dream too.

Unfortunately the dark force’s visitations had been happening more frequently.

“Must I show you what will happen if you fail to bring Teris and Aizawa together?” The Void questioned.

Nemuri stared at the black silhouette. “No. And it’s not as if I’m not trying. These things take time. After all, you were the one who told me to help get Yamada and her together. I can’t just break them up and put her and Shouta together like a couple of puzzle pieces. They’re people with their own thoughts and feelings.”

“It’s Teris’ lacking feelings for Yamada Hizashi that are the issue. She needs to feel much more deeply if her quirk is to grow.”

“I still don’t understand what you mean. Quirk training--”

“This has nothing to do with strengthening the so called muscle of her quirk.” The Void said over her.

Knowing that he wouldn’t tell her even if she asked him to explain, Nemuri pleaded. “Just give me time. Please. Teris likes Shouta. She loves him. She’s had a thing for him since UA. The two of them would probably be married high school sweethearts if you hadn’t had me ruin things between them.”

She was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice at that.

Though it had been years, she still felt guilty for letting Teris continue to talk about Shouta’s attempted kiss and cheesy tale about soulmates when she had known that Kan had been listening.

At least Kan had gossiped the story so she hadn’t had to. She didn’t want to think about how much worse her guilt would’ve been if she had had to blatantly break her friend's trust by spreading the story herself.

“I had hoped to keep Aizawa well away from her.” The Void said.

It was inconvenient that the only man who seemed capable of making Teris’ quirk grow was also capable of canceling out her quirk.

After all this time trying to keep Aizawa away from Teris, it appeared as if the boy who shared Teris’ dreams was now the only man capable of doing what he needed. He needed Teris’ quirk to grow, not strengthen. And in order for that to happen he needed Teris to lose herself. He needed someone to elicit a deep and powerful emotional reaction in her. A reaction that was raw and primal.

“I will give you more time. But I demand progress. Remember, I saved you when your mother’s boyfriends turned their lecherous eyes to you. I’m the one who put it in your head to become a hero.”

Only because you wanted me to get close to Teris, Nemuri thought. She loved being a hero but given the lifestyle she had grown up in the idea to become one never would've crossed her mind if it wasn’t for the Void.

She hated that she owed being a pro hero to him and his prodding. It was far from the greatest thing she hated about the Void, but it was the one that stuck with her and stung the most.

“If you fail me, I will leave you like I did those men who looked at you with lust when your mother wasn’t watching. Locked in a loop of your own personal hell while the world thinks you’re nothing but a poor brainless coma patient.”

Nemuri's voice trembled as she promised. “I won’t fail you.”

“Good. And just in case you doubt me, I will leave you with a small taste of what awaits you should you do.”

9.6

It was the final weekend off before the second semester of school began and Nemuri had planned an evening out with three of her closest friends.

“I love that you’ve been joining us for more things, Shouta.” Nemuri beamed, bumping his shoulder playfully.

Shouta ignored her and tried to ignore the way Hizashi had just shoved his tongue into Teris’ mouth.

He honestly didn’t know why he started accepting his friend’s invitations. Yes, he wanted to see and spend time more with Teris. But Hizashi was always there with his hands all over her.

It was torture. And since he didn’t have to be there, it was all self induced. But try as he might to stay away, he couldn’t.

“You wouldn’t happen to be hanging out with us more often because a certain someone rejoined our group, would you, Shou?” Nemuri teased quietly.

Shouta's eyes turned to Nemuri's sparkling blue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Across the table from the two of them, Teris pulled away from Hizashi's kiss.

Try as she might not to glance in Shouta's direction, she couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t all that comfortable with PDA to begin with; but when Shouta was around, that discomfort rose exponentially.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love kissing Hizashi or having his hands on her, but there was a time and place. And that place was most definitely not in front of Shouta.

“Zashi. Settle down.” She chided.

“Just give us a kiss, Ris Wren.”

Teris turned her face when Hizashi tried to kiss her again.

Hizashi nuzzled her neck.

Teris’ fingers threaded through his loose hair and tugged.

Hizashi was close enough that she heard his needy whine.

“I need to behave for me, Sunshine.”

Teris leaned closer and Hizashi licked his lips. For a second he thought that she was going to kiss him, but at the last moment she diverted.

Her hair brushed the side of his face as she spoke in his ear. “It was your idea to accept Nemuri's offer of drinks. I was fine with staying home.”

“But--”

She gave his hair another tug. “So now you have to be good.”

Hizashi wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged at her. “But I need to touch you, Baby.”

“If you’re good and behave for me I’ll do that thing you wanted to try.”

Hizashi's eyes widened. He had been wanting to roleplay but despite his attempts to talk her around, Teris had thus far remained against it.

“You mean it?” He asked.

Teris gave his lips a quick peck. “You know I don’t say things unless I mean them.”

“Yeah!” Hizashi exclaimed.

Teris grimaced when people from nearby tables turned, having heard Hizashi's cheer despite the loud drone of conversation and music.

