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angryinternetduck · 3 years ago

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oh to stay

About 4,900 words on cold beds, waltzing butterflies, and stupid rules. Harry doesn’t do relationships, neither do you; he’s a coward (but not really), and you are too. Lots of crumby bread puns. Alcohol consumption and mentions of cheating. Friends with benefits to lovers. Enjoy!

The bed’s cold.

You shouldn’t be surprised, not really.

But part of you was hoping.

You started hoping a lot recently, you notice, and it’s kind of becoming a problem. You and Harry are friends. With benefits, of course, but friends don’t cuddle. Friends don’t wake each other up with kisses and giggles, and friends don’t spend sleepy mornings in bed with each other.

You’re comfortable under the duvet, if you’re honest, if not a little lonely. You curl into yourself, wishing despite everything you had a warm body to lay with, and close your eyes. Harry’s behind your eyelids, of course, all dimples and green eyes and soft kisses, and you open your eyes again.

Mornings are interesting. They come with a bit of regret, a touch of satisfaction, and a shitload of loneliness. And the bed’s cold. It’s always cold. He’s never there. He wakes up early and runs, or works, or does yoga.

He’s so good at leaving, at being gone before you open your eyes, that you sometimes wonder if he even sleeps with you at all. Sometimes, you think he waits until you’re dead asleep and then runs to his own room.

Then you wake up in the middle of the night with his arms around you and realize he’s just an early riser. Despite yourself, those are the moments you love best. There’s something calming about being in his arms, about feeling his chest rise and fall behind you, about feeling his hand under yours.

It’s a shame neither of you do relationships.

It takes a while, but you get out of bed eventually. You eye one of his discarded shirts on the floor, tempted to break one of the rules, and then decide against it and pull on your clothes from the night before.

The floor’s cold beneath your feet. It’s hardwood, freezing, and you regret not wearing socks before remembering you wore heels last night, without socks. You scowl. They were uncomfortable. You’d only worn them because you’d gone out, hoping to get laid, hoping to get your mind off of him.

Him, who’d called you, whose bed you ended up waking up in.

Did a great job getting your mind off of him, huh.

He’s standing at the stove, flipping an egg. An image flashes through your head of creeping up behind him, hugging him from behind, feeling his warmth, kissing his cheek, his neck, him spinning around and kissing you back and dancing with you and -

He turns around. Smiles. “Morning,” he says.

You swallow thickly and smile back. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?” His smile tugs into a smirk, and you sigh. He asks that every morning. You were so flustered that first time, stumbling over your words, completely at a loss, and he’d asked that. You’d frozen, stared at him, eyes wide…

Then you’d fainted.

He was so nice about it, too, which almost makes it worse. If he’d been a prick, if he’d just dropped you and never spoke to you again, it would’ve been easier. But no, he just acted like the perfect gentleman he was.

He just gently woke you up, made sure you were okay, gave you water. Laughed when you apologized. Said it wasn’t your fault he was such a damn charmer, said he’d love to make you faint again, as long as you did it closer so he could catch you in his arms.

Now, you sigh and sit at the island and answer, “Never better,” like every morning.

He slides an egg on your plate without you asking. It’s just how you like it, and a flash of irrational anger surges through you. “Look nice,” he says quietly, and you look up. His back is towards you. Coward.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Out last night?”

You bite your lip, sliding your egg around your plate. “Yeah,” you say.

He turns back around and comes around the island. Sits down. “Anything interesting?”

You look up at him, send him a smirk of your own. “I’d call last night interesting,” you purr, and he laughs. “Fuckin’ hell. I meant before that, genius.” You put your elbow on the island, prop your head in your hand. “Hm. No.”

“Not a thing?”

“What, jealous?” you ask, wiggling your brows.

He scoffs. “Of what?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “You know. All the beautiful boys I’m picking up.”

“You mean… me?”

“Oh, please,” you say, laughing despite yourself.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel his gaze on you. It takes more self-control than you’d like to admit to keep your gaze on your plate for only a few seconds, and then you look up. He’s looking at you, all right, green eyes intense, bottom lip between his teeth.

And he’s totally unabashed when you catch him. He just smiles.

“You’re staring, Styles,” you sigh.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs back. He stands up, pushing his chair back with a squeak. His plate’s barely touched. He puts it to the side and hops up onto the counter. “Going home?” he asks, legs swinging, even though he knows the answer.

“Yeah.” You stand up, come around the counter. “Looks nice,” you go on, thumbing the top of your outfit, “but uncomfortable as fuck.” His eyes follow your fingers, drift over you, come back up to your eyes, a shade darker than his usual green.

You can see him struggle, see the offer on the tip of his tongue.

Wanna stay? Borrow something of mine?

The unasked questions hang in the air for a second.

He’s sitting right next to the sink. Slowly, you step closer to him. Closer, closer, even closer. Soon you’re close enough to kiss. Close enough for his hands, folded between his legs, to graze your dress, your stomach. His finger twitches, but he doesn’t move. “Kiss me, Styles,” you whisper.

He holds your gaze, the challenge dying in his eyes as he loses composure.

He’s not breathing.

Neither are you.

He closes his eyes.

You inhale shallowly, let your plate slide into the sink next to him. “I’ll call an Uber,” you tell him quietly, and you see his jaw clench. A bit of satisfaction races through you because you want him to be annoyed. Want him to feel the frustration you feel every time you look at him.

Because he could offer. He could give you a t-shirt. He could let you stay, could kiss you, could kiss you all morning and all afternoon and break all the rules. Every single one of them, with just a few words.

One word, actually.

Stay, he could say, softly, breathlessly, and you would.

But he doesn’t.

So you don’t.

***

You’re not supposed to wear his clothes.

He’s not supposed to kiss you in the morning. Or ever, really, except at night.

No two consecutive nights of sleeping together.

No staying.

It’s surprising, really, how long you’ve lasted. It’s been a few weeks, and not a single rule’s been broken. A few loopholes here and there - leaving then coming back rather than staying, for example…

But it’s worked. It’s worked. Despite what your friends have said, you’re not dependent on each other. You can go more than a day without seeing each other, can kiss other people. It’s not a relationship.

You leave his house crying sometimes, sure, but you’re not in a relationship.

And that’s really all that matters.

***

You use a loophole and go back to Harry’s place after a few hours. More than a few. You’re productive. Kind of. You get a few things done, stare at the ceiling, scroll through social media. It’s pretty late when you go back.

By the time the two of you become bored of the TV, the sun’s set. It’s dark outside, and cold, but you follow Harry into the hallway without a sweatshirt. “Think we should move to Alaska or summat so we can see the stars better,” Harry murmurs as he pushes open the big door out onto the roof.

“I’ll get you a telescope for your birthday,” you reply.

“And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.”

You look up towards the sky, craning your neck. “Yeah,” you agree, smiling. “And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.” Harry sits down, stretching to reach for a ratty tennis ball. It’s against the wall, right where you left it a few days ago. Gently, he rolls it forward, and it hits your foot and rolls back to him.

A while ago, probably a few years back, somebody left a tennis ball on the roof of Harry’s apartment complex. It’s old and fraying and more brownish than green. A few weeks ago, Harry brought you up to the roof, and a few days ago, you found the old tennis ball.

“Would you?” you ask, sitting down.

He bounces the ball towards you. “Would I what?”

You smile, wiggle your ring finger. “Marry me.”

He grins. “Buy me a ring and I’ll say ‘I do.’”

“No,” you say, bouncing the ball back. “Move to Alaska.”

Bounce. “Of course.”

Bounce. “That fast?”

“Yeah.”

You bite your lip. It’s quiet for a minute, both of you concentrating on the ball.

“Italy,” Harry says.

“Spaghetti,” you say back.

Harry shrugs. “I’d move there.”

“For the spaghetti.”

“And the stars.”

“And the romance.”

Harry doesn’t throw the ball hard enough, and it bounces twice. “I’d move to Paris, too.”

“For the baguettes.” You copy his throw. Bounce, bounce, catch.

“But not the romance.”

“Just the baguettes.”

“Bread above all else.”

“Did you love her?”

Harry looks away from the ball, his green eyes flicking up to your face.

The ball bounces past him.

Harry blinks, and then stands up to go and get it. You watch him, watch his back, biting your lip because you’re kind of regretting saying anything. He’s mentioned a girl. He was open about it from the beginning.

No relationships, he said, smiling. Been there, done that. No thanks.

She probably broke his heart.

You’d feel bad for him if he’d tell you anything more than, We were great. Let’s watch a movie. As is, though, he’s said nothing, and your curiosity is beginning to overwhelm your sympathy.

When he comes back, he fiddles with the ball for a second before bouncing it back.

“No,” he says.

You toss the ball lightly, letting it bounce once, twice, three times… Too light. It’s rolling by the time it gets to him. He bounces it in front of him, and then throws it, high. Bounce, bounce - toss. It arcs up into the air, and you look up to catch it before it hits you in the nose.

“Really,” you say, because it’s been a few seconds and he’s still not said anything.

Harry bounces the ball normally, and you catch it. “I liked her,” he says.

“I should hope so.” You bounce it back, normally, and he does the same.

You’re back on cadence.

A few seconds go by.

“Maybe I did,” he says quietly. “Love her.”

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

“I tried,” he says.

Bounce. Bounce.

“There is no try,” you say. “Only do.”

“Maybe I tried too hard.”

“If it’s not there, it’s not there.”

Harry frowns at you. “How would you know, huh?”

“Because if it’s there…” Bounce. “It’s there.” Bounce. “So the opposite must be true too.”

“And you’ve been in love.” He sounds skeptical.

You smile. “Maybe.”

“Being in love with yourself doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does.”

He’s smiling, now, not even looking at the ball, just grinning at you, blinding you. “Going from mirror to mirror in your room doesn’t count as speed dating.” You scoff, bounce the ball too hard, but he keeps his gaze on you, steady, laughing, as he reaches up and catches it.

“Saying I love you to your reflection in the microwave doesn’t count as heartfelt declarations over dinner,” he adds on. You laugh incredulously and say, “You’re just on fire tonight, aren’t you?”

Harry grins. “Call me a slider, ‘cause I’m on a roll.”

“I’ll leave,” you warn, giving him a look.

“Don’t be so sour, dough.” He giggles in glee, totally pleased with himself.

“First you’re insulting my self-love -”

“You mean self-loaf?”

“And now you’re on about bread!”

“Hey, you started it with the baguette talk,” Harry laughs.

You sigh, trying in vain to hide your smile, and catch the ball. “Come on,” you say, standing up, “it’s getting late.” Harry follows you, still grinning. “What, wanna go to bread early tonight?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine.

Harry leans in, catching the door, and says, “Don’t worry, darling, you’re still the apple of my rye…” You groan, stepping away and starting down the stairs. “God, you’re impossible.” Harry skips down the steps behind you. “What, my jokes are too upper crust for you?”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Sense?” Harry echoes. “If you want sense, I can give you some… pumpernickel!”

“You know where you can shove your pumpernickel -”

“What, between my two buns?”

A laugh slips out of you. You’re at his apartment now, and you turn around and lean back against the door, smiling at him wordlessly for just a second, admiring him, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do when you’re in front of Harry Styles.

“I need to go,” you finally say.

Harry pouts, leaning in, and he presses kisses against your neck. You close your eyes, resting your head against the door, exposing more skin, sighing softly. Then he murmurs, “But I’ve gotta mayonnaise your buns…”

“Jesus!” you exclaim, laughing as you’re snapped out of it, and you gently push his shoulders away. “No, you can’t, Harry, we can’t.” He’s still smiling, and he kisses your nose, and you feel like that should be against one of the rules, and he says, “What, too many crumby puns?”

“I love your crumby puns,” you say impulsively, and then you frown, looking down, because you’ll kiss his nose too if you keep looking at those green eyes of his. “No, Harry, I - I stayed over last night.”

A pause.

You look up.

“Oh,” he says, and then he pulls away. “Oh, right.”

You clear your throat, and say, “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” he echoes, nodding. “Bye,” he says.

You smile, and you can feel it not reaching your eyes, and you say, “Bye.”

As you walk away, you wonder for a moment what would’ve happened if you told him why you don’t do relationships, rather than asking him about why he doesn’t do them. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if you told him you don’t do relationships because the only person you’d consider having a relationship with is the only person who doesn’t do relationships.

Too late now, you think, and then you realize you’re crying as you leave his house.

Well. At least you’re not in a relationship.

***

He tastes like vanilla. Feels like heaven. Kisses like it’s his sole purpose in life.

His scent, taste, touch, lingers on you for hours, days, decades after On nights. The vivid memory of his fingers, tongue, body, leaves you breathless, crying, blissful, through days, Off nights, lonely mornings.

Tonight’s an Off night. You stayed over last night. It’s beginning to just be every other night, which wasn’t exactly the intention of the rule in the first place, but you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

You can’t even bring yourself to care that what’s happening right now is basically - well, it’s basically sex. You’re at some club, bar, whatever, and he’s all over you, you’re all over him, and he’s so close you can feel his breath, feel his want, in waves on your skin.

He doesn’t kiss you though.

Because that would break a rule.

It’s tantalizing, really, because his lips ghost over your skin and his hands are everywhere and nowhere at once and you just need him to touch you. He’s simultaneously overwhelming your senses and depriving you of him and his hands and his lips and his touch.

You’re pretty hammered by the time the two of you are back at your apartment. The high’s wearing down, though, and you can feel all the energy seeping out of you. Your eyelids start to feel very heavy… like they’re being weighed down by little butterflies, tiny blue wings fluttering, teeny insect legs doing dances on your eyelids…

“Help me out, darling,” Harry murmurs, and you sluggishly maneuver your limbs to help him slide off your outfit. You giggle at the feel of his fingers slipping off your bra to tug a soft t-shirt over your head.

“If you wanted to get me naked, Styles,” you say, stumbling over your words, “all you had to do was ask…” Harry sighs, pulling your covers up towards your chest. “Don’t move unless you have to throw up,” he says. “I’m gonna get water and… medicine, or something, for tomorrow.”

“Don’t go,” you whine, pouting, and Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

“No…”

He’s back before you know it, and you hear him set something down on your nightstand, and the butterflies are tap dancing and apparently they have some industrial glue or something because all you want to do is shut your eyes and sleep for hours… and hours…

Harry stays for a second, and you want to look at him, examine him, watch his facial expressions and study the way he looks at you and decide whether or not it’s the same way you look at him, but those butterflies are relentless.

