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httpsfelicity · 4 years

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“In a black dress, she's such an actress” - Harry Styles × Model Reader AU

Summary - Harry meets a model downtown and falls for her quickly, leading the public to think that it’s a pr stunt. Unsure of what to think, the reader plays along, not knowing that Harry is unaware of the rumours.

For @cruizmanadu! Xx

A/N - Okay, this is my first official request type thing so please tell me if it’s good or not! Ignore any mistakes, thought I think I looked over it pretty well. Also, if you’d like a part 2 / have suggestions / ect, just send a DM or ask! Here you go babes, hope you like it x

“If I don’t get coffee right now, I’m going to pass out on this sidewalk, I swear,” moaned Ella.

“We’re almost there, calm down,” you responded as you adjusted the shopping bags in your hands quickly. You and your best friend Ella had decided to go out in NYC for the day, which of course meant loads of shopping. Hell, half of the bags you were carrying weren’t even yours - Ella had a shoot the next day, and insisted that she couldn’t carry her bags out of fear that she’d mark up her hands. So you were carrying enough bags to “Mark up your hands”, according to Ella. Which, to be fair, was quite unfair, because that girl shops a lot.

“Hey, can you take some of these, just until we get there? I’m getting kinda-”

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She lowered her voice and leaned in towards you. “Don’t look yet, keep walking, but some guy is totally checking you out.”

You sighed. “How could the paps have found us? I thought we covered our tracks nicel-”

She cut you off once again. “No, no, not a pap. This guy, he’s, well - okay, look to your left riiiight... now.”

You quickly glanced over to see a guy in his 20′s wearing a multicoloured knit sweater with messy brown hair, looking in your general direction. He quickly looked away when he saw you. You looked away, which was unfortunate, because you would’ve seen him gathering up the courage to walk over to you two.

"He's pretty fit," you whispered back quickly. "Do you think he recognizes me?" It sounds very stuck up, but often times people tried to hit on you solely because you model for the big brands, so you had to be careful. Being in the industry had a lot of pros, but a lot of cons as well. Not knowing who your real friends are were one of the cons.

"I'm not sure," Ella replied.

Just then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and saw that you were face to face with the boy.

"Hello," he started nervously. He had a charming British accent, you noticed right away.

"Hi!" You replied, waiting for him to say something totally obnoxious or fan-like.

"This probably sounds weird, but I couldn't help but notice you."

"Oh, why thank you!" You laughed. "He doesn't seem too creepy or weird or stalker-ish," you thought to yourself.

"Yeah, so, um... This is weird as well, I'm sorry, but could I get your number?" He smiled weakly.

"No, absolutely not," said Ella, grabbing you by the arm and starting to drag you away. "C'mon."

She only walked a few feet until you broke away and went back over to him. "I'm sorry about that - of course you can."

His nervous expression eased away the tiniest bit. "Oh, that's great."

He handed you his phone, and you typed in you number."

***-****-****

"I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Styles."

"Oh! I'm y/n."

"Why does that sound familiar?"

"I work in the modeling industry. You might have heard of me from that?"

"I should've known you were a model - you've definitely got the looks. And I'm sure the personality as well."

You grinned.

"I'm a singer," he continued. "I used to be in a band - now I'm solo. So that's one thing we have in common, I guess. Well, not really. You know what I mean."

"You're right!" You laughed. "He's pretty easy to talk to," you thought. Even though you didn't want to, you could feel Ella staring at the back of your neck impatiently, so you decided to wrap up the conversation. "Well, I've got to go, but you'll message me later, yeah?"

"Of course," he nodded. "Well, goodbye for now, y/n."

"Goodbye, Harry Styles."

"What was that?!" Ella asked once he was out of earshot.

"What? He's polite and cute. Of course I have him my number!"

"He could be a creepy obsessive fan! Or a perv! Or a crackhead! He's just some random guy on the streets, for all we know!"

"Would you calm down? He's so nice - I just know he wouldn't do that. Plus, that sweater is awfully expensive. Almost 2k."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Okay, sure."

"Oh, and he's a singer."

Ella snapped her head to look at you, clearly very shocked by this statement. "He's what?"

"A singer, apparently."

"What's his name?"

"Harry Styles."

"Oh. My. God. My friend had a shoot with him once! He's popular, y/n. Really popular."

"God, you sound like a middle-schooler."

"I'm just sayin'! But now that I know this information, I've changed my opinion on him. GO FOR IT."

"I was already planning on it," you laugh, walking past a group of starstruck thirteen year olds quickly. "Although I'm not so sure. I didn't get his number - it's up to him to message me."

"He'd better," Ella replied as the two of you walked into a local café. You nodded in agreement, and you both walked up the the register to order.

The rest of the day was a blur - you went to a few more stores, and then eventually hailed a cab and went back to your apartment. You were so exhausted that you kicked off your shoes and flopped into your couch, too tired to even eat. As you lie there, you felt your phone vibrate in you pocket. Reluctantly, you pulled it out slowly, and clicked it on.

***-****-**** - Hello.

Your first though was, "It's Harry!" Your second thought was, "That's a very ominous introduction." Nonetheless, you typed up a response.

Y/n <3 - Who's this?

***-****-**** - Harry, from earlier hahah x

You let out a sigh of relief - he had messaged you back, and it hadn't been some rando. Things were working out nicely.

Y/n <3 - Well, hello!

While you were waiting for a response, you set his contact name up. You hadn't gotten a photo of him yet, so you decided one from Google would do. You typed up "Harry Styles", and the search results shocked you. Ella was right - he was popular. And cute (But you already knew that.) You got a notification from him, so you screenshotted the first photo to come up (Him in a very nice pink top), set it as his photo, and then went back onto messages.

Harry Styles - Hi! I'm sorry if the whole encounter earlier was creepy. Your friend seemed quite worked up over it.

Y/n <3 - She's had bad experiences like this in the past.

Harry Styles - I've had quite a few myself, honestly. Don't blame her. Anyways, how are you?

Y/n <3 - Exhausted. All that walking must've worn me out, hahaha

Harry Styles - Hahah, that's New York for ya.

Harry Styles - Would you happen to be free tomorrow?

Harry Styles - I'd love to get to know you.

You grinned at your phone screen. This could not be happening.

Y/n <3 - Nope! Free all day. I'd love to get to know you too!

Harry Styles - Does 1pm at the Beachwood Café work? :)

He sent a location along with it. It was the same café you and Ella had gone to earlier.

Y/n <3 - Sure!

Harry Styles - Alright, talk then?

Y/n <3 - Yes!

Harry Styles - Goodnight.

Y/n <3 - Goodnight!

Seen - 11:34pm.

The next day you woke up at 10 so you would have time to get ready. You got a quick shower, did you hair, makeup... By 12:30 you were dressed and ready to go. Casual, but not too casual was what you were going for. You were pretty sure you had the look down pat. You grabbed your stuff and made your way downtown, sunglasses on.

You arrived early, 12:48pm, but luckily Harry was already there, waiting at a table near the back with two menus. He waved once he saw you, and jumped up to pull out your chair.

"Hello," you smiled.

"Hi!"

"I adore your outfit," you said as you sat down. He was now wearing a white and blue striped shirt and tan jeans. Somehow he made it work.

"I love yours as well! The skirt brings out your eyes."

You tried hard not to blush. "Thank you!"

"So, I guess we should start getting to know eachother, then?" He grinned.

You nodded. "20 questions?"

"Sure. Full name?"

"Y/n."

"Harry Edward Styles."

"I like that middle name. Very sophisticated." He laughed at this. "Age?"

"26."

"23."

"Favourite movie?"

"Clueless."

"Back To The Future."

You continued asking questions until the waiter came over to your table.

"I'll have the chicken sub," he said politely.

"I'll have a medium lemonade."

"Is that it?" Harry asked.

You sighed. "And a blueberry muffin, I guess."

The waiter wrote it down and walked off.

"I'm on a diet," you explained.

"Still," Harry shrugged. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I started modeling at about age 8, for this clothing bran-"

"No no no, I meant about you."

You gave him a confused look.

"Not about your job, you!"

"Okay, well, let's see... Uh..."

"I'm 26, but you already knew that. I live in New York, obviously. I used to work in a bakery, even though I just told you not to talk about your job. I like playing football, I write, and I enjoy baking bread. See? Easy."

You laughed. Why did he have to be so... Charming?

"I'm 23, but you already knew that. I've lived in New York my whole life. I read a lot, and I mean a lot. I have a ton of plants in my apartment, since I can't really have a garden here. I like Taylor Swift's music."

Harry nodded. "See? That wasn't so bad."

You laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Just then the waiter placed the food on the table, and you took a sip of your lemonade while Harry dug into his sub.

"I dated Taylor for a pr stunt once."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She got a few songs, I got a new story to tell during interviews."

"Oh. Did you like her?"

"Nah."

You laughed again. "Oh, my."

"Yeah. I haven't had many actual relationships. 3."

"I haven't had any."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Not many guys are interested. Or, well, interested in me, you know?"

"I find that hard to believe."

You tried not to blush once again as you took a sip of your lemonade.

"Well, it's true."

"Personally, I think you're great."

"You are too!"

The two of you continue eating. After two minutes, Harry speaks up.

"Want to go back to my apartment and watch a movie? In a non weird way, of course."

"Okay, that sounds good. Which movie?"

"Clueless?" He winked.

You grinned. "Of course."

You get up and walk out into the streets of New York, leaving your blueberry muffin on the table.

The walk to Harry's is very short. You two talk the whole way there, mainly small talk, but it isn’t awkward at all. You feel like you can be yourself around him - whatever that means. To put it into words, you feel comfortable around him. Which is weird, because you just met him a day ago, but it feels right for some reason.

Eventually you arrived at the door to his apartment. While he was busy digging his key out of his pocket, you took a glance up and down the hallway. This place was much fancier than you had expected. It made your apartment complex look cheap. Everything seemed so... posh. Harry pushed open the door, and you stepped inside. His apartment was decorated with art; albums of artists you’ve never even heard of were hung on the walls, and potted plants were everywhere. It was messy, but in an organized way.

“I just need to run to the washroom, make yourself at home,” he said as he kicked off his shoes.

“Alright,” you replied. You put your coat on a coat rack (Obviously) and walked over to the couch. Unsure of what to do, you decided to check twitter. After a few seconds of contemplating if checking your phone right now was rude or not, you decided to turn on your data and do it, since he was in the bathroom and you were bored. You looked over you shoulder, then hit the trending page. Politics, Ariana Grande - she must be releasing a new album - #TGIF, and... Harry Styles? Without thinking twice, you click on it. Immediately, photos of you and him pop up from when you were walking back to his place. That was only a few minutes ago... how did these photos get out so soon?

“You ready?” Harry asked as he entered the room, holding up a DVD case with an excited look on his face.

“Yep,” you said, putting down your phone. A second later, you picked it back up. “Did you see twitter?”

“No, I don’t go on social media much,” he replied as he popped the disc into his bluray player.

“You’re trending.”

“Cool.”

“No, I mean... we got papped on the way back here. Look.” You turned the phone so he could see it.

He took a glance at the screen, then grabbed a remote and flopped onto the couch next to you. “It doesn’t really bother me. Happens far too often. I mean, unless you have a problem with it. I can get them taken down, if you’d like.” Suddenly, his usual relaxed self has replaced with a worried one.

You shook your head. “No, no, I... just letting you know. I don’t care. Besides, I didn’t see many people talking about it, just sharing the photos.”

“Oh, well, if you change your mind, just let me know,” he concluded as he turned on the TV.

You nodded, and then focused on Cher Horowitz on the screen. You didn’t watch much of the movie, because you and Harry kept on cracking jokes and telling stories, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Eventually, it was time for you to leave, since it was nearly 5pm.

“Do you want me to walk you back? Or, I could call you a cab,” Harry asked as you slipped on your shoes.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“No, no, I’ll walk you back,” he insisted as he grabbed his coat.

You weren’t about to argue with him, because, let’s face it, you secretly wanted him to walk you home. So you followed him out the door and to the elevator.

You talked the whole way there, but you were distracted just a tiny bit - you wanted to keep an eye out for paps. Eventually you decided that it was difficult and pointless, so you fully engaged yourself in Harry’s conversation on how to make a mean loaf of bread.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your place.

“Well, this is it,” you grinned sadly.

Harry nodded. “I’ll message you later?”

“Of course. We have to do this again, you know.”

Harry smiled wide. “Sure. I’d love that.”

“Well... goodbye, Harry.”

He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, y/n.”

You stared back at him, starstruck, but he turned and started walking down the hall before you could say anything. “Love ya!” You called out quickly before you shut the door behind you, unsure if he even heard you. Oh, well. He’d message you later, anyways.

You were quite hungry by this point, so you decided to order Chinese food off of Postmates. Once that call was made, you sat down and opened Twitter again. You noticed that you had way more notifications than usual, but you decided that could wait until after you checked the trending topics once more. “Harry Styles” was still trending, but even more surprisingly, “Y/n” was right underneath it. You decided to hit Harry’s topic first - MORE pap photos came up, this time from when you were walking home. Wow.

“We do look like a proper couple.” You thought, though you quickly shook it. You’d just met - although you know what they say, “Love at first sight” and all that crap.But no.

You decided to scroll down even further, past all of the photos and to the actual tweets.

@Harryscherry77: Is @ yn Harry’s new girlfriend? If so, she’s soooooo lucky.

@Y/nsclouds: Why is y/n being papped with Harry Styles? She can do much better. His music isn’t even that good.

@Lightsuplouisx: I ship it, tbh {Insert photo here}

@TaylorxxxTea: Oh cute, another pr stunt :/ #HarryStyles IsOverParty

@GalacticY/N26: Ugh, Harry? Really? I’m seriously gonna unstan Y/n, I’ve been considering it but this is just the last straw for me.

@HarryIsUpAllNight: Did you guys know the girl Harry was papped with is a model? She’s absolutely gorgeous, I wouldn’t doubt it.

@Stylesfangirl49: Y/n is honestly so ugly. #RunHarryRun

@SummertimeNewsOfficial: Has Harry Styles been spotted with yet another woman, months after his breakup with Camille? {Insert Link Here}

@Larry2020xxx: Another beard LMAOOO c’mon. PR STUNTTTT.

@Lola33smith: They haven’t even been confirmed dating yet, calm downnnnn.

“Wow,” you thought as you continued scrolling. “This is not what I was expecting.”

It seemed like the whole internet had something to say about a few lousy pictures of you and H. There was good and bad, though it felt like the bad outweighed the good. An alarming amount of people seemed to think it was a pr stunt. Wow. Your notifications weren’t much better - loads of people had followed you, dm’ed you, called you worthless, called you amazing. It was a lot to handle. Just then the doorbell rang - your Postmates. How long had you been looking through all of that? It didn’t matter now. You went to get your food, then sat back down and began to text Harry. Suddenly, you stopped. If he got so worried about the first set of photos, not to mention you walking home by yourself, how would he react to this? He had said he doesn’t go on social media much, so you figured that as long as you didn’t tell him, it would all blow over quick enough and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. You didn’t want to stress him out. Instead, to take your mind off of this chaotic day you turned on The Office and tried to regain a sense of normalcy.

Although the more you thought about it, the less and less you wanted Harry to message you.

“PR stunt.”

EDIT: CHAPTER TWO IS NOW OUT! CLICK HERE

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 15

Catch up on Chapter 14 here

You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

You’re missing your best friend like crazy.

Word count: ~3.3k

A/N: I can’t believe there’s only two chapters left after this! Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who’s taken the time to read this, and endless thank you’s to everyone who has reached out with feedback ❤️

Chapter Fifteen September 2019

Fall in California doesn’t look the same as it does in Michigan, but you wish it did. Although you’re glad winters here only involve mild weeks in the fifties and sixties, you do miss the atmosphere of gray, rainy September days, leaves shriveling up and falling off of the trees, and changing out your wardrobe into something cozier. Sure, the pumpkin spice trend is still active, but pumpkin spice lattes don’t taste the same with eighty degree temperatures and the shining sun.

Maybe you’re homesick because you’re desperate for your surroundings to match your insides.

Van wasn’t kidding about the band’s workload this month. You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

You had been so naive. So, so, fucking naive. And September was absolute torture to prove it. And it would feel much, much better to slog through this month on rainy sidewalks crusted with damp leaves, a crisp breeze trying to sneak through the seams of your coat.

But instead the world just spins on, leaving you behind. September is a new beginning for many people, who gladly chatter about it everywhere they go. UCLA students are starting to return to the area, bouncing around in their backpacks with iced coffees, and at work your co-workers are returning from their eventful summers refreshed and ready to end the year with a bang. There are back-to-school sales on everything, from spin classes to puppies in a petstore window, and the happier everyone is about the new season the more alone you feel.

Because that’s a great way to sum up how you feel, really: alone. It was the fucking worst. You’d never been someone who had a problem being alone! You’d purposely decided to live alone; you had practically skipped for joy down the sidewalks when you’d broken up with your last boyfriend. You had a nice friend group with the other girls at work, and of course you had Mary, so what else could an independent woman like you need? Certainly not a boyfriend or a girlfriend to make you feel fulfilled. Things wouldn’t even be different if Van was your boyfriend, you try to convince yourself. He’d still be busy. You’d still be rooted in L.A.. You’d still be just as depressed as you are right now.

You don’t believe that one bit.

Got that reservation, Van texts you one night after a rare phone call. You’d asked him to try and get Mary and Theo a table for their anniversary, and apparently he’d pulled through. You beam to yourself as he sends another text with the reservation information, and then decide to give Mary a call.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Is Mary’s greeting. “Has Van kidnapped you?”

You don’t have the heart to tell her it’s the opposite, actually. You’re so trapped in your lonely self-pity you don’t really have the energy or desire to socialize with others right now. In your heart right now, it’s Van or bust.

“Maybe,” You joke, although you feel like you don’t sound very convincing. “Speaking of Van, he might happen to have a reservation next week that he can’t make…” You grin as your voice trails off, “And maybe he accidentally made the reservation under your name?”

Mary audibly gasps down the line. “He got us a table?” She squeals, but you can hear she’s trying to hold back her excitement until she knows for sure.

“I might have called in a favor from him,” You laugh as you listen to Mary’s excitement at your confirmation.

“He is an absolute angel,” She gushes. “You need to marry him, like, now.”

You’re sure that this time your laugh definitely sounds hollow. You’ve never admitted your love for Van, even though Mary questions you about it regularly and never seems convinced with your denials. While you usually tell her everything, your feelings for Van have always felt like a giant bruise, something best not exposed. You don’t think you could stand the teasing, or Mary’s typical meddling. And right now, considering your heart is one oozing wound, you’re thankful for your own secret-keeping.

“I just wanted to let you know,” You start to wind down the conversation. Your phone has pinged with another text from Van, and you don’t want to waste this opportunity to catch up with him. “I’ll screenshot the reservation stuff and text you.”

“Tell Van I said thank you! We said thank you. Like, seriously. He’s amazing.”

You two say goodbye and you relay the message to Van over text, before responding to the message he’d just sent. Sam Fender’s album was out tomorrow, and there would be a huge bash at his Hollywood house the following weekend, which the band wouldn’t be in the States to attend. Van was clearly bummed about the whole thing, and you were too. You wonder if Sam and his friends remembered you from the party, or if you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You wish there was a way for you to reach out to him and congratulate him.

Get your cheque yet? Van asks when the conversation about Sam has run its course.

Right. The insurance check. Yup, you respond, frowning to yourself in dismay. A whole $5,000. Yippee.

You couldn’t believe that’s all you’d received from the insurance debacle. You’d purchased the car for $12,000 from a dealer, worked your ass to pay it off over the years, and now the insurance company had awarded you less than half of the cost of the car to somehow give you the means to buy a new one. And it’d be almost impossible to find something in good shape for that price that was also an automatic, because you grew up in Michigan, where people were not obsessed with driving stick shifts.

Least you’ve got the rover.

Right. The Range Rover. The one scrap of Van you could cling to during this awful time.

The next time you have to pass that stupid petshop with their stupidly cute puppies in the window on your walk back to the office after lunch, you decide to send a pic to Van: Yes or no to me getting a puppy.

Which one?

Holy fuck, he responded in less than twelve hours. It’s your lucky day.

I’m thinking that little fuzzy gray one.

I’d be supremely jealous. He’s cute and I love dogs.

Van is a terrible influence. You’re ashamed to admit you stall in front of the window for longer than necessary, looking at the little gray puppy with the pointed ears bounce around in the playpen before forcing yourself to move along. A puppy would probably be good for you, honestly, but that’s not a decision you should make on impulse.

Miss you, says another text from Van. Then another: Might be in town on Tuesday? Fingers crossed the flights work out.

Unfortunately, they do not.