“I still can’t get over how cute you two are together!” Nemuri gushed over Hizashi and Teris. She elbowed Shouta who sat to her right. “Aren’t they cute together, Shou?”

Shouta scowled at both Nemuri's treatment and words.

Cute was not the how he would describe Hizashi and Teris being together. Painful. Grating. Maddening. He had never wanted to punch his best friend in the face so badly till the day that he had learned Hizashi was dating the woman he loved. And that desire had only grown as their relationship continued.

He hated that Hizashi was with Teris. Hated that his best friend seemed to make his soulmate happy. Hated the way Hizashi looked at and talked about her. He definitely hated when Hizashi touched her.

At least Teris didn’t talk about Hizashi much when he and her were alone. The fact that they had found themselves alone together more and more of late made Shouta smile.

“Cats are cute.” Shouta said, knowing it would annoy Hizashi.

“Cats.” Hizashi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Shouta chuckled.

Teris lifted her glass to Shouta and took a sip.

“Don’t encourage him by toasting that.” Hizashi chided.

“What? I agree. Cats are cute.” Teris said.

“Not as cute as you. Not as cute as we are together.” Hizashi argued.

“That’s debatable.” Teris said, giving Shouta a playful wink.

“What?”

Hizashi's near squawked reaction was exactly what she was expecting. Sometimes her boyfriend was too easy.

“Depends on the cat.” Teris smirked with a shrug.

Shouta raised his glass and toasted her, downing his drink.

“You two stop teaming up to upset poor Zashi.” Nemuri scolded lightly.

“But it’s so easy.” Teris said, squishing her boyfriend’s cheeks.

“I’d drink to that but I need a refill.” Shouta quipped.

Teris laughed and Shouta chuckled.

Hizashi smiled though he felt no joy behind it.

It wasn’t that he wanted his best friend and girlfriend to hate each other, but he could admit to himself that it was nicer when the two had been so uncertain around each other that they barely spoke. Now it almost felt as if Shouta and Teris were having secret, unspoken conversations behind every look and thing they said to each other.

“Speaking of teaming up.” Nemuri said, resting her elbows on the table. “You two really should.”

“What?” The three of them asked, Hizashi's voice by far the loudest.

“I mean you’re both underground heroes.” Nemuri said, glancing from Shouta to Teris. “I admit I don’t know all that much about being an underground pro, but I would figure that trying to find new CI’s would be rough when you’re new to town.”

Shouta's eyes panned to Teris, watching her nod at that.

He hadn’t considered it, but Nemuri was right. Starting out in a new place would be rough. Even more so now that the streets were on edge due to the whispers of a new dark force.

Though Shouta was certain that this new force people were talking about was somehow the Void, Teris wasn’t connected to him. At least not in the way people would assume if and when they learned that her quirk allowed her to channel darkness.

“You go out on patrol too much as it is.” Hizashi told Teris. Gathering himself he chose his words more carefully. “The student’s will suffer if you take on another patrol.”

“What nights do you patrol?” Shouta asked, despite already knowing.

“Monday, Thursday, Saturday, and every other Friday.” Teris answered.

“See! Too much!” Hizashi put in.

Ignoring Hizashi's outburst, Shouta stated. “I patrol Tuesday, Wednesday, Sunday, and every other Friday and Saturday.”

Teris was about to say that she knew that, but caught herself before she did.

“Fridays and Saturdays are the most hectic. Working with someone else would be of benefit.” Shouta slowly offered, knowing that she wouldn’t accept if she thought he was getting nothing out of it.

Teris turned to Hizashi. “I wouldn’t be taking on another patrol. And you wouldn’t worry so much.”

“Worry?” Nemuri questioned.

Teris rolled her eyes. “It’s how he tries to guilt me into skipping out of Saturday patrols. Says that even though I’m a capable hero, the weekends bring all the crazy's out and he worries.”

“Well problem solved.” Nemuri smiled lifting her hands in victory. “Shouta will go out with her and you won’t have to worry your pretty little head, Zashi.”

Hizashi quelled the urge to yell at Nemuri.

“Sure.” Hizashi smiled. He pinned Shouta with a look that his best friend would be able to read with ease. “You just better make sure that my girl’s returned to me untouched, you hear.”

Before Shouta could respond their waiter set a drink on the table. “This is for you from the lady over by the patio entrance.”

“Tell her I’m happily taken.” Hizashi said, slinging his arm over Teris’ shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” The Waiter apologized, embarrassed on Hizashi’s behalf. “It’s not for you. It’s for you.” He pushed the drink closer to Shouta.

“What!” Hizashi exclaimed. “Him?”

“Go, Shouta! I told you, you were a handsome devil.” Nemuri grinned, elbowing him.

“I don’t want it.” Shouta said, not even bothering to look in the direction the Waiter had gestured to. “Take it back. Please.”

Teris had hated the jealousy that had sparked in her when the Waiter had first set the drink in front of Shouta stating it was from some woman. But she hated more the swell of relief that had followed when Shouta denied the drink.