Your voice is just a whisper when the floor creaks because Harry’s moving and you say, “Please stay,” because Harry can save you from those butterflies, right? “I can’t, love,” Harry says, and you want to point out that if he can call you love, he can certainly stay for a few hours and save you from the butterflies.

But that’s a lot of words, so you say, “Please,” instead.

“Darling…”

The butterflies do a jig. You open your eyes when they bounce, relieving the pressure on your lids for a moment, and your eyes are fluttering but you can just make out Harry in front of you. He looks conflicted.

“Just for a second,” you say.

“But last night…”

“I won’t try anything if you won’t,” you say, half-smiling tiredly, because you know you’re starting to convince him, and the prospect of Harry touching you softly, comfortingly, sweetly, is making those butterflies fly all the way to your tummy and suddenly you have the energy to smile.

He sighs, heavily, and you smile more because he walks around and the bed dips as he crawls in next to you. You feel his arms around you. You turn to face him, because nearly all the butterflies are in your tummy now and you don’t feel like your eyes are glued shut anymore and you wanna see those green eyes of his.

“Hi,” you say.

Harry closes his eyes. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired anymore.” You want to see his eyes.

“Yeah, but I am.”

“Let’s have coffee so you’re not.”

“Tomorrow.”

There’s a second of silence. He’s falling asleep. You have the sudden urge to kiss his nose. It’s right in front of you, he’s right in front of you, and you study him the way you wanted to earlier except now his eyes are closed.

He’s so pretty. You want to kiss him.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Hmm.”

“I’m sad.”

He smiles.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to smile when someone tells you they’re sad.”

“My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad, Styles. Make it up to me. Kiss me.” You make a kissy noise.

The smile disappears, and he opens his eyes. He’s frowning now, and a flash of panic shoots through you because he’s mad now and he’ll leave, and you hurry, backtrack, “I mean - I mean…” You sniffle. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“You don’t mean anything,” Harry says, “because you’re drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t do this,” he mutters, sitting up.

You sit up too, reaching for his arm, and you say, “Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t -”

He looks at you, and then his gaze softens, and then you feel tears on your cheeks and you realize you’re crying and you’re crying because you want to kiss him but apparently he thinks you’re crying because he was sharp with you and -

“Don’t cry,” he says, whispering, and he leans forward and thumbs away the tears on your cheeks. The butterflies waltz across your eyelids, and you close your eyes and lean into his touch and he’s cupping your cheek and he says, “I’m sorry.”

Then he breaks a rule.

He kisses you. Gently, on the cheek, where your tears were.

You melt into him. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your nose.

“Don’t go,” you whisper.

He holds you close, kisses you once on the lips. “I won’t.”

***

The bed’s cold.

Surprise, surprise.

Rubbing at your throbbing temples, you gulp down the medicine and water he’d left you.

After a few more moments of lying motionless on the bed, you sit up with a groan. You wonder where Harry is. Perhaps he’s doing yoga. Or cooking breakfast. Maybe he’s baking cookies. Who knows. Not you, certainly.

The floor’s cold. You scowl at it. Fuck Harry Styles and his pristine hardwood floors.

You walk towards the kitchen, getting your annoyed frown ready for when he asks if you slept well. You debate hugging him instead of replying like normal. Maybe you’ll kiss him. Or just tell him you love him.

Smiling lazily at the thought, you step into the kitchen.

It’s empty.

Your smile disappears.

Probably doing yoga, then. There’s a cup of coffee on the counter, though, so you grab it before doing anything else. You sigh, wrapping your fingers around it. It’s still warm. You take a sip and go to wipe some crumbs off the counter.

Then you see the note.

Out. See you later. xxH.

“Oh,” you say, out loud.

It’s not quite unusual, per se, but you’re more than a little surprised. Also, you’re wondering how recently he left if the coffee’s still hot. You’re a bit irked you didn’t wake up just a few minutes earlier. Would’ve been nice to catch him in the act.

You take another sip of the coffee, studying the note. His handwriting’s nice.

Sighing, you turn around and walk back upstairs. Your head still hurts.

After getting dressed, you drag yourself into the blinding sunlight and into an Uber. You stare at your phone the entire way home. It doesn’t ring, or chime, or vibrate, or do anything more than reflect your frowning face back at you.

Actually, it does light up a few times, but nothing’s from the right person. That only makes you more annoyed. Your head hurts really badly. He doesn’t text, or call, or FaceTime, the entire day.

Or the next.

You text him a few times, call him a few more.

Nothing.

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Until a week later, when he knocks on your door.

***

He smiles at you when you open the door. “Hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” you say, hesitantly, and you step back to let him in. He walks in and sits on your couch. He fidgets for a second, and then stands up again. He starts to pace. You watch him, waiting for him to talk.

“I went on a date last week,” he finally says.

Your brows jump. For a second, a billion thoughts rush through your head - what about the ex, was it just you, if he wanted to date why didn’t he ask you, was this the first time he’d been with somebody else since being with you, why the hell was he telling you this, were you the only one going about life as if the “relationship” was exclusive even though it wasn’t, what the fuck is going on - and then you reply, “Congratulations.”

“The night after… I left you. It was a little weird.”

Swallowing thickly, you ask, “So… did it go well?”

Harry frowns looking at the floor. “Yeah,” he says.

“Didja take ‘em home?”

Harry’s smile fades, and he looks up at you. “Er - yeah.”

“And you got laid?”

Now Harry’s frowning. “Yeah.”

“That’s great. Why’ve you been radio silent?”

“Because…” He fades off. “I don’t know.”

You pause for a second, not sure what to say.

Harry bites his lip. “You’re upset,” he says.

Stunned, you blink. “What?” you laugh incredulously.

“You’re upset,” Harry says again.

“Am I?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Am I, really? Tell me more. Explain my emotions. ‘cause shit, Styles, apparently you’ve got all your emotions figured out - I mean, damn, you’re so fucking figured out that you can kiss away my tears one night and fuck someone else the next. Your versatility is to be fucking admired, Harry.”

There’s a beat of silence.

He closes his eyes, puts his head in his hands. “I wasn’t even gonna tell you,” he mutters. “I was just gonna be a prat and move on and never talk to you again because technically we’re not dating - I mean - not technically - we’re not dating, we’re not -” He coughs. “We’re not dating,” he repeats weakly.

He looks up again. “But then I couldn’t,” he says. “I couldn’t…” He laughs lowly, wryly. “I couldn’t stay away from you, as cliche as that sounds. I wasn’t even gonna come here, I was gonna - I don’t know, I was gonna… plan it out, make it special, show you I fucked up, but I… I was driving home and then I turned onto your street and suddenly…”

He takes a deep breath and then tells you, “I’m sorry.”

You soften. “Yeah,” you say.

He starts to say something and stops. He reaches out, then pulls away. He turns around, running a hand through his hair, and then clears his throat and sits down on the floor. He leans on the couch, slides the coffee table aside, and pulls a small bouncy ball out of his pocket. You watch, confused, and then he tosses the ball at you. You catch it just before it hits your TV.

“I used to get these at the dentist,” he says, holding up his hands for you to throw it back.

“Harry,” you say, frowning at him.

He sighs again and puts his hands down. You watch him, fiddling with the ball.

“She cheated on me,” he says after a second.

You bite your lip, and then sit down and gently bounce the ball towards him.

“I loved her,” he says.

He bounces the ball back at you.

You catch it.

“I love you more,” Harry says.

You swallow thickly, and then you bounce the ball back.

“I figure… I figure you can’t cheat on me if we’re not in a relationship.”

The bouncy ball is smaller than the tennis ball. It’s harder to catch.

You finally say something. “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that,” Harry says.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. The ball is pink and blue. It’s mesmerizing.

“I wanna kiss you,” Harry says quietly, and when you look up, his eyes are on the ball still, and his ears are tinged pink. “I wanna kiss you all the time. ‘specially when you smile. I wanna kiss you when you laugh. When you cry. Right now.”

You don’t know what to say. So you settle on, “Thanks.”

He glances up at you, smiling, finally, and it’s nice to see. “You’re welcome.”

You bounce the ball towards him, and he catches it. Then he stands up. He walks over to you and offers you his hand. You take it, and stand up. “I wanna break a rule,” you whisper. He smiles, giving a small shrug. “Don’t have to.”

You raise a brow.

“Can’t break a rule if it’s not there in the first place,” he says.

“Right,” you say, a smile growing on your lips. “So no more rules.”

Harry bites his lip. He looks nervous. “The rules are no more.”

You smile. “It’s official.”

“You’re smiling,” Harry whispers, leaning in.

“Wanna kiss me?”

“Mhmm.”

You lean in, too, smiling more. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry says quietly, and he kisses you.

***

The bed… is warm.

You’re warm.

And smiling.

Your head’s on Harry’s chest, and the first thing you see when you open your eyes is his moth tattoo. He’s awake, or at least you assume he is by the way his hand gently traces shapes on your bare shoulder.

“How long’ve you been up?” you mumble, looking up at him.

“Hours,” Harry whispers, kissing your forehead.

“How kind of you to stay with me.”

Harry kisses you again, and you giggle and let him shift you so you’re on top of him. “Better make it up to me,” Harry says with a smirk. You lean down, moving your hips slightly, and nibble on his ear. “Excited to see me, are you?”

“Excited to finally be able to move,” Harry replies, pressing kisses along your shoulder. “My arm’s fallen asleep.” You laugh, kissing him more, unable to keep the smile off your face, and he’s smiling too, and you laugh and kiss him and you decide to stay.

***

okay this has been in my drafts forever lmao but here it is!!! hope you like it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be amazing! thanks for reading 💜

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#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles

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junicai · 4 years ago

Text

applause.

| order no. | 10/21

| summary | While filming for NCT2020, Aria fears her interview partner is coming down with a fever. Spoiler alert: He’s not.

| word count | 1.8k

| warnings | None

| era | circa. December 2020

a/n: ok so i figured i’d mark my return to posting with a lil floof for the soul :) before i ruin it again :) so here u go here are two idiots being idiots :)

Oftentimes, it was easy to forget just how many members NCT had amassed over the years. With the sub-units separated the majority of the time for their own promotions; the odds were that if you weren’t in a sub-unit with another member, you’d rarely interact with them outside of the company walls.

NCT2020 was incredible in that sense. Twenty three boys and one girl, all in one room, singing the same songs and performing together. The impact left on the spring-flooring when they danced as a group physically shook the mirrors.

They had a reputation to uphold; something which every single member took as seriously as a blood oath.

Aria, over the years, had formed bonds with most of the other boys. She hadn’t really had much of a choice in the matter; it was either, make friends with the people around you, or have no friends at all. It was lucky, in that sense, that they were all so warm and welcoming. She found her home in the 127 dorms, and later, her family with the Dreamies. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The fact remained, however, that when it came to Aria and WAYV - there was a gap. Be it because of the differing promotional schedules, or the fact that SM had point blank refused to acknowledge WAYV as a sub-unit of NCT up until the announcement of the NCT2020 promotions; the bottom line was, Aria didn’t know half of the members beyond their first name.

So, when the randomized name selection came out, and she was paired with Xiaojun; Aria took a deep breath, and reminded herself that this was a chance to start to form some new relationships.

She’d never been all too good at making friends as a child - always a little too shy, and then all of a sudden far too abrasive in a lost attempt to compensate for her earlier quietness.

Sitting beside the boy in question, Aria left her hands tucked beneath her thighs to prevent herself from fidgeting. The air between the two vocalists was thick; and Aria found herself looking around desperately for Mark or Ten or hell even Yuta, even though she knew Dejun was significantly more scared of him than her.

Anything to break the awkward, stifling silence that was hanging over the both of them.

“Do you-”

“Hey, I-”

They turned to face each other at the same time, sentences blending together before being cut off abruptly. Aria’s face flamed beneath the foundation, and by the darkening tips of Dejun’s ears, she could tell his cheeks were flushing as well.

“Go ahead.” He gestured with a nod.

“No no, it’s okay! What were you saying?” Aria disagreed.

“Uh, I was just wondering if you feel the breeze as well?” Dejun questioned, hands coming to tug his light jacket around his shoulders tighter. “It’s giving me goosebumps,” He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Aria frowned. “No? It’s quite warm in here I thought.” The pair were surrounded with several lamps that were shining large bulbs onto their faces. With the heat from them, and the blanket that she had tucked over the legs, Aria was toasty warm - but a quick glance at the thin material Dejun’s jacket was made out of had her untucking the corner and folding it out again.

“Here,” She offered, holding out the edge of the blanket.

“Oh no I can’t,” Dejun began to refuse, but a shiver ran down his spine, cutting his words up into pieces.

Aria raised an eyebrow. He relented.

“Thank you.” He acquiesced, once the soft material had been laid over his lap. He was still shivering lightly, but the body-shaking tremors had worn off, so Aria was better pleased than she was a minute ago.

“Okay!” A voice called from outside the set. “It’s just an interview, like you were both briefed. Feel free to take it where you want and - Aria can you just -” The director gestured to Dejun. “Don’t sit so far away, people will think you’re scared of him.” He teased.

Coughing lightly, Aria scooched towards Dejun, the blanket bunching up in-between their legs. She could feel him leaning back slightly, as if he was afraid of their faces being too close together.

“Little more.” He insisted, now peering at the two through the viewfinder of the camera.

Aria shuffled into the middle of the set’s sofa, her knee lightly brushing Dejun’s thigh.

“Better! Now just don’t look like someone’s about to shoot you.”

Aria opened her mouth before schooling her expression back into something less, terrified. “Sorry!”

This close, she could see the light flush that sat high on Dejun’s cheeks. His eyes were slightly glassy, and his chest was moving at a moderately quicker pace than it had been a few minutes ago.

Aria placed a hand on his arm, lightly, patting the exposed skin where he had rolled up the sleeves.

The filming went as well as it could. As they were told prior to entering the set; it was just a couple questions on how they were getting on together as a group, what it was like performing as a mix of all twenty three members, recounting some entertaining tidbits from the practice room or from behind stage.

Over the next hour, the icy feeling that had surrounded the two vocalists melted into a comfortable conversation, soon drifting away from the interview questions and flowing sweetly into a little chat that czennies were sure to adore.

With Dejun now turned to face Aria completely, and Aria sitting back with her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked beneath her; they were solely focused on each other; like the cameras had stopped rolling a half hour ago (They hadn’t) and they were old friends, catching up (They weren’t).