The flights do, however, work out for Thursday. That’s a fact you only discover after coming home from work and heading into your bedroom to change, only to trip over two rolling suitcases and realize there’s a Van-sized lump sleeping in your bed.

“What’re you doing?” Van mumbles, peeking his head out from under the blankets as you swear up a storm.

“What are you doing?” You shout, your toes throbbing. You’d accidentally kicked one of his rolling suitcases across the bedroom hardwood, and your toes were aching from the impact. On its way across the bedroom that suitcase had bumped the other, causing it to fall like a domino. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

A slow grin spreads over Van’s face. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“By making my room an obstacle course?” You huff, lifting the fallen suitcase upright and rolling both of them out of the way into a corner.

Van’s sleepy state inhibits him from arguing, and he tucks his head back under the comforter.

“God, you scared the shit out of me,” You continue, your adrenaline still pumping from the fright and the pain. “I regret making you a key. I want it back.”

“Shut up,” Comes Van’s muffled voice.

“You shut up,” You bite back, but as the throbbing in your toes die down your irritation is replaced with the realization that this is reality, that Van is actually in your fucking bed at this moment. “I missed you,” You announce suddenly, your voice a lot softer.

Van peeks his head out again. His hair is a ruffled, oily mess as he beams at you. “I missed you more.”

“Bet you didn’t. Bet you forgot about me while you were doing cool band stuff.”

“Oh, did I? Wonder who I was texting Sam about, then.”

At this your jaw drops. “You did what?”

“I told him I was sorry I was leaving town tomorrow, and you said congratulations. And he asked how you were. Bond and him wanna do a celebratory pub night down in Newcastle.”

“No fair!” You pout, stomping your foot like a child. “You’re gonna celebrate without me?”

“Get your passport!” Van cries, throwing one of his arms up in exasperation before flopping back down on the bed. “Come with us!”

Getting your passport is a pain you’re reluctant to go through. You sigh. Maybe you’d try during the holidays back in Michigan, where the lines at the post office weren’t practically out the door everyday. Even if things with Van are over by then, Mary’s been trying to talk you into an overseas vacation for a while.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” You decide to narrow in on that fact, pushing passport thoughts aside.

“Tomorrow night,” Van confirms. “Drop me off after work?”

“Of course.” If you only had him for these twenty-four hours, you were gonna milk every second you had.

Van is completely wiped from touring, and spends his entire time at your place in the same sweats. He gets out of bed the next morning to shower and have a cup of coffee with you, but other than that he’s glued to the mattress, getting some much-needed rest.

But even when he’s tired, Van is fun to be around. When you’re exhausted from work it means that your job has sapped every last bit of joy from you, leaving you without any desire to be creative, go out with friends, or try to be in a good mood. With Van, it’s like he would keep going if his body allowed him. He talks about tour fondly, still expresses excitement about starting on the new album, and still manages to pluck at your guitar from his nesting spot in bed. He’s the same Van; the only difference is the constant yawning and the way the lines around his eyes are more defined. Oh, and the lack of energy for any fooling around.

That last part doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re on your way home from the airport. You were so content just to have him around that you totally forgot how much you’d been using your vibrator lately.

But even with how content you were for that blissful twenty-four hours, as soon as you’ve stepped in the door to your empty house the aching in your heart returns. In your time apart all the little details about Van had gone fuzzy in your mind; his scent on your pillow, how it takes a cup of coffee in the morning for his voice to stop cracking. But remembering them makes everything sting with a vengeance, and you’re left feeling shittier than you have all month.

There’s been a nagging feeling creeping around the edges of your brain like a fog, and as much as you’ve been trying to deny it, it’s hard tonight. It’s just that everything with Van has started to hurt, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to go away. His schedule over the summer was flexible, but even after this intense bout of touring he’d be busy with recording. And then the band would be vigorously promoting and touring that album, and so on, forever, because Van would never stop making music, you were sure of that.

The tears well up in your eyes even thinking about not having him around. Despite your crushing adoration for him, he really is your best friend, and the idea of losing his friendship makes your heart clench in agony, the tears spilling over. But it’s not really a fair friendship when only one of you is crying about it, is it? Van doesn’t have to hurt like this, because his heart isn’t invested in you like yours is in him.

You allow yourself an indulgent self-pity cry as you make your bed, rumpled from Van’s napping, and climb in. You figure if you’re going to have a pity party for yourself you might as well do it right, and switch your pillow out for his so you can smell the smoke he leaves everywhere he goes. You know that as happy as you are when he’s around, there’s no way you can keep crying over someone when leaving is as much of their job as sending emails is to yours.

That’s why when Van pops in for another impromptu visit the following Tuesday, you’re not as happy to see him as you usually would be. It’s the same way that the idea of next morning’s hangover can ruin a night out, except with Van there’s no magical way to handicap your brain from thinking about the future.

The sex comes close, though. As soon as you two get to your place after picking him up he tosses his backpack aside before cornering you against the front door.

“I fucking missed you,” He practically growls in your ear, and holy fuck it’s been so long. You two rush for the bedroom, peeling off clothes as you go. Van is too impatient to worry about unbuttoning his shirt and simply peels it over his head, while you unclasp your own bra to avoid the delay. Before you know it you’re on your back, the blankets falling away from Van’s shoulders as he thrusts into you with all he’s got, your headboard banging against the wall so loudly you almost worry about damaging it. When you come it’s intensely satisfying, and you pull Van’s hair ridiculously hard to prove it. In retaliation he bites down on your shoulder as he comes, the same as he did the first time you ever slept with him.

The whole world feels right for that magical half hour, and then as you both lay on your backs trying to process what’s happened it all starts to shift again.

“When are you leaving, again?” You ask the ceiling, your voice stiff.

“Thursday morning,” He croaks. “Gotta get to Salt Lake City.”

You start to roll yourself up, heading for the bathroom. “Right.”

You feel Van’s body tense under the sheets next to you. “You alright?”

“Yup,” You tell him, emerging from the bed. You’re not convincing in the slightest, and Van can clearly tell. You don’t give him time to question you before leaving the bedroom.

“What’d I do?” You startle when you hear Van’s footsteps following behind you to the bathroom.

“Nothing.” You almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

Van hasn’t even bothered to throw boxers on, leaning in the bathroom doorway with his softening dick on display. He sighs. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You’re actually craving the fuck out of a cigarette, but you’d rather just go to bed and have this night be over with. Maybe tomorrow you’d be more able to enjoy Van’s presence, rather than pouting over how it’s rapidly coming to an end as soon as it began. “I’m fine,” You tell him. Your voice sounds less sharp and more resigned. It wasn’t his fault, after all.

Van shakes his head. He uses the toilet when you’re done, tosses on the sweatpants he had rolled in his backpack, and heads out onto the porch alone.

In his absence you scold yourself for acting like this. What the fuck were you doing? Ruining the two nights you had him, because of something that wasn’t anybody’s fault? You remake the bed, mentally giving yourself a stern talking to.

“You wanna talk about what’s wrong now?” Van’s voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You insist again, but your voice betrays you.

“Something is,” Van argues. “I’ve been watching you fluff that pillow for ages.”

At his words you realize your hands are still gripping the corner of your pillowcase, and you unclench your fists.

Van steps into the room, and to your mortification you feel your eyes heat up with warm tears.

“It’s been a long day,” You lie. It’s been a long fucking summer. “And I’m PMSing.”

Van frowns in sympathy, starting to climb back into bed. “Need a cuddle?”

A cuddle sounds like the equivalent of doing an entire round of shots by yourself when you’re already dreading the hangover.

“Yeah,” You sniff. “I do.”

On Thursday morning Van gets you up even earlier than your alarm clock, one of his hands nudging your thighs apart. You expect him to get on top of you once you’re more fully awake, yawning and wiggling around to get more comfortable, but instead you feel his calloused fingertip press against your entrance.

“Oh,” You sigh in surprise as he slips into you, searching out your good spots by touch alone. When he slips a second finger in, angling himself right, you clench down on instinct. “Yeah,” You breathe, blinking up at him sleepily. He’s watching your face intently, and if you were even slightly more awake you’d be horrifically self conscious. “You got it right.”

You can’t remember the last time you were fingered as the entree of the sex, rather than the appetizer. It’s appallingly intimate to have Van’s face so close to yours, breathing in any noises you make and watching every slight expression change in the darkness of your room. You’re also appalled at how you’ve been completely robbed of his talents; he can sense exactly where you’re throbbing for him, your clit twitching against the pad of his thumb when he applies pressure right where your body has been screaming for it. It barely takes any time with his thumb working in tiny circles and his fingers pressing into you hard before you’re gasping for air, drowning under the waves of your orgasm that feels like it’s radiating from both areas, whimpering Van’s name helplessly.

As soon as you’re flinching from his touch he pulls his hand away, his fingers slipping into his mouth so he can clean them off.

“Holy shit.” Your lungs are still desperate for air, but you haul him in for a sloppy kiss, paying no attention to the taste of yourself on his tongue. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Van lets out a deep, throaty laugh at that, but you’re already pushing him backwards so that he’s laying flat. You’re way too sensitive for sex, but you jerk him off and let him come on the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, as a treat.

After you drop him off at the airport, both of you looking slightly disheveled due to having to rush to get ready, you sigh to yourself in the empty car. You hated how weak you were when it came to him. One minute you’re convincing yourself you need to stop hanging around him, and the next you’re telling yourself there is absolutely no way you can give up the best sex you’ve ever had.

It was quite the conundrum.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #van mccann #catb #catb fic #vanfic #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction #Catfish and the Bottlemen

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kerikaaria · 4 years

Text

If I Never Met You: Chapter 15

(??? X Reader) Idol!AU, Manager!Reader

Genre: (PG13) It’s fluff. Almost pure fluff.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: None

Series Masterlist

Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

I knew Sejin told me not to work today, but there was something I absolutely had to do. I took one of the company vehicles to the broadcasting company to pay them my daily visit. Ever since I received the phone call two weeks ago, I made sure I stopped by here every single day.

By this point, the security didn’t bother checking my identity or asking my business before letting me through, being all too familiar with my face. I entered the elevators and pressed the floor number of where the office I needed to visit was. Although I insisted on stopping by every day to show my persistence that I wouldn’t give up, I still followed the courtesy of asking the receptionist outside to let her know I was here so I didn’t just barge in. She had yet to invite me in, but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

However, today was a different case. Today I had something up my sleeve. When I walked up to the receptionist, she was already preparing to dial the number for Mrs. Choi, the woman I had been in contact with regarding the boys’ debut. But I stopped her before she dialed.

“Hello, good afternoon.” I said to her with a smile on my face.

“Hello,” she responded. “Yes, I know who you’re here for, miss. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Could you please remind her to check her e-mail if she hasn’t yet today?” I asked.

She gave me a bit of a curious look, but dialed the number and relayed my message to her, nonetheless. As usual, once she finished the call, she told me that Mrs. Choi was busy and couldn’t see me right now. I bowed and said goodbye with a smile as I walked to the elevators to go back to the main lobby. I decided to wait downstairs for a little bit today, just in case.

I sat waiting for a good while before I got a phone call from Jimin.

“Yes, Jimin? What do you need?” I answered.

“Are you not home, noona?” he asked.

“No, I’m not. Why?”

“We had knocked on your door but you didn’t respond so we got worried,” he replied.

I chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just had somewhere I needed to go.”

“Didn’t hyung tell you not to work today?”

“Who says I’m working?”

“Noona,” Jimin said as if he was a parent reprimanding his child.

“Wait, (Y/n)’s working?” I could hear Jin in the background, followed by some shuffling noises. “Yah, what do you think you’re doing?” he definitely took the phone from Jimin.

“Fine, fine. It’s related to work,” I admitted. “But I promise, it was only one place. And I have a good feeling about this one.”

“You better come home now,” Jin warned.

“You’re not my dad,” I responded, laughing. “I’ll be here just for a little bit then I’m going home. Just trust me okay?”

He sighed into the phone. “I’ll give you one hour, but then you have to be home, okay?”

“Okay, I get it. I’m really wondering who’s managing who right now,” I said, chuckling. “I promise I’ll leave in an hour if I don’t hear anything, okay?”

“Good. I’ll see you then, honey,” Jin blew me a kiss through the phone.

“See ya, Jin,” I responded, not wanting to be pretend flirty in public.

Just as I hung up the phone, someone walked over to me.

“(L/n) (Y/n)-shi?” the well-dressed woman addressed me.

“Yes?” I responded.

“She was hoping you were still here,” the woman said. “Mrs. Choi said she has some time to see you.”

I smiled. “Great, thank you.” I was glad I decided to stick around.

I made my way back home, dropping off the company vehicle I borrowed on the way. I didn’t even bother entering my own apartment before knocking on the boys’ door.

Jin answered the door and looked at the time. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet. I expected you to take two.”

“I can’t stay out past the curfew that my darling sets for me, now can I?” I responded, patting him on his shoulder and making him laugh.

“But seriously, we didn’t think you’d be back so quickly since you seemed determined to work today,” Namjoon added from where he sat on the couch.

I noticed that they put the room back in order while I was out. “Is everyone here?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re all home. Why?” Taehyung asked from the kitchen, his mouth full of food.

“Because I wanted to talk with you guys,” I said as I threw myself down next to Namjoon.

“Hyungs! Jungkook!” Taehyung called loudly. “Noona wants to talk to us!”

“That’s one way to gather everyone, I guess,” I chuckled.

The rest of them filed into the living room one by one shortly after.

“What’s up, noona?” Jimin asked as he was the last one to enter the room.

I just smiled as I pulled out my phone to call Sejin. “I need to say this in front of everyone,” I said, putting my phone on speaker.

“Hello?” he answered the phone.

“Hey, oppa,” I responded. “I have something I wanted to tell you.”

“Noona decided to work today, even though you told her not to!” Jungkook said into the phone.

“(Y/n), I told you to save your energy so we could work hard starting tomorrow,” Sejin replied.

“Jungkook, you’re such a brat,” I joked, poking his chest. “But seriously, oppa it was only for a little bit. It only took about an hour or so, I promise. And, something good came out of it,” I sing-songed the last part.

“Oh?” Sejin sounded interested.

“I went down to the broadcasting company again,” I said.

“You’ve been doing that every day, haven’t you?” Sejin asked.

“Well, yeah.” I looked at Jimin as I said, “But I had a weapon this time.”

“And that would be?”

“A dance practice video. And I also took some screenshots of their twitter to show how many followers and interactions they had for good measure. I sent them to her in an e-mail this morning before I went to see her.”

I watched Jimin’s face light up in realization at why I asked for the video.

“And did she see you this time?” Sejin asked.

“Not at first,” I said. “But I decided to wait in the lobby and someone told me to go see her not too much later.”

“So?” Hoseok asked from his spot beside me, anticipation in his voice.

“What did she say, noona?” Yoongi’s face looked really hopeful.

“She said she forwarded it to her boss right after she saw it,” I replied. “And he got back to her not too long after I went up to try to see her.”

I could see delicate expectation on the faces around me, almost looking like they were silently praying that I was going to say what they wanted to hear the most.

“Okay, stop leaving us in suspense, noona,” Namjoon said. “Just tell us already.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, chuckling. “She said he liked what he saw and he wanted to put you guys back in for a debut showcase on June 13th!”

“Really?!” multiple voices rang out.

“Wait, (Y/n), are you serious?” Sejin said through the phone.

“Yes, I’m serious! We got the date back!” I said triumphantly.

“Noona, you’re amazing!” Hoseok squeezed me tightly.

“And she promised me that they’re not going to turn back on us again. She said she’d send the necessary paperwork to Bang PD-nim today, so I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough too,” I said. Everyone was cheering and talking excitedly around me, so I had to bring my phone to my ear to hear Sejin.

“Wow, (Y/n). That really is amazing,” he said. “Just yesterday, we decided we had to break the news to the boys, and then today you work some magic and get them back on track.”

“I have Jimin to thank for that,” I said, trying to get said boy’s attention. “He showed me a recording of their dance practice this morning and I was just thinking of how impressive they looked, so it gave me the idea that they should see it. I thought maybe, if they saw how good they looked and just how ready they were to debut, it might make them want to give us a chance.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that sooner,” Sejin said. “But, at least we’re back in for the same date and everything is as it was.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how it didn’t cross my mind before,” I replied.

“(Y/n), I love you,” Jin said in English with a dramatic flair as he gave me a bear hug.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to the boys,” Sejin said as he chuckled. “And wonderful job, (Y/n). I’m so glad that you stayed with us.”

“Me too, oppa,” I said with a smile before he hung up.

“Hyung, stop hogging noona,” Jimin whined. “I want to hug her too!”

Jin sighed as he let go of me, and in the next second Jimin slid onto my lap, hugging me tightly. “Noona, you’re the best manager ever,” he said, placing a quick kiss on my cheek.

I giggled. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, but I like to think I’m doing a decent job.”

“Noona, jjang!” Namjoon said, ruffling my hair.

Hoseok decided to give me a peck on my temple. “We need to do something to repay you for what you did for us today, noona.”

“That’s not necessary, Hobi,” I replied. “I just did my job.”

“Now you’re the one who’s hogging noona, Jimin-ah,” Namjoon laughed from beside me.

“Okay, okay,” Jimin said as he reluctantly climbed off my lap.

I gave both Namjoon and Hobi tight hugs before standing up. I decided to find Jungkook and found him standing a bit away from everyone else, with tears falling down his cheeks. I didn’t hesitate to pull him into a hug as I stroked his hair.

“Thank you so much, noona,” he said in between difficult breaths. “I’m so happy we have you, and that we’re still going to debut.”

“Of course, Kookie,” I responded. “You know I’d do anything for you guys.” I placed a soft kiss on his head while he started to calm himself down. “I just wish I would have thought of it sooner so we didn’t need to trouble you with knowing in the first place.”

“I’m glad you did tell us, though,” Yoongi said. I hadn’t realized he was standing right behind me. “I know you and hyung didn’t want us to worry, but I’d rather know that it happened than to be clueless that there was ever a problem.”

I let go of Kook since he had calmed down, and to my surprise, Yoongi actually held his arms open for me to hug him. I didn’t hesitate to do so, afraid he’d change his mind any second.

“Suga hyung is giving hugs!” Jimin yelled from across the room. He rushed over to hug his hyung from behind.

“Yah, I’m only giving noona a hug because she earned it,” Yoongi said. He tried to act annoyed, but he was definitely smiling at his younger brother.

“How does one earn a hug from you, hyung?” Hobi asked.

“Only noona can,” he replied.

“Well, that’s favoritism,” Jin chuckled.

“Noona, can’t I have a hug too?” Tae appeared next to me with a pout.

“Of course, Taetae,” I said as I let go of Yoongi and spread my arms open. “Come here.”

He hugged me tight. “We love you noona.”

“I love you guys, too,” I said as I patted his back.

“Well,” Jin said, “I think I’ll repay (Y/n) in the way I know best – with my cooking.”

“Yes!” I said as I let go of Taehyung. “I love your cooking, Jin. You have to teach me how to cook more Korean food.”

“Next time, (Y/n),” Jin replied. “I’m not letting you do any work today since this is a treat for you.”

“Hyung, you’re making enough for all of us, right?” Jimin asked.

“Of course!” he was quick to reply. “Today is a day for us all to celebrate together. Who’s going to ask Sejin hyung if he wants to stop by?”

Of course, Seokjin didn’t disappoint with the meal he cooked up for us. I seriously did need to learn from him because I genuinely started to love Korean food. While I hadn’t gotten to eat any growing up, I’ve gotten so used to eating it here that there’s just something comforting about eating it. Especially when it was homemade.

After the delicious dinner, I sat on in the living room mindlessly browsing through something on my phone. I felt someone sat next to me and hugged onto my arm as he laid his head on my shoulder.

I looked to see who it was. “Oh hey, Jimin,” I said as I rested my head on top of his. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to keep you company.”

“Okay.” I smiled. I resumed my attention to my phone.

After a little while, Jimin spoke up again. “Noona, did you really go there every day?”

“Oh, to the broadcasting company?” I asked, and he nodded against my shoulder. “Yeah, I did.”

“You really did try everything you could think of, huh?”

“Of course I did.” I locked my phone and set it down next to me. “Why wouldn’t I do everything I could for my boys?”

Jimin lifted his head from its spot on my shoulder to look at me. “What did we ever do to deserve you as our manager, noona?”

I chuckled. “I ask myself the same thing all the time. What could I have done to deserve to have the seven of you wonderful boys in my life?”

Jimin smiled and placed his head back where it was. “As long as we have you, I think we’re going to do great.”

I placed a light kiss on the crown of his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Series Masterlist

Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Tags: @calling-dips-on-j-hope @misohime @netflix-batman-sleep @smallbaby-cat @leitholdwithlove @ramyagovindraj

Send me a message or ask if you want tagged!