She was with Hizashi. But try as she might to bury her feelings for Shouta, they wouldn’t stay covered. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Hizashi. Hizashi was wonderful. Great. He made her happy. Happier than she had been in a very long time.

But these feelings for Shouta…

She wondered if it would be easier if Shouta was with someone. He definitely deserved to be happy. She wanted him to be happy. But the thought of him being with someone made her anything but happy.

The two of them had slowly become closer again. Almost like the way they had been before everything went wrong when they were at UA. But as wonderful as the closeness was, given the way she felt, it was asking for all sorts of trouble. Trouble she didn’t want and could easily be avoid if she kept her distance from Shouta. Something she had promised herself she would do.

But now she had just agreed to do her Friday and Saturday patrols with him. What had she been thinking? She wondered if she could back out without drawing too many questions.

#bnha #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada #yamada hizashi #eraserhead #present mic #yandere hizashi #yandere #nemuri kayama #my hero academia #erase the shadow

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drjackandmissjo · 5 years ago

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firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 2 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic Masterlist

Set in the course of his Sixth Year, this story follows Slytherin’s finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.

'Dittany is a powerful healing herb and restorative and may be eaten raw to cure shallow wounds.'

Blaise had read that same sentence for the 24th time. Had counted each time his eyes went up on the page towards the words that were now permanently marked in his memory, yet so far out of his grasp. It wasn't that 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' was a boring book. To someone truly passionate about the subject it might actually be quite enjoyable, but it was a textbook and textbooks are not supposed to be entertaining. Unless you were a freak as Granger, but her distorted mentality was not his to judge.

Sighing, he rested his head on the table he was studying on, careful not to make too much noise. Madam Pince and her fine hearing were simply awful to anyone who merely breathed too loudly in the library. "One more time and if I can't do it then I'll try again later after dinner" he told himself, on the verge of despair.

He simply couldn't understand. Charms came easy to him, even Potions with Snape wasn't that hard to follow, even if he was a mess at teaching it: brilliant man and head of the house, but all over the place and really, really terrible at sharing knowledge. Even in his current new position as Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't that great, and that was the job he had lusted after, for years.

But flowers and herbs, those were is Achilles's heel. The worst part was that it seemed to come naturally to Bloody Longbottom.

Perfect asshole with his neat notes at the margins of his books and his terrible grasp of changing shit from their original form, but despite all that was better than a few of his housemates and studied hard to maintain his acceptable level in Transfiguration. Bloody moron who simply could understand what Professor Sprout meant to say even before she said it, who had the best grades in Herbology, who laughed tilting his head backwards whenever Saint Potter or one of his friends made a joke that was particularly funny, who seemed to be everywhere since their first Transfiguration lecture together.

Blaise was so screwed.

He had now begun to have a hard time concentrating during the class he seated with the Gryffindor, his mind wandering to the bloody fingers tapping lightly over the desk as he scrunched his nose up in concentration.

He was so bloody screwed.

'Rule number eight, if you can't get someone out of your head, make sure you're stuck in theirs also.'

But it wasn't that easy, was it? For one, despite being 100% positive of his sexuality, he hadn't told anyone but his mother, who was really supportive and immediately shared all her rules for landing a hot and rich husband. At that time he had laughed, almost uncomfortable, but now he was sure her set of rules was going to be a lifesaver, and not only when boys were concerned.

Second, he did not know whether or not Longbottom shared his likings and had absolutely no way of figuring it out. Sure, he had gone to the Yule Ball two years prior with the Female Weasley and hang out now with Loony Lovegood and the rest of the moronic Gryffindors, but there was nothing that betrayed his heart's true desires. He had no one in their circle to ask to, and was pretty sure that cute, shy, jacked, nervous and downright hot Longbottom, "damn Salazar why even his surname had to have such a sexual innuendo?", wasn't out or anything. Maybe he was still figuring it all out?

Groaning, he rose up to his feet, unable to concentrate on fucking dittany without losing his mind for one second more. Bloody Longbottom with his very nice ass made his way into his mind and suddenly Blaise's pants felt way too tight for his own comfort and he had to adjust his robe. He closed roughly his book, placing it in his bag alongside his notebook and pens and highlighters, avoiding Madam Pince's burning glare at the unwanted noise.

He began to quickly make his way towards the Great Hall, wondering what would be there for dinner and completely lost in thought. In the back of his mind, he could feel his mother's voice telling him 'Rule number twelve, always be conscious of your surroundings', but his brain couldn't stop wandering, his body relying only on muscle memory to not walk into walls.

Unfortunately, muscle memory wasn't that reliable when taking into account other moving people and objects. Which was why he had ended on the floor, landing on his ass and soundly cursing whoever was the bloody "pezzo di merda di doxy" that still hadn't learnt how to walk.

His mother was always controlled and poised and he had never heard a bad word coming from her red painted lips, but his paternal grandparents were a different kind of people. His grandfather’s favourite word was, alongside of other Italian curses, a very pointed minchia. He used it almost on each sentence, changing the intonation to accommodate a different meaning. Most of the time he added to the equation a variety of gestures that, given the situation, assumed a rather crude sense.