Aria learnt that Dejun had a penchant for green tea lattes, and the number eight. He slept on the top bunk, and was a lot funnier than his members gave him credit for.

Dejun learnt that Aria was a lot more accident prone than her ‘professional image’ would let on, that she has a dimple on her right cheek when she smiles, that when she smiles she beams - bright enough to beat out a lightbulb - and that her favourite colour was yellow and she still looked at the stars when she got homesick.

Aria learnt that Dejun wanted to travel to Paris one day, that he wanted to learn how to bake bread properly and that he stayed up too late playing games only to regret it the next morning every single time.

Dejun learnt that Aria had an addicting laugh; and he wanted to hear it as many times as he could. That he wishes she’d let herself laugh for longer; that she wouldn’t lift her hand to cover her face as she giggled.

His cheeks flushed brighter, the tips of his ears now a bright red.

“Dejun? Are you alright?” Aria leant forwards into his space, her face moving closer to his. She had noticed the poor boy’s flush over the course of the last hour; but the pink was slowly becoming a deep red, and her concern was deepening with it.

Dejun immediately pulled back; floundering. “Yeah! Yup, yes, absolutely fine.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m doing wonderful! Are you alright? Aria?” Dejun flipped the question on her, sweat beginning to bead beneath his fringe.

Aria squinted at him, relenting. “I’m okay, yeah. Are you still cold?”

“No!” The reply was sharp, and she jerked back a little.

“Oh- okay- sorry?” Aria pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, worrying the skin lightly.

Dejun could have punched himself in the face, but he settled for pinching himself beneath the blanket where it was out of sight.

“Aaand, cut!”

The two vocalists turned to the director who was grinning madly. “That was perfect, you two. I don’t know what you did, or where you pulled that from, but you’re definitely the best duo we’ve had in here so far.”

Aria didn’t think that was hard, there had only been two other groups in before them, but she kept these words wisely to herself.

“You’re both free to go! I’ll expect to be seeing a lot more of you together though, this is going to go down an absolute treat.” The director’s smug little grin reminded Aria of a cat who had gotten the cream; and her own little grin formed to match it.

“Thank you,” The two bowed lightly towards the staff, before collecting their things from the set and shuffling towards the door again. Once outside, they were silent again - but this time the lack of noise was not unsettling.

“Hey I-”

“What about-”

Dejun and Aria looked at each other momentarily, before bursting out into laughter.

“Okay that has to stop.” She giggled, hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Agreed,” Dejun coughed out, ears flushing one final time.

“You sure you’re feeling alright? You looked a little flushed back inside; that’s all.”

“Fine!” He squeaked. “It must have been, uh, the lights, or something. Yeah.”

Aria puffed her cheeks out, but made no further comment.

Pulling away, she slipped her feet into the runners she was wearing for the interview - uncaring as to whether or not she’d accidentally break the backs of them. They were old ones, anyway, ones she’d been gifted as part of a brand deal that had fallen through; no wonder, she thought, as the shoes really were all look and no practicality. They were the least comfortable shoe she owned - and Aria owned a lot of uncomfortable shoes.

“’Til next time?” She straightened up, head turned to Dejun.

He nodded, going to extend a hand as Aria stepped forward to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

What followed, was a painstakingly awkward hand-body-shuffle-jerk dance that left Aria’s face flushed red from embarrassment and Dejun’s desire for the ground to open up and swallow him whole growing to immense proportions.

Eventually, Dejun moved away, waved, turned on his heel and borderline sprinted away back down the hallway before Aria had a chance to return the wave. He rounded the corner, slowing to a stop in anticipation of slamming his head into the wall. However, thinking against it, Dejun instead turned to put his back to the wall, sinking down against it; lifting a hand to smack himself in the forehead.

“Idiot.”

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lilbabycee · 5 years ago

Text

sundown // steve rogers 🌇

↳ summary: steve’s little ray of sunshine isn’t shining so bright.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.5k

↳ warnings: angst angst angst (i was in my feelings with this one), hurt/comfort and some fluff

↳ author’s note: hi! i wrote a kind of sequel to daybreak today! i’ve been stuck in a writing rut for like two weeks but then @pinksdaydream inspired me to write some more for this! 🥰

READ DAYBREAK

A year later and Steve still hasn’t learned his lesson. Every day, he stares for hours at the brightest light that he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his many years of life. He can’t believe how close he is, how easily he’s able to touch and feel something- someone so precious. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been burned yet, but he knows that it’s because this light doesn’t pose a physical threat to him - emotionally, perhaps, but rather, it’s much more the contrary. He basks it in, soaks in its warmth and revels in its brilliance all because he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to because this light is his.

It’s you.

You’re not perfect - you tripped on the fluffy white rug in the living room and subsequently ran into the sharp marble corner of the kitchen island this morning alone - but you’re still his. However, this time you’re awake and standing in the kitchen - too far away from him. One of his grey Henley’s shields your entire upper half from his eager gaze and he silently curses himself for throwing you that shirt when you’d asked for one - if he was smarter, he would’ve just insisted that you walk around naked. He knows that your legs are completely bare, but his vivid imagination has to be the one to conjure up the image of those miles of exposed skin because his view is obstructed by the kitchen counter. For now, he’s stuck admiring you from the waist up. He bets that he could rip the counter right out of the tiled floor if he tried hard enough, but he knows that as of right now, he has more restraint than that.

No matter what time of the day, not once in any of those twenty-four hours for the past one-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen days has he failed to be amazed by how you can make him feel like the asthmatic man he was all of those years ago by simply walking into a room, no matter whether or not you even know that he’s there. You’ve been quieter than usual lately, running endless back-to-back sprints as opposed to marathons inside your brain that wear you out because you refuse to take a water break. He knows what this is - he’s seen it before, watched you run so far only to drop the baton in the relay race at the most critical moment. And as much as he can coach you to not push so hard and pace your running, in the end, you’re the only one who can really make those decisions for yourself.

Of course, you always take his advice in stride, using it to propel yourself those last few meters to the finish line. But time and time again, he’s watched you fall short, letting all the different facets of your overactive and often noisy brain speed past you to snap that finish line tape in half much like the way that they break your soul. Your aura dims considerably in moments like these, despite the glow of the late afternoon sun swallowing the white walls of your apartment and spitting out rays of golden light. One shines right on your face and Steve almost laughs - it’s as if the sun itself knows how deserving you are of the limelight - a star in his eyes having taken center stage in the production of his life.

He’d let you take all of the attention any day. But you’re not like that - as much as you can be his little social butterfly, the taste of pink lemonade and cherry lollipops in your speech, there are still those days when he can both physically and emotionally see you sink in on yourself, the words you speak stinging him in a way that makes his entire body shudder just thinking about it. They always taste like copper to him.

He knows that you don’t mean it. It’s the way you’ve always been and who is he to think that he’s entitled to make you change it? But the way that you deal with what goes on inside your head isn’t healthy. He knows that. You know it, too. And you’re trying. That’s all he can ask for.

And so here he sits on the floor of your living room, large body wedged in the sizable space between the coffee table and the couch that his back rests against. You’re directly in his line of sight - still too far away - but that’s okay because even though you haven’t spared him a glance or uttered a word to him in the past hour, at least you’re together.

Sometimes he regrets the mantle that he carries around - Captain America. True, it is such an integral part of him but he can’t help but resent it some days. It keeps him away from you all too often. Time and time again, people have chased him just to meet the man in red, white, and blue. They’re not interested in the man behind the shield and honestly, he doesn’t know if he is either. There have been plenty of times where he’s spiraled into an identity crisis, unable to separate Steve Rogers from his superhero persona.

But every single time, you’ve been there to work through it right alongside him. You’ve dealt with him at his very lowest - when he was in a hole deeper than rock bottom and couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. So there has not been even one moment when Steve has thought about leaving you alone when you get like this. He now knows not to pry just as well as he knows that you don’t want to be by yourself in times like these. You may not explicitly vocalize it, but in the seconds when you do meet his stare across the dinner table or right before you fall asleep, he can see the love housed in the depths of your eyes and that’s more than enough for him.

His own eyes haven’t left you for the better part of the hour. His favorite black leather-bound sketchbook is open to what was once a blank page at the beginning of the day but is now an almost complete sketch of the angel in front of him. The luminosity of the sun on your body reveals your halo, usually hidden during the day but in rare moments like these, he’s able to appreciate your otherworldly presence casually standing in the middle of his kitchen with a hand propped against the edge of the counter. A notebook is set in front of you and Steve never thought that he could be so jealous of an inanimate object before - it’s held your undivided attention for hours.

His eyes widen as you shift, leaning forwards to rest both of your elbows on the counter top to type something on your open laptop and giving him a clear view of your breasts through the gap in the front of your shirt. Your lips have been wrapped around a ballpoint pen for virtually the whole day which is how he knows you’ve been working hard because sucking on the ends of pens always helps you focus. He, on the other hand, can’t seem to focus at all as soon as you whip out one of those godforsaken pens. Steve swallows hard - almost immediately regretting wearing grey sweatpants as he adjusts the crotch as subtly as he can - and tears his eyes away from you to flip to a new page, sketching profusely so as to immortalize this moment in his sketchbook before his mind can even dare to forget it.

In his haste, he doesn’t even realize when the silence is broken by the chime of your voice.

“Steve. Steve.”

His hand moves fast and he’s squinting at the page in concentration, willing his brain to hold onto the picture of you bent over the kitchen counter as if he doesn’t have the real thing standing right in front of him-

“Stevie,” you call out, your brow furrowing slightly in concern. This makes his head snap up - finally - and you can’t help but notice how blown his pupils are and how strategic the placement of his sketchbook seems to be. You can pinpoint the exact moment that he starts to panic. For someone who is usually so stoic, he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. Realization quite literally dawns on his face but it does nothing to alleviate the dusting of light pink across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his unused voice is raspy but he doesn’t bother clearing his throat, as if he knows exactly how it makes you clench your thighs together where he can’t see them. “I was just really invested in- uh,” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely at the page that you can’t see, “the sketch. What’s goin’ on, doll?”

And the flower of your heart blooms at the look in those eyes that remind you so much of April showers, those eyes that are filled to the brim with the rain that has watered all of the dead and decaying blossoms that line your stomach, crawl up to your ribs and up your throat, their vines climbing up through your skull to wrap around your brain. That look alone, framed by those insanely long eyelashes, has extended a helping hand to your beaten-down spirit, telling it to dust itself off and keep going.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” Steve’s sinfully pink lips quirk up into a demure smile as he teases you, his thick beard shielding the brief flash of white teeth. You decided a long time ago that the beard has been the best thing to happen to you, as is the long hair that he’s currently running his hands through.

“Sorry,” you say but continue to stare unabashedly at his beautiful face because you don’t mean it. You can’t help the way that your eyes trail down his chest that has woefully been covered by one of his too-tight black t-shirts, though you don’t miss the way that it strains against his bulging biceps, nor the way that it’s slightly rucked up at the bottom which gives you an eyeful of the dark blonde wisps of hair that travel downwards towards one of your favorite parts of his body.

Steve, always so perceptive, doesn’t miss where your gaze has traveled, and he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on his face. It’s easy to forget that you’ve been down for these past few days when you have seconds like these in between those tired hours when you oversleep and he hasn’t slept at all because he’s too busy watching you.

“See somethin’ you like, baby?” he hums, continuing his sketch absent-mindedly because he knows that the image of you standing in front of him like a dream will forever be ingrained into his memory.

Heat ignites your veins and blooms in your cheeks; you can’t help it when you look away, smiling shyly to the side. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that you won’t answer, going back to tracing careful lines with the point of his pencil.

“In fact, I do,” you murmur, knowing that if it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have heard you. Steve’s eyes meet yours and you can almost taste the saltiness of the ocean on your tongue as he drowns you in their depths. He stands abruptly, casting his book to the side carelessly and taking long strides to get to where you are.

Once his hand lands on your hip, the warmth seeps in through the cotton of your shirt and melts your entire body; it catalyzes the small eruption of the volcano in your chest, causing the burning lava of the breath that you didn’t know you were holding to spill over and out of your mouth in an audible sigh. His other hand soon joins the first, framing your body and pulling you back into him. You stare down at the dusting of hair on his forearms when he slips them around your waist and you squeal when he turns you around in his hold, meeting your eyes with a softness that you weren’t expecting.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?” he probes lightly in that same low voice, recognizing your deflection and not wanting to cause that volcano to explode. You bite the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact because you don’t want him to worry (you don’t know that he worries about you every second of every day because you’re almost his entire heart) but he grasps your jaw in his right hand. He ducks his head down a little, trying to catch your darting eyes. When they finally rest on him, he thinks that he’s dying because your stare is glassy and your lip is trembling.

“Baby,” he coos, tugging you into his chest. You relent, releasing your hold on his forearms to throw your arms around his middle. It’s hard to hold back the tears anymore: Steve’s concern has kicked down the fragile floodgates of your emotional control. Pressing your head into his chest, he says nothing while your body shakes but it’s better this way. You know that you’d only cry even more if he started speaking. Instead, you inhale gasping breaths between babbling as you try to explain why you haven’t been yourself recently. He listens attentively, rubbing circles into your back and dropping frequent kisses on your forehead.

The room is more orange than yellow by the time you can finally speak coherently.

“M’sorry,” you sniffle into his shirt, fists clenching the material tightly. He pushes you away from him so there’s just enough space for him to lift his hands to your face. Slowly, he wipes any residual tears from your cheeks and underneath your eyes with this thumbs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” he speaks softly, your face still in his hands when he presses a kiss to your nose, both of your now mostly dry cheeks, and then right on top of your lips. It’s chaste, only lasting about a second but it makes your soul sing nonetheless.

You stand in silence for a beat longer, merely staring into each other’s eyes before something flashes in Steve’s eyes. You squish your face to his body again, feeling his chest rise slightly, signifying that he’s about to speak.

“What did you need before, sweetheart?”

You’re confused.

“What do you mean?

“When you were calling me before - what did you need?”

Now you get it.

“Oh- I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner...”

Your voice falters at the end because - and you have no clue why - this makes Steve throw his head back as he barks out a surprised laugh. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him slightly.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing - I just love you, that’s all,” he clarifies, casually throwing the sentiment out there because it’s so easy with you. It’s always easy, even when it’s not.

“I love you, too,” you place a lingering kiss on his jaw before pulling back to stare in his eyes with a grave expression on your face. Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. “But seriously, what do you want for dinner?”