#BTS fanfic #BTS x reader #thebtswritersclub #If I Never Met You #IINMY #Manager!reader #Idol!au #jin #seokjin #suga #yoongi #j-hope #hoseok #rm #namjoon #jimin #v #taehyung #jungkook #fluff

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

#69 with danbrey?

#69 Danbrey: I’m a famous celeb and you’ve been dragging me on social media with really funny memes/come backs, so I’ve come to surprise you in person on the set of your first interview about the interactions that have made you an internet sensation. SFW

Aubrey bounces her legs with jittery excitement; she’s going to be on T.V! Real T.V! Chicanery is a show that knows how to take someone’s fifteen minutes of fame and double it, segments and interviews always going viral, and Aubrey cannot wait to see what happens.

“This is so cool” she mouths to her friend Duck, who came with her as support (though she really wishes he’d stop making goo-goo eyes at that one camera-guy and focus).

“Ah, Ms. Little, wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Ned Chicane enters the set, voice booming and teeth gleaming, takes a seat behind his desk, “now, don’t be nervous my dear, just follow my lead and try to forget the cameras are there.”

“I’ll do my best!”

“Thirty seconds Mr. Chicane!” Kirby, the assistant director, waves the stragglers of the crew out of the way.

Aubrey holds her breath as Kirby counts down, forces out a breath as Ned starts talking.

“Welcome back, esteemed viewers! Here in the studio with me is Aubrey Little, who you may know better as Lady Flame on Twitter and Instagram. Now, Aubrey, you’ve had several tweets that have gone viral in response to Dani Coulice, a voice actor on the hit animated series Northwoods. Buzzfeed has featured them as some of the best tweets of the year.”

“Um, that’s cool, but it’s like March.”

“Tell as bit about how you got started in your back and forth with Ms. Coulice.”

“Um, well, she was insisting that a joke on Northwoods that was SUPER gross was fine and I just kept responding to her with that ‘sure, Jan’ gif from the Brady Bunch. I guess people thought it was funny.” She shrugs.

“Yes, they certainly did. But I wonder what our next guest has to say on the matter.”

Aubrey watches as a blonde woman in a bright green and gold sun-dress crosses onto the stage. She’s breathtaking, even if her smile is well-rehearsed.

“Um, who is this?”

Ned turns, raising an eyebrow, and the woman’s smile twitches.

“This is Dani Coulice.”

Aubrey has a pet rabbit. Said rabbit once got stuck in a tanktop and froze, as if staying still would keep him safe from the mysterious force gripping him. When Aubrey tried to dislodge him, he shrieked in alarm. That’s basically how Aubrey feels right now.

She should say something clever, or show that she’s okay with the goof or at least isn’t afraid of it.

“No one told me she was cute!”

She can hear Duck smacking his forehead from across the room.

“Why? Does the fact I’m cute change anything about my work?” Dani gracefully sits down, smiling at both of them.

“No! I, um, I was just surprised. This is all a surprise.”

“When it comes to fame, you have to be ready for anything.” Dani says mildly.

“This barely even counts as fame! My memes will be outdated in like a week and everyone will be talking about, like, a chinchilla in a cowboy hat or something.”

Dani snickers, “sorry, that’s just a funny image.”

“God I wish I were a chinchilla right now.”

“Did you mean to say that out loud?”

“Fuck!”

“You’d be even cuter like that; I’d give you a nice bowl to take a dust bath in.” She’s laughing more now, the sound kind enough that Aubrey’s spine unclenches some.

“Wait, did you say eve-”

“Alright, now that you two lovely ladies have met, I’m going to show some screenshots of your exchanges and get your thoughts on each one.”

“Actually, Ned, I have something even better.” Dani sets her hand on the hosts desk conspiratorially, “something no one but me knows yet.”

“Do tell.”

“As of this morning, I am no longer part of the Northwoods cast.”

Half the crew gasps while Aubrey worries this is somehow part of the prank. Only Ned is unphazed.

“Why, that’s unexpected. Are you at liberty to discuss what happened? Was it merely time for your to move on to bigger things? Or Aubrey’s tweets, perhaps?”

Another laugh, “The first guess is closer; I’d had misgivings about the writing on the show for a while, and then they announced they were going to kill me off. In a tampon-based accident, played for laughs.”

“Classy.” Aubrey mutters.

“I know, right? I quit then and there, and had my agent accept your offer to appear here so I could share the news. After all, did you think I really came on this show just to dunk on some unsuspecting magician?”

“Uh, well-” Ned catches sight of Kirby signalling off-camera, “we need to keep the lights on, so it’s time to go to commercial. When we come back, we’ll learn just how many pigeons one gentleman can fit in his pants.”

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

“That’s it, deep breaths, here,” Duck hands her a water bottle, “you did good.”

“I’m gonna pass out.”

“Please don’t, we gotta take the train back and I don’t wanna carry you. I mean, I will if I have to, ‘cause that’s what friends doOOshit, uh, hello Ms. Coulice.”

“Hello. Can I, uh, speak with Aubrey alone a moment?”

“Uh…”

“Duck, look, it’s that camera guy!”

“What, whereAHfuck, hey!” Duck continues making indignant sounds as Aubrey shuts the Green Room door and locks it.

“Nicely done.” Dani leans against the table, eyeing Aubrey up and down approvingly.

“Thanks. Duck takes his job as my emotional support bear seriously.”

Another laugh, “It’s good to have friends like that.”

“Yeah” Aubrey toys with the flame pin on her vest, “um, Dani? I’m kinda sorry for dragging you so much. I mean, I stand by the criticisms of the show, but I probably coulda expressed them better. Or directed them at the writers instead of you.”

“Aubrey, it’s honestly not a big deal” Dani sits down on the couch, gestures to Aubrey to join her, “I’m a woman on the internet, someone teasing me with a silly meme is the least unpleasant thing I deal with.”

“Uggh, yeah, that’s true.”

“And I honestly did agree with you on a lot, but I didn’t want to put my work at risk, not until I had a better gig lined up.”

“What-”

Dani presses a gold-painted finger to her perfectly shaped lips, “can’t say just yet. I do have to add, I think you’re a better magician than you are an internet personality.”

“You’ve seen my stuff?” The shyness creeps up on her.

“We did a quick check when your tweets started getting attention to make sure you weren’t dangerous or something. I’ve been watching your videos religiously ever since.”

“Do you...have a favorite trick?”

“I love any of the ones that involve making things disappear. It;s so cool. And I love Dr. Harris Bonkers; he’s so cute.”

“He’s a good good boy. Most of the time.” Aubrey glances at the chunk missing from the heel of her boot.

“His owner’s not bad either.” Dani grins at her and all of Aubrey’s thoughts, worries, and breath go out the window.

“Dani? We gotta get you across town for that EW interview.”

“Coming Mama!” She stands,opens her arms, “no hard feelings?”

Aubrey hugs her, and of course she smells like daisies and summer rain, “no hard feelings.”

She waves goodbye, gathers up her things from the little make-up cubby where they sat her this morning. A small card sits atop her purse, and she opens it, mouth quirked up in confusion.

I’d love to see more of your tricks. Say at my house, Saturday?

-Dani

Aubrey reads the note, and the accompanying phone number, five times over before she believes it. Her phone dings, alerting her to the fact that she’s appeared in sixty percent fewer internet searches this week.

Fifteen minutes of fame be damned; she’s got something even better coming her way.

#aubrey little/dani #danbrey #meet ugly #celebrity AU

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

Text

Thank you so much anon! That’s so nice of you to say. The truth is, I haven’t made much of any progress since the last time I put up some screenshots. I’ve been signed into Gail’s file for a while. What I really need to do is gather up all of the screenshots I have in my phone (the number is in the hundreds.) and organize them, start uploading them in chronological order, so I can retell Luca’s story with any updates or changes. In the mean time, I feel bad about leaving such a kind anon empty-handed. So in lieu, I shall give you a Year 5 Scene taking place not long after the point I was at!

Dear Jacob,

I’m so dead.

To clarify, it won’t be a Boggart, or an Ice Knight, or an Acromantula that gets me in the end. They won’t have the chance. A far greater threat looms over me, imprisonment that will surely rival that which you’re currently facing. The Cursed Vaults and the power within them, the dangerous and elusive “R,” the daily schemes of Albus Dumbledore...not one of them can compare to the trial I’m now faced with. I don’t even have a wand at my side to protect me, and really, that’s the whole point. If I had my wand, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Because that’s the situation, Jacob. I lost my wand. Mum’s wand. Without it, I stand no chance. My friends can’t help me, you can’t help me. Nobody can. I have to face the music alone.

Jacob, I am so grounded.

Merlin’s Beard, I’m going to be grounded until the end of time when Mum finds out about this. Until I’m at least forty. She’s going to be furious with me, and as much as I’d like to defend myself...I have no defense. I walked into the lion’s den with the intention of taming it’s occupant. But the real world smacked me in the face and instead of taming the lion, I got my arm torn off. Because that’s how it feels, Jacob. I feel like both of my arms have been ripped off. Like I’m helpless, bleeding out on the floor with nothing to stop it anymore. With the lion prowling in the corner, watching me die slowly, rather than finish me off. Because she’s just twisted like that.

If I sound dejected, that’s because I am. I feel hollow on the inside, like I’ve had my identity taken from me, and it wasn’t even mine. I’ve never had my own wand, never had one that was truly mine. That “chose” me, as Rowan describes it. I was simply a temporary caretaker for the Hazel wand, I had always planned on returning it to Mum when her magic came back. Now I’ll never be able to. I failed in my position as caretaker. Rakepick destroyed Mum’s wand on my watch. And it never would have happened if I hadn’t asked for trouble. Maybe that’s why I feel so bad. Or maybe I just developed an emotional attachment. I don’t know, because even though it belonged to Mum, it felt like mine. Like this is my humiliation.

But if you think I’m bummed, you haven’t met Rowan. Actually, that’s just a general point of interest. You haven’t met Rowan, and you need to. They’re someone that just about everyone should get to meet at some point, because they make a person’s life just that much better, even if it’s in passing. But I’m fortunate enough to have them as a mainstay in my life. Someone to get upset on my behalf. Well, “upset” doesn’t do justice to their reaction. I believe “devastated” would be a more appropriate term. You’d think it was their wand that got destroyed. I’m their best mate, sure, but it’s not even really mine. I just borrowed it. Yet Rowan is cradling the pieces like they’re holding a fatally wounded child.

“What. Happened.” They seem unable to raise their voice beyond a chilled whisper, fingers now tracing the glint of unicorn hair sticking out of the longer piece.

“Rakepick happened.” I grit my teeth. “I had the brilliant idea of challenging her. She knows Jacob, she has information about him, and she’s keeping it from me...I figured the only way to make her talk was to pull a Merula.”

“Eh?” Rowan is only half-listening, studying the other fragment of hazel. As much as I love them, I’m starting to think that odd and obsessive behavior is a prerequisite for studying wandlore, because in this moment they’re reminding me a fair bit of Ollivander.

“Oh you know. I tried to assert dominance. And I failed, because I was in way over my head. Doesn’t get more “Merula” than that. But please don’t tell her I said so. I’ll never hear the end of it.” I try my best to inject some humor into the situation, and I think it’s worked; a smile flits over Rowan’s features for the briefest moment before they set the wand pieces down again.

“Still, I can’t believe she broke your wand. To go that far...how are you feeling?” Rowan’s brow furrows and I feel their hand on my arm. I look up from the broken pieces, and I think my curiosity must reflect my features, because they continue. “I mean, that was your wand! Merlin’s Beard, she could have castrated you and it would have been less violating.”

“Tell me about it.” I cringe slightly. “And I’m guessing it’s beyond repair?” I’ve never heard of broken wands being mended, and I feel like Rowan wouldn’t be acting like someone had died if it could be done. “Because my Mum’s going to kill me. That’s the worst part, really. Cause it was her wand, remember? I’ve been holding onto it for her, and I just…” I let my eyes trail the Basement, until they find Mitten, asleep on the nearby armchair. “I feel as though I’ve let her down.”

“No, not at all! Hey, cut that kind of talk. No one wakes up in the morning expecting that they’ll need to safeguard their own wand. That’s what a wand is supposed to be for! Protecting you from danger. Well, among other things.” Rowan is shaking their head, before they move in to give me one of their excellent hugs. “No one chooses to have their wand broken, Luca. This isn’t your fault.”

I open my mouth and shut it again. Yeah, I know. You broke your wand, but I think in this moment, Rowan has forgotten that happened. I know I forgot about it until just now. I guess that’s something else we have in common. Something else we can use to reconnect once I’ve finally tracked you down. It will be nice to talk face-to-face, rather than hearing these strange Legilimency messages you leave in my head. My brain feels like a Questioning Machine. I think that’s what it was called. Y’know, the thing that connects to the Felly Tone. Man, I wish I had taken Muggle Studies...maybe next year.

In any event, I can only reciprocate Rowan’s hug. “Thanks...that means a lot right now. I just feel like...like I’m useless and helpless. I know that I’m not.” I quickly add, seeing Rowan’s indignant expression and foreseeing their contradiction. “I know I’m not really useless. It’s just that it’s difficult not to feel that way right now. Rakepick says she’ll take me to Diagon Alley soon so I can visit Ollivanders, but...that still won’t be for a few days, and even then, I don’t want her to-

“-be there when you get your new one? Yeah, I wouldn’t either.” Rowan makes a face, sticking their tongue out briefly. “That’ll be a personal moment for you! Ollivander is already strange enough to have looming over you. After what she did, no way should she be the one who-oh.” A peculiar look crosses Rowan’s face, and in another moment they’re smiling dreamily. “Never mind Luca. You don’t need to play by her rules. At least, not on this one thing. I need to send a letter.”

All of a sudden Rowan leaps up to their feet. The motion is so fast that their own wand falls from their pocket and clatters to the floor, but I don’t think they immediately notice, as the motion has also knocked over the nearest table, sending parchment everywhere. “Oh, blimey-” is all I can yelp, before I’m up on my feet as well. Carefully stepping over Rowan’s wand and moving to help them lift the table upright. As we crouch lower to gather the unrolled bits of parchment, I give Rowan a glance. “I know that look. You’ve got a plan. So let’s hear it, then.” I can’t help smirking.

Rowan offers a smile that somehow manages to be a cross between devilish and bashful. I don’t know, they’ve just got a very expressive face. You’ll see. “My brother, you know Ashok? He’s going to be school age next year, and he’s already refused point-blank to even attempt wand-making. Mum tells me there have been tantrums about it.” Rowan holds back a chuckle, running a hand through their hair. “He’s quite spoiled, really. Apparently they’re considering sending him abroad, or homeschooling him for a year. And they reckon I’m the lazy one.” Rowan adds, more of an aside to themself than anything. “The point is, he’s going to need to pay a visit to Ollivander soon.”

Rowan bristles, lookin more excited as they get further into the story. I love it when they get that look, Jacob. “And I on the other hand, need to pay a visit to the Owlery. Already made it clear to my parents that I want to be there when Ashok gets his wand. Now there will just be one more person with us.” My eyes widen slightly, and I feel the urge to say something, yet can’t find the words needed. I want to thank Rowan, yet paradoxically I feel the impulse to reject this gesture, out of a sense that I don’t deserve it. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been working on that, Jacob. Rowan’s been helping me.

“That...that would be great. Thanks Rowan.” Wow, it’s such a little thing, such a minor accomplishment, but what a weight off my shoulders to succeed in saying those words. “I’d love to see all of them again too, if it won’t be too much trouble. I mean it’s been, what...a year?”

“Just about.” Rowan nods, doing the math by counting on their fingers. “And you should already know it won’t be any trouble! They love you, remember? They wish they could trade me in at Diagon Alley and get you instead.” Rowan’s grin indicates that they’re joking, but right now I almost get the sense that they’re doing the same thing I do, putting themself down, making the whole idea of them being inferior become that much more normal. Well I’m not having it. I push forward and hug them.

“They’re lucky to have you and they know it, Rowan. You are the ultimate bargain.” I lean back, feeling much better about how the day has turned out. I always knew I would get a new wand, and while that doesn’t solve the problem of ultimately facing Mum, I can’t deny that the idea is a little exciting. Just like how it was exciting to get Sorted, though in hindsight I don’t know why I expected anything else. I’m such a damn Hufflepuff. In any case, the thought was mildly exciting...but marred and weighed down by knowing that I’d have to be chaperoned by the person who caused the problem in the first place. This is so much better. I get to see the Khannas again, during the actual school year for once, and be there when Ashok gets his first wand. We can make a whole day of it.

“Well come on then!” Rowan seems to bounce on the balls of their feet. “This way!” They gather up a roll of parchment and one of their favorite quills, turning to wait for me. Yet in their haste, I think they’ve forgotten something. Or maybe they’re not bringing it and I’m just more paranoid about these things after recent events. Either way, after I gingerly tuck the broken pieces of Mum’s wand into my bag, I cross the room to give a sleepy Mitten her dually owed head rub, and then turn around, kneeling over to pick up Rowan’s wand.

“Here, I think you forgot something.” I laugh, reaching out to grip the handle and standing back upright. Yet when I do this...something curious happens. Something I can’t explain. Not a bad thing, mind you. But I just get this feeling. It’s a nice feeling, like a lovely warm breeze. Or a mug of butterbeer. Except it’s traveling along my arm. Like my arm has a stomach. That doesn’t make any sense, but neither does this. I’ve frozen in place, and Rowan has noticed. They’re raising an eyebrow at me.

“Here, this is-” Trying to rouse myself from the stupor, I search my brain and recapture what I was trying to do beforehand. To return Rowan’s wand. It’s so weird but I almost forgot I was holding it, just felt like it was part of my arm and hand, I dunno. Yet when I hold it out again, I break off. Because something happens. Something actually happens. I didn’t cast a spell, and it’s not like I should be able to with Rowan’s wand, right? Yet in defiance of all logic, I can actually feel it. I can feel the magic flowing through my limbs, emanating from my core. It’s so much stronger than it’s ever been before, and when I lean the wand arm forward, Rowan is suddenly wearing a crown of flowers.

“Wha-how did…” I trail off, lowering my arm again. Rowan takes another step forward, wearing a perplexed expression. I don’t think they yet realize what else they’re wearing.

“Luca, are you oka-wait.” They bob their head slightly, and set down what they were carrying to reach up and touch their hair. Gently picking up the crown of flowers - black roses, I can’t help but notice, just like the ones we have at home. “Oh wow. Oh. Oh.” Rowan seems to have grasped what I have not, seen what my mind has not yet seen. “Luca…” They murmur my name, looking between me and their wand. “How are you feeling? What’s it feel like, right now?”

I shake my head slightly, wondering why they haven’t taken their wand. “I don’t know, really. I don’t know how I did that. But there’s this prickling feeling in my chest, and in my arms. It’s nice. I have no idea what spell that was, or how I did it...why it would cause this.” I shrug it off at first, having experienced weirder phenomenon in the past. But now Rowan is practically shaking and wearing a huge grin.

“Oh my god. Luca! Luca, I think...I think my wand just Chose you!”

It doesn’t feel real at first, when they say it. Because it couldn’t possibly be true. It doesn’t make any sense. Right? After all, Rowan’s wand is...Rowan’s. It belongs to them. And yet. It didn’t Choose them. I know this. I remember them telling me all about how they had spent the better part of six months building wand after wand, when they were all of eleven years old. How they made just shy of twenty wands, and after Ollivander checked them, it was determined that they had in fact, managed to produce one that was functional. Just one. But hey, that’s one hell of an achievement for a kid who hadn’t even started at Hogwarts yet. But just because they built the wand, the one coincidentally fashioned of rowan wood, with a unicorn hair at the center...doesn’t mean the wand itself Chose Rowan as it’s wielder. Wands are apparently pickier than that.

And now Rowan is telling me that their wand, the one they’ve carried for five years and loyally used for everything...that it Chose me. And I can’t believe it at first, I can’t accept it, because I already know I don’t deserve this. Though even as I write those words to you Jacob, I remember what I talked about earlier. How degrading myself like that isn’t healthy, and if Rowan shouldn’t be doing it, then neither should I. But this is just such a serious thing.

“Rowan, I...you can’t be serious. You don’t really think-”

“Only you can tell for sure.” Rowan nodded toward the wand. “But you have to be honest with yourself. Don’t think about me right now, think about how you’re feeling. Does it feel like the wand has Chosen you? That’s all that matters, Luca.

Aw, damn it.

I take a deep breath, delaying the inevitable, holding up Rowan’s wand once again. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There’s one way to be sure, beyond sure. I let my thoughts drift back to the Celestial Ball, easily one of the happiest nights of my entire life. “Expecto Patronum.” I all but whisper, giving the wand a flick. Sure enough, a small, silver shape resembling my beloved cat, bursts out of the end, and begins to wander and explore the Basement. It has never, and I mean never, been quite that easy.