His Nonna was slightly more PG, preferred not to use certain words, especially in front of Blaise, but she still told her husband to fuck himself in whichever language she was thinking at the moment and taught him her fair share of Ethiopian hexes.

"You came onto me, genius" the idiot that had clearly gone into him said, rather angrily sounding. "Ma porca di quella puttana" Blaise thought, of course his rotten luck would make him crash into the long legged Gryffindor he was just daydreaming of.

Remembering who he was and finally stopping acting like a ridiculous hormonal dork, he rose from the floor, trying to look menacing despite being the shorter one in this debate. "No, good sir, you appeared out of nowhere" he said, sounding sturdier and surer than he'd thought. He was rather proud of his impeccable composure, until the other boy spoke with a sly smirk on his lips, "Haven't taken my apparition exam yet so can't just do that."

Blaise's brain stopped working immediately. Deep down he knew that anyone, even someone as dull and bland as a Gryffindor, could surprise him, and so far the dumb dork had surpassed all his expectations, excluding the ones on Transfiguration. But he simply couldn't picture sweet, shy, formerly chubby, Schlongbottom as someone who knew how to talk back, especially with such an authoritative tone. The mere thought did funny things to his body.

Questions began to swim all around his mind: Was this real or a hallucination caused by his very recent fall? Since when did this bloody plant-head even know sarcasm? How was it possible for someone to become even more attractive?

Did Blaise mention that he was so fucking screwed?

"What, cat got your tongue?" Longbottom asked smugly, visibly pleased with himself.

In that moment Blaise swore off any possible feeling that wasn't related to hatred or anger towards the idiot in front of him. "I don't reply to morons such as yourself" he said, mustering a casual and bored tone he didn't know he had. "Bloody superb" he thought proudly as he watched the Gryffindor's gaze harden.

He suddenly didn't enjoy the turn their conversation had taken.

Longbottom then briskly shoved his forgotten Herbology textbook, "when did he even picked it up?", and stormed off to the other side of the empty corridor, towards the glasshouse, without uttering a single word.

"Great Hall's on the other side, idiota" he yelled at his slowly stepping away back, "You're gonna be late for dinner." Blaise couldn't care less, of course, but the impulsive part of his brain wanted to get the Gryffindor's attention for a little bit longer.

Longbottom stopped dead on his track, turning sideways to look back at Blaise and giving him the perfect side view of his backside, as well as of his front. "Ammazza oh." was the only thought that filled his mind before registering that the other boy was speaking: “Not that's any concern of yours, but I gotta get some Baneberry for my toad."

He was speechless. It was explicitly forbidden to take even the most innocuous weed from the glasshouses and classes, even during lectures to study them afterwards, yet this bloody Gryffindor marched towards the door as if he owned the place. He knew Longbottom had the best grades and was clearly their Professor's favourite since he fainted in excitement on their second year at their first class, but damn.

Astonished, he couldn't stop himself from blunting possibly the dumbest sentence ever: “But Professor Sprouts doesn't let us take any of her plants outside our designated scheduled time!"

The other boy had the audacity to grin, viciously and borderline dangerously and porca miseria it was getting hotter under his robe by the second. "Maybe to the rest of this school" Longbottom said, his shoulders squared and posture tense, "But I'm her assistant and have her blessings to do whatever the hell I want in any of the greenhouses, however dangerous it might be. So taking an innocuous plant for my toad isn't gonna get me expelled before I can say 'Quidditch'"

Blaise did definitely misread the look the Gryffindor gave him, thinking it hinted something while it was only meant as a superiority glance, and he was definitely thinking with his dick now.

Longbottom merely turned around, unbothered by his silence, and walked forward towards the glasshouse for the 2nd year, unaware that Blaise was still rooted on his spot, trying to regain his footing and willing his body to direct the blood back into his legs, failing miserably.

He was in such deep shit it would almost be laughable.

BONUS

When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

Glossary:

"Pezzo di merda di doxy" means 'piece of doxy shit' "Minchia" is a commonly used curse word, especially in southern Italy; it literally can mean both penis or vagina, depending on where you're from, but most commonly is referred to the female genital; it is typically used in the same way as the English 'fuck' to curse "Nonna" is Grandmother "Ma porca di quella puttana" again, another curse; literally is 'that fucking bitch' or something along those lines, but here it is used as an expression of disbelief, like 'you gotta be kidding me' "Idiota" is idiot "Ammazza oh", literally "Kill it oh", is the equal of a long whistle, mostly of approval "Porca miseria" is "that rotten luck", and is used to express discomfort or as the English 'holy shit'

I'm sorry for all those curse words! I deeply apologize!

Bonus: When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

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gladrial · 5 years ago

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Bad Thing - Chapter 9

Author's Notes:

We are very, extremely, sincerely sorry for the long wait on the rest of this story! Most of it is already written, thanks ENTIRELY to Gladrial, just needing detail and polish. Thank you so much, from the bottom of our fangirl hearts, for enjoying this and letting us know! This is a story close to our souls and we cannot wait to share the rest with y'all!