578 notes · View notes

supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

Photo

Words: 4,705 Dean x Reader Summary: Bobby hatches a plan to try to get you and Dean to reconcile after months apart. Warnings: None! A/N: Angsssst and then a happy ending. What more could one ask for?

Your name: submit What is this?

Dean turned when he heard a car door slamming across the yard and he immediately recognized the vehicle. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin and glared at Bobby, who was clearly pretending he hadn’t noticed your arrival and was making himself busy flipping the burgers on the grill.

“Bobby? Are you kidding me?”

Bobby glanced over at Dean carelessly. “What?”

“You called her? Really?” You were making your way up to the house and Dean thought your posture looked stiff.

“Oh, calm down, son. Not everything revolves around you. I lent her some gear and she’s just bringing it back.”

Dean chewed his bottom lip and glared at the back of Bobby’s head. “Uh huh. Uh huh, she just happens to be bringing it back the day I show up here with Sam.”

Bobby smirked to himself. “I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist but it seems like maybe you have some unresolved issues to deal with…”

“Bobby,” Dean growled.

He finally turned and vehemently pointed at Dean with the spatula. “No. Now you listen to me. You two idjits belong together and everyone knows it. Figure it out!” he spat, before casually turning back around to the grill.

Your boot scuffing on the gravel finally forced him and Bobby to turn. You had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to crash the barbeque. You didn’t tell me you had company,” you said pointedly to Bobby. Dean thought he saw you swallow hard and you looked about as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Must have slipped my mind,” Bobby said, giving you a tight smile.

“Mhmm… I’m sure,” you said. You dropped the duffel bag with a heavy thud onto the porch and couldn’t keep your eyes from landing on him any longer—Dean was standing there with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and although it had been quite a long time since you had seen him, the expression on his face was one you still could readily decode. He was supremely uncomfortable. Bobby was looking back and forth between the two of you but finally turned back to the grill. You were about to open your mouth to say something when the front door swung open and Sam wandered out. He had a novel in one hand and an apple in the other and the slam of the screen door matched perfectly with the struck expression of surprise on his face to see you standing there so unexpectedly. The next moment he was grinning at you and before you could say anything he had you wrapped in a big bear hug, squeezing you tight enough that a little exhaled “Oof!” escaped your lips.

“Y/N! I didn’t—Bobby didn’t tell us—it’s so great to see you!” he said drawing back and taking you in, looking you over. His expression was so open and earnest and warm, just as you remembered, that you couldn’t help smiling back at him despite your annoyance at Bobby’s obvious scheming and the residual anger you felt toward Dean, with a heaping side of discomfort.

“Yeah, well Bobby forgot to mention you’d be here, too,” you said. Sam could hear the edge of tension in your voice and the swell of happiness he had on seeing you began to sink as he glanced over at Dean, trying to read his older brother’s mood. Dean was avoiding looking at you, mainly staring down at his boots.

An uncomfortable silence settled until you cleared your throat awkwardly and picked up the duffel bag again. “Well, I guess I’ll just go dump your gear in the house, Bobby, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“What? No! Y/N, you can’t leave. We haven’t seen you in forever,” Sam pleaded.

Bobby was pulling the last burger off the grill and he looked over at you with an obnoxious little uptick at one corner of his mouth. “I already counted you in for dinner so you have to stay or it’ll go to waste.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Go to waste? You’ve got a fridge. And two giant men visiting. It’ll get eaten or keep just fine…”

“Y/N, you can’t leave,” Sam said again. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes and goddammit, you didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose but those fucking puppy eyes. You couldn’t say no to that expression.

You sighed heavily and passed a hand over your brow, shaking your head a little at yourself for what you were about to agree to. “Alright… I’ll stay for dinner, but that’s it!” you said, vehemently pointing at Sam, who grinned triumphantly.

“Good. Now get on in the house. Sam’s already got the table ready, so we’ll just set an extra place. Dean—” Bobby held the laden burger plate out to him. “Take this in. I’ll be there in a minute. I’m just gonna clean off the grill.”

“Uhh… alright,” Dean said begrudgingly. He followed you and Sam into the house, his apprehension growing. He wanted more than anything to let his eyes wander over you there in front of him, in the flesh, not just some image conjured in his mind late at night when he couldn’t quite drown out his regrets with whiskey or blaring rock music.

“Beer?” Sam asked, opening the fridge.

You heard footsteps behind you and turned, meeting Dean’s striking green eyes for the first time and awkwardly sidestepping out of his way so he could get to the table. He tore his eyes from yours quickly and you felt that familiar twist in your stomach. “Umm, got anything stronger?” you asked, with a wry laugh.

“Stronger?” Sam repeated. “This is Bobby’s house,” he said, walking across the kitchen and opening up a cabinet which was stocked with liquor. “What can I get you?” Sam asked.

“Rye whiskey, neat.” You and Dean had both said it at the same time and your mouth fell slightly open in surprise. He was straightening up from setting down the tray of burgers and this time when he met your eyes he didn’t pull them away.

He smoothed a hand down his shirt and you thought you saw the muscle in his jaw tense. “Sorry,” he murmured.

You just vaguely shook your head. It was the first time he’d really spoken since you had arrived and it was to recite your drink choice as if he had been sitting next to you sipping them in the evening in front of a log fire just the day before. In reality it had been months and months and months since you had even spoken to each other.

Sam watched the extended gaze between the two of you, the air in the room feeling thicker by the second and he thought about making some excuse to leave, but Bobby was expected in at any moment anyway so he cleared his throat and busied himself with a glass and the whiskey. “Comin’ right up.”

“Umm—” Your eyes were still connected with Dean’s and he was finding it hard to look anywhere else now that he had started studying you. “I’m just gonna—jacket…” Dean said, starting to take off his coat and heading out of the kitchen toward the front room. You didn’t want to admit it but just the sound of his voice, deep and somewhat gruff, was threatening to make you weak at the knees. It conjured images in your mind of lost times that were both precious but also now profoundly painful now that they had passed.

When Sam next looked up, you were standing stock straight in the middle of the room, staring in the direction Dean had gone with a queer expression on your face. It was questioning and a bit sad, but Sam noted that there was no hostility. “Here you go,” he said, breaking the spell you seemed to be under and handing you a small tumbler with your drink.

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, accepting it gratefully from him and immediately taking a big gulp.

Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” you asked in surprise. You constructed the most casual expression you could and shrugged. “Yeah. Fine. Just… I don’t know what the hell Bobby was thinking—”

“Well, you could ask me yourself,” he said, rushing into the kitchen.

“Good. Fine. What the hell do you think this is going to accomplish?” you asked him in a hurried undertone.

“What? Dinner? Well, I think we’ll all be a bit less hungry at the end of it,” he said, clearly snarky on purpose.

You shut your eyes and gritted your teeth against the wave of annoyance. “You know that isn’t what I mean.”

Bobby sank into the chair at the head of the table. “Dean! Get your hide in here! Time to eat!” He turned his eyes to you again. “Y/N, are you going to join us or are you just—going to run away? Again.” He knew what he was saying. He knew that would get you fired up. And it did. You opened your mouth to argue, feeling another swell of exasperation rising up inside you but Dean was breezing into the kitchen again and taking a seat at the table, leaving the only empty chair the one right between him and Bobby. You felt like the wind just went out of your sails and Bobby smirked at you from his seat.

You bit your tongue and sank into the empty chair.

Dinner was composed almost entirely of Sam and Bobby asking questions of you and you and Dean avoiding looking at each other. You answered the queries as succinctly as you could until Sam finally found something to crack open the hard shell you were holding around yourself.

“Y/N, what happened here?” he asked, pointing to his own forehead above his right eyebrow with a vertical slashing motion. “You didn’t have that scar before, did you?”

Dean’s eyes shot over to your face immediately and you actually froze with your glass halfway to your lips, the next moment setting it back down without any thought of a sip. You cleared your throat and pressed your napkin to your lips briefly, almost as an excuse to hide part of your face for a moment as you steeled yourself against the involuntary torrent of residual fear. “No. No, that one is new.” You had sincerely hoped that Sam would allow you to leave it at that but, of course, he didn’t. And you could feel Dean’s eyes drifting over your face and sense his… apprehension? Concern?

“What happened?” Sam asked, his eyes now narrowed a little in genuine concern too.

“Just a hunting souvenir,” you said, trying to manage your tone so it sounded casual. You avoided everyone’s eyes.

Bobby was considering your body language carefully. He was debating about pressing you further. He could see that there was real fear surrounding that memory. Not only did he now want to know what had happened, but he knew this would break down both you and Dean’s constructed walls. What would be better at getting the dialogue going than vulnerability? “What was the monster?” Bobby asked.

You couldn’t avoid such a direct question without it being blatantly obvious. “Vamp nest,” you said, staring down at your plate. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. The familiar tunneling at the edge of your vision warned of a panic attack and you stood up abruptly, the movement emphasized by the groaning of your wooden chair on the floor. “I need some air.” You practically ran out the front door and onto the porch, leaning heavily on the railing and trying to force your heart and lungs to slow. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re fine. Just bad memories.

Inside, Dean was staring down the hallway where you disappeared and Sam and Bobby exchanged a concerned look, both now feeling a little guilty for pressing you. Something had happened on that hunt, more than the usual bumps and bruises.

Dean felt a familiar tightness in the center of his chest and even reached a hand up to absently rub at it to no effect. “Someone should go make sure she’s okay,” he said, turning back around to look at his little brother.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” Sam agreed, but he made no move to get up. Dean’s eyes next landed on Bobby.

“I agree with Sam,” he said pointedly, also stubbornly leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean’s jaw tense and the muscle twitched. “Oh, come on. I can’t—I’m probably the last person she wants to talk to right now,” he growled.

“Well, then I guess we’ll just leave her out there alone,” Bobby said, reaching for his beer. “She’s a grown up. She’s tough. She’ll be fine.” Dean was stubborn, but so was Robert Singer.

Sam was almost ready to cave and go check on you when Dean stood up abruptly, the same groan from his chair mimicking the one yours had made, swearing under his breath. You heard footsteps coming up the hall and the familiar sound of the squeaky screen door and straightened up. You were surprised to see Dean when you turned.

“Oh—” The noise of surprise escaped your lips involuntarily and Dean shrugged in response.

“Yep. It’s me. …sorry,” he said.

Your heart had slowed mostly back to its usual steady pace and you just stared at the older Winchester for a long moment. The silence was awkward, tense, and you found yourself wondering how long it was going to go on.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stole fleeting glances at your expression. He had to clear his throat. Why did it feel so suddenly constricted. “Umm—are you okay? You left kind of suddenly in there?”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, his lips pressing together in a thin line, the corners turning downward. “Good. …okay.”

You expected him to leave, having done the bare minimum to check on you, but he just went on standing there. So, you just went on waiting… for what felt like an eternity. You had a feeling that he was teetering on the edge of saying something and you gave him an inquisitive look, one of your eyebrows lifting of its own accord.

Finally, his green eyes rose from staring at his boots and landed on your face. He seemed to decide something in that moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“… ‘it’?”

“The hunt. How you got that fresh scar?” he asked, inclining his chin and his eyes flashing toward what had obviously been a good gash on your forehead.

You turned away from him again, trying hard to suppress the flash of fear you felt from changing your expression, and leaned on the railing again, looking out over the junkyard. “Not really,” you murmured.

“Not really or just not to me?” he asked. You were a little surprised at his bluntness and turned to look at him again, but you didn’t say anything. You straightened up again and after giving him one last, long look you sighed.

“I, uhh… I think I’m just gonna head out,” you said. “This was—whatever Bobby was thinking, I just—I’m gonna go.”

You could see Dean chewing the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly, his lips pressed together again. When he spoke there was an edge to his voice. “Sure. Go. I guess the good thing is I’m not surprised this time,” he said.

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut and the air rushed out of your lungs like it had been forced. “What?”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You run. When things get hard, you leave. How many other people have you left in your wake in the past six months, hmm? And here I am, fucking stupid enough to somehow experience it twice. Well, at least this one is mostly on Bobby.”

You were breathing fast and hard now, anger and hurt boiling in your chest. “I ran? That’s what you think happened? I just—I just up and ran? Dean Winchester is the sole victim.”

“No, I—”

“It couldn’t have had anything to do with the person I cared about more than anything else in this world lying to me, for months, and betraying my trust over and over again. No, that wasn’t it!” Your tone was dangerous and rising in volume along with your anger.

“I never said that I didn’t fuck up!” Dean roared back. “But you didn’t stick around long enough to even try to fix it—so I obviously,” his jaw clenched, “we obviously didn’t mean that much to you if you were able to just go tearing off like you did!”

You stared at him, incensed at his accusation. Your fists were clenched so tight your fingernails were digging into your palms, and you didn’t give a shit that Sam and Bobby could probably hear every single word.

“I couldn’t even get you on the goddamn phone,” Dean said. “You were just gone! Do you know what Sam and I thought? For months, we thought you were going to go barreling into something and get yourself killed, which is what started this whole thing in the first place! And now you show up here with that new scar on your forehead—what the hell have you been doing? A vamp nest? Jesus, Y/N, do you think you’re fucking invincible? You need back up!”

You broke your dangerous silence violently. “I had fucking back up! I had back up!” you yelled, sounding almost desperate. Dean’s anger broke at that exact moment and he watched you turn away from him again, slumping your weight down onto the railing. “I had fucking back up…” you said quietly.

Dean’s mind was whirring and he had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

You were staring down at your clasped hands. “You really think all I do is run? That’s what you think of me? Well, guess what? I didn’t. My hunter partner, one of my oldest friends, got caught and he tried to tell me to get out and I didn’t. I stayed. And you know what happened? They killed him in front of me and they turned me. I woke up with my head split open and the worst—I somehow managed to fight the bloodlust, murder those sons of bitches, and give myself the cure.” You sighed heavily, hanging your head and shutting your eyes, before straightening up again and looking at Dean. He thought he saw tears starting glisten in your eyes. “So, running or staying, I guess I can’t win.”

Dean was at a loss… He had said so much in hurt, in anger. He felt like a complete jackass. “Y/N, I—”

But you interrupted him and held up a hand. “Just don’t, okay? I don’t want to fight with you, Dean. I’m just… I’m just frickin’ tired. From all of it.” You stepped past him and grasped the screen door handle when he interrupted you again.