“Okay.” Rowan has that knowing smile on their face. “I think that answers that question.”

I bite my lip, shyly looking down. What can I even say right now? Rowan clearly doesn’t mind, and somehow that doesn’t surprise me, but how am I supposed to not feel like I’ve stolen their thunder? It’s just a little bit awkward now, and it’s not like it changes anything. I’m going to get my own wand when we all visit Diagon Alley. It’s not like I’m taking Rowan’s wand or anything. They’re going to keep using it.

...Right?

No, seriously Jacob, I can’t believe this is happening, but Rowan is approaching me and starting to babble, talking about the best type of polish to use, and how that wand holster I bought so many years ago may not fit the “Rowan” wand. My god, they actually expect me to take it! I can’t do that! They’re trying to give it to me. Yet when I begin to stammer protests, Rowan looks confused.

“Luca, the wand has Chosen you. That’s all there is to it. You aren’t taking it away from me. I’ll just be the one to get a new wand after Ashok instead of you, that’s all.” I sniffle and try to say something in response, but Rowan presses on. “Don’t you see? It was never mine. I’m lucky enough to have built and carried it, but I’m even luckier to see it Choose it’s wielder. Luckiest of all to see that it Chose you. Why are you acting like you did something wrong? Hey, c’mere.”

They gather me in another hug, and I can feel that familiar burning in the edges of my face. I am about to cry, Jacob. Because I never outgrew that habit, and honestly, how can I not cry in this moment? I have the greatest friend anyone could ask for, and now we have one more thing, something exceptional, that connects us. I feel as though Rowan has allowed me to adopt their child. Probably irrational and silly to feel this emotional about it, but I just can’t stop sobbing and thanking Rowan for - well, everything. Just, everything that they do, and who they are.

Seriously, I cannot wait for you to meet them. It needs to happen sooner rather than later.

Love, Luca.

#Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery #HPHM Fanfiction #Rowan Khanna #Luca Fawley #HPHM Year 5 #Patricia Rakepick #HPHM Headcanons #Hogwarts Mystery Fanfiction

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spine-buster · 5 years

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Alone, Together | Chapter 33 | Morgan Rielly

Bee woke up to DMs. Lots of DMs. DMs that accused her of something completely different – not desperate, not clingy, not fat this time – something she’d never thought she’d be accused of.

THE TEAM CUM BUCKET

looks like you’re really getting on all the leafs dick like the fucking slut that u r

no better than a fucking whore. the biggest fuckin slut the leafs have ever seen, and that’s saying something.

biggest whore in all of toronto. how could u do that to morgan. all u want to do is become famous. your motivation is so clear and u r willing to do whatever it takes. can’t believe you would use someone as sweet as morgan

U R SUCH A FUCKING SLUT!!!!! UR SLEEPING W/ FRED NOW TOO AND UR NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT!!!!! UR THE FUCKING SLUTTIEST PERSON EVER NO WONDER EVERYBODY HATES UR GUTS!!!!! AND TO SHOW IT OFF AT ZACH’S WEDDING? UR SUCH AN AWFUL PERSON WHAT DOES MO EVEN SEE IN U

YOU’RE THE REASON EVERYONE WANTS TO LEAVE THE LEAFS

Wow, making your way onto the dicks of every member of the Leafs? We knew you were desperate girl but my God. You’d do anything to stay relevant. How could you do that to Morgan? And with Tyler fucking Ennis?! RIGHT IN FRONT OF MORGAN?! You’re heinous. Just fucking die already. You deserve it.

Slut

Such a whore

Slut

Fuckin whore

Slut

slut

S L U T

FUCKIN SLUT

Bee swore she felt her heart stop beating. Her stomach curled into knots as she read DM after DM expressing the same words and sentiments. She had no clue what they were so angry about and didn’t know what she had done to deserve such hateful language and vitriol to be thrown at her. She turned over onto her side, pulling the comforter over her head so she was alone beneath the covers with her phone. She tapped to open another message.

U seriously think this is ok????? U r such a fucking slut. Ur at a wedding full of past and current teammates and members of the Hyman family and this is how u act? Ur a trashy fucking whore and I have no idea what Morgan sees in u. I hope he breaks up with u. Literally any girl in Toronto is better than u.

The person had attached two photos, and Bee recognized Cassie’s Instagram handle at the top – they were screenshots of stories she had uploaded last night, Bee figured, and of course they had gotten around. In the first picture, Kasperi and Cassie were the subjects of the photo as they slow danced together, but in the background, Bee could be seen dancing with Tyler. In the second photo, she was kissing Fred’s cheek for bringing her poutine, and Fred had a shit-eating grin on his face.

It was all so innocent – friends celebrating together at another friend’s wedding – but of course people online didn’t see it that way. Scratch that – crazy people online didn’t see it that way. To these girls, she was a slut. A whore. She betrayed Morgan’s trust. She was cheating on him in plain sight, in front of all his teammates, with his other teammates, because she was a dirty, trashy fucking slut who had no morals. That was that. There was nothing that could change their minds – they were resolved in this opinion and in making her life a living hell. She could join a convent and become a nun and they would still complain, still tell her the black made her fat or that the habit made it look like she had a double chin. She could never win. They didn’t want her to live her life when all she wanted to do – and all Morgan wanted her to do – was to live her life.

Tears began to stream down her face. She couldn’t help it. Just like when Sydney was making backhanded comments about her appearance, she was only human and could only take so much. A person saying nasty things about her appearance or calling her “desperate” when she knew she was the furthest thing from it was one thing. But people saying nasty things about her character and morals, and about hers and Morgan’s relationship…that hit differently. That crushed her to her core. A fun night with friends celebrating a marriage was now grounds for people to question whether she was cheating on the love of her life with his friends. It made her sick to her stomach.

Just as she was about to lock her screen and find Morgan (judging by the smell of the apartment, he was frying up some bacon in the kitchen), another DM came through. Another picture. This time, it was of comments made underneath the post he made when she had graduated.

@sydneyemartin: wow @morganrielly that diamond cartier is one hell of a gift 😂 looks good

@morganrielly: not too ‘ghetto’ for you, syd?

Bee felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. She threw her phone down on the comforter and leapt out of bed, hurrying towards the kitchen where she knew he was. She saw him standing over the stove in his boxers and old t-shirt, the spatula in his hands moving back and forth to make the scrambled eggs. When he saw her, he smiled. “Morning, beautiful. Thought I’d let you sleep in and I’d cook breakfast, even though I’m pretty hungover.”

She rushed over to him, almost knocking him over by the sheer force in which she crashed into him and clung onto him for dear life. “Whoooooa whoa whoa whoa, hey…hey…” he cooed as she wrapped her arms around him tightly, her legs even moving to wrap around him even though he hadn’t picked her up yet. “Baby…baby…” he looked down at her, and it was only then when he could see the tears rolling down her cheeks and the redness of her eyes. “Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asked worriedly.

“What if I j-just d-d-deleted Instagram? Deleted everything?” she cried into his chest. “What if I j-just disappeared off the face of the earth so these p-people couldn’t send me m-m-messages anymore?”

At the mention of Instagram and ‘these people’, the blood in Morgan’s veins ran cold and was replaced with anger and rage. His furrowed his brows and looked down at her crying into his chest. “What happened,” he demanded as calmly as he could.

Bee shook her head. “What did I ever do to them do deserve this? Why do they hate me so much?”

“Bumblebee…” Morgan said, lifting her up in his arms as he turned off the stove and brought them to the couch so they could sit down. She stayed on top of him, burying her face into his chest as he kept his arms wrapped around her. “Bumblebee, come on, talk to me. What happened?”

She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears falling down her cheeks before she lifted her head from his chest to look him in the eye. “C-Cassie uploaded these v-videos last n-night, and in one of them, m-me and T-Tyler and dancing in the background, when we were s-slow dancing to Frankie Valli and you and some of the b-b-boys were getting drinks, and in another, sh-she caught me k-k-kissing F-F-Fred on the cheek when he brought the p-p-poutine and you brought the f-fried chicken.”

“And?”

“And this m-morning, I get all these messages calling me a s-s-slut, a whore, that I’m ch-cheating on you and that I’m the biggest whore in Toronto and the t-t-eam cum bucket and--”

“The WHAT,” Morgan interrupted, his voice the purest form of anger she’d ever heard. “They called – they – they said what about you?” He didn’t even wait for her to answer. He’d heard the word perfectly fine. “I’m calling Steve Keogh. I’m calling Kyle and I’m calling Shanny and --”

“No, no Morgan, please, please,” she shook her head, grabbing at his hands desperately. “You don’t b-b-believe them, d-do you?” she asked, her voice so vulnerable it made his stomach twist in knots. “You don’t th-think I’d cheat on you with anyone, right? Let alone a t-teammate?”

“Briony --”

“I love you more than anything Morgan.”

“Briony --”

“You have to know I’d never – I’d never --”

“Briony, stop,” he placed his hands on her cheeks as she began to hyperventilate, tears still falling from her read eyes. “Briony, stop, please. I know baby. I know,” he kept repeating. “Listen to me. You. Did. Nothing. Wrong,” he enunciated each word clearly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I would never --”

“Ssssshhhhhhh,” he cooed, giving her a quick kiss to try to calm her down. “Briony, breathe,” she said as gently as possible. “Breathe. Breeeeathe. You did nothing wrong.”

“I don’t want you to think --”

“You. Did. Nothing. Wrong,” he enunciated each word clearly again. “Briony, look at me. Look at me,” he said, placing his hand under her chin so they could lock eyes. “You are allowed to live your life the way you want to. You are allowed to do that. You weren’t able to for so long and now you can and I don’t want anybody to make you think that you’re not allowed to. You’re allowed to have fun. You’re allowed to do whatever you want and not face judgement from other people.”

She took a few deep breaths as she listened to Morgan’s words. Her cheeks were still stained with tears. “But you don’t think --”

“I’m not thinking anything besides punching those people in the damn face,” he said, giving her another quick kiss. “Briony, they’re low-lives. I’m so angry right now I could punch a wall. But I’m angrier about you thinking that you don’t deserve to live your life or that you think you have to live like some sort of nun. You did nothing wrong. We were at a wedding having fun.”

Bee took more deep breaths as she internalized his words. She knew they were wrong – she did, she knew it – but it was still tough to stomach. She was just a 23-year-old girl trying to survive in this world and they were attacking her for exactly what Morgan said – for having fun at a wedding. She rubbed at her eyes as she leaned her head into the crook of his neck. He wrapped his big arms around her into a bear hug. “I just don’t want you thinking I would ever do something like that to you. Tyler, he’s…he’s like the brother I never had. Same with Fred. I love them to bits but not the way I love you.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Morgan stressed. “We were all having fun. It’s not illegal.”

“I just don’t understand why other people can’t see that,” she mused, a few stray tears still falling down her cheeks.

She felt Morgan’s chest rise and fall with the deep breath he took. “It doesn’t matter what they think. All that matters is that I love you,” he said. “Remember the first time we hung out? And you took me on that walk around the U of T campus and we ate our sandwiches in the quad? And it felt like it was just us in the middle of the city and no-one else?” he asked. She nodded her head in the crook of his neck. “And you remember our date at Cibo, when you were uncomfortable and felt like you didn’t belong, and I held your hand across the table and told you, ‘It’s just me’?” he asked. Bee nodded her head again. “Same thing Bumblebee. It’s just me. It’s just us. All the outside noise doesn’t matter. What matters is what happens between us. Nothing else. Us.”

Bee felt like crying again. God, he was so right. Nothing mattered besides them. Nothing anybody could say could ever take away from how much she loved him, and how much he loved her. None of it mattered. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “You know exactly what to say all the time to make everything better.”

“I will never question if you love me because I know you do,” he said, his tone serious. “You never have to prove you love me. And you never have to take abuse from people, ever. You left that behind when you were emancipated from Sharon and I’ll be fucking damned if anybody ever makes you feel the way she did when you were a kid.”

If it was possible, she snuggled into him even more, whimpering slightly, wanting to feel him on every inch of her body as she let more tears fall at his words. He tightened his bear hug on her and stayed quiet, letting her digest his words as he tried to calm himself down from the anger and rage he was feeling. They sat on the couch in silence together until he couldn’t feel her tears on his skin anymore. “Will you do me a favour? Please?”

“What?”

“Please take screenshots and send them to me,” he requested. She raised her head to look him in the eye and he brought his hands up again to caress her cheeks, her red eyes confused at what he was asking her to do. “Please, Bumblebee. I need to send them to Steve and I want to see what we can do about it.”

“Morgan--”

“I want to keep you safe, Briony. Please,” he stressed. “I don’t want you to have to go through this. I know that you have for a really long time already and I want it to stop. Please. Let me do this for you.”

She looked at him, with his big blue eyes and his dishevelled blonde hair and his blonde stubble, and he looked so concerned, so upset, so vulnerable, so angry, so protective all at once. All she could do was nod her head and lean into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug again, settling into a silence as she wiped away the last of her tears.

It was a while before Bee spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who told you what Sydney said?”

Morgan stayed silent. He knew he wouldn’t get away with not answering her question. “Alannah was really upset about it so she told Zach, who told me. Sydney should be ashamed of herself. I had no problem calling her out.”

Bee took a deep breath. She didn’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. “I hope she didn’t tell Aryne. She’d go into premature labour if she found out. She’d be like that dragon on Game of Thrones.”

Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle. He placed a kiss on the crown of Bee’s head and rested her cheek there. “I feel like I can be that dragon from Game of Thrones. I’m ready to burn down the entirety of Long Island for how rude and disrespectful she was to you.”

“Let’s…let’s just not talk about it anymore. She isn’t worth my time or energy,” Bee said, lifting her head from the crook of his neck. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

***

By the time Bee made it out of the bedroom after her shower (after her skincare routine, after towel-drying her hair, after putting on some comfy clothes), she emerged to find Tyler Ennis in her kitchen. He was already speaking with Morgan, who had his gym bag draped over his shoulder, and there was a brown paper bag on the counter with what smelled like freshly baked bagels. Morgan said he would be going to the gym, despite it being Canada Day, so she was pleasantly surprised that she wouldn’t have to spend the time alone before she and Morgan carried on with their day.

“Your eyes are red. Shampoo?” he asked as he hugged her.

She gave a quick look towards Morgan. She’d hoped the redness had died down enough, but apparently not. “No. Had a bit of a crying fest this morning.”

“Crying? Why?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Morgan with you,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Really? That’s news to me.”

“It’s all over my DMs,” she couldn’t help but smile as he feigned shock. “It’s not just you, by the way. I’m cheating with Fred, too. It’s a big ol’ three-way. My new nickname is the team cum bucket.”

“What the fuck?!” Tyler exclaimed as he looked between her and Morgan. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I’ve already texted Keogh about it,” Morgan said from the door. “You two have a good breakfast. I’ll see you in a bit.”

As Morgan left, Tyler looked back towards Bee. “Where did this come from?”

Bee sighed. Tyler didn’t need to know all the fundamentals, but he looked so concerned and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it from him. “Cassidy uploaded some videos from the wedding last night onto Instagram. In one of them, you and I are dancing to Frankie Valli. In another, I’m kissing Fred on the cheek for bringing me poutine.”

“And they called you…that because of it?” Tyler asked. Bee nodded her head. “Bee, you can’t…I can’t…I don’t even know what to say to that. That’s heinous. That’s completely--”

“Listen, I know you probably want to talk about it but I don’t,” Bee interrupted him. “I don’t even want to think about it. Can we just eat those bagels you brought before I have to share them with Morgan?”

Tyler couldn’t say no. He couldn’t deny her anything right now, especially anything that would make her happy. So he digressed, and they took out the bagels, and toasted them, and added the fresh lox and cream cheese he also bought, and Bee made cups of coffee in her French press, and they sat at the dining table eating and talking and going over their memories of the wedding last night. Tyler remembered dancing to Lizzo. He didn’t remember how many shots he’d had.

The entire time, Tyler had butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t want to have to do this. He hated to do it. He knew how she’d react and he didn’t want to see her upset and sad. But he knew he had to. So when she cleared their plates and mugs, and was loading everything into the dishwasher, he took a deep breath in. “Bee? Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice nervous.

“Of course. What’s up?” she asked, not looking at him as she loaded the last dish.

He noticed the time on the clock on the stove. “Um…C…Can we sit down?”

Bee immediately turned towards him, her brows furrowed in confusion and worry. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. He couldn’t meet her eye as he tried to formulate the words to tell her the news. “Bee…listen. I…besides my mother, you’re the only other woman in my life who deserves to know before noon.”

Bee was silent. So was Tyler. They looked at each other for a moment before Bee’s chest tightened. “No.”

“Bee…”

“Not you.”

“Bee --”

“Not you Tyler. Not you. No,” she began to shake her head. Tears began to stream down her face almost immediately once the realization dawned on her. “Morgan said you wanted to stay here. You wanted to stay.”

“I did Bee. I did. But management…” he said, trailing off. His chest tightened as he noticed her tears. “Listen. I’ve signed with Ottawa. It’s Ottawa. It’s not that far away, Bee. You can come visit. I can come back to visit.”

It being Ottawa didn’t make it any better. He was leaving. He wasn’t going to be on the Leafs anymore, in Toronto, and that crushed her. She knew this day was coming – it nulling over in the back of her mind for a while – but she tried desperately to ignore it. She didn’t want to think about it. Patrick was gone, but Johnsson and Kapanen had signed new deals, so she thought things would be worked out. Jake’s situation was the most precarious for Morgan since they were so close. She didn’t think she’d have to face such heartbreak so early. “Tyler…”

“C’mere, Bee,” he said, extending his arms and giving her a big hug. “It was always a long shot for me to stay here. Ottawa will be a good opportunity for me. I can take on more of a leadership role there with the young guys there.”

She knew he was saying these things to himself as much as he was saying them to her. She didn’t want him to leave. Selfishly, she wanted him to stay in Toronto forever. “How long is it for?”

“One year, eight hundred grand,” he informed her. He could feel her tense up slightly when he revealed the contract length. He knew she was thinking of the possibilities of where he could end up in a year from now. If he ended up anywhere. “It won’t be all that bad, Bee.”

“You leaving is the worst, Tyler,” she mumbled.

“Hey…come on. Remember that night when you had that big fight with Morgan and we were in the washroom together? And I told you that you’d never be alone again? That you’ll always have family somewhere?”

She nodded her head. “You said I won’t feel pain if I don’t lose anything.”

“Exactly. “You’re not losing me, Bee,” he stressed. “You’re not losing me. Our friendship isn’t ending. I’m just moving. I mean…hey, I’m still in the same province.”

He had a point. She was crying as if he was moving to Timbuktu when in reality he’d only be four hours away – one hour if she flew. Three and a half, probably, if Morgan sped down the highway like he did on their way to the cottage. “But…it’s Ottawa.”

“Aaaaand there she is,” Tyler giggled, causing her to giggle as well as he let go of their hug. “You’re back. Typical Leaf fan, taking shots at Ottawa.”

“I’m still really sad about it,” she said, wiping a tear. “But I’m being selfish. I need to see this as a good opportunity for you.”

“You’re not being selfish, Bee. You’re a regular human being,” Tyler said. “Just don’t forget to be a regular human being when I’m gone.”

***

Ron Hainsey, Connor Brown, and Nikita Zaitsev were gone to Ottawa too by the end of the day, through either trades or by signing a deal like Tyler had. The Leafs also signed Jason Spezza, a veteran player and UFA from the Dallas Stars, to a one-year contract. Jake still hadn’t signed anywhere.

Mitch hadn’t signed a contract yet, either. Bee didn’t understand the concept of offer sheets and she didn’t want Morgan to explain it to her a fourth time, so she didn’t ask, but it was all anyone ever talked about when they mentioned Mitch. She read about his contract demands and possible scenarios and wondered if there was any truth to it. A couple of people mentioned how he wanted a high number, and that was putting pressure on the Leafs organization in being able to re-sign Jake. She didn’t want to sound awful and bitter, but if that was the case, she didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive Mitch. She knew how close Morgan and Jake were – hell, even how close she and Lucy were – and knew how stressed Morgan was about the entire situation from the get-go. If Mitch was being unreasonable in his demands, and those demands affected Morgan in any way, she had no choice but to be angry about it. Morgan was obviously more used to this sort of stuff than she was, but it didn’t make it any easier, especially considering it was Jake.

6:57pm. Morgan was loading the dishwasher. Bee was already curled up on the couch under a blanket, waiting for him to join her so they could watch a movie (read: watch Derry Girls because Bee would convince him to). The news had been on since dinner, but now, she was flipping through the channels to get to Netflix.