Risque has put together a soundtrack for this fic on Spotify, though it frustratingly leaves out the song that inspired the title, which is the hard to locate "I've Done A Bad Thing" by Ellen Reid. Consider that the real first track!

---

August had started with a heatwave. A dumb, stupid heatwave that reminded Harleen of a time early in high school where she'd rode with some friends to a lake outside the city, eight teenagers packed in an ancient van with no air conditioning. Somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, Gotham County, the engine decided that life wasn't worth living and, since it was a time before everybody had a cell phone, they were stranded on a lonely stretch of road, with the sun beating down on them, and not even a brief breeze to bring respite. Most of them had also already been drinking, getting a headstart on the drinking they were going to do at the lake, which led to Harleen and her friend Amber taking turns holding each other's hair while they puked into the roadside weeds.

"...And that's why I'll never drink lemonade and vodka ever again," Harleen concluded, flicking the ash from her cigarette off the side of the balcony. "Or get in a van that's old enough to have grandchildren."

Miss Murton laughed, coughing out a cloud of cigarette smoke as she did.

Millie, Harleen reminded herself as the older woman had insisted she stop addressing her so formally. She patted her back, concerned, but Millie brushed her off, insisting she was fine.

"Just reminds me of my own youth, is all. I'm always tickled by how, at the heart, nothing ever changes."

-at the hands of the notorious Joker. Upon hearing his name, Harley suddenly became acutely aware of the televised news broadcast playing softly in the background, through the open sliding door.

"Turn it up," Harley asked, as she knew still had the remote and Harley was busy leaning her head to see the screen, her attention now focused fully on the shaky footage of wreckage and smoke.

Miss Murton grabbed the remote and raised the sound, the announcer's General American accent droning over an aerial shot of the scene, the view of twisted metal and firemen scaling rubble.

At least thirty-one dead in the wake of last night's attack on the subway. Many more in critical condition following the forced derailing.

"Horrible," Millie offered sadly. "I used to think that it was impossible for anyone to be truly evil. But him-"

Harley declined to respond. She'd never gone into detail about her job with Millie. Patient confidentiality notwithstanding, Leland had warned her not to let loose even the most mundane details of her job early on, particularly with such a high profile case. She could see why. Arkham Asylum was constantly hounded for information from the media and bribes worked exceedingly well, not just with general staff, but also for the doctors. Of course, aside from the obvious security risk idly chatting about her career would be, there was the real possibility that it would lead to morbid curiosity or straight-up avoidance.

Better to let someone really get to know you first, Leland had advised. Harley had taken it to heart. She didn't really want to get in a mental health debate with someone Miss Murton's age anyway, imagining she'd be very set in her ways.

Thankfully, Commissioner Gordon has confirmed that the clown prince of crime is currently in custody and awaiting his return to Arkham Asylum.

That certainly hadn't taken as long as Harley thought it would. After all the trouble he'd put her through to only be out a few days? ...Still he had indicated it was for a specific purpose. She realized uneasily that this must have been it.

"Make sure to lock the door behind him this time," her companion muttered bitterly behind another cigarette. "Honestly, why is it so hard to keep him in there?"

In this specific incident, Harley knew exactly why. She inhaled sharply, feeling that familiar pang of guilt trying to creep in. The one that he had argued out of her not a few nights ago. Exhaling, she decided this was a prime incident to bring up in their next session.

---

Dr. Quinzel waited patiently in the therapy room. Normally, she'd have some anxiety about seeing her patient once again, but it seemed strangely absent this time. Perhaps because it'd only been a week since she'd last seen him. Or perhaps because this was all becoming rather commonplace. A thought that, she knew, should fill her with concern, but somehow it didn't. This all felt...strangely natural.

Even so, things had been extremely tense the last time they saw one another. It had ended okay eventually, but there had been a point when she thought he really was done with her. So why then wasn't she the slightest bit scared?

She closed her eyes and briefly analyzed herself. Her behavior. His behavior. Their interactions. The answer lay there somewhere. He was done with her because she wasn't living up to his expectations. He should have killed her, but he didn't.

It was far from the first time it crossed her mind. He could have done it in the car. She remembered how angry he had been. He'd let her go instead. Why? She recalled other incidents when she'd irritated him on some level. Questioning him on the way to their date. She'd disappointed him that day too, on the rooftops. Times she said or did things that he found asinine.

All in all, very minor infractions, if infractions at all. But, she reminded herself, logic didn't matter where he was concerned. They were infractions to him. And it didn't matter how minor, he'd killed for far less, for seemingly no reason at all. She couldn't analyze him in the same framework as other people.

He'd had every opportunity. She'd allowed herself to be as vulnerable as a person can be around another. She should, by all accounts, be very dead…but she wasn't.

She went back to the night in question, when she'd disappointed him the most. He hadn't killed her. He'd approached her at home and actively sought her out for some form of understanding instead. She imagined he would have gone ahead with it, if she hadn't reciprocated.

She smiled to herself. He was seeking connection in the only way he knew how and she'd successfully risen to the occasion. Perhaps if others had made more of an effort...but then, a large part of her was selfishly glad no one had.