“No,” he said suddenly, forcefully. “No. This time I’m not just gonna let you go.” There was a fire suddenly blazing in his green eyes, making it look like the hues in his irises were dancing.

“Let me?”

“That was maybe the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life,” he said. “And I don’t care if you don’t want to fight with me, I want to fight with you. Because I can’t go on like this, pretending that I’ve just moved on and that I’m fine with you not being in my life anymore because I’m not. I have to try. So, let’s fight. And, if at the end of it, you still don’t want anything to do with me, I can—I can try and live with that, because at least I’ll know I tried.”

You peered at him in bewilderment, your hand still on the screen door, but slowly your fingers slipped from it and the glassiness in your eyes returned as you looked at him. “You hurt me so badly—”

“I know. And you’re right about everything you said. I betrayed your trust. I lied to you for months, and the whole time Sam was telling me I was being a fucking idiot, and, God, I hate it when he’s right…” Dean gulped and stepped a little closer to you. He wanted so much to break that space barrier between you, just to touch your arm… just to hold your hand. “And if I could go back and do it over again, I wouldn’t be so insecure and so—so terrified. I would do it all differently. But at least allow me to explain to you—” he sighed in frustration. All his words were trying to come out at once. “I thought that because I was trying to protect you that it was justified. I didn’t—I didn’t—” he let out a frustrated growl at himself, that he couldn’t find the words. “Relationships are a partnership. We were a team. And I went completely against that and I made decisions for me and for you without including you. I see that now. And I’m so, so sorry. But then you just left… you just—” Dean felt like his voice was about to break and stopped. “And that hurt me more than I even allowed myself to realize at the time.”

Your face softened as you looked at him, the evening now wearing on and the diminishing light making his eyes look deeply emerald. Dean watched your lips part a little in a soft frown, saw your shoulders fall a little.

“Everyone leaves,” he said, and in that moment you saw the little kid in him, simply afraid of losing again and again and again. “One way or another everyone leaves and I just—I never thought that it would be you.”

That stung like a hot knife between your lungs and you felt off balance. The silence stretched for a long moment before you broke it with a heavy sigh. “To be fair, neither did I,” you said. You squeezed your eyes shut along with one of your fists. “I was just so angry and so—it was my fight! And you took that away from me. And I can’t get that back. Can you imagine if I had done that to you? What if I had gone off and killed the thing that killed your mom or your dad without you? And had lied about it to you for months?”

“I know,” Dean said, and took a step toward you. “And I’m so sorry.”

You sighed again, feeling like the last of your walls had just come tumbling down, like Dean had pulled one brick out from the bottom and the whole structure collapsed. “Me too.” You realized that, in a way, by leaving as you did you had betrayed his trust in turn.

“Y/N, you have to know that you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. Every day. Still. Always.”

You felt yourself, your resolve, crumbling further. Dean took another step toward you. “If you don’t feel anything for me anymore, then—please, just tell me right now and I swear I won’t—I won’t bother you again. And I’ll tell Bobby where he can shove his meddling."

You could only gulp nervously and go on looking back at him, the eye contact between the two of you magnetic. You wondered at how earlier in the evening you could barely look at each other and now you couldn’t stop. You felt tears stinging your eyes again and let out a wry laugh, blinking them away. “You’re an idiot,” you said through a teary smile.

Dean stepped a bit closer, his eyes not leaving your face. “I know.”

“This isn’t all just magically fixed—”

“I know,” he said again, his voice now a bit breathy. He was so close you swore you could almost feel the deep timbre in your chest, feel the heat of him, the weight of him.

You stared at him and only had one more second of indecision before you gave in. “Well… kiss me, you idiot.”

Dean didn’t need telling twice. You collided as if you hadn’t spent any time apart. Dean’s arm wrapped around your lower back and his other hand tangled in your hair. The kiss was fierce, insistent and you felt like you were clay softening in a sculptor’s hands. It was blissful to be melting into him again. It felt like you had been underwater for months and were finally able to come up for air. Dean was your air and you drew in deep lungfuls. He deepened the kiss and his hand pressed harder on your lower back, pushing you into him, your body arching against his. He clasped your face and kissed you desperately. Slowly his lips softened on yours and became pleading, gentle, and finally he pulled away slightly and heaved in a deep breath, leaning his forehead against yours, both of you breathless with your eyes closed. Your fingers trailing lightly down his back were familiar and felt like home. Your arm around his neck was comforting, safe. He pulled back so he could look into your eyes and your heart leaped at being able to study his eyes and count the freckles on his nose and cheeks.

“God, I missed you,” he said softly.

You smiled a little at him, still a little overwhelmed. “I missed you.”

His face turned suddenly serious again and he placed a kiss gently on the new scar on your forehead before meeting your eyes again. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that—and I’m—I’m really sorry about your friend.”

Your eyes fell. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Dean’s hands were resting gently on your hips now and you took in another deep breath, just thinking of how much time you had wasted when you should have been right there with him… True, there was work to be done, trust to be repaired, but this felt like someone had just turned on the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Suddenly, hushed voices just inside drew both of your attention and you caught a glimpse of Bobby shouldering Sam out of the way and both of them trying to sneak back up the hallway, rather unsuccessfully.

You laughed and pressed a hand to your forehead. “Oh no…”

Dean gave you a comical look. “This is going to go right to Bobby’s head.”

“He’s going to go on a total power trip,” you agreed.

“Ehh… honestly, I think given the consequences of his actions I’m kind of okay with it.”

You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Dean pulled you in for another kiss before you could set your heels back down…

#dean winchester fics #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfics #dean one shots #fanfiction #supernatural #bobby singer

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ardent-musings · 4 years ago

Text

Sleazeballs and Submission

Murphy McNully Smut

Warning: NSFW 18+, this is revenge for @kc-needs-coffee making me feel feelings. How absolutely dare ye. It’s pure filth folks.

You were livid. Absolutely fuming at the report’s inconsiderate assumptions about you and Murphy; although you did your best to hold in your sneers and glares from the rest of the guests at the “Kestrals for Kids” Gala. Of course, you understood that you had a sizeable reputation when it came to the world of Quidditch. That was to be expected. And yet the fact that the reporter saw you as eye candy for your former teammate made you sick to your stomach. But none of that even compared to the way he so flippantly condescended Murphy on his big night.

Yes, Murphy was in a wheelchair. Anyone with relatively good eyesight could notice that. To you, it felt like that was the only thing the reporter noticed about the man that you loved. The man who made so many sacrifices so you could live out your dream post –Hogwarts. The man who spent nights out with your dad just because they felt like it. The man that loved you to the moon and back. After hearing the reporters vitriol take on your husband made you not even angry. It was more than that. It was pure fury that settled within your chest.

But for now, those feelings had to wait. You stood off to the side of the large room after vacating the terrace with Dougan who quickly left you at the promise of another scotch. That was fine by you though. You only had eyes for Murphy.

He was currently with the little kids at the event, grinning happily as they sat with him for rounds and rounds of pictures, being blinded every time the flash went off. It was nice to see him so comfortable. So in his element and so wonderfully himself.

After an hour had passed and most of the guests had left the busy event, you decided to take some time to yourself out on the terrace. The night breeze was helping cool you skin, but the anger that festered started to build again as you stared at the spot where reporter had taken your picture not too long ago. Your painted fingertips tapped on the side of your champagne glass, hoping the smooth bubbly drink would do something to calm you. It did nothing.

“Hello, Rising Star. Care for some company?”

You turned to see that Murphy had joined you, taking a moment to look out the glass barrier to admire the lush landscape before turning his sparkling grey eyes towards you. Even in the shadows they were bright. He was warm and cheerful, and regardless of how upset you were, you didn’t want to ruin his already good mood.

“I always want your company, Murph,” you hummed, taking another sip of your drink even though you knew it wasn’t giving you the effect you wanted.

“Did you have a good night?”

His question, though innocent and well intentioned, reminded you of how the beginning of your evening played out. The reporter’s dumb questions, his gross stinky cigars, and the scathing comments about Murphy resurfaced. Before you could hide it, your glare on Murphy intensified, trying your hardest drink in the image of the man you cared so deeply for.

Instead of answering him, you busied your body by waltzing behind him, your gold stiletto heels clicking against the stone floor with every step. He craned his neck back, trying to follow your path, but he let out a surprised groan once you gently gripped his neck from behind and kissed the side of it, focusing on his beating pulse. You couldn’t help but squeeze a bit, enjoying how Murphy’s breath hitched at the pinch of your manicured grip.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s going on?” His face curled in a satisfied smirk.

“I just need you,” you admitted softly, your hot breath tickling his ear, making him stiffen in his chair. Before, at the beginning of the night when decorum was important, you worried about leaving lipstick traces on his skin. But not now. Right now, you just had to prove to him how much he meant to you.

He growled lowly as you tugged on his hair, enjoying the way your nails scrapped and messed up his perfectly styled hair while you nibbled along his neck. Murphy was reeling in the attention, surprised when you tilted his head back and brought the champagne flute up to his lips to give him a taste of your drink. After swallowing the liquor, his eyes grew dark, eating up the image of you in your golden dress as you circled around to face him like a hungry vulture. Your getup had a deep neckline, and he licked his lips as you leaned in to kiss him properly. You wore that style of dress specifically to toy with Murphy’s desire for your chest, and he knew it.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t want anyone else to ever touch you.”

You left his kiss and slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. His eyes bulged at the promise you were presenting as you flipped your scarlet hair over your shoulder.

“I’d suggest locking the door, big guy,” you chuckled as you started to run your hands over his knees and up his thighs teasingly. Without a second of hesitation, he pulled out his wand and muttered a spell in the direction of the French doors that separated you two from the stragglers at the event.

With a wicked grin, you started to unbuckle his belt, finding it comical how he was gripping the handles of his seat with such strength and for a moment you wished his hands were tangled in your hair like that. Usually, you would just pull down his pants as far as you had to; however, the report’s judgement on your husband’s body echoed in your ear.

He saw Murphy as undesirable, which to you was the most outlandish idea. But even Murphy had his insecurities some days. Tonight was about making him feel sexy. Making him feel worthy. Making him feel irresistible.

You pulled down Murphy’s pants further down his firm thighs, finding the shiny white and even the abrasive red scars on his leg beautiful. They made up Murphy; every tiny line weaved into the smoothness of his surrounding skin: a mixture of soft and rough. You wanted to appreciate all of him. So you slowly kissed the lines that littered his leg, alternating between biting the skin at his knee and then grazing the tip of your tongue along his thigh like his skin was a map for you to travel.

Once you made eye contact with Murphy, you saw his grey eyes softer than they were just seconds earlier. His brows were furrowed at the middle, confused by your subtle worship of his scars. But you loved this. Seeing him all vulnerable before you. His smart mouth was something you adored and yet his lips frowned as you continued your gentle ministrations on his leg.

You sat up high on your knees, gripping his waist beneath his dress shirt and placed a kiss over the wet spot on his briefs. His hips bucked at the feeling, finally reaching down to stroke your cheek in appreciation. He loved how you look nuzzling into his clothed cock while on your knees.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you babbled mindlessly, your thoughts clouded with the vision of your mouth on Murphy. “Please.”

Murphy nearly melted at the desperation in your voice. You usually got like this after he got you off a few times; however it was strange to see you pout at the mere thought of doing anything to him. With the hand that still hovered over your cheek, he pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t forceful, just compacted with all the insatiable feelings you too felt for each other. Kissing him was one of your favorite things to do; although Murphy’s need for you on him was becoming apparent as he sighed into your mouth.

“Does my darling girl wanna taste?” His jaw clenched as he looked down at your pleading form, pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. All you could do was nod enthusiastically, already overcome by your neediness.

The ache in your knees was growing, but you had yet to fulfill your plan, so with a cheeky wink, you pulled down his briefs and grazed your tongue from the base to the tip of his cock in one long lick. Murphy grinned at the feeling, running his hands through his hair at your teasing tongue. His view was something straight out of a fantasy: your hands and deep red lips were working on him with such fervor, your copper hair was in his grip and from this angle he could tell that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your slinky dress. It was overwhelming and yet he wouldn’t dare turn away from his beautiful girl on her knees.

All he could do was slump further into his chair as you gripped him in your hand, pumping him perfectly as you went back to kissing his scars. He had never had anyone give his body so much attention, especially the parts of him people would usually turn away from. And yet, there you were, marveling at every curve, scar, and dip of his body. You surprised him every time you did it, and every time he thanked whatever holy power there was for putting you in his life.

He was relieved that he locked the door behind him but with the way your lipstick was leaving marks on him, Murphy regretted not placing a silencing charm around you two as well. His breathing grew more labored as you took him back into your mouth, hollowing around him. Murphy couldn’t help but let out a weak chuckle at the whole situation, growing overwhelmed by the way you tightened your grip.

Before he could get off, you pulled away from him which made the man above you groan in frustration. But you didn’t leave him waiting long.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily,” you reminded him as you continued to pump him in your hands, digging your nails onto his leg to steady yourself.

“No you don’t, my little beater. Strongest girl I know, you can take it.”

He chuckled darkly at you, gripping your hair a bit tighter, growing more desperate for his release. Murphy’s hips were now unrelenting; thrusting up quickly only to grunt as you coughed around him. But you didn’t care. You rejoiced in the way he was using you, because deep down, you knew that he would only ever choose you. This was your way of reminding him that you picked him as well.

The tears on your face trickled down your flushed cheeks, your efforts working in overdrive to prove yourself to Murphy, touching him in every way you knew he loved. You hummed around him as he lifted his arms behind his head to grip at his seat, meanwhile his hips jutted up from his chair as best he could. Harsher grunts were ripped from his chest, unable to keep quiet as you started scratching the inside of his taut thighs. Your name and filthy swears tumbled from his lips, biting down on them as he was nearing his high.

“C’mon, darling. Fuck, you’re too goddamn good,” was all he could mutter as you hollowed around him, your eyes meeting his as you giggled around him.

With a final grunt, Murphy released down your throat, his clothed chest heaving as the cool summer breeze made him realize just how warm he grew under your touch. He chuckled, hips still bucking as you kitten licked every drop he offered you. Your knees were wobbling from being pressed against the stone floor for so long, but you couldn’t care less.

Murphy rolled his eyes at you, growing overstimulated as you dragged your nails along the inside of his thigh leaving light scratches in their wake. He growled at your teasing, biting the inside of his cheek as he gripped your jaw firmly, beckoning you to rise from your position and onto his lap.