Her phone vibrated.

Morgan’s phone rang.

Bee wiggled from her position on the couch to retrieve her phone from her pocket. From the kitchen, she could hear Morgan answer his call. On her screen, she saw a text from Aryne.

Naz just got traded to Colorado.

Bee read the message over and over again, as if English was a foreign language and she didn’t understand the words on the screen. From the kitchen, she heard Morgan’s shocked voice. “Naz got what?!” She sat up and looked at him, his jaw dropped as he stood in the kitchen listening to whatever the person on the other end was telling him. “For Barrie?!”

Bee’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She watched as Morgan walked over to the TV, grabbed the remote, and changed the channel to TSN. On the screen, Bee saw the words and faces appear before her. Toronto Maple Leafs trade Nazem Kadri and Calle Rosen to Colorado Avalanche in exchange for Tyson Barrie and Alexander Kerfoot.

“I can’t believe they actually fucking did it, John,” Morgan said into the phone, his mouth still wide open in shock. “I can’t…wait, what? They’re retaining 50% of Barrie’s salary? No we just turned it on right now.”

Bee stayed for as long as she could. She really did. It took her a while to internalize the magnitude of the situation. Naz was traded. To Colorado. Ashley. Ashley was due to give birth any day now and she just found out that she had to move to Denver, to an entirely different country. They would have to uproot their family. Their newborn baby. Everything that Naz had ever known – ten years in Toronto. He grew up here. He got married here. He lived his life here for ten years.

The analysts thought differently. There were barely any mentions of his contributions to the team for ten years. There were barely any mentions of how he had been a member of the Leafs when they were the worst team in the league, and how he stuck with them, how he believed in the team, the organization, how he worked through hell and high water to make the team successful, helping to bring them from the bottom of the standings to Stanley Cup contenders. There was no mention of a life lived and established outside of hockey in Toronto for ten years. No mention of his marriage, of Ashley moving here to be with him. No mention of the charity he established here, the money he donated to various causes around the city. No mention of how much his teammates liked him and valued his presence in the locker room. No mention of Naz becoming a new father soon.

Instead, mentions of his suspensions. How he was a player who let his emotions get the best of him. How he cost the team the playoffs twice in two years. How he was a wild child kid from London, Ontario who had a tough time establishing himself in the league under the leadership of Brian Burke. Nothing to do with family. Nothing to do with his successes. Everything to do with his perceived problems.

It wasn’t just Naz that was traded. It was Ashley too. And that’s what hurt Bee the most.

When Bee walked out of the room, she was still in shock. She tried calling Ashley, but of course, her line was busy. Bee decided to send a text with the only thing she could think to say.

I am so, so sorry.

Only when she was alone in the privacy of their bedroom did Bee start to cry uncontrollably. This was the couple that were over at Morgan’s apartment at the brink of dawn with extra clothes when her apartment got broken into. This was the couple that gave up one of their apartments so she could stay in it rent-free. This was the couple that helped her move into Morgan’s place months later, never expecting anything in return.

But the media never reported on stuff like that.

“Bumblebee,” Morgan said as he rushed through the door. Seeing her crying, the tears streaming down her face as she sat on the edge of the bed, shattered his heart into a million pieces. He knelt down in front of her and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He knew how much Ashley and Naz meant to her. “C’mere Bumblebee. It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not,” she cried into his shoulder, her breath hitching in her throat as she continued to sob.

“Bumblebee…” he cooed, rising from his position and still holding her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around him as he sat on the bed.

“Why them?! Why Tyler?! Why Naz and Ashley? Why?!” she demanded as she cried into his shoulder.

Morgan wished he had an answer. God, did he wish he had an answer. But he didn’t. He couldn’t answer for how tumultuous free agency was. He couldn’t answer for why it had to be Tyler, perhaps her closest friend she made on the team. He couldn’t answer for why it had to be Naz and Ashley, the couple that helped support her at her lowest, most vulnerable point.

“Bumblebee, look at me,” he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair, trying to get her to calm down. When she raised her head, he saw the same red eyes and tear stained cheeks he had to deal with not even twelve hours earlier. Between the morning, the Tyler news, and this, Morgan felt like he had emotionally lived an entire week.

“I l-l-love them s-s-o much,” she hiccupped. “W-Why do they have t-to l-l-leave?”

“Bumblebee, I can’t answer th--”

“Why does everyone I love leave me?”

If it was possible, Morgan’s heart shattered even more. He tightened his arms around her and placed small kisses on her head and temple to try to calm her down. “Bumblebee, they’re not leaving you. They’re not leaving you. They – they’re leaving, but the friendships, the relationships you’ve built--”

“Th-Th-They’re like my family. M-My f-f-family I’ve never had,” she sobbed out.

“I know, Bumblebee.”

“Why do they have to leave?”

“Bumblebee – Bumblebee, they’re not going to leave your heart,” Morgan said, cradling her cheek and wiping away tears with his thumb. “Think about it. They might be in Denver and you might be here but they’re never going to leave you like you think they will.”

She was too emotional to take in his words, to internalize them and realize he was right. Her heart was hurting too much to make sense of anything and all she could do was cry. And Morgan could only hold her, hoping that the sense of abandonment she felt would pass, though he knew that was wishful thinking. All he could do was hold her and rub her back as she sobbed into his shoulder and kept asking why.

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slafkovskys · 5 years

Text

but everything’s the same / a. turcotte

my masterlist!

title from suitcase by mary j. blige

you watched as the raindrop slid down the window. the plane had pulled up forever ago and now you were just waiting to board, your one way ticket to chicago resting on your thigh. the image of the admissions woman’s face when you told her you had no plans of returning to wisconsin was still burned into your mind. she had asked, “are you sure?”

yes, you had said, i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

with a few clicks and a digital signature, you’re enrollment at wisco was no more. you hadn’t even been able to fish out your cell phone and let your parents know of your decision. you had an idea of what they were going to say. you weren’t ready for that.

you can’t help but to think of what could’ve been, just like you both used to do.

his hand interlocked with yours, both of your eyes going to where they were conjoined. the chicago noise was muffled by the walls of the hotel alex had booked. you were both just sixteen at the time and had lied to your parents about where you were going to be.

“i think i’m gonna marry you,” he had said before shaking his head, “actually, i know i’m gonna marry you.”

“how could you be so sure?” you had asked, moving your head to look up at him. “you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, al. you could find someone else.”

he shook his head and planted a kiss upon your forehead, “i don’t want anyone else. i can’t even see myself without you and i don’t want to.”

that, you think, was the first lie he told you.

you remember the day he left for michigan. you didn’t cry until his flight started boarding and he held you as you did so, saying that he wouldn’t go if you didn’t want him to. you shook your head and pushed him back lightly, telling him how big this was for him and how if he didn’t get on that plane, you would drive him to michigan yourself.

that was also the first time he’d told you he loved you.

you had to beg and plead with your parents to let you drive the four hours to plymouth alone for alex’s first game. your hotel had been booked and you had contacted jack for help with your surprise.

the plan had gone smoothly. jack had snagged you a seat where alex could see you perfectly. when they skated out for warmups, your face hurt from how hard you were smiling. you didn’t even need to be pointed out because he instantly found you and grinned back. he scored that night and pointed at you when he did.

afterwards, you met up in the lobby and you had asked, “how did you know where i was? did jack tell you?”

“nope,” he buried his face in your hair, “i look for you in every crowd.”

now, you wonder how many other girls he had said that same phrase to.

there was a little girl sitting beside her dad across from you. she had on a little floral dress and a pair of sandals. not particularly airport attire, but it held her back none as she giggled and bounced around the terminal. her eyes caught yours and you sent her your best smile.

she slid off her seat and walked the little distance to you. she puts her hand on your knee, “i’m ivey. what’s your name.”

“hi ivey,” you hold out your hand, “i’m y/n.”

“are you sad, y/n? you look sad.” you try and shake your head but the tears that spill out of your eyes betray you. “you’re sad. why?”

“just,” you sniffle, “grown up things i guess.”

she huffs and goes over to her dad, pulling a stuffed bunny from a bag and bringing it over to you. “here you go. when i get sad, i just hug bunny and i get better. sometimes daddy hugs me too. you can hold bunny until you get better and if you don’t have someone to hug you, can i?”

your eyes flick up to her father who sends you a nod. you look back down to the little girl, “i’d really like that, ivey.”

you had applied to wisco the same time as alex did. alex didn’t have any problems because he had been scouted before hand, but you had to spend your nights worrying. you were the one left to lose sleep over what if you didn’t get in. what if everything you two had been talking about since you were kids was only just a dream.

you had kept it a secret from alex when your acceptance letter came in the mail. you waited until he was in chicago for christmas and handed him the envelope. you both sat on the floor of his livingroom, criss cross applesauce and you were biting your lip.

he tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper. you watched as his eyes scanned over it before they flicked up to you. he’d asked, “are you serious?”

you nodded with a grin and erupted into laughter as he tackled you to the floor. he laid on top of you as he peppered your face with kisses. “we’re gonna be together.”

“just like we talked about.”

you can’t help but wonder if he still loved you then.

ivey held onto your hand as your other gripped onto the white fur of the stuffed animal. she was four, loved unicorns and the color pink, and had a best friend named mary. she was on her way home to her mother from visiting her sick grandmother.

the plane would be boarding soon and she had asked what seat you were gonna be in. coincidentally, you were on the same row as her and her father. she nodded and grinned up at you, “good. i can still hold your hand.”

you heard the rumors.

you had many dms telling you of what you had refused to believe was true. he loves you. he would never do that.

you never questioned him until a girl from michigan sent you a dm with a picture attached. it was a picture of alex sitting on a stool in some basement with a girl between his spread legs. you confronted him, chill and mellow and just asking for the truth to which he responded with a shrug and a “bad angle” excuse.

you hung up the phone and threw it across the room. the next day when you got home from school, a vase of flowers was sitting on your kitchen counter with a box that had a bracelet inside. you never brought it up afterwards.

that night though, was the first of many where you cried over alex.

ivey had offered to share her skittles with you. her father, dan you had learned was his name, remarked how she never shared her skittles with anyone.

you felt honored.

she asked you to color with her and even loaned you a blue when you needed to color the sky in. she insisted tigers were purple and lions were green as she colored both in and you told her no different.

you wished you could go back to this stage of innocence. you’d be in a lot less pain.

things only got worse when you finally got to wisconsin. you and alex got an apartment together and he started his freshman season. you were alone frequently but it didn’t really bother you. you made friends to keep you company when your best friend was gone.

you’d get dms from girls in different states with screenshots and videos of alex asking them to hookup. one girl had even sent one where she asked about his girlfriend. he had said it wasn’t anything serious.

you had never been the type to go through his phone, but after that when he’d left it abandoned, you put in his passcode and turned on his location and that, that was your worst mistake.

the plane started boarding five minutes after it was supposed to. when the announcement was made, your new friend looked up at you with wide, blue eyes, “can we still color on the plane?”

“of course,” you promised and she held out her pinky. you wrapped your larger one around hers and she nodded, darting over with her coloring book to dan. you sighed before standing, collecting your own things. you grabbed you pursue and the handle of your carryon before wheeling over to the desk.

you hear a familiar giggle behind you and you turn and crane your head down, “we have the same colored suitcase!”

and, indeed, you had matching yellow suitcases. only hers had some characters from some kids show that you insisted was much cooler than your plain one.

she nodded, “kinda sorta.”

you should’ve ended it back when you saw the picture of the girl between his legs. you should’ve never applied to wisco. you should’ve never accepted his stupid apology gifts. you should’ve told him to fuck off a long time ago.

he said he was just going out with some teammates for a bite to eat after practice. “okay,” you had said, watching as he grabbed his keys, “could you bring me back-”

“a cake batter shake?” he interrupted and turned to face you with a grin. he strides over and leans down to kiss your forehead and then your lips. he hovers over you and smiles lightly, “i love you.”

“i love you too, alex. a whole lot.” you add on the extra bit and watch as he leaves out of the door. instantly, you texted owen asking when practice would be over.

we don’t have practice today? is what he responded.

that’s when you knew. you waited a few minutes and looked up the first flight out of wisco. before you bought your ticket, you looked at where he was.

just for shits and giggles.

when you saw he was at you knew to be a sorority house at four o’clock on a weekday, you nodded and clicked your tongue. you went back and bought your ticket and just stared at the ceiling.

you were there for a while before you stand up and go back to the bedroom the two of you had shared. your eyes linger on the bed where you’d made love only just the night before.

you opened the closet door and pulled out your suitcases. your grabbed your clothes and took time putting them away. the thought crossed your mind to just slash all of his things. rip them apart to mirror the way your heart felt in this exact moment, but you didn’t.

you wouldn’t stoop to his level.

the line moved as quick as you would have expected it to. you began to make small talk with dan as it moved, still holding onto the bunny. both your heads shoot towards where a deep voice shouted, “hey!”

dan rushes to put ivey behind him and you catch her look at you confused. a look of absolute dread crosses your face as you hear the familiar shout of your name, “y/n!”

and there he is. in the same clothes you’d left him in with same disheveled hair and a red mark blooming on his cheek. he spots you and runs toward you, but security stops him. they grab him by the arms as he bags, “baby, please don’t leave. i swear to god i’ll change. i love you so much.”

the security man holding his left arm looks at you, “do you know him?”

you looked at the boy whose eyes were pleading. the boy whom you’d loved for almost half your life and responded, “no sir. i have never seen him before in my life.”

you heard the door open three hours later. alex called your name as you shut your larger suitcase. he walks into the bedroom and freezes, “what’s going on?”

“i’m done.” is all you say, going over the nightstand and grabbing your laptop. you wrap up the cord as he stutters out his response.

“wha- what do you mean you’re done? with what?”

“with you. with us. with wisco. with all of this.” you shove your laptop in your bag and push past him into the living room.

he follows you like a puppy, “why?”

“are you serious?” you snap and turn to face him. “i gave you everything, alex. i was at every game i could be. i missed important shit so that i could support you. i worked my ass off just so i could come and visit you in michigan. i could’ve done what you’ve done to me a few times, but i didn’t. do you know why i didn’t, alex? because i loved you.”

that’s when the color drains from his face, “baby, just stay. let me explain.”

you push past him again, “there’s no reason for me to stay, alex. it took me too many years to see the truth, but i finally have. i refuse to be used by you.”

you’re in the bedroom when he grabs your elbow and you can’t even comprehend what happened before you’re hand goes across his face. he grabs his cheek and looks at you wide eyed. you shook your head and put your cases on the ground, “i wish that i had never met you.”

when you land in chicago and your time with ivey had come to an end, you handed her back the bunny rabbit. “are you happy now, y/n?”

“yeah, ivey,” you smile and rub the top of her head, “actually, i think i’m the happiest i’ve been in a while.”

#alex turcotte #alex turcotte imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #my work

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craniumhurricane · 5 years

Text

sometimes you have to break a few

Based on a Tumblr post I saw like forever ago and thought I took a screenshot of but can’t find:

I was in Publix and saw this woman buying a shit ton of eggs in front of me, she turned and looked at me and said “I don’t actually like eggs, my daughter’s boyfriend cheated on her and I’m going to egg his car.”

Because Clarke would be that mom.

On AO3!

It's later in the night than Bellamy would usually be doing his grocery shopping but it's the only time he was able to carve out during his busy week. The Ark High Spring Fling dance was tomorrow and somehow he was roped into signing up to help on the party committee. (Scratch that, he knows how, it's because he can't say no to Miss. Vie.)

There's only two registers open and since one is reserved for customers with 10 items or less, Bellamy opts for the other. He's zoning out and going over his mental checklist for the next day when the golden hair of the woman in front of him comes into focus. He watches her as she attempts to juggle about a dozen cartons of eggs from her hands to the conveyor belt. There's something familiar about her hair…

And then he hears her cursing and mumbling under her breath and all at once it clicks.

“Clarke?”

She startles and Bellamy is honestly shocked she doesn’t drop any of her eggs. She turns around, eyes widening as she takes him in, “Bellamy?”

He smiles, can't help it, “Holy shit, it is you. What's it been? Six years?”

She's smiling too, “Give or take but who's counting.”

He hasn't been counting, not really, but Bellamy knows he hasn't seen Clarke Griffin since she and his little sister graduated high school. She went off to some prestigious college and Bellamy stayed in Arkadia. He tried to keep in contact with her but she must have gotten a new number and then his Facebook was hacked and he didn't see a reason to set up a new one. Basically, it just seemed like they naturally drifted apart.

Except here she is. Standing in front of him in line at his supermarket at 9:30 at night purchasing approximately 144 eggs.

He feels like he's been staring too long, all his thoughts and questions jumbling together, so he asks the first thing his brain sends to his mouth...

“Come here often?” and cringes immediately but Clarke snorts out a laugh so maybe it didn't sound as bad as he thinks it did.

“Wow, that was awful,” she answers for him, but she's smirking. “Is that your way of asking if I've moved back to town?”

“Yeah, that's the appropriate way to word that question.”

She chuckles, “I've been back almost 2 years now. I got a job over at the physical therapy and rehab facility on Second.”

He tries not to let it show but he's surprised she's been back that long and he didn't know about it. Clarke was the same age as his sister but the two of them were always closer. He always thought that if she ever did come back that she would reach out. She must see something on his face though because she continues.

“I didn't know you were still in town, though!” she says in a rush. “I follow Octavia on Instagram and she seems to be as far from Arkadia as she can get. I assumed you'd be with her."

He shrugs, “Arkadia was always more my home than it was her’s.”

She ducks her head and tucks some hair behind her ear, "Yeah that seems right."

The cashier is done ringing up the eggs and calls for Clarke's attention; the poor woman only looks mildly alarmed by the purchase. Now, Bellamy’s seen enough movies to know that the cool thing to do in this situation would be to tell the cashier to ring up everything together and he’d pay for all of it… But that's a lot of fucking eggs.

Clarke pays and then to his surprise she waits for him at the end of the checkout line.

“I would ask if you were baking enough cakes to feed an army,” he says on the way out to the parking lot, “but for the Senior Year bake sale you definitely brought store bought brownies.”

She purses her lips at him for a second before exhaling in a huff, “No, these aren’t for baking. My daughter’s boyfriend cheated on her and I’m going to egg his car.”

The first thing he registers from that sentence is that she has a daughter. It’s only been six years so if she had a kid right after she left for college then at most they’d be in Elementary School. Egging a 5 year old’s car seems a bit excessive. And then the rest of the sentence hits him and he laughs.

“Finn Collins?”

"Old habits?” she smirks. “Clearly I haven't matured with age… and to be fair, that time it was Raven's idea."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "So you got a kid?"

He can see Clarke's face visibly light up at the question, despite the fact that it’s growing dark out.

“Madi, yeah," she says, "I fostered her for about a year and it was rough at first but we got through it and I think we both realized just how much we needed each other. I started the adoption process after that and then moved back here once it was finalized.” She pauses for a breath, thinks about it, and then adds, “She goes to Ark High actually."

He stops walking which makes her stop too.

“Wait, Madi Griffin?” he asks and when all she does is tilt her head in confusion he clarifies, “I teach freshman at Ark High.”

She gapes at him. “You’re Mr. Blake!? Madi talks about you all the time.”

“She’s never had a class with me," he says, dubious.

“Yeah well, you’ve always been able to make an impression.”

And suddenly it feels like old times. Clarke saying something nice about him and him not quite knowing how to accept it. She used to do it often, and adamantly, and he never felt like he deserved the praise but it never stopped her from giving it. Just like before, he feels warmth spread through his chest.

“So,” she shrugs, “you want to come with me? For old time’s sake?”

He doesn’t normally believe in signs but it feels like the universe is definitely trying to tell him something. He wants to keep hanging out, wants to catch up on the last 6 years and see if any of those lingering feelings are still there. He considers her offer for probably a bit longer than he should before reasoning finally sets in.

“Tempting but unfortunately it’s a school night,” he says, mostly as a joke but it's true. “Besides, I don’t think it would look good if a teacher gets caught egging one of his student’s cars.”

“You don’t even know if he’s one of your students.”

“And if I’m not an accomplice to vandalism then I’ll never have to know.”

“Wow, look at Bellamy Blake all grown up.”

“Well, one of us had to,” he teases and then before he can chicken out, “Let me give you my number though. In case you need bail money.”

“Wow. Smooth,” she smirks but she starts juggling her bags so she can take his phone.

“The smoothest,” he says when she hands it back. He sends her a quick text so she has his number and after that there's nothing left to do but leave.

“I'd give you a hug but,” she lifts her hands, laden with bags. And then he suddenly feels the weight of his own bags digging into his wrists.

“Next time,” he promises with a smile. “It was good to see you, Clarke.”

“You too. Bye, Bellamy.”