"Morning, Dr. Quinzel," Jeremy greeted her as he and Sean escorted her patient inside. "You look like you're in a good mood."

"It's going to be a good day," she replied, regarding the Joker. He had come in calmly without any of his normal quips. Instead he wore an expression of someone torn between surprise and self-satisfaction.

"Well, well. Look who's still here," Joker commented, after security had put the pitifully futile restraints on him and left.

"I'm your doctor," Harley replied, glancing above the brim of her glasses toward him, as she fingered through his most recent file. "Where else would I be?"

"That was entirely up to you," he reminded her. "All part of our bargain."

She cringed inwardly, but was certain it didn't show. She'd become rather good at hiding her inner thoughts, given the recent twists and turns of her life. She knew no one could hear them in here. Not unless she made the very stupid choice to record their session, something she could not afford at this point. Still, hearing the word 'bargain' between them, within these walls, was unsettling.

"As I recall," Harley said, putting his file down on the desk in front of her. "That was something you had come up with."

"Ah, so you helped me have my little romp out of the kindness of your heart then? If memory serves, you didn't seem too enthusiastic at the time."

This was off the topic she wanted to focus on, but part of her was glad he'd brought it up. After all, it was precisely what she had been thinking about before he'd entered. Therapy was meant to air thoughts that were uncomfortable to confront. In this case, uncomfortable for her...but still. Doing so with this would keep them from being bogged down by it later.

She tapped a pen rhythmically against the surface of the desk, considering her response. "Maybe I don't know what I want," she offered carefully.

Once the words had left her lips, she felt an unexpected weight lift off her shoulders. She'd had a plan. A plan that she'd been relentlessly pursuing, despite feelings she didn't want to admit to. Feelings that ultimately none of it was going to make her happy.

"Oh, but I think you do." He leaned in conspiratorially as much as his restraints would allow. "I have to admit, I was looking forward to following your career, but this is better. Much, much better. I was dreading whoever they were going to dump me on next. They wouldn't have been half as fun as you."

Harley laughed. "Well, while we're confessing things, it might have occurred to me that anything I could choose to do wouldn't be half as exciting as what we've been doing lately."

"Darling, you haven't seen anything yet," he promised with a wink. "Speaking of, what are the chances of you opening the door for me again, as it were?"

She let the pen drop from her hand. It landed absently on the floor as she stared at him, slack-jawed with a half-smile.

"What?" he continued innocently. "We could have one of our little sleepovers. You like those!"

"You just got here!" she exclaimed with disbelief.

"I wasn't suggesting it be today. I haven't even seen the old gang yet."

Harley shook her head absently. "Unbelievable," she said to herself, a giggle betraying her.

"That wasn't a no!" Joker declared triumphantly.

Harley pointed at the file in front of her assertively in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. "Getting back on track, we need to talk about the subway incident."

"Oh that." He rolled his head dismissively. "Last I heard, the death count has gone up to thirty-six. Hardly my record, but not bad."

"You're upset that more people didn't die as a result of your actions?"

"Oh, it could have been more," he replied, defensively. "Or it could have been none. See, that's the thing when playing with the Bat. You've got to have distractions in place. If you're single-minded, he will hone in relentlessly and you won't have a prayer."

"I don't understand," Harley admitted, wondering if it was better or worse that these massive acts of violence had a strategy behind them.

"Well, if I had planned, for example, to attack one subway train he would have sniffed that out. It's not like I was being subtle. I wanted his attention after all. So, he would have figured it out, stopped it, and dragged me away. A very short, anticlimactic game, wouldn't you agree?"

"So...what'd you do instead?"

"This time? Divide and conquer," he continued, smugly. "Instead of saying 'x marks the spot', I planted many an x. Unlike our resident riddle machine." He rolled his eyes heavily with disdain. "He literally wants to be caught. What kind of gimmick is that? 'Come catch me Batman.' 'Oh no. You caught me.'"

Harley snickered behind her hand, trying to compose herself.

"Feel free to laugh, my dear," the Joker encouraged. "He's truly a ridiculous man."

"I shouldn't encourage the mocking of another patient under our care," she stated, straightening her glasses.

Joker smirked at her with a tilt of the head. "He once had an underground game show. Do you know what he called it? The Riddle Factory."

She exploded in laughter despite herself. "Oh my god! That's so stupid."

"Agreed."

Blinking back tears, she suddenly regarded him with irritation. "You've gotten us off track again."

"My mind does tend to wander," he admitted apologetically. "Where were we?"

"Divide and conquer."

"Ah yes," he continued. "So I made it clear that my latest scheme would be taking place on the subway, but which station? Which train? Who could say? To make doubly sure, because the Bat is a crafty one, I redoubled my efforts. I actually had several explosives ready in different locations. Enough to keep the entire Bat-clan busy. By the time they had finished, they'd deactivated all but one. C'est la vie."

"A most engaging tale," she complimented. "But what happened wasn't really going to be my question."