His hold on your chin was strong and you couldn’t turn away from his gaze even if you tried. His gray eyes were wild with desire for you and your heart started racing from his intensity. Your face tickled from the huffs of labored breaths he was still releasing as he came down from his high. Murphy was not only staring at you like he wanted you, he looked at you like he owned you.

“How long have you been devising this little plan, sweetheart?” His words were sweet, but his tone was pure filth.

“Since cocktail hour,” you admitted breathlessly, his fingers trailed from your chin to rest at the base of your neck, holding you like a collar would.

“Since cocktail hour,” he mocked, tipping his head to the side and laughing in your face. Not in a mean way; Murphy would never be cruel towards you. He chuckled deeply at your response because he knew that your mind must’ve been reeling with the thought of him for hours as he went on and worked the night. “So then tell me, love…”

You gasped loudly at the sudden feeling of Murphy reaching underneath your lavish dress to circle your clit with a firm thumb.

“Aw, I was right, darling. You’re dripping. And I didn’t even have to do anything.”

His face twisted in a self-assured grin, one that you loved to see him wear. That meant he was feeling confident, which he should feel all the time. He was everything you could ever want.

Soon enough, his talented fingers started pumping into you as his thumb continued to toy with your body, drawing whiny moans from you with every thrust. His other hand was tangled in your hair, making sure you kept his eyes on him at all times.

“Better keep quiet. There’s no silencing spell in place and beyond those doors are some very influential people. Wouldn’t want them to see my pretty girl getting finger fucked now would we?”

Your eyes rolled back at his comment. Being caught wasn’t your game plan, but the idea of everyone knowing that Murphy owned your body so well is an intoxicating thought.

“Or maybe you do want that?” He hummed against your mouth, kissing every whimper you released against his lips. “Does my baby want everyone to know who gets to play with you? Want everyone to know how good I make you feel?”

Your release was so close, and Murphy’s clenched jaw and teasing words was bringing you to the edge. His fingers were relentlessly working your every nerve in the best way possible, making you clench around him. Until there was nothing left to squeeze.

Murphy pulled his hand away from you, making you buck against his lap which only made your gorgeous husband laugh softly.

“You don’t get to cum, darling,” he began licking your sweetness off his fingers as he stared into your stunning and blown out eyes. “Not until I say so. Do you understand?”

Beneath the thin layer of your dress was the rapid rise and fall of your chest, which Murphy took no steps to hide his gaze on your breasts. His face was no longer as stern as before, he was looking up at you with an amused expression, enjoying how your body had slumped against his from your pleasure.

His nose trailed up the side of your neck, getting lost in your perfume as he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Do you understand?” he groaned.

Wordlessly, you nodded slowly. The feeling of your delayed high made you delirious; you would agree to anything Murphy said if that meant he would eventually touch you again. He pulled you in by the back of your neck and placed a kiss over your hazy eyelids, down your nose. His lips trailed across your cheek and then your jaw until they finally landed on your lips. He tasted like your champagne and for the first time in the night you finally felt drunk off of something.

“I love you, you filthy thing,” he chuckled which made you hide your face in his neck, groaning in annoyance from his teasing. “Up, darling.”

You stood up from his lap with weak legs as he fixed his clothes, trying his hardest to look relatively normal. His fingers raked through his hair to calm the golden strands, but since the event was practically over, Murphy didn’t care that much. With a flick of his wand, the French doors which were once magically sealed shut unlocked in a second.

The distance between the terrace and the Ministry issued car was far too long, growing worse every time Murphy was halted by a remaining guest who wished to speak with him. You stood proudly beside your husband as he worked his charm, you would’ve enjoyed the moment but instead you had to clench your thighs to fight off the desire your body was still demanding. Fake smiles painted your face even though you wanted to be sincere. It just wasn’t happening at the moment.

After a few stops and curious questions, you and Murphy finally reached the black government car that was waiting to take you back to your flat. Thirty minutes. You just had to endure another thirty minutes.

Except that wasn’t what Murphy had planned. As soon as you two were settled in the car and his chair was secured in the back, he closed the partition, put up a silencing spell and immediately began toying with your clit yet again. It wasn’t what you needed and Murphy knew that, too. He wasn’t touching you to make you feel good, he was touching you because he could, and you loved it.

Thirty minutes. You endured thirty torturous minutes of gentle grazes against your clit that did nothing to silence the ache you felt for him. The whole time he whispered filthy compliments to you as you tried your hardest to sit still and look inconspicuous until you reached the flat.

Thankfully, once you reached your destination, you were able to regain some of your sense. The driver assisted with getting Murphy’s chair, although your husband quickly yet kindly dismissed any further help. He didn’t need it.

The moment you two entered the threshold of your flat, Murphy lifted himself onto the soft cotton sheets of your bed. He ripped off his shirt so his wide shoulders were fully exposed to you and your nails instinctively dug into the taut muscle. His grip on your hips was almost painful, but you craved Murphy, in anyway he’d take you.

You yelped as he picked you up over his shoulder and slammed your body down on the bed. He chuckled lowly at your reaction, but soon enough his movements proved to be just as desperate as you felt. He pulled the neckline of your dress to the side to release one of your breasts. The sudden exposure to the cold night air made you gasp, but it was Murphy’s sucking on your nipple that made you yell and grind against his thigh.

“I’ve gotta have you, my love. God, I can’t fucking wait,” he groaned as he lifted the skirt of your sparkly dress over your hips, relishing in just how wet you still were.

He held himself up with one arm as you undid his belt and made quick work of his pants and underwear, lining himself up with you.

“Hands up,” he instructed. As soon as you lifted both your hands up over your head, he captured your wrists in a single hand. You gasped at the feeling of being so powerless beneath him but it was everything you wanted and more.

“I love you,” he moaned more so to himself as he pushed himself fully into you, his head dipped onto your chest at the feeling of you squeezing him. Instinctively, your legs raised to hook around his waist, encouraging him to rock into you harder. He stretched you so good and you couldn’t help but whine as he pumped into you slowly but entirely, every inch of him was accepted by your greedy body.

Murphy marveled at you beneath him, mesmerized by the bounce of your tits every time he thrusted into you, but god your little cries were the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. You bit down hard on your lower lip, unable to control an ounce of the situation, but you didn’t have to. Murphy knew your body better than anyone.

Your back arched uncomfortably as his pelvis grinded against your clit with every snap of his hips. You were already so sensitive but soon enough he was ravenously pounding you into the mattress.

“Please, please, baby,” you cried against his neck before biting down on the point where his shoulder met his collarbone.

“Go on, darling. You deserve it. Cum for me.”

Without another word, Murphy laced his fingers with yours as you came hard around him, your whole body thrashed beneath him. It was almost too much to handle, but Murphy was chasing his own high. After a few more thrusts and a cry of your name, he finished, fully dropping his sweaty body against yours.

You were fucked beyond comprehension, the slick gold dress was barely hanging on you anymore and your hair was a wild mess as it fanned out behind you. But you didn’t care.

“I love you.”

Murphy sighed happily at your declaration, memorizing every line of your, now, calm and thoroughly loved body. He loved looking at you after making love to you, no matter how rough or romantic. The sight of you was too beautiful to pass up.

“Wanna take a nap, my love? We can talk afterwards, yeah?”

At the sound of sleep, you nodded tiredly. Still semi covered in your golden dress, you slipped underneath the comforting sheets of your bed. Murphy followed you after covering himself up with his discarded underwear and his crisp business shirt. They weren’t the most practical outfits for sleeping, but as soon as your head hit the pillow, you succumbed to your exhaustion.

Murphy’s strong body pulled yours to him, leaving a whisper of kisses over your exposed shoulder. He uttered a final word before he too fell asleep.

“Mine.”

#murphy mcnully smut #murphy mcnully #hogwarts mystery #coffee and commentary #Murtriona

33 notes · View notes

uwua3 · 5 years ago

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Hello! I'm a new follower and I just love your writing so far!! You're really good at depicting The Whole Scene™ so you made me love my favs even more 😳 It's like my heart melts when I get to the extra soft parts 💖 If it's alright, may I request some fluffy hcs of Banri and/or Juza with a soft/baby-ish s/o who likes cute things? Or in general an s/o who's kind of opposite to either of them 👉🏻👈🏻 Thank you! 💞

hi!!! welcome to my writing blog~ :D i’m so happy you said that 🥺 (i appreciate the trademark no Suing in this household) i’m so glad when it gets soft it makes your heart go 💕💞💓💗💖💘💝 always feel like that!!! i’d be more than honored to baby the two tough boys of autumn~ they are secretly Baby no i do not take criticism but you’re welcome!!!

summary: this is the one time major misunderstandings work out for the best

warnings: swearing

author’s note: hello, everyone~ it’s been 4 days since i last posted a fic TT i’m so sorry!!! i hope this makes up for the absence~ it’s a bit long! please love banri and juza with all your heart ♡ fair warning, i design both readers to have dresses on but everything else is gender–neutral :D

word count: 6,482 (total) — 3,532 (banri), 2,950 (juza)

music: liar liar – oh my girl (banri), just right – got7 (juza)

sugar, spice, and everything nice!

🍁🥇 settsu banri

banri was thrifting and saw the most god–awful, terrible piece of clothing he had ever had the misfortune of seeing in his life

it was a bublegum pink sailor uniform esque shirt, embellished with the most pastel ribbons and lacy accessories ever, and was decorated to put harajuku to shame

“who the hell would want to buy this shit?” banri muttered to himself, holding it up to grimance at the girly details that hang from the ugliest shirt he had ever came across. before he could put it back to hide amongst the clothing rack, a gentle, barely noticeable tap on his shoulder made banri turn his head with a glare

“what—” banri’s eyes widened, his jaw slightly dropping. oh my god, if there was a human embodiment of the fucking shirt he was holding, you would literally be it

you were nervously smiling at him, clad in a pastel pink lolita–styled dress, with even more bows at the corset bodice and ruffles at your poofy skirt. you had the largest singular lace bonnet in your curled hair and adorned the biggest, widest circular glasses (they had to be fake). you clasped your hands together with a high–pitched laugh, banri wanted to disappear and never come back to the store again

how could people like you just exist? you walked around like a doll everyday and for what? banri looked down at his clothing for a second, all black again. maybe, he shouldn’t be talking if he was like death everyday...

“sorry~ but are you interested in that shirt?” you asked cutely, batting your eyelashes as you looked up at banri. he blinked, not realizing he was still holding the fashion industry’s worst abonimation as he quickly tossed it towards you, not bothering to check if you even caught it

“no, bye.” banri forced out, moving from the aisle to leave the godforsaken pastels and bright colors. it was all giving him a headache, there was no way this color spectrum ever existed to someone and they liked it. everybody move over because banri was gonna puke

banri flipped through more clothes, pushing through the racks with ease, trying to push the mental image of pink out of his mind until something landed on his head

quickly pulling it off with a scowl, banri deadpanned at the shirt. pink, sailor uniform, ugly ribbons and bows, check. it was that shirt again... what the—

you stood next to him, with the most angelic smile possible despite the passive aggressive look in your eyes. banri noticed your hair was slightly messed up, that he must’ve done something. he never thought he’d fight a pastel lolita in the middle of one of his favorite thrift stores, but here he was, glaring down at you like it was a big deal

“what do you want?!” banri cursed, about to throw the shirt back to you before you forced it in his hands, surprising him with the amount of force your short self managed to produce. you smiled even bigger, and banri suddenly knew he couldn’t cause a scene because no one believe him if you started a fight

“let me pick your clothes!” you offered, yet there was no room for disagreement. oh god, this was revenge for screwing up your look, wasn’t it? banri blanked again, about to tell you to fuck off before he called security (yeah, security on the most non–threatening person here), before you shoved another outfit into his arms

“go change! i want to see you in it!” you insisted, banri’s eye twitched as he took in the colors. all various shades of pink... you did know there were other colors right?

maybe it was because he knew you would start a scene if he didn’t try, but banri mumbled something about annoying people and their loud fashion sense before slipping into a dressing room. you clapped when banri begrudgingly agreed to it, pissing him off even more

(you didn’t know why you were forcing this stranger to be pastel for once. one look at his all–black attire and you felt a part of your soul die for a second)

when you heard the most dragged–out, emphasized swear behind the door, you knew you had to see it

“are you okay in there~?” you asked, waiting patiently outside with a devious smile. revenge was sweet, you almost forgot about how that shirt had messed up your hairstyle for the day

(banri suddenly regretted ever messing with you, you were the devil in pink)

“i know we just met, but fuck you.” banri deadpanned, stepping out from behind the curtain with the resignation of a quitter. you threw your hands over your mouth, stifling your snickers as you observed him top to bottom, wondering how you even fathomed such a creation

banri stood before you in the same sailor shirt, ribbons and bows alike, that somehow fit him. you had given him basic pink shorts that clased with his giant black boots (he made a stomping sound whenever he walked)

“i hate this, i am never wearing this again.” banri admitted without difficulty, expecting you to go away so he could shop in peace but you giggled, nodding in satisfaction at your mistake. he couldn’t believe it, he was embarrassing himself and sacrificing his dignity just because some moral conscious was aware he probably ruined part of your fit

“i’ll buy it for you!” you said and banri pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing with so much exhaustion even though it was the afternoon. is this how sakyo felt dealing with three kids all day? banri was this close to calling him up just to apologize for all the batshit crazy things he’s done

“no.” banri stated, not offering an explanation before turning around, about to head back into the dressing room before you stopped him, pouting your lips with a stubborn look

“come on! why not? i’ll do anything!” you pleaded, giving him your biggest puppy dog eyes as you kept repeating “please~” loudly. banri was about to tell you off before he noticed the store customers glancing at the odd duo, groaning before he rubbed his face

“anything?” banri asked, realizing his mischevious smirk was back on his face as you narrowed your eyes at him, wondering what the hell he was planning

when you hesitantly nodded, banri wolfishly grinned as he leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and looking down at you (you would’ve burst into laughter at how banri tried to look intimidating in pink if you weren’t too plagued by your surprise at his sudden attitude change)

“okay, let me pick your next outfit.” banri said and you winced at the memory of his previous outfit, considering your options before shaking his hand, knowing whatever was about to happen would be one for your social media

it only took about two hours before you actually agreed to try anything on banri picked. it was all animal print, mismatched neon colors, and flannel. you refused every single time he held anything up, bruising banri’s ego even further