He almost makes it all the way to his car before he has to turn around and take one more look at her. It might be wishful thinking, but he thinks she's just turned back around from doing the same.

He contemplated texting Clarke all night but figured that would be creepy and make him seem eager, which he wasn’t. She texted him a thumbs up emoji while he was putting away his groceries, which he assumed meant she made it home alright. He hadn’t known how to respond to it last night any more then he knew how to respond to it the next morning.

So he just ignores it, or at least tries to. He has work and then the dance, so in theory plenty to keep him occupied.

Apparently, he had no reason to worry about social norms and the proper etiquette for responding to an emoji because Clarke shows up to the Spring Fling dance that night. She doesn't notice him so he avoids her and asks Maya about it instead, like an adult. Apparently she signed up to chaperone. He really should have paid more attention to this thing.

He’s about to go over and talk to her but Maya stops him and requests his help rehanging some decorations that fell down. After that she sends him off to his position at the refreshments table for the night and he completely loses sight of Clarke. He wants to go look for her but that would require abandoning his post and he doesn't trust these kids not to spike the punch bowl.

He’s not sure how much time has passed since time seems to speed up and yet stand still at these things. He also gets absorbed in his job and even chats with a few of his students as they stop by. He’s just confiscated a flask from Ethan Hardy when there’s a commotion over to his left.

“I know it was you!”

When Bellamy turns, he finally finds Clarke again. Unfortunately, it looks like she’s pissed off Nia Winters.

Nia Winters, or Queen Nia as many teachers call her behind her back due to the fact that she constantly gives this “I’m better than you and I have the attitude and money to prove it” vibe, is a long time parent of Ark High and tries to get her hands in every committee. Her eldest already graduated years ago, but now she has two more that go to the school. Bellamy will honestly be happy when they’re done with her and her overbearing “my child can do no wrong” parenting.

“I know it was you that threw eggs at my son's car!” she’s yelling at Clarke now and it doesn’t take long for Bellamy to connect the dots.

It must have been Nia’s son that cheated on Madi. Now that he thinks about it, he vaguely remembers hearing about them dating.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Clarke replies, expression completely cool and unreadable.

“The hell you don't!” Nia gets right up in Clarke’s face. They’re starting to draw a little bit of attention so Bellamy slowly makes his way over, ushering kids to get back to the party as he goes.

“I wasn't near your son's car last night,” Clarke says, complete with a straight face that even Bellamy would believe if he didn’t know otherwise. And then she looks Nia right in the eyes and adds, “Though whoever did do it was probably justified.”

Nia rears back like she’s been slapped before settling into a position that Bellamy can only describe as a predator ready to pounce. “How dare-”

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says as he closes the distance with two long strides. There’s still a few students looking but at least they’re trying to be discreet about it. “Can I help with anything?”

Nia whirls around to look at him and thrusts a finger out a Clarke, manicured nail just inches from her chest. “I want this woman to admit what she's done and be removed from the premises so I can press charges.”

Clarke looks like she's about to say something but Bellamy cuts her off. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid she's telling the truth.”

Both women turn to look at him, each with their own look of bewilderment and shock.

Nia looks from Bellamy to Clarke and back. “And how would you know that?” she asks defensively.

Clarke’s looking at him with that quizzical head tilt again. He meets her eyes for a second, hoping they’re still able to communicate without speaking and then turns his attention back to the other woman. “Because she was on a date with me last night.”

Nia’s jaw drops and out of the corner of his eye he can tell Clarke is biting the inside of her cheek to try and suppress a grin.

“W-Well,” the woman stutters.

“Maybe check with one of his other girlfriends,” Clarke says as she steps forward and puts her hand on Bellamy's arm. “From what I understand, it's a pretty extensive list. You might want to get started.”

And with that Clarke leads him back over to the drinks table, leaving Nia absolutely fuming. He’s afraid she’s going to try and follow them but she just stands there for a few minutes before marching towards the doors of the gym.

When they reach the table Clarke doesn’t remove her hand from his arm. “Thanks for the save,” she says, looking at the dancefloor, purposefully not meeting his eyes.

“Anytime,” he half shrugs. “But if you had told me that Madi was dating Queen Nia’s son last night then I probably would have helped you out.”

She finally turns and smiles up at him, “You got to help me out tonight though.”

There’s a pause again as they lull into a slightly awkward silence. Or maybe he just thinks it’s awkward. He’s afraid if he doesn’t fill it then she’s going to leave and then he’s right back where he started with a stupid thumbs up emoji.

“You know,” he starts to say and she looks back up at him. “Maybe we should grab dinner sometime. To make this whole dating thing more believable.”

“Wow, smooth,” she teases, but the effect is lost by how bright her smile is.

“We already established last night that I was smooth.”

She laughs and moves her arm to lace it properly through his. “Dinner sounds great.”

#no one cares ashleigh #bellarke fanfiction #my fanfiction #bffnet #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #this actually hits two of my bellarke bingo squares but idk if i want to use it #i've been affectionately referring to this as my 'distraction fic'#cause i was working on this instead of editing cops and robbers #hey i don't like my choices either

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myvelouri · 4 years

Text

I have to write this

I just can't believe another guy had you in the way that was meant for just me. You said we were exclusive. How could you conveniently forget. Scratch that, how could you even want to flirt with another guy, want another guy when I'm seeing you every night after we finally got together for real after you already betrayed me.

I was there, fighting to be with you because I felt I owed it to you since you fought for me SO hard and chased me SO hard even though I said I couldn't be with you in the beginning and tried not to be. You came at me so hard. You went from saying things like you want to pay for my college to then suddenly cheating on me. But yeah I waited every day, to talk to you, we were in a strong relationship and you overnight went behind my back to an ex and got feelings for him. Blindsided and dumped me for him. Weeks of torture and you talking to him and me talking to you. The worst things I heard, many traumatizing moments. But finally you knew you wanted me really badly. You were suffering without me as you knew you wanted me finally. You missed me that day I left you alone.

You told me you wanted to be official with me and said you'll be honest about everything and not go behind my back again. Since you went behind my back and video chatted an ex which I told you was not even okay as I broke up with you for it before, yet, you fought so hard to be with me and made compromises.

You wanted me tremendously. We started doing us again. Gifts for each other, nights where you surprised me with candles and you in lingerie. We cuddled, made love, joked, tried to get over what you just did to me. But you made it seem like you didn't really go back to your ex and you convinced me that you loved me. I was just extremely disappointed and now scared of you. Because how could someone who wanted me this bad just suddenly go behind my back at all and then break up with me. You said you felt guilty for having feelings for me and him so you left. But I remember a lot. You really wanted to go back to him. You said he was never gonna be an issue.

But he was. I knew it.

But forget that. My trust for you died a little. But not completely, not even close. I still had a lot of trust.

So we kept being together, you're the one who said we were exclusive, you got upset and had a shocked reaction when I asked if we were together or seeing other people or what "together" means. You said "we're EXCLUSIVE!" and the thought of me being with someone else obviously wasn't okay with you and I felt reassured. I felt we were still together. I mean, we were. In a relationship. Just slowed it down. We agreed to have a slower relationship... Like I wanted in the beginning. Hell, you forced me into a relationship hard and fast. To begin with. Which was also unfair. For you to do this.

But we were together! And then suddenly, a guy hits on you, creepily. You went to get your laptop fixed and you had a moment with him. A cute moment. You both laughed. I joked that you'd be hit on and you're cute so maybe you could use your looks to get your laptop fixed for a cheaper price. I was totally kidding. And you were saying you're not cute at all. I was being such a good boyfriend to you and said you're super cute, super amazing. But this guy... He sent you a text saying you were really cute. ... ... He got your number from the SYSTEM at the store. How fucking creepy is that. You sent me the screenshot.

I was like "that's creepy! But I told you you were cute!" And you responded in a weird way. So I asked "did you text him back?!" And you made it seem like how could I think you'd text him back. And I felt bad, I said to myself omg I should have trusted her, of course she wouldn't have texted him. Of course not. You lied to me. You lied.

I found out you were texting him when I saw you that day. His name was in the text you sent, in the screenshot. But you didn't have his number saved

But as we were goofing off in person, I saw your phone blow up. I saw the screen and you told me to check if it was your mom. Instead, I saw HIS name. I was like "you... Saved his number?" And you said "who? Oh that's not him. That's so and so" and you said that 3-4 times as I kept saying "um, no.. that's the guy... You... Saved his number?" And I was getting anxiety, triggered. And I actually trusted you so much that I was like, in okay maybe it's a different person with the same name... But I was like "that's the same name..." And you finally let up and said "yeah.. it's him..." And I said "why would you save his number?..." And I saw the text said something that was a response, saying something about his hobbies and asking her for her hobbies. Clearly they were having a huge conversation. I was freaking out. I said I'm done. I can't with her. We're finished... This is too much. Too much... Too many times now... Too much hurt.

And I said I wanted to see the texts. And you said no, are you sure, no. But you offered it I think. I said okay fine show me. And you didn't want to. You finally gave in. And you looked full of guilt. And you said "you're gonna hate me..." And I saw you pull out your phone, you said you only texted him 3 times. So I was expecting 3-6 texts max. But you scrolled up so far into the conversation thread, omg it went forever, I saw paragraphs from each of you, I saw emojis, I saw so much flirty shit it seemed, playfulness, I didn't even read, I said no, out it away, that's enough of an answer, THAT much amount of texting, wow, no. And I asked if you flirted and you said "a little..." And I said no. I can't.

I can't.

I can't believe you would do this

I couldn't

I wonder how far the flirting went.

Also she said that when she went in to get her laptop fixed, she went back to her car and put on lip gloss and makeup and went back to him to flirt with him. She played it off by saying she wanted a cheap price so she wanted to use her looks. This was my joke from earlier. Except she actually did it. DUDE she ACTUALLY went BACK into her car, put on lip gloss, MAKE UP, went BACK TO THIS GUY, and flirted with him

Holy shit

That's probably why he went full creep-mode and got her number from the system.

I just

And then they...

Why would I take her back?

My feelings for her have died and I'm so enraged that they died because I wasn't ready for them to go. They go by themselves, it's cause of her! My heart does what it does! But I'm noticing all the cute shit she does and says, her personality quirks, all her behaviors that would make my heart flutter, all the things that made me go "AWW" AND EVERYTHING THAT MADE ME ADORE HER NO LONGER HAVE ANY EFFECT ON ME!! HOW DARE YOU HURT ME SO BAD THAT MY FEELINGS DIE! You weren't supposed to be the one capable of this.

You're the one who promised loyalty so fucking hard. Cause I was leaving you for far less and you knew what not to do, knew what I was sensitive to. And you thought I was the sweetest guy ever, best guy you've ever had.

Yet you still hurt me badly.

You even said you wanted to flirt with another guy (s) before you got into a serious relationship with me forever. Wtf do you think I am? You think I'd want you after you gave yourself to another guy? After you hoe around? I said if you want to do that just go ahead and live how you'd like.. but I'm leaving. I'm not judging. You be you. It's okay. I swear. But definitely don't hurt me, you fucked me over.

I can't stand this

This pain

You fucking loved me so hardcore. You would come see me everyday on your lunch break from work. You said how I was such an upgrade from your ex. You said you didn't know how I'm so comfortable to be with. You said no one's ever made you this happy. You still say that shit. But I don't believe you. And now I have zero trust for you. None. It's all gone.

You cheated, you lied, you took me for granted. And you went behind my back twice. And you broke my heart once already, and now you broke it again

You feel guilty and anxiety everyday now. It's been 2 weeks.

I'm not over it.

You again were fighting hard to be with me. Spoiling me. But I don't trust it.

As well, you've leaned back some, and you seem to be okay with me not being with you suddenly

Your emotions are unstable, girl.

I still love you, honey

But

You killed me.

I don't know if I can stay.

#personal #relationships #heartbreak

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woildismyerster · 6 years

Note

Can you write anything with davey? I love how you characterize him!

Y/N: i need a favor

Davey: Sure, what’s up?

Y/N: you just agreed. no backing out now

Davey: Y/N.

Y/N: meet me behind the school

Y/N: bring a box

“Davey is my best friend,” you cooed into your arms. “If you like me, you’ll like him by proxy. Probably. Hopefully.”

To say that liking you was the same as liking Davey was a stretch, but Davey was winsome. He would be fine as long as he didn’t do anything stupid.

“And there he is,” you said, grinning at him while he approached. His eyes were already on what you were holding. “The life of the party. The VIP. The man of the—”

“That’s a cat,” Davey said, voice going up at the end as though it was a question.

“Well spotted.”

“It looks dead,” he said, nothing questioning about it.

“It isn’t.”

It did look it, though. The kitten was small, patchy, and buzzing with flies. If it hadn’t been walking when you found it, you probably would have assumed the same thing. It had settled into your arms without too much of a fuss, which was probably a universal sign that this was supposed to be the Salem to your Sabrina Spellman.

Davey looked at you, then at the box. “You can’t seriously want to keep that thing.”

You balked. “Somebody has to take care of it. Why not me?”

“Because your parents don’t want ‘anymore living things’ in their house,” he pointed out. “Because you have nowhere to hide a cat, especially if it needs special care.”

“You already agreed to help,” you said with a grin. “No take-backs.”

“You’re the devil.”

“Irrelevant.”

He groaned. “My parents will kill me.”

“Suitable. A life for a life.” You held the cat out to him, hoping that maybe there was a scrap of empathy in him somewhere. “C’mon, Davey. The cat needs help. I’ll do all the work; I just need a place for him to stay.”

“You can’t do all the work,” Davey said, “when it’s at my house.”

“I’ll come over all the time,” you said eagerly. “So much you’ll get tired of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, a strange look on his face. Maybe it was suspicion. Maybe he was just thinking it through, imagining how he’d have to change his schedule to fit this in. “I could never get tired of you.”

“Please?”

“I don’t even like cats,” he said, defeated. He held out the box so you could settle the kitten in.

“You don’t have to like cats—just the one,” you said, scooping up the box and setting off toward Davey’s apartment.

Davey: If I touch him, I’ll probably get a horrible disease and die.

Y/N: dont touch him then

Davey: This is all on you.

“I feel like a mom,” you crooned.

“The mom of a gremlin, maybe,” Davey said. He’d locked the cat in a cage, both for his own sake and the cat’s. He’d read online that the cat needed a chance to get used to it’s surroundings, so he’d been trying to help it chill out in private. “Or like the queen that gave birth to the Minotaur.”

“Don’t talk about your son that way.”

He snorted. “Believe me, I’d remember fathering this beast.”

You winked at him, and he went a little pink.

“Not like that, you cretin.” He sat on the floor with you in front of the cage, crossing his legs. “We could always give him to a shelter, you know. To people who know what they’re doing.”

“We’ll take him to the vet tomorrow, and we’ll know what we’re doing after that.”

He sighed. “You want to keep him.”

“Of course I do. He’s perfect.”

“He has fleas.”

“He has feelings too, Dave, so watch your mouth.” You bumped your shoulder against his to soften the words, and he bumped back. “I want him. There’s no good reason; I just do. Please help.”

“Sure, sure. You know I will,” he sighed.

You grinned, laying your head against his shoulder. “Isn’t our son beautiful?”

“If you say so, dear,” he said. After a second, he laid his cheek against your head. Even through your hair, you could feel how warm his skin was. Maybe it was just warm in the room.

You weren’t sure there had ever been so many people in Davey’s room before, but cats were a siren call that no rational human could ignore. None of your friends were rational—aside from Davey, perhaps, but even he had succumbed.

“We took him to the vet,” he told anybody within earshot. “They gave us a food plan, and he has roundworm—”

“You’re killing the magic, Dave,” Jack said. “Don’t.”

It had taken a few days for the kitten to get comfortable in his new home, and even longer to reach a point where he didn’t lose his mind around new people. Your squad had been hankering to see him for ages, but Davey had been adamant about keeping the stressors to a minimum.

“I dunno, guys,” Elmer said. “I just watched The Haunting of Hill House, and you saw what happened to the kittens they took in—”

“We aren’t kids,” you said. “Between Davey and I, we can keep one cat alive. The vet mapped it all out.”

“There are probably other scary movies with bad cats,” Race said. He grinned, running his fingers along the length of the cat’s head. “Look out, Davey, the end of days is near.”

“The Black Cat, by Edgar Allan Poe,” Romeo said.

“Lucifer,” Albert said. “‘Cinderella’ didn’t play around.”

“Mrs. Norris,” Crutchie said. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he first saw the cat, and the cat seemed to like Crutchie just as much. No surprise there.

“Or,” you cut in, shooting a sidelong glance at an exhausted Davey, “this cat is gonna be like Crookshanks. That’d be pretty cool.”

“Not gonna lie, Y/N,” Davey whispered later. “This is harder than I expected.”

You grimaced. You’d trust Davey with a cat before anybody else, but you’d never intended to inconvenience him. “I can ask somebody else to hang onto him, if you want.”

“No,” Davey said hurriedly. “No, it’s fine, I’ve got it. I just hadn’t realized how much that would take, before.”

“I could come over more,” you offered. “Bribe you with snacks.”

He smiled, shooting a look at the shoelace the kitten was chewing. “That would be nice.”

You grinned back, warming up to the idea. It was always nice coming to Davey’s house. There was always good food, and anyplace with Davey obviously had good company. “You really will get tired of me, now.”

“Impossible,” he said.

Cat NAME POLL RESULTS:

Muffin Man - 2 votes

Name him Davey so we can replace Davey Jacobs with a better model - 8 votes

Jean Ralphio - 4 votes

Dat Ho - 7 votes

Wilson (Jesus, guys, a normal name) - 1 votes

Tom Hanks - 2 votes

“We aren’t naming the cat ‘Davey,’” Davey the Human said.

“That attitude is exactly why we wanted to get rid of you in the first place,” Race said.

“Use the second place name.”

You grinned. “You know, I thought that ‘Dat Ho’ had a nice ring to it.”

Davey’s glare was withering. “I should stop hanging out with you guys. How hard could it possibly be to pick a nice name? I’m even willing to use a pun at this point.”

Davey the Cat walked across Race’s backpack, claws scritching against the fabric. He slipped, hit the floor, and proceeded to act as though nothing had happened.

“He even looks a little like you,” you said. “Fitting to share a name, isn’t it?”

Race threw an arm over Davey’s shoulders. “It’s a compliment. Bask in it.”

Les sometimes sent you pictures of Davey with the cat. They would read together, or Davey would stay up two hours later than usual because he didn’t dare wake the cat up by standing.

You took a screenshot every single time. After a while, you started setting them as lockscreens on your phone. You had no good explanation when people asked about it.

“Y/N?” Davey rubbed his thumb over his lip while he looked at the chess board. “Are you going to the fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“If you get some cheese, you can give a little to the cat.”

You grinned. “You give him cheese?”

“Davey the Cat loves cheese,” he said, shrugging. “Might as well let him treat himself.”

“You’ve gone soft,” you said. The cat was sitting on the table, looking at that game board with as much interest as Davey was. Seeing it made you feel a little soft, too.

“I still don’t like cats,” he said.

“Just the one, huh?”

Davey said nothing. He rubbed the cat’s head, and the cat leaned into the touch.

You showed Jack and Race a picture of Davey with the cat, waiting for their faces to light up. They smiled, but didn’t seem as taken with it as you were.

“I was surprised when Davey took the cat,” Jack commented on the way to class. “He’s so whipped.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whipped,” Race said, dragging out the word. “You know, when somebody does absolutely anything their lover says. Davey’d jump off a cliff if you smiled at him while you asked him to. Actually, letting the cat in his house is probably crazier than that.”

“Davey isn’t whipped,” you said. “He’s just nice.”

“So’s Crutchie, and he would have at least asked his parents before saying yes.”

“Jack, Davey is your best friend. You know that he doesn’t do anything if he doesn’t think it’s a good idea,” you said.

“Of course it seemed like a good idea. You told him you’d hang out with him more if he did what you asked.”

You cringed. “I didn’t say it like that. He wanted the cat.”

“Davey didn’t want the cat,” Jack snorted.

“He literally told you that he doesn’t like cats,” Race said. “You need to listen better.”

You scowled at them. “Davey wouldn’t have taken Davey the Cat in if he didn’t sort of want him, a little bit.”

“He didn’t want the cat,” Jack said, as though you would only understand him if he spoke slowly. “He just wanted to make you happy.”

“I call BS.”

Jack put his hands on your shoulders. “Listen to me. Davey thinks you’re great, and wants to make all of your dreams come true, yada yada yada. You needed help with the cat. He could help with the cat. That’s all there is to it.”

“Please,” you said. “This is Davey we’re talking about.”

“Exactly. Why would Davey do something if he didn’t want to? Because what you wanted mattered more than what he wanted. It isn’t rocket science.”

It sure felt like rocket science. Actually, rocket science would probably have made more sense.