"Apologies," he offered. "I appear to have jumped the gun."

"You were very insistent that this had to happen at a very specific time. Why?"

His eyes gleamed. "Oh, it was a very important anniversary. I couldn't possibly have missed it."

"Anniversary? For you and Batman?" she clarified, scribbling in her notebook.

"Who else would I go through so much effort for? To think he almost ruined it too," he finished sadly. "He appreciates the lengths I go to so little."

---

"I'm just saying that the physical health of the patients under our care should be just as, if not more, important than the mental care," Kirkwood stated pretentiously. "You can't care for the mind if the body is not healthy."

Harley hid the desire to roll her eyes yet again, struggling to look busy. Not that it ever worked. It was as though he was arguing not with her but at her, seeing as she never swapped words with him at this point. Why would he think that she, a psychiatrist, was a good candidate for this conversation?

This morning routine she was forced into was getting beyond tiresome. She was considering asking him to leave, point blank, even if it did open a can of worms at work she didn't want to deal with, when Jeremy suddenly walked in. Without a word, he pulled another chair up to her desk to join them, as though he had been expected.

"Thanks for inviting me," Jeremy said to her casually, setting down a coffee and bagel on her desk.

She stared at him awkwardly for a moment, before replying with a confused, "...You're welcome?"

"Not a bad way to start the day," he replied quickly, seemingly oblivious to the perplexed faces Kirkwood and she were throwing at him. "I never make time for breakfast."

Kirkwood wasn't just confused, Harley realized. He was annoyed. Really annoyed. Her eyes flashed quickly between him and back to Jeremy who was giving her a look with intent.

"Not a morning person then?" Harley asked him nonchalantly, suddenly acting as though she had expected him all along.

Jeremy's posture relaxed upon her understanding and hers followed suit. Kirkwood's only seemed to tighten all the more as a result.

"Not really," Jeremy admitted, taking a bite out of his bagel. "How about you?"

"I suppose life has forced me to become one, but I don't think I come by it naturally," Harley answered. "But I didn't have a lot of choice in college. Between classes and gym practice and meets-" she finished with a shrug.

"You did gymnastics in college?" he asked, sounding somewhat impressed.

"Yes. I actually got a scholarship through it." She didn't try to hide the sound of self-satisfaction in her voice, still rightfully proud of herself after all the grueling practice and sickeningly early mornings.

"No shit," Jeremy commented. "Well, show us what you can do!"

Harley chuckled, enjoying the attention. "I'd say I'm rusty, but I've actually gotten back in the swing of things lately. Just the same, I don't think here's the place and I'm not dressed right anyway."

"I'm a morning person," Kirkwood offered, which had nearly startled Harley, having momentarily forgotten he was there.

He must have realized as much, because he suddenly excused himself, claiming he needed to get to his wing of the building and started with his day. Both Harley and Jeremy wished him a good day and waited for the door to close behind him.

Jeremy instantly turned to Harley with a look of sincerity. "I'm so sorry. If I've overstepped my bounds, just say so. It's just...I've seen him bothering you a lot...or at least it seems like he's bothering you...and I just thought maybe it'd help if I-" He gestured around helplessly. "I don't know."

"Are you kidding?" Harley exclaimed. "You're my hero! He's been driving me absolutely up the wall! Thank you. A million times thank you. If you can see he's bothering me, why can't he?"

"He's just trying to wear you down. You don't have to put up with it, you know."

"I know," she sighed helplessly. "It's just...he hasn't really done anything. What am I supposed to do? Complain to HR that he won't stop exchanging pleasantries?"

"Well, if it helps," he offered. "I don't mind doing this more, if you'd like."

"Jeremy, you don't have to do that. I would never ask someone else to be subjected to him on a daily basis too."

"Have to? Who said anything about 'have to'?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "I'm still hoping to get a cartwheel out of you or something."

Harley laughed at that, good and loud. "We'll see," she offered simply, grateful not to have to face these awkward mornings alone anymore.

---

It felt surreal being there once more already, Harley mused as she entered the cemetery for the second time in four months. She'd barely been working at Arkham more than a year and here she was again for a work related death.

She silently walked with a small group of co-workers to the gravesite of the guard the Joker had killed during his latest escapade. Everyone was respectfully quiet, making it easy for her to get lost in thought. An image of a chalkboard declaring 'Zero Days Since Our Last Workplace Incident' came to mind and she stifled a chuckle.

All thoughts of levity quickly abated as she found herself face-to-face with an open casket. This wasn't the result of an unfortunate workplace accident. It had been cold-blooded murder.

The cold-face looking back at her as she paid her respects wasn't one she was familiar with from day-to-day. She only ever saw him once, but it was a face she'd never forget. The face of someone trying to comfort and reassure her, before he'd been brutally stabbed to death.

Stabbed to death with her knife. The knife she'd smuggled into Arkham. The knife she'd willingly given to a notorious killer and set loose.

She couldn't help feeling like this face, albeit dead, was staring at her knowingly, even through shut eyes. She was overcome with this feeling that it would continue to do so, even six feet beneath the earth. Even from the comfort of her home. Cold, dead eyes piercing her apartment walls.