“jesus, you have no taste.” banri complained, just wanting to see the most pastel person he’s seen wear something normal for once. you two bickered easily, fighting like there was no tomorrow and warranting nervous glances from the store employees (who nearly alerted security when they saw you almost knock over a whole display chasing after banri)

finally, banri chose something you wouldn’t be caught dead in. it was close to what he had before, a black turtleneck with a silver–zip bomber jacket. he was nice enough to choose a black pleated skirt for you to wear with black oxford that had 3d white daisies

you actually liked it, believe it or not

in return, you adjusted your pick for him (much to banri’s relief when he muttered “thank god” as you put the pink sailor shirt back). you adjusted the theme to be a mixture of black & pink, picking a pink sweater with a black stitched heart surrounded by lace that read “i’ll kill you” and a pink button down underneath. you let him wear basic black pants (just so he wouldn’t have actually killed you) and found the cutest pink sneakers with black shoelaces!

by the time both of you finished, banri didn’t seem as mad and actually nodded at your choices

“not bad, punk.” banri joked as you swatted at his arm, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes at your antics. you two made your way into opposite changing rooms and went out at the same time, staring at each other wide–eyed for about three seconds before banri pushed his finger in the center of your forehead with a smirk

“see! you don’t look as bad now.” banri winked as you nearly kicked him, rubbing your forehead with a frown. you two fought all the way to the cash register, paying for each other’s new outfits as you wore them out the door, holding your originals in a bag

“happy now? gotta go or else my friends are gonna kill me.” banri rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pant pockets as he was about to go the opposite way. you grabbed his sleeve, impatiently shoving your phone in his face as he adjusted to seeing his own pissed off expression stare back at him

“you have to take a picture with me!” you insisted, your bubbly demeanor really not fitting your “goth” approach (courtesy of banri, of course)

banri glared, knowing this wasn’t apart of the deal before you feigned sadness, wrapping your arms around yourself as you looked around like it was really unfortunate

“oh... are you not photogenic? that’s too bad...” you mocked him, pretending to not notice banri’s fists clench as he furrowed his eyebrows. of course he was good at taking photos! he’d show you, alright

“give me your phone.” banri demanded, taking it without a warning and holding it at a distance with an effortlessly cool pose, doing his usual smirk with a casual peace sign

“say ‘worst day ever’.” banri snapped the picture when you got into frame, putting your chin on his shoulder due to your height difference as you smiled cutely, contrasting his entire vibe

when you actually went through the selfies, they were perfect. damn it! of course he was good at everything, including somehow making black look good on you and be the ultimate photographer

“let me tag you, these are actually...” you were about to say something else until you noticed he was walking away, not bothering to say goodbye as you called his name

“yo, banri! what’s your instagram handle?” you yelled, holding your phone up. banri didn’t even look behind him, just throwing up a single middle finger towards you as he turned the corner. what a typical teenage boy

it was so like him, you didn’t even bother chasing after banri as you posted the set of photos you took with him with the caption “worst day ever with this emo punk, someone find him for me”

when banri made it the dorms, he took out his phone for the first time in forever and felt the vibrations. he never got this many notifications, itaru was probably telling him to get online or he’d beat his ass—oh

oh, you didn’t

kazunari (of course it was him) had tagged him in a familiar picture, with too many emoticons and exclamation points to begin with. banri scrolled through the comments, all complimenting his cool face despite being in pink (banri already knew that) and... wait... shipping you two?!

you two were completely different! if you two stood next to each other, you’d be two opposite ends of any spectrum possible. yet, banri couldn’t help but read all the comments on your post, saying how you two looked good together

banri zoomed in on the photo and moved to your face and huh... maybe they were onto something...

banri clicked on your profile and as expected, it was all soft like sanrio personally made it. you were an angel in each of your pictures, posing with stuffed animals, pastel café sweets, and anything that looked like it came out of a kid’s show. banri was scrolling mindlessly, screenshotting some as he slouched on the sofa, exhaling sharply through his nose at some childish pun you had in your captions

when banri was near the beginning of your feed, it had happened. he accidentally tapped too fast (blame it on his gamer hands), liking your picture from years ago

banri paused. after a minute, banri slowly unliked your picture, shut the app, and threw his phone across the room. it landed on the other couch with a thump as banri slid down the seat with the loudest groan ever, covering his face as he refrained from screaming

that’s what he got for stalking your entire fashion page despite hating your style

the damage had been done. you followed him and instantly dm–ed him with the full, unedited selfies of you two

(banri didn’t follow back until like, a month later for no reason other than he was petty)

banri became your immediate go–to fashion guru, believe it or not. moving past his horrific sense of animal print, he actually wasn’t that bad at picking clothes (banri said it was something about growing up with an older sister)

whenever you needed advice on an outfit, you sent him a text and got a response within minutes (the more he hated it, the more you wore it). any time you went to another up and coming clothing store, he was by your side (unwillingly holding your bags with multiple threats). banri even took your pics for your page, pretending like it was a huge nuisance whenever you asked anyone to take a photo (they always came out awful and he claimed he was tired of hearing you whine 24/7)

you and banri’s interest in fashion was the foundation of a competitive and sarcastic friendship that formed between you two. you exaggerated your pink clothes by making sure to be as pastel as possible whenever you hung out with him, and banri made a point to be all–black and dark down to his silver earrings despite the weather

you posted him more and more on your socials despite his style clashing with your feed. your followers seemed to love him, hyping up his coolness even if you two bullied each other in the comments like an old married couple. it was becoming expected to see banri’s account tagged every time you gave him credit for the post (he always used it against you just to make you mad)

over time, when banri went to see you, he didn’t insult your style anymore even if he tried to (his insults were even half–assed). he took your bags on his own accord and acted like they didn’t weigh a thing. he started taking more photos of you on his own phone, like it wasn’t a big deal he had shocks of pastel throughout his rather dark camera roll

banri didn’t know when it happened, but the moment he looked at the pink sweater you bought him the first time he met you and didn’t react, he knew

oh shit, he didn’t hate pink (or you) anymore. he might have even... liked it

(he might have even liked you)

it was nearly closing time, the employee about to close up shop before banri was seen sprinting towards them, barely out of breath as he skidded to a stop near the concerned worker (understandably so, since it was dark and a whole teenager nearly trampled them)

“oh? banri? what are you doing so late?” the employee recognized the regular customer and banri almost threw up at what he was about to request. he took a moment to compose himself before banri sighed, gesturing towards inside the store

“you remember that really ugly pink sailor shirt that is probably a fashion crime?” banri asked and it didn’t take long before the worker nodded, even grimancing at the memory of such a loud shirt

“yes, no one is really willing to buy it—” the employee was interrupted by a wad of money from inside banri’s wallet as he went through it, wincing at his own purchase that he clearly didn’t want

“i’ll take it. keep the change.” banri went home that day with the same pink shirt he swore he would never wear again

the next day, banri was dressed and the whole dorm went silent. no one dared breathe a word, and banri rolled his eyes, crossing his arms

“what’s wrong? never seen a man wear pink before?” banri raised his eyebrows, casually getting ready to go see you with his backpack strapped. once again, everyone was staring at him (when he left the dorms, the room burst into hysterical laughter)

when you saw banri in that shirt, you suddenly knew. it was as if his behavior made sense, this is way of telling you he didn’t hate you as much as he acted to

as he came up to you pretending like he was still cool in the most pastel pink shirt ever, you couldn’t help but grab him by the sailor collar and give him something long overdue

(the whole mankai company spammed your page with fairy cyberbully comments and likes when you posted a picture of banri in the sailor shirt with the caption: “best boyfriend ever”)

(you ended up keeping the sailor shirt, banri claimed it suited you a lot more than it did for him) (damn, not even one insult about how ugly it was when you expressed how much you loved it)

ever since, your feed became more of punk pastel than anything. anything you wore, banri most likely had in black. you two even shared jewelery and banri often mixed up your earrings with his own (you loved his piercings and often bought the most intricate ear cuffs just to see them on him)

despite your opposite styles, you guys actually shared many of your items together like clothes, accessories like bucket hats and backpacks, even make up! (it took quite some time before banri accepted you painting his nails though, at first it was black, now he allows the occassional pink middle finger if you ask)

(banri liked it the most when you two had matching nails, it was just satisfying to see when holding hands)

you guys were also that gamer couple. you know what i’m talking about, if you guys had a gaming room together, half the room would be pastel pink and his set up was a basic all black

(you two had matching cat headphone sets, yours obviously the pink ones and banri pretended to hate his own pair of ears)

(they really weren’t that bad, he even began wearing it around his boys despite the jokes)

(“shut up, bastard! my partner likes them!”)

as expected, you two got stares every time you went out in public. while you were bright and happy from the anime sparkles around you to your adorable, enthusiatic energy, banri was always by you looming over everyone with a sharp glare and even more aggressive tongue

but this was unexpected: you had banri whipped. wrapped around your finger, even if he would never admit it

(he could go one moment cursing someone out, threatening a fight before he talked to you with a quieter, more relaxed tone. of course he could start shit with you, but for some reason, his voice and demeanor automatically became nicer when he saw you)

(this meant he could never stay mad at you for too long)

an example of banri being absolutely soft for you would be the time you were about to dye your hair and he wanted in

while he was helping you equally do the style and making sure it fit your liking, you giggled at the sight of your boyfriend in the mirror, focusing intently on your hair and the two seperate dyes

“ri, have you ever thought of black hair?” you asked nonchalantly as banri brushed the dye on your hair, giving him a moment to think as he shrugged

“eh, i already dye my hair. never thought about that color.” banri responded, already too busy making sure your hair was completely covered (he was a good hair stylist even if he had never done it before)

“what do you think about matching hairstyles?”

it felt like deja vu. when banri walked into the dorms again, everyone was staring at him. except this time, it wasn’t his sweater (he was back to all–black this time), but his head

oh my god, his hair. his vibrant, half–pink and half–black hair now

“you like that person so much! you dyed your hair that shade of pink?!” practically everyone in mankai was aware banri was whipped for his one and only angel, even if it looked like he came out of hell himself just to be with you

whenever banri saw pink now, he didn’t hate it anymore, and he especially didn’t hate you

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

when juza saw you, he felt like he was on a sugar rush from how cute you were

it was another day helping the director with her grocery shopping and an extra amount of time allowed the two to visit the new bakery that opened downtown

while izumi was making small talk with the server, juza awkwardly hung behind her as he tried to not make it obvious he just wanted to eat every single dessert in the family business

as he was counting the tiles on the floor (how did they design them to look like it was made out of candy?!), a swish of a puffy skirt moved past his line of sight as juza glanced up, feeling like he had downed a whole box of those valentine’s candy hearts at once

you were a waitress, happily bringing customer orders to their tables with the cutest smile ever. you wore a mint green & brown uniform with a big bow at your dress shirt collar, floating around like a fairy with a trey at your hand and gracefully taking requests in the other. if “you are what you eat” was true, you would’ve only ate sweet foods because you were that adorable

then, juza noticed you had some really nice hair clips and thought they were super cute

when you looked up from writing something on your notepad (he noticed it was really elegant cursive), you caught his eye and it was like love at first sight for juza

for you, not so much

you had made eye contact with the most intimidating, tallest boy in the entire bakery. you nervously smiled, waving before hurrying into the kitchen, feeling his stare on your back as you hid in the break room with a sigh of relief

just your luck! you had met some guy who probably didn’t even like sweets, he looked like he wanted to fight you or something! why was he staring at you like that? you anxiously peeked your head from the door frame and went back immediately when you noticed he was looking for you

oh no, was some thug trying to fight you? in a bakery?

when izumi finished up her conversation and bought a speciality cake to go, juza obediently followed her outside as he glanced back behind the counter, trying to spot your unique hair accessories again

as the bell above his head rung, he knew he had to come back to see you and find out where you bought those dessert–themed clips

at first, it began with casual visits, pretending to survey the area after explaining his association with mankai in the most bare minimum way possible. you didn’t struggle convincing someone else to cover your shift quickly when you noticed the scary tall guy up front. then, it became ordering random things to go and hoping he’d at least see you to ask a simple question. you did everything to hide behind tables, hoping you wouldn’t have to confront the gangster

(“he’s back again?! how many more desserts can he order?” you whined, poking your eyes over the front desk to see his frame entering past the window)

for some reason, juza couldn’t stop thinking of your hair clips. they were sweets, for goodness sake! nothing had made him happier, they were so tiny and adorable, they brought him instant serotonin even if he had some tough image

(maybe you were also super cute too, and he just needed an excuse to see you)

after weeks or so of failed attempts to catch you working, juza began sitting down and eating in the bakery, much to your misfortune

“how can i avoid him now if he spends a hour here every afternoon?!” you panicked even though juza’s back was turned to you. he happily ate his food, getting distracted by the quality of the sweets to notice you were basically staring at him

“are you sure he wants something from you? he comes here every day, he seems like a nice boy.” the owner vouched in his favor after talking to the offstandish teen at the register. sure, he was a bit rough around the edges, but he was much more respectful than any of the rotten kids who came in the shop!

ugh! the baker didn’t get it, there was no way someone like that didn’t want to start something with you!

out in the dining area, it took all the sugar in his body to actually make juza ask for a very specific server in detail. when someone had brought him his strawberry milk, juza cleared his throat with an awkward attempt at a smile (it looked more like a grimance than anything)

“uh... do you know if, a server with candy hair pins is here?” juza murmured, looking down at the table with an embarrassed blush as the waiter didn’t think anything of it, calling your name without another warning. you squeaked, dropping behind the counter as juza tilted his head in confusion

(why were you hiding? was there something wrong? what happened? juza thought, unaware he was actually the problem)

when you heard a series of footsteps stop near you, you hesitantly looked up from your crouching position and saw juza staring down at you with a concerned expression. his eyebrows were furrowed and he had his hand out

you took his hand and closed your eyes, fearing for your life. was he gonna yank you to your feet? push you over? trip you so you’d fall for real? you weren’t ready for a fight!

yet, none of that happened. juza gently lifted you up and made sure you were fine by observing your outfit to see if anything was wrinkled, muttering something about being careful and staying safe

you blinked, trying to process how incredibly wrong you were. juza was perhaps the nicest customer you had met in your entire career as a server, even taking the time to actually confirm you were okay with no ill intentions whatsoever

(suddenly, you remembered all the times you actively avoided juza and felt the guilt as he nodded at you, unintentionally lowering his height so he’d seem more approachable)