So, maybe had taken in a cat because you asked him to. That wasn’t so crazy, right?

It was a little crazy.

The real problem, the big thing that plagued your mind for days, was the guilt. You should never have asked him in the first place. When he hadn’t seemed interested, you should have backed off. Here he was, stuck with a cat, because he maybe sort of probably would have done anything to make you happy.

You called Jack one night, hoping that talking about it without seeing him might make it easier to ask questions.

“Has he ever told you that he liked me?”

“No,” Jack said immediately. “Davey’s not really like that, you know. He’s not really chatty, and he really doesn’t tell people things if he doesn’t want everybody knowing them.”

You knew that, of course. “What makes you think that he did this because he’s whipped, then?”

“Y/N, don’t be an idiot. You have eyes. You know how he is. If he didn’t want the cat, it was for you. If he had you come over to help, it was because he wanted you over. He can take care of a cat on his own. He likes you.”

You hugged your pillow. “Okay.”

Jack yawned. “Is that it? Can I go to bed?”

“One more question. Why did I ask Davey to take the cat in the first place? I knew that Davey didn’t really like cats.”

“Don’t get mad at me for saying so,” Jack said, “but we all assumed that it was because you like Davey back.”

“Oh.”

“Looks, it’s just—it’s always the two of you. It always has been. I’m not saying that you guys can’t be regular friends, but I’m not sure that either of you would be good at that. Not with each other.”

“Davey,” you said.

“Y/N.” He carefully peeled his string cheese to each strip was around the same size.

“You don’t have to keep Davey the Cat anymore,” you said. “Crutchie offered to take him on.”

Davey blinked at you, surprised. His hands dropped a little, his snack forgotten. “Oh.”

“You didn’t want him,” you said.

“I know.”

“Now things can go back to normal.” You didn’t want Davey to be unhappy because he thought it was better for you. You weren’t sure what to think of Davey liking you—or the possibility (certainty) that you liked him back—but you could try to make life easier for him, at the very least. “You can have evenings to yourself again, now that I won’t be coming around.”

“Oh,” Davey repeated. There was no emotion on his face at all.

You grinned, a little too large to be real. “You were probably getting tired of me, after all.”

“I wasn’t,” he croaked. The emotion was there now, and you wished you’d talked to him before talking to Crutchie. “I really wasn’t.”

“You’ll be happier once everything is back the way it was,” you tried.

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

You winced. “Look, I know that this was all for me. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

He went a little pink. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I talked to Jack—”

“Never listen to Jack. He’s had too much paint water to drink to be sane”

You half smiled. “Maybe, but he knows you pretty well.”

“No,” Davey said.

“Yes.”

“Maybe.”

“So,” you continued, “I’m going to make this right.”

“I want the cat,” Davey said forcefully.

“What?”

“I want the cat. I like the way my life is, now. I like Davey the Cat. I like having you over. I like that I’m your lockscreen, and I like coparenting, and I like—”

You kissed him, and everything else was far away. Sure, you were conscious of everything happening around you. You heard his food hit the floor. You heard cars honking outside, and the light tapping of rain against the window. You were aware of many things, but none of them mattered as much as Davey’s hands going to your waist, or the sharp inhale right before he started kissing you back.

“I, ah, really like coparenting with you,” you said after pulling back.

Davey smiled, baffled. “Okay.”

“I’ll tell Crutchie that you’ve changed your mind about the cat.”

“Okay,” he said again. His hands were still on your sides. “What—why’d you—”

“I’m just not tired of you yet,” you said.

Davey was grinning, still confused but incredibly happy. “I’m so confused right now.”

You kissed him again. That would illuminate some things.

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years

Text

BODY AND SOUL Part 5 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: The Youth of Bacchus is listed publicly as being part of a “private collection”, so AU-fictionally-speaking, who knows, it could theoretically belong to the Shepherds. I’ve been meaning to feature Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in some kind of story for ages, as I’ve loved it all my life (I listened to this version a lot while I wrote this part). I had to include a little nod to my fellow Sagittarius, Jane Austen, with her famous line, spoken by Darcy to Lizzie in a moment of passionate abandon, from Pride & Prejudice (“you have bewitched me, body and soul”), though the title of my fic came originally from the song Hypnotised by Years & Years, as I’ve mentioned before. I mirrored the “breathing” advice from their mothers on purpose. That moment Kenzie stares at Duncan with tears in her eyes over dinner was my homage to that gif floating around of Mallory looking across the table (I always imagine she’s looking at Michael). I’m learning some fascinating stuff from my research for this fic, including the fact that in order to be issued a Black AmEx (“Centurion Card”) you need a special invitation and are required to pay an initiation fee of $7500 with an annual fee of $2500. Rumor has it (it hasn’t been confirmed on record) that Black Card holders need a net worth of around $16 million to qualify. I also learned that Bordeaux goes well with duck a l’orange, which, as a vegetarian, is a thing I probably would have never known otherwise. The line “Then I must be thy lady, but I know / When thou hast stolen away from fairy land” is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Bouguereau cunnilingus I came up with in my sleep last night and I’m totally in love with it. His painting Evening Mood (which Duncan thinks of when Kenzie is standing there naked in the candlelight) is enshrined at the Museum of Fine Arts, in Cuba. I’m so proud of this part; I worked really hard on it and put a lot of my own emotions into it. I’m proud of what I’ve written here and what I’ve done so far with this story, and that’s a wonderful feeling. If anyone else wants to do visual edits or moodboards for the fic, I’d be so thrilled. The one @nat-de-lioncourt made (here) made me ecstatically happy. I posted some screenshots of the playlist I made for writing the fic on my Twitter, if you’re interested in my music influences/the mood I’m trying to create so far. And as ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments mean everything to me.

Duncan felt as though his spirit was trying to break free from his body. He was leaning against the obsidian counter in his spotless kitchen, his sleek black phone clutched in his hands, tapping it every now and again to check the time, quiet strains of classical music coming from the turntable in the corner of his office; Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He fiddled with the cufflinks of his shirt again; they were rose gold with black onyx stones. He ran his fingers down his Balmain one-button velvet jacket, breathing deep, letting it out at a measured pace, re-adjusting the collar of his black shirt, though it had already been perfectly straight. Annette had taught him to breathe carefully from the time she had begun to bring him to public events with her when he was still in elementary school. “Never let them see your nervousness,” she had insisted, holding his small hand in hers, pushing at his back so he’d stand straight. “These people feed on weakness, and you must appear to be untouchable them. Breathe until your fear fades away. You can’t use it where you’re going.”

Oddly, he often thought it was the best advice his mother had ever given him. You can’t use it where you’re going; as if his destiny was to do something great, no matter his own doubts about himself. She had always said it with absolute conviction. He knew his mother loved him. That was an absolute, unshakeable truth. Maybe she could accept Kenzie, because I think I love her. He brought his hand to his chin in that familiar tick, running his right index and middle fingers over his bottom lip. That thought had come unbidden, like a tide to the shore. God. I think I do. I don’t know her yet, but I think I love her. It’s so strange.

He made himself breathe out again, focusing his attention on the strains of the Sonata’s first movement; it had always made him think of the dead of night, some abandoned moor far from civilization, bathed in the glow of the moon and a universe full of a million stars hovering above, looking down on the tiny rock of humanity with a studied, sympathetic indifference. Wretched humankind, he thought, moving slowly to the study, all alone in an empty cosmos. It was a thought he’d had many times before, but this time, oddly, his resolute conviction in it faltered. Maybe alone. Maybe not. His eyes fell over the painting that stretched, colossal, against the wall facing his desk.

It was Bouguereau's The Youth of Bacchus. His mother had bought it for him for his 18th birthday: yes, the original. The Shepherds had a net worth of over 3 billion, and she had insisted he needed a legitimate piece when he’d moved into his penthouse alone. He’d always loved it; “it reminds me of when you were a boy and I bought you those mythology books you’d read for hours and hours,” Annette had said, her finger stroking his cheek. He’d gone through a period in his adolescence where he was obsessed with Greek and Roman mythology; had practically every book ever published on the subject, most of them still on his study shelves, though Edith Hamilton’s was always his favorite. He had gazed at the bacchanalia depicted in the painting countless times, its naked, dancing figures, feverish in their revelry; sometimes he would come here and sit in the leather chair behind the mahogany desk, just to stare at it until whatever vinyl he’d placed on the turntable wound down to silence. It had always been odd to him that though the painting referred to Bacchus’ youth (he, the god of hedonism), he was depicted as a pot-bellied old man in it, teetering on a donkey. Duncan had long-ago decided that Bouguereau meant it in reference to Bacchus’ spirit, his essence, one of endless mischief and debauchery. He thought back on the many nights he’d indulged in debauchery himself; the women and men he’d taken into his bed, careless to know their names, content with the pleasures of the flesh, rarely feeling the impulse to see them again. When your mother was Annette Shepherd, you could afford to pay off any troublesome, tiresome attentions. Duncan found that though he’d often felt lust, any experience he’d had until last night had not deigned to come close to the wild, somehow almost painful, intoxicating energy he’d felt when Mackenzie Stone was in his arms. It was as if he’d never known what passion truly was until the moment he’d kissed her, her mouth opening to him; hadn’t understood the winding way of the universe at all until she’d been under him, her sweet whisper in his ear, her small hands on his skin, around his length, in his hair. Her smell, her touch, her presence was like waking up for the first time on a cool spring morning after winter, seeing the sunlight course over some distant hill, watching auburn clouds float into the ether as dawn kissed the world. She had reminded him, or perhaps made him realize truly for the first time, that being alive was miraculous indeed; and he wanted the feeling again, the grip of the desire to live. And that was passion, he thought. Passion was her eyes, where he’d seen her soul floating behind them, seeing his, as though they’d been long lost from each other, and now, finally, had found each other again, through time.

Bewitched, body and soul, he thought, and he could not remember what the line was from. God, but that’s how I feel. He’d considered himself a staunch atheist since he was little more than a child, but something about this woman, this wondrous angel so she seemed, made his resolve falter for the first time in memory. Maybe there is something out there, he thought, surprising himself, a shiver falling down his spine under the weight of his velvet jacket, the C-sharp minor of the Sonata boring into his mind. She exists, and she is some kind of miracle, so maybe something is. Fuck. It was as if someone else had entered his body since last night; the better version of himself, desperate to be good enough for her, desperate to hope for a world where she truly existed, and was not some free-falling fantasy of his own invention.

He fiddled with his onyx cufflinks, clearing his throat, moving to where he kept a small bar cart beside the table the record player rested on, an ornate, priceless Tiffany lamp beside it. He poured a finger of bourbon and drank it down, wiping his lips on the back of his hand as the final strokes of the first movement ended. He glanced at his watch (the Cartier again); it was 8:20 PM. It was time to go; time to go to her.

Surprising himself again, he thought out a silent prayer for the first time since he was a boy: if anyone is out there, give me courage.

------

Samuel shut the door behind Duncan as he slid into the backseat of the black BMW. Duncan felt as though he could jump out of his skin at any moment; his resolve was trembling, and the feeling was truly putting him off-guard. Am I actually good enough for this woman? The thought flitted across his mind and he felt utterly shaken by it, as though someone else had invaded his mind. But he knew the thought was his own. He knew he was truly wondering what he’d done to deserve her in his bed, enraptured, the euphoria of her seeping into his senses. He couldn’t believe he was about to see her again. His body felt like it was vibrating, the bourbon he had drunk to calm his nerves giving them an edge instead, an overwhelming intensity.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shepherd?” Samuel was sitting in the driver’s seat again, peering at Duncan over his glasses, a combination of concern and amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Samuel, I need your good thoughts tonight,” Duncan replied, his guard down. “I need all the help I can get. I’m enamoured with this woman. I’m crazy about her.”

“Let your heart be your guide, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down, toward the stretch of asphalt in front of Duncan’s high rise. The car moved forward, streamlined, humming quietly, toward Duncan’s destiny.

----

Duncan had texted Mackenzie again a few hours before; after the conversation during which she’d gazed at her phone in awe, falling into the constellation of Cancer on her bed, unbeknownst to him. He’d asked for her address; it was now programmed into Samuel’s GPS, so he could see the minutes counting down to their arrival. He took another deep breath; let it out in a steady stream, opposing thumb pressing into his palm; his eyes, sapphire-like, gazed out the window, reflecting the glowing lights of a Washington evening. He thought of Kenzie in her little black dress, her ankles wrapped in laces, the crystal floating at her throat, her eyes, gazing at him, full of hidden emotion. Her voice rising in his shower; baby, I want you to come. He closed his eyes and his head, crowned in curls, fell back on the leather seat. God, her fingers in mine, her hard little nipples and sweet clit in my mouth and the feeling of her body clenching around mine, how was that real, how is it still all so real and yet like a dream, the smell of vetiver and her skin, her moans, her hair glowing in the light over the bed--

“Mr. Shepherd, we’re here.”

His eyes snapped open, an involuntary fear rising in them. They’d pulled up to an apartment complex, relatively modern, with glass doors leading to an entryway and the doors of the inner apartments visible within.

Kenzie.

“Here I go.”

Samuel nodded, the wry smile playing around his mouth again.

“Mr. Shepherd.”

For the breadth of a heartbeat, Duncan paused, then he pushed the door of the BMW open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Apartment 1R was Mackenzie’s; she’d texted even her apartment number to him. She was trusting him with it, and he understood this innately. He straightened his Balmain jacket (already straight), rubbed the finger into his palm again, ran that nervous, constant hand against his bottom lip, and walked to the glass door, pulling it open. The second door was locked; he saw a neat row of buzzers beside it, each with a tile clearly printed with apartment numbers underneath. 1R. Stone. He breathed in again, long and low, and pressed the buzzer.

He held the breath as the moment hung there, unmoving.

Then a buzzing sound emanated from the foyer where he stood; he pulled the second door open.

Inside, there were four apartments in a long row, and a corner where the hallway turned towards more apartments along the next wall. He walked (wearing black Saint Laurent Wyatt boots tonight, the buckles hidden beneath the hem of his tailored slacks) to the end, where the corner began; 1R. A gold crescent moon ornament, hung from a small nail and a gold-painted, braided length of rope, shimmered in the hallway light against the door. There was a one-sided peephole facing him; he stared at it for a moment; he breathed again, and then he knocked.

An aching pause again; and then she opened the door.

Mackenzie stood there, her chestnut waves falling down over her shoulders and her back (moons along her head, he thought, stunned, moonlight in her hair), and she met his gaze, her hazel eyes aglow with silent fire, though her expression was full of apprehension she clearly had not been able to conceal. He went to speak, but his breath seemed caught in his lungs; he looked at her and his heart was struck with a quiver of aching need. Her mouth was darkly colored; her eyelids were dark, black kohl around her eyes; tonight she was like the hidden face of the moon, and he was immediately beguiled, under her spell.

She was wearing a dress that seemed to be cut out of the air itself; its neckline plunged down through the space between her breasts, coming together beneath them in a deep V, the skin there luminous in the light (I want to kiss that skin now); it was black like the dress she’d been wearing the night before, but it had long sleeves that came down to past her wrists, pointing towards her knuckles. It had been tailored to her small waist, tailored so it hugged against the rise of her chest and the elegant inclines of her arms, and then it fell from her hips, in waves of more silken velvet an inch above her knee, waves he wanted to kneel into, bury himself inside. Knee-high heeled boots stretched along her slender legs (the legs whose ankles I kissed, their redness building an ache in me, he thought), their toes coming to points, but the stretch of skin between where the boots began and her skirt ended was entrancing to him; he wanted to press his mouth there and move it up between her legs again; he ached at the thought. Around her neck was a velvet choker (my hands there my lips on her mouth), and hanging from it was a black inverted moon, its crescent points hanging down towards her shoulder blades. The sight of it sent a cool chill along the back of his neck; it seemed an omen, occult and knowing, a feminine eye that knew him and could see all of his secrets. He resigned himself to this; I would tell her anything. And he knew it was true.

“Kenzie,” he said breathlessly, overwhelmed. She was real. He hadn’t dreamt her; not last night, not this morning, when her light scattered along the hall as she ran away from him. And she was beautiful beyond all words to him; her realness, her weight, her beauty, within and without, shining like a darkened star in the twilight.

“God, you look beautiful.”

“So do you,” a nervous smile spread over her little mouth, and he thought of honey, roses, wine, the sweetness of your soul, Kenzie--and he moved forward, his lips capturing hers, his hands burying themselves in her cascade of hair, and he felt lost for a moment, lost in the tangibility of touching her again, full of relief at her reality. “You’re real,” he whispered into her mouth; he couldn’t stop. “You’re real, and I didn’t dream you.” He breathed in her smell; her perfume was the same. Vetiver, geranium, roses. He wanted to drink it like nectar.

“I know. I was afraid of the same thing. That I’d imagined you.” Her little face was turned up to him, and her darkly-shadowed eyes glistened with moisture. He was filled with a terrible fear that she would begin to cry; he felt a twinge around his heart, a wrenching horror at the idea of her sadness.

“I’m here.” He pressed his forehead into hers for a moment, his fingers trailing through her hair, his eyes closing, overwhelmed. “We’re both here. Everything was real. Everything is real. This is real.”

Her little hands went around his wrists for a moment as he held her, twining her fingers through his on either side of her face, clutching him to her, and he felt a burst of energy, as if her sweetness, her care, her nature of goodness, seeped through her into him, bathing him in warmth, and then she stepped away, out of his grasp. “Take me to dinner, Duncan Shepherd. I’m fucking starving.” She smiled again, like honey, he thought, and he smiled back at her (he watched her face blush towards him at his smile and his heart clenched again), and then he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her through the door, his fingers pressing into her, the warmth of hand spreading into him like the glow of home after a long, cold walk in the dark.

-----

Duncan grasped Mackenzie’s little hand as she slid into the backseat of the BMW, her eyes meeting Samuel’s through his rearview mirror as they always did Duncan’s. Duncan could see the smile in Samuel’s eyes; he was delighted. Duncan slid in beside her and pulled the door shut, anxious to be near her; Kenzie looked so unbelievably beautiful, he felt dazed, blinded, disoriented once again, wistful for them to be alone together.

“Samuel--this is Mackenzie Stone.”

Duncan watched the clouded patina that immediately came into Samuel’s usually clear brown eyes. “Stone. You wouldn’t be Madeline Stone’s daughter now, would you?”

Kenzie put her chin up, meeting Samuel’s gaze through the mirror, bringing her hands together in her lap over her little purse (it was different than the clutch she’d had at the party; this one had a strap to go over her shoulder, and a gold buckle shaped like a crescent moon, this one facing in a waxing direction). Duncan felt a sort of fierce pride wash over him as he gazed at her lovely, shadowed face, the blush of her cheek and the incline of her neck. She’s brave; she’s honest. She’s so easy to fall in love with.

“I am.”

Samuel didn’t miss a beat, letting his concern slide away. Duncan silently thanked him. “Delighted to finally meet you, Miss Stone. Duncan has said only the best of you.”

“He doesn’t know me that well yet,” she laughed a little, glancing at Duncan, and he was full suddenly to the brim with the desire to hold her, kiss her again, melt into her. Samuel chuckled with her, his very white teeth flashing, his eyes dancing behind his square glasses. He liked her very much; Duncan could tell. How could you not, Duncan thought. Look at her.

“I can’t wait to know you more,” he said to her, Samuel’s watchful eye be damned. He reached to her lap and grasped her hand, looking at her carefully. He wanted her to see how sincerely he meant what he was saying. “I want to know you more than anything.” Kenzie looked at him, her hazel eyes taking on that strange dark hue again, and then she looked down at his hands, as if she felt overwhelmed by his gaze. Samuel’s attention seemed to strategically slide away from them; Duncan didn’t even need to ask him, the partition between the front and back seats rolled up languidly, almost absent-mindedly, and the car moved forward. By the time it arrived in front of Le Diplomate, Duncan and Kenzie were breathless, eyes glittering, breath hitching from the wild locking of their mouths, and Duncan’s lips were smeared with her dark lipstick. She put her delicate thumb up to his mouth as the car stopped, to wipe it away; Duncan captured the finger in his mouth, and sucked at it for a moment, lost in the ecstasy of her touch, the taste of her.

“Duncan,” she whispered, the longing in her voice inconcealable. “My lipstick is all over you.”

“Good. I want it there.”

She smiled at him, and he couldn’t hold back the moan; “Kenzie, baby,” he tried to kiss her again, his mouth hovering over hers, but she pulled away, the smile turning mischievous, and he knew she was watching the yearning in his gaze and his body with satisfaction; she quickly wiped the stain from his mouth before he could bite her finger again, and pulled her hand away.