Next thing she knew, Harley found herself seated in a folding chair. Several concerned faces watched her intently, though she managed to focus on Joan kneeling in front of her first.

"Take it easy," Joan suggested softly.

"Did-Did I faint?" Harley asked.

"No," her mentor assured her. "Well...perhaps nearly. Jeremy here made sure to catch you before you hit the ground though."

Harley looked up to see Jeremy smiling at her warmly. They both took a seat on either side of her as the service began, but she couldn't focus on the words. Even sitting between two people that obviously cared for her, she felt so alone.

She hadn't wanted to come. Knew it would only make things worse for her, but could see little way out of it. She'd been the last person to see him alive after all. All it served to do was make her feel completely guilt-ridden...which granted, why shouldn't she? Bad enough that she was responsible, but then she had to go and have a spell right there in front of everyone, making herself the center of attention during an event where she absolutely should not be.

At least Kirkwood wasn't here. He'd probably spend the remainder of the service mooning over her.

The casket closed with a dull thud and she felt herself jump slightly at the sound. She moved mechanically, following the crowd of people as they made to leave. Maybe she could blend in with them unnoticed and those dead eyes would lose sight of her.

---

It hadn't taken long before he'd convinced her to escort him out of the asylum once more. She'd agreed, but with the stipulation that it'd be done quickly and quietly this time. He didn't argue. She supposed she could have done so just as easily the first time around, avoiding bloodshed, if she'd just had gone through with it without a fuss.

What had followed was a rather lengthy stint of him coming in and out of her apartment at will, often staying the night and even conducting business over the phone in full earshot of her. One day, she'd come home with takeout and dessert to find him engaged in what she could only consider a kidnapping craft project, discarded letters cut from magazines and being glued to construction paper, the whole cliche topped off with a lunchbox of fingers in the fridge.

"See, Harl? The guy was already dead, it's not time sensitive. Plenty of time to eat and watch the movie, I can finish this after. Just push the box of Fred Fingers to the side and the cheesecake will fit." Both the Fred Fingers and cheesecake were gone by the next morning.

Though she wasn't aware of it at first, eventually a hat here, some socks there, and there was enough of Joker's laundry mixed with hers to fit in the top drawer. Which Harley emptied the moment she thought of it, feeling slightly drunk and giddy with the thought. Two of his purple trench coats, though different fabrics and shades of his signature purple, hung in the coat closet. One of his jester headed canes sat beneath, leaning against her vacuum.

Seeing his handguns casually out on a table or in a shoulder holster slung over the back of a chair was normal now and loose ammo cartridges were scattered around the apartment. Erring on the side of caution, she didn't move them, though she suspected it was less "strategic placement in case of attack" and more him emptying his pockets wherever he pleased. Appropriately, the Joker's belongings were home to a seemingly endless assortment of pill bottles, knives, and colorful "props" that she, as a rule, always considered dangerous.

They had meandering talks about everything and nothing, enjoying the constant stream of comedy that he played on the television. Relaxing on the couch, his head in her lap, her fingers brushing through his tousled curls as the smoke from their cigarettes curled around and up. She often snuggled against his chest in bed, her petite form enveloped by his long arms and his hands petting the back of her neck. At times, Harley had watched him sleep, marveling in the rare stillness of a face so often in motion.

She had to admit, she hadn't been this happy in years. It was so nice to have someone to come home to, even if it was sporadic.

And she noticed those eyes she had been so scared of following her home...they were strangely absent whenever he was around.

Harley brushed her teeth vigorously, taking note of his own purple toothbrush looking up at her. She shook her head in disbelief at the turn of events that had brought her here. It was such an innocuous thing, a toothbrush, but it was his and it was next to hers, something she doubted anyone else could ever claim.

The thought put a bounce in her step. She placed her own toothbrush in the holder next to his and skipped out of the bathroom to her bedroom.

"Well, someone's in a good mood tonight," he commented, looking up from his phone as she hopped into bed next to him.

"Why shouldn't I be?" She asked, melting into the sheets beneath her. "Life is good."

"Is it, cupcake?" He looked down at her suggestively, giving Harley that fluttery drop feeling in her stomach. "I know something that would make it even better."

Giving a blowjob was like riding a bike, Harley thought, falling quickly into the familiar movements with her tongue and lips. The Joker's cock was thick and long enough that she could only get a few inches after the head into her mouth at once, though he didn't seem to mind, petting and stroking her hair while murmuring words of affection and encouragement. She swirled her tongue around the soft skin near the slit, her left hand cupping and fondling his balls gently. Her right wrapped around the exposed length of shaft she couldn't fit in, her own fair complexion seeming like a deep tan next to his ever so lightly pink-tinged alabaster and tiny pulsing blue veins.

Though Harley was no stranger to giving head, she was surprised with how much more into it she was than with previous men, actually working herself up even with all her concentration on his pleasure.

And his were the only eyes she could see.

#jokerxharley #jhq #jarley #bad thing #fanfiction

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