“Later,” she said, their eyes meeting, and the core of his body tingled, as if touched by a live wire. “Later, I belong to you.” A chill coursed down his spine. He wanted to press his mouth between her legs and make her scream again. He wanted to press his face into the hollow of her neck, buried inside her. But patience was a virtue. He owed her his patience.

The partition went down, languidly; “Samuel, I’ll text you when we need the car. Thank you,” Duncan said. Samuel replied with the smile still dancing on his features, his bright eyes on Mackenzie. “Certainly, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Kenzie said shyly, smiling back at him sweetly.

“It is truly a pleasure, Miss Stone,” Samuel replied, and she grinned.

Duncan helped her from the backseat, his large hand grasping her small fingers with fervent attention. “I like him very much,” she said to him quietly, smoothing her dress nervously; his other hand came around and felt at her waist, moving up and down for a moment, lost in the soft feeling of her, steadying her. “He likes you too,” he replied, bringing his face close to her again, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “Samuel’s worked for my family since before I was born, and I trust him with my life. I know when he likes or dislikes someone right away. He thought you were lovely. And you are. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t stop himself; the words tumbled out of him, fervently.

“God, Duncan,” she said, her hair shimmering in the lamps outside the entrance, her breath sweet against his face, her eyes glowing, hypnotizing him in their ethereal embrace. “How are you so wonderful?”

“Kenzie, it’s for you. It’s all for you. Anything you want, I want to give it to you.”

She laughed. “Right now, I want dinner. And a glass of wine. That would be nice.”

“So much dinner and so many glasses of wine are in store for you, Madame.” He pulled away, grasping her little hand tightly, the eyes of DC society be damned for now. He’d reserved a private room, but he didn’t care who saw them on their way to it (and he noticed several unfamiliar but attentive eyes follow them through the dining hall--clearly they recognized him); he felt an encroaching abandon, as though nothing and no one could tear him away from her now; let everyone see her, let everyone see them together, and he would do whatever it took to protect her, to sway his immovable mother to good graces when the time came. But first, this evening. First, Kenzie. Angel.

He saw Kenzie’s hesitant face as the waiter helped her into her seat; she saw the exhaustive wine menu and an overwhelmed look came into her eyes at its massive length.

“May I order the wine?” He asked her, his eyes on her, gentle.

“Yes, please.” He wanted to soothe the worry from her; he wanted her to feel comfortable to let her guard down, to be herself with him. Wine menus could get fucked if they made her doubt herself. Anything and anyone could get fucked, as far as he was concerned, if they looked at her the wrong way.

“Château Trotte Vieille Bordeaux, please,” he murmured to the waiter after he perused its exhaustive length for a short minute; he’d looked over this particular menu many times before. He watched Mackenzie’s wide, beautiful eyes glance down at the menu, searching for the wine he’d chosen; they widened further and he knew she’d noticed the price tag. The waiter (a tall young man with a thin face, a long nose and close-cropped hair) nodded, eyeing Mackenzie very briefly with badly-veiled interest; Duncan could see that the waiter recognized him as well, and was clearly curious about the beauty sitting with him in a private room. A less observant person would have perhaps missed the look, but Duncan was almost preternatural in his ability to read others; a useful talent he’d learned from watching his mother and listening to her through years of gains on political stages. He wondered how much a future reporter would pay the man to give them information about Duncan Shepherd’s date at Le Diplomate on a recent Sunday in May, the details of Mackenzie’s appearance, the coy Instagram shots that could potentially materialize of them later. He could see the headlines on the gossip websites now. Duncan Shepherd Spotted Arriving and Leaving with Political Enemy’s Daughter From Intimate Dinner At Posh French Restaurant.

I don’t care, he thought, staring into Kenzie’s eyes, which met his with a mixture of hesitance and open avidity, and that crushing feeling around his heart recurred. He reached out and took her hand. I just don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this woman mine.

“$245. I saw that. Oh my god,” Kenzie breathed, holding his fingers tightly. “That’s the money I spend on groceries in a month.” Nervousness had seeped into her eyes as she stared at him, her mouth open in a kind of stunned realization.

“Kenzie. It’s nothing. My mother spends that much every week on cold-pressed juice.”

“Duncan.”

“You’ll love it. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect with the duck a l’orange, which is, by the way, better here than the duck I’ve had in Paris.”

“Duncan.”

“Kenzie.”

“I feel strange.”

She was biting her lip, and her eyes looked frightened. They pierced his heart; he ached to soothe her again, ached to calm her.

“Mackenzie, listen to me. Please don’t. This is my life. I understand that it may be strange to you, but I will do whatever I can to make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. Anything. Don’t be afraid, Kenzie. I want you here. I want you to be here with me right now, and no one else. Mackenzie Stone, I don’t care about anything else right now except being here with you.”

He watched her face, her eyes growing shiny with the tears hiding behind them, and her little mouth trembled ever-so-slightly, a strange smile falling over her features. She sniffed a little, and a single tear fell from her eye, dropping down onto the immaculate white tablecloth, spreading into a damp orb. He grasped her hand desperately, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. “Baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

She breathed, silently, her overwhelmed expression clinging to the certainty in his blue eyes; he watched her throat and the rise of her collarbones, wanting to press his lips against her there; he watched the whiteness of the skin between the plunging neckline of her extraordinarily beautiful dress. And then her expression seemed to clear from what she saw in his face; she nodded a little, the smile trembling still but steadying for him. “Okay, baby,” she whispered. And he squeezed her hand, his smile widening to her, nodding back.

----

The duck tasted even more wonderful tonight; it was simultaneously the best meal he’d ever had and the one he felt he’d remember the least, somehow; he could only think of and focus on her eyes and her hair and her throat and her gold headband adorned with moons and the tiny movements of her hands and fingers as she ate her bread or stabbed a forkful of spinach or a morsel of perfectly roasted duck or drank the (absolutely exquisite) vintage Bordeaux from her wine glass, catching the dim, romantic evening candlelight from their table in its reflection. He somehow felt he’d never seen another person so clearly and entirely before this night; she was a revelation, so real and so beautiful and her eyes were full of emotion and so open to him, it absolutely took his breath away. He watched her ease into the meal and into his words as they talked; she told him about her father, far away in LaLa land, writing about film, forgetting to send her birthday cards, about her best friend Claire (“shares her name with the president, oddly enough”), and the love she shared with her mother. And there we can agree, he’d said, and told her about his mother, too. “I know how she can seem,” he said, looking away, referring to Annette’s sharp television interviews and her well-chronicled contentions with the press, “but I love her deeply, and she loves me. That’s an unshakeable truth, and it gives me comfort in life.” Kenzie had nodded, understanding. “I feel the same way about my mother,” she had agreed. “She’s there for me when no one else is. She’s given me so much advice that has helped me survive; she’s been a guiding light to me. I admire her strength and fearlessness so much.” Throughout the meal and as they talked, they continued to reach for each other’s hands every now and then; Duncan pressing his thumb gently into circles in her palm, his hands trailing down the expanse of her slender fingers. She’d grasp his fingers one by one, caressing the shape of his knuckles, making him shiver. At one point as he gazed at her left hand in his between staring into her eyes (god, her eyes, I love them so much, like stars), he wondered what it would look like with a ring from him adorning it. He blushed at the imagining; and then he wondered, quietly, what kind of ring she would love. A moonstone, he thought immediately, somehow sure right away, as though she’d told him herself. A moonstone, because she’s like the face of the moon to me, penetrating my spirit, exquisite and divine. He kept the thought to himself, tucking it away to look at later, as she told him about her work as a journalist, how much it made her hope for and want to fight for a kinder, better world. His eyes clouded with her sincerity; he was shaken with a moment of doubt regarding the work he did for his mother, and he knew it was dark work, cloudy work, and not for the first time, he felt deeply conflicted, perhaps now more than he ever had, especially hearing her sincerity. “I feel as though I can’t say no to her, my mother is the only person who has always been there for me,” he murmured. The sympathy shone out from Mackenzie’s eyes, and he knew she did not judge him harshly; knew she understood his confusion.

“I’ve seen and felt how wonderful you are,” she said. “I feel it now. We can always work to be better, be kinder, be gentler. I think it’s something you do every day, little by little, work at like a sculptor chipping away at a stone. Eventually it becomes something extraordinary. But that’s from hundreds of days of tiny work. For me, working on a story is like that. A tiny chipping away to find the essence of truth in something. I think that’s what life is, really. Hundreds and hundreds of days of little work.”

“I want to try to do that with you, Kenzie. Work together like that, a little bit at a time, for hundreds of days.”

Her eyes settled into his. He watched her breathe out, slowly, setting her fork down, the velvet choker at her throat, its moon charm catching the light.

He said it before he lost his nerve. “Mackenzie. Would you...be with me? Would you be mine?”

“Duncan. Oh, my god. I…” Mackenzie trailed off, staring at him. Her shock seemed to extend, and she was quiet. Her eyes had taken on that greenish hue that startled him deeply again. Her soul, deep in thought, full of tangled emotion.

He bit his lip, his eyes darkening, and he looked down for a moment, grasped his wine glass, drank deeply. He set it down, slowly, carefully.

“I know...this all seems so sudden, so fast. But I feel something for you that I’ve never felt for anyone. I meant everything I said to you today. You’ve brought an ache into my heart. I want you. Not just in my bed. I want you in my life. I want you, Kenzie. All of you.”

The moment hovered, quieted. They regarded each other. He felt her eyes rove over him as soft, pulsing music played in the background of the room; down from his dark hair, thrown back, to his eyes, meeting hers with hope and desire, his lips (which would kiss you every day, kiss you always, Kenzie), the fine sheen of ever-present stubble on his cheeks, the bob of his throat, the high collar of his dark shirt, the fall of his velvet blazer over his tall frame, down his arm and to his wrists, his silver Cartier watch shining against the candlelight, down his long hands, one resting against his thigh, the other hovering an inch away from hers on the table, index finger stretched. Light seemed to cascade behind her head, and he was reminded of the way she’d looked last night, like there was a halo around her head, golden and iridescent. It was as if he could see the outline of her soul, and it shook him to the core, again, trembling. He was bare under her gaze; he felt like she was looking into the essence of him, weighing him, deciding his fate. He waited. He had decided what he wanted, and had spoken it to her, and so at least he had had the courage to be honest. At least, he said to himself, I was brave in the sight of her wonder.

She lifted her head a little, and the light danced off her headband adorned with moons. She looked like a queen to him in that moment; like a Waterhouse priestess, throwing gold dust and magick into the night, and he was struck by her lovely, coiled energy, her power over him. She smiled at him, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. It was blinding, overwhelming, filling him with her brightness, the beauty that shined out of her spirit.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady, smooth, like honey. “Yes, I will, Duncan. Yes.”

He grinned, grabbed onto her hand, leaned toward her, his joy immediate.

“On one condition.”

He stopped. “Anything, Mackenzie. Anything.”

“Be mine, too, Duncan Shepherd. Will you be mine?” A little laugh flitted through her words. He could see the joy in her eyes, and it moved him deeply.

He breathed a sigh of relief; it felt like a weight was lifting off his heart, like wings were beating inside his ribcage.

“Kenzie, yes. Yes, a hundred times, yes. I’m yours.”

-----

They were anxious to be alone together, then; Duncan ached for her, and she whispered “let’s go”, draining her wine glass, the flash of her white throat setting his nerves on edge; Duncan had hurriedly passed his Black AmEx to the waiter, who brought it back to him with a swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. The evening seemed to be pushing them toward their private rendezvous; Duncan no longer wanted anyone else to be near them. He wanted her to himself, this divine goddess who had said she would be his; he still couldn’t grasp that she had accepted him, still felt terrified she’d disappear. He wondered if that feeling would ever fade, or if he’d always feel that fear, that ache for her, already dreading the moment she would leave.

Duncan had texted Samuel and as they practically ran from the entrance of the brightly-lit facade of the buzzing brasserie, their hands clasped together tightly, not noticing the eyes of some of the diners following them this time, not caring, he was struck with relief to see the BMW quietly humming on the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the lamps along the sidewalk. He opened the door for Mackenzie, catching her in his arms for a moment, pressing his lips into the soft space between her ear and her jaw, achingly. She leaned into him, her little body folding into his arms, sucking the air from his lungs, intoxicating. Angel baby. His own. She flitted away from him, disappearing into the backseat, and he followed her eagerly; Then I must be thy lady; but I know / When thou hast stolen away from a fairy land...the line hovered in his subconscious. She was like Titania, queen of the fae, scattering gold, her laugh making flowers burst into bloom, and as he pressed into her in the backseat, the flowers bloomed in his mind and his senses as he kissed her and her little mouth opened against him, her hair tangled in his fingers.

-----

When they’d finally arrived back at his penthouse, she hushed him when he tried to press into her again, impatient for her, his arms around her back, under her shoulder blades, trying to be delicate, afraid he might break her apart with his urgency. “I want a little bit more wine, baby, get me some?” The way she said baby, into his mouth, caused heat to pool in the bottom of his stomach. “Kenzie, baby...” he groaned into her softly, he couldn’t stop. Last night felt like it had happened a hundred days ago--he was starving for her again. He shook his head a little, dizzy, loathe to let go of her.

She grabbed the sides of his velvet jacket with her little fingers; “get it for me baby, I want it,” and he loved the pout on her lips, loved it like he loved her eyelashes, her glowing cheeks, her sweet smell, her insistence. “Kiss me first,” he begged, and he knew he was begging, and he didn’t care, he was lost in her. She pressed her open mouth into his bottom lip, sucking it carefully, slowly, and he pressed his hands into her breasts, trying to hold back the rough desire he felt, the skin between held in her plunging neckline, feeling her hot skin there. “There,” she breathed, releasing him. “Now, baby, give me what I want.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured, his head swimming, letting go of her, aching. He looked back as he moved through his vast living room with its lush carpet and low leather couch, trailing his finger absently along its back, watching her watch him (with eyes ringed in gold) move into his study, where he kept an opulently stacked wine rack beside the standing bar. He pulled a Chablis Grand Cru from the middle rack of the temperature-controlled glass case (a bottle worth an absurd amount of money--at least a grand--but his head swam and he couldn’t care at all, money meant nothing to him right now next to her) and as he turned, he saw that she had followed him, boots cast aside somewhere, on soft, bare feet, into his study behind him, hair shimmering, the gold of her glimmering. She pouted. “I wanted to scare you,” she whispered, eyes glowing.

“You look like an angel,” he replied, the bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. She smiled, turning, looking at him over her shoulder, the dress falling in the light, beautiful beyond words to him. She turned her face towards the wall that faced his desk (her hair in waves of gold); and she gasped, her eyes falling over the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus. She paused for a moment, staring, and then took two hesitant, soft steps toward it, clearly in awe. He came up behind her, setting the bottle to the side of his polished mahogany desk, folding his arms around her waist, nuzzling his mouth into her neck.

“Is this real?” she whispered, leaning into him.

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing under her ear, kissing the incline of her neck falling into her shoulders. “It’s real. It’s called The Youth of Bacchus. My mother gave it to me when I was 18.”

“God. Duncan. It’s so beautiful. It’s beautiful beyond words.”

“No,” he whispered into her ear, kissing it, capturing the lobe in his lips, “you are, Kenzie, you are, only you…”

He turned her face to him, kissing her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, her scent crashing into him, and his arms turned her so he could grasp her hips, and he lifted her, light as air, onto the edge of his desk, her little elegant feet suspended several feet in the air, dangling over its edge. She pressed her hands back onto its smooth surface, and he leaned into her, tasting her, hands running over her in ardent waves, whispering into her, “angel, beloved, baby” and he moved his head down, pushing up the velvet folds of her flowing dress, cut to her body like it was part of her, finding her panties (wet against her for him again, god, he loved it so much), these ones made of soft lace, and his hands pulled them off her, hurried, impatient, and he buried his mouth on her clit, sucking with urgency, and she threw her head back, “oh my god, Duncan, fuck, babyyy,” and he saw her eyes floating back and forth between him and the gigantic painting against the wall of his study, caught up in its beauty, caught up in him, and her eyes clouded with green and gold, as he worked his mouth against her, her hand finding the back of his head, holding him flush to her sweetness, and as she came, crying out with a sound that threatened to overwhelm him in the crashing wave of his desire, he saw a tear fall from her eyes, catching the low, soft light, and he thought about god again, thought that maybe there was something in the universe that had brought her to him, into his arms, and he was full of joy.

----

He led her into the bathroom, the joy still dancing in his heart, inside his blue eyes. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and she giggled, clutching his hand, feeling carefully along the doorway with the other one, bare feet padding onto the cold, seamless stone tiles. She stopped; he pressed the fingers of his right hand, hot with his want, along the white skin between her breasts where the dress fell down into the void of her, against her neck, thumb trailing over her bottom lip.

“Okay, baby, open them.”

She opened her eyes wide and gasped again; all along the edges of his claw-foot tub there were roses, so many roses, dozens and dozens of roses, their stems stripped of their thorns and woven together in a tapestry, all the deep carmine red of her lips last night when she’d kissed him under the night sky for the first time; handfuls of petals floated over the surface of the water, steaming into the air, and the bath itself was surrounded by white pillar candles, illuminating the otherwise-dark bathroom with a soft, melting glow. He watched her delighted face with relief; “do you like it?” he asked, unable to keep the hopeful, wistful edge from his voice.

“Oh, Duncan, I love it. I love it so much. It’s wondrous. It’s divine.”

You are, you are, you are, he thought, his mind repeating it over and over, the only prayer he ever wanted to recite. Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie.

He watched her, aching, in the candlelight. She gazed at him, her face aglow. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Undress me.”

He leaned into her, desperately; his hands found the zipper at her back, pulling it down with soft urgency as she ran her fingers along his neck and his chest and against the rise of his crotch, pressing carefully and insistently. He moaned, shivering, pushing the heaven-soft sleeves down her arms, feeling her skin with his fingers, relishing the way her breasts, nipples hard, emerged from the cupped embrace of her plunging bodice, his mouth on her neck again. Her dress fell to the ground in a soft heap; she stood before him and he thought of another Bouguereau painting, its beauty flashing in his mind yet paling to her before him in the flesh, one called Evening Mood, the white-skinned nymph of twilight hovering over soft waves, her head softly turned in ecstasy, a crescent moon hanging behind her bowing head.

“You look like the moon,” he said, wonderingly, as her hands pulled at his jacket and pushed it away and her demanding fingers undid his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling the zipper of his pants down, pulling out his hard, aching length, her mouth open, her face looking up to him, her eyes impatient, her moon headband and black choker, hugging her neck like a lover (him, her lover) the only things she now wore. He loved that she was wearing her adorning jewelry again, like last night, as they were about to fuck; he loved the artistry of her, unpretentious, unstudied, gold and soft and starry and his, his own, for she’d accepted him, and she was his now, and he was hers, and that was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Her hands drifted over the length of his cock, languid but concentrated, and he pulled away from her touch, leading her to the steaming bathtub, the roses making way for them as he pulled her down into it with him, pulling her on top of him again, loving the feeling of her body hovering above him that way. She reached down into the hot, almost scalding water, its heat causing goosebumps to rise on both of them; gripped the length of his cock again, fingers grazing his sensitive head, her face hovering over his, her mouth almost kissing his, but not quite, her breath cascading into him and she moaned as she stroked him and he moaned into her in return, lost in her, his impossibly blue eyes falling into the night of her, “Mackenzie, baby, that feels so fucking good, you’re as beautiful as an angel, oh god, Kenzie, I love you--”, and the roses clung to the sides of her white skin, the steam that rose off the water enshrining her, and her mouth finally clashed into his, stifling his ardent admission, and he thought again that he could die and be content in the death, content because his last moments had belonged to her.

“Come for me this time, baby love, come for me, okay?” She murmured these sweet words into him, and he nodded, his brow furrowed, completely lost in her touch and her voice; she stopped the firm stroke of her hand around his hardness, and moving her hips, eased down onto him until he was buried in her, gasping, and she moved again, grinding down on him, causing him to stutter “fu-fu-uu-ckk” into her neck, against the softness of her chin, into her skin, and she said “I love you too, I’m yours baby, all yours, come for me,” and he couldn’t stop it, his release was so deep and so consuming that his moan bled into a wild cry that he tried to stifle between the space of her breasts where her dress had plunged, showing her heart to him under the shadow of her delicate bones, and he couldn’t believe that he could have ever felt so good, clutching her little body against him, her soul held in his hands this way. She was his, she had said yes, she was his, this angel, an angel, she loved him and heaven had fallen to earth, and he was holding it, her, she was heaven, heaven in his hands, heaven on his lips, heaven, heaven, heaven...

#millory #body and soul #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #millory au #cody fern #billie lourd #collie #cody x billie #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan shepherd x mallory #ahs apocalypse #house of cards #collie au #michael x mallory #my fic #body and soul millory au

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