“sorry to bother you, but uh...” juza trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase his next sentence. before you could respond, his hand landed on your hair and a beat of silence passed between you two

“cute.” juza forced out, and wanted to slap himself. cute?! no, say cute hair clips, ask where you got them! juza was internally panicking and you were doing the same as you looked up at him with wide eyes

it was so awkward and humiliating, juza couldn’t pull his hand away because his whole body was on shutdown. oh god, what could he do now? this was possibly the worst first impression in human history

“i’m cute?” you warily asked, staring at him with a slightly amused expression as juza blanked. you felt his hand subtly shake as it was your turn to be concerned over how red his face was

“no—i mean, yes, but, not like that! i mean...” juza finally lifted his fingers to poke at your hair decorations and you let out a sound of understanding, pointing at your own clips

“oh? you mean these?” you asked and juza nodded, like he was extremely thankful you understood him. he pushed his hands behind his back, nervously leaning back and forth on his feet as he looked away like the cupcake display was the most interesting thing in the world (it probably was)

“where did you, uh, get them?” juza quietly questioned and you giggled, patting them proudly as you stood a little bit taller from the unintentional praise

“i made them! thank you for asking!” you smiled, about to move away before juza accidentally held onto your arm, releasing his hold when he saw your shock. he definitely needed to learn how to be more socially acceptable one of these days or else he was gonna get in big trouble

“can i commission you?” juza muttered and there began your friendship with the big tough delinquent juza who really adored small, cute things (like yourself!)

any time juza was particularly fascinated with a dessert on display, you would show him a sketch sample of accessories you could make based on his favorites. surprisingly, juza was very comfortable with expressing his love for sugar because you felt the same way!

every day when juza came to visit the bakery, he’d always have something new to say about your homemade accessories and seemed fascinated by your adorable fashion sense

(he had been particularly obsessed with these dangly earrings you made that looked like little dango sticks. it was like a child had been playing with your ears the entire time)

it was about a month later when you made the final designs of the hair clips juza ordered and you knew they were your best work yet

you had multiple favorite desserts and fruits of his molded in clay or shaped in resin on a various sizes of clips and pins. you decorated them with the sole goal in mind to see how pretty they would look against juza’s dark purple hair

this would be the first time you two met out of the bakery, so when juza came and saw you didn’t look any different (hair accessories and all), he thought you were so sweet

juza’s entire face practically lit up when you presented him the clips. foods like ice creams, lollipops, and popsicles were all accessible for him as he struggled to find the words to show his appreciation for your work

you two sat on a bench in the park as juza gently took the clips, turning them carefully (you looked down and almost laughed at how tiny they looked in his hands)

when you asked for a model picture for your business page, juza’s shaky hands were clearly untrained in the art of hair clips as he put one in an awkward position and tried to look up to see what it looked like

“uh... i’m not very good at this.” juza admitted, embarrassed as he stared at his feet. it didn’t take you long to take over, moving closer to giddily pin juza’s hair back

(it was soft, you were almost jealous of how everything about him was the embodiment of “gentle giant”)

“it’s okay! here, let me.” you insisted and juza gratefully passed you your work, staring at everything but you as his cheeks became even redder. you were so close and leaning over him, trying to put them in cute positions as your fingers ran through his hair

(juza felt like the first time he saw you; like he was on a sugar rush as he noticed how nimble your fingers were on him)

when you were done and leaned back with admiration, juza looked at you with a small smile as he reached up to touch the designs you put in his hair, feeling the handmade pins against his calloused fingers

“cute~” you lifted your phone up, about to take a picture. juza didn’t know why, but he covered the camera with his palm as he lowered it, looking at you with the same focus he had everytime he saw you

“you’re cute.” juza froze. oh gosh, did he actually just confess that?! you were surprised, feeling his hand over yours. yet, you didn’t want to pull away. in fact, you wish your phone was out of the way so you could completely hold his hand

“you’re cute, too.” you responded, using your other hand to brush the loose strands of hair back from his face as you smiled

when juza came back to the dorms with the cutest, most pastel, childish hair clips, no one had time to say a word as he ran to his room and threw himself onto his bed. juza rolled onto his back, placing both his hands on his hair and putting them in front of his face as if he couldn’t believe it

he just held your hand! he was your boyfriend now! you liked him even if he was the complete opposite of you! juza silently shoved his pillow over his face, kicking the air uselessly

as your boyfriend, you and juza had much more in common than you thought. juza loved your cute sense of style, always trying his best to compliment your aesthetic by wearing more of your hair accessories and modeling for your page (apparently, he had the perfect hair color for it)

(he even let you put his hair down for certain posts, his usually slicked–back hair laying flat against his forehead as he didn’t look at you, his head turned as he blushed. “it’s not that bad, right?” he’d ask and you always complimented him no matter what)

although juza kept his rather grunge neutral look, he admired the way you were so bright and liked calling you dessert–related endearments just because you were the embodiment of sweets. he 100% thought you were the most adorable thing in his life and had to be made of pure sugar

in order to support your style, juza liked coordinating his clips with yours. he’d text you the night prior just to gain insight on what type of look you were going for and come to your bakery with something similar (even if your coworkers liked poking fun at his serious, stoic face that only changed around you)

he also came in with a new phonecase and you nearly fainted from how cute he was. he had a case that had those little squishes on them, he admitted he liked feeling them whenever he got a little anxious (it was such a cute habit, you had bought him a whole stock and it was like a little kid on christmas morning)

(you also made earrings out of a pair, he would not stop touching them)

whenever he noticed kids staring, juza never failed to advertise your business like his life depended on it. yes, your customer base actually did grow, somehow thanks to your most unlikely model yet

however, juza wasn’t the only one who had adjusted his style, you did too!

you two actually had had matching letterman jackets, yours in pink & white with a “j” in large letters and his black & grey with your first name initial as well. sometimes, you guys even switched just for the fun of it

you even got to wear his usual “10” purple jacket every now and then, even though he never said anything about liking you in his clothes. he’d just casually leave it around your place, acting like you wouldn’t notice the dark outerlayer in your mass of pastels

as you two were dating, juza wanted to be the best boyfriend possible for you as he wondered what to get you for your anniversary coming up. as juza subconsciously rubbed his clips with a thoughtful look, he suddenly had a lightbulb moment

that’s it! he should make you something in return

when you began seeing juza less and less around the bakery, you were nervous as what he was up to. juza barely hid anything from you since he was such a poor liar, so it was clear when he avoided talking about what he did after school now

in reality, juza was becoming frustrated with how big his hands were. every time he tried to make something, he was too forceful and caused the line to snap. the amount of beads he had lost at this point was laughable as juza tried to not knock over the bracelet–making kit on the table

(it took yuki coming by and taking pity on his crouched over form for him to go somewhere, muttering to himself about how he needed this to be perfect or else he’d die)

(juza always had a strong respect for jewelery makers, but it increased much more once he realized how clumsy and small his attenton span was)

just when you thought juza had forgotten your anniversary coming up, he randomly texted you out of no where asking if you were free. you looked at your shift and agreed, knowing you needed a break and not questioning a thing

when you walked out of the bakery, juza was already there with a small bag, his foot tapping against the sidewalk. before you could even ask how he’d been, he shoved it into your hand with an embarrassed blush (he was so nervous, he swore his heart skipped a beat)

“happy anniversary.” juza mumbled when you opened the small mesh, drawstring bag with a gasp. you slowly pulled out the beaded bracelet with a shocked look, seeing multiple silver dessert–themed pieces hang. there were mainly purple and black beads with four white blocks spelling out “juza”

juza showed you his wrist and he was wearing a beaded bracelet in a similar style, except his was your aesthetic with various pastel shades and your name on his string ending with a cute heart

you teared up and juza winced, rubbing the back of his neck as awkwardly looked away

“that bad, huh?” before juza could die of embarrassment, you shook your head and pulled him into a hug, surprising him when you stood on your tippy–toes to give him a kiss on the cheek

“i love it, this is the sweetest gift ever.”

“only for you.”

when juza slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, you knew you were never gonna take it off

who knew the scary, intimidating boy from the bakery was the sweetest person alive?

249 notes · View notes

harrys-reverie · 4 years ago

Text

DOG YEARS // Harry Styles O.U.

PART 1: The Agreement

a/n: welcome! here is part 1 of my baby. I have been working on this for a while and I really hope you enjoy. Story is based off the song ‘dog years’ by maggie rogers, one of my favs. anyways, let’s get on with it! Any feedback, shares or likes are greatly appreciated! I want to get my work out there 🥺 ALSO PART 2 TMRW!

word count: 8k

STORY PAGE // PART 2 CLICK HERE

Take a look at it and really read through thoroughly. Don't hesitate to come to me with any questions, okay?" Eve, my boss smiled warmly at me as she handed me the stack of papers sitting between us. "I'm counting on you."

I nodded back at her wordless, feeling a bit uneasy but eager to give the pages a read. It was just about 9 am in the English countryside and the sun was beaming through the wood paneled floor to ceiling windows — giving the already bright room even more of an angelic haze. Dried lavender bouquets were placed among scattered piles of paperwork Eve had yet to get through. The cozy scent of tobacco-vanilla candles, signature scent of the Soho Farmhouse property were dangerously lit among heaving piles of paperwork. Overall, the room was the true essence of peace, yet I was feeling far from it as I held onto the paperwork Eve had just given me.

I wasn’t quite sure how I found myself in this position, not one bit. But here I was, having to scan over a fifteen or so page NDA for some high end guest who I was suggested to look after during their 4 month stay here at the Soho Farmhouse. It made little sense to me because I didn’t even know that was possible to stay here this long. This was a membership hotel not an extended stay home. I could only imagine the sort of prestige this mystery person had to pull this off.

I had only gotten the job as a waitress at one of the restaurants on our premises last month. Like whoever this mystery person is, I was temporary here too. I had just finished my university studies back in my hometown in California months prior. My nan who happened to live way out in the middle of England was extremely apologetic about not attending my graduation, and instead offered me a stay in England for 6 months. I figured I was in no rush to adult, and my parents finally obliged and I found myself on a multi hour flight here. The first two weeks in her house were enough to send me bat shit crazy, and I knew I needed a job. Unfortunately I wasn’t near the hustle and bustle of a massive city, so finding this job was God sent.

I quickly learned I was shit at waitressing. Eve took a chance on me and I knew she instantly regretted it, she was desperate to find an opening for something more suitable for me. I was desperate to take on any other role at the Farmhouse besides waiting tables — watering and maintaining the plants in the gardens, cleaning the stables, working the phones, or even monogramming our robes we give to the guests.

Fortunately for me, I agreed to this "special job for a special girl" as Eve quoted it, without truly knowing what exactly I had gotten myself into. Now here I was, knees dip in a situation that seemed like the most work of them all.

The wooden door shut creakily behind me as Eve stepped out to continue her role of head of the Farmhouse and prowl around the land to make sure everything was running smoothly. She had left me alone so I could read through the paperwork in a comfortable and quiet room. Really though I was feeling anything but as I looked back down at the legally binding pages in front of me.

"This Confidentiality Agreement is executed effective 3rd, of September 2020 between Colette Adkins (Party A) and Harry Styles (Party B)...

WHEREAS, Party A can not disclose any confidential information regarding Party B..."

My mouth partially dropped when I had seen the name, Harry Styles. Like, THE Harry Styles. What was he even doing here for four months, did he not have somewhere better to be? Like possibly in one of his many houses? He could stay cooped up in those mansions for months on end without having to lift a foot in the real world, I’m sure of it.

Unfortunately the countless numbered paragraphs under his name were more than confusing to understand, and there was almost 12 pages of them. From what I had gathered through a quick skim was that, 'none of this and none of that and none of anything' was allowed when it came to Harry Styles. I had to wonder how much terrible encounters the man had gone through in order to have to have so many stipulations when it came to just being in his presence

The fancy terms were hard to follow, and I found myself googling phrases I had never even heard of. I was now dubbed as a 'party' and Harry Styles being the other, and apparently from the looks of it Party A and Party B were two different levels of hierarchy. I had doubts that even Eve could properly understand all these 'guidelines.' I always heard such positive stories in the media about THE Harry Styles, that he was easygoing and friendly, a gentleman — this NDA said differently though. He seemed like a real nightmare. A nightmare I wasn’t sure I’d want to be working with for four months. Is his reputation just a huge hoax and he’s pulling an Ellen Degeneres on the whole world?

I knew most would find it foolish to pass up on such a opportunity, but if there was one thing I disliked it was being in situations where I couldn’t be fully myself. I was beginning to feel as if this position would be stripping me away of who I was and I’d just be some young girl at a massive millionaires beck and call.

On the flip side, it was a job after all and not every job was enjoyable. If his reputation held any truth, then this experience would be a breeze and I’d be stupid to not take it.

I reached for my phone at the bottom of my purse on my lap and clicked on Eve's contact to send her a quick text.

Colette: Harry Styles? This paperwork makes him sound like an ass. I’m not sure.

Eve: I'm coming back in to discuss this with you..

Just like that and Eve was already scurrying back into her office, a very serious look on her face, one of which I wasn't used to. I had a feeling she was just waiting outside the door the whole time.

"So what do I need to know? I mean, it can't be that hard...but...”I began casually, trying to understand what all her worry was for. Granted, I was just as much so.

She looked down at her phone that was pinging like crazy and then back to me. "It's not that it's hard, but this is a job that is strictly business. You have to live on premise in a 1 bed and 1 bath, always on the clock.” Oh.

"Not just that," Eve continued, "But, if anything and I mean anything gets out, legally there are repercussions. According to his manager, who you will meet — he's writing an album and has a few of his crew mates amongst the grounds in different cottages. It's very low-key, Colette. There's no room for a mistake or slip up."

Suddenly the morning sun seemed brighter than ever and I was squinting my eyes at her in confusion.

"So what, I’m basically Harry Styles little bitch for four months?" I didn’t mean for it to come off so harsh but I could see from Eve’s facial expressions she was a bit taken aback. Maybe that was a bad way to phrase it.

I was curious to know what my duties as Harry Styles' personal Soho Farmhouse assistant would be and if the tasks were just menial or true, hard work. I couldn't image it'd be more than popping up every hour or so with fresh coffee or tea, dropping off towels or bringing the cocktail bar on wheels over every once in a while.

"You know, I don't know," Eve laughed nervously. "It was a request from his management, he needed somebody to assist him with everyday tasks. So yes, maybe food requests and what not. He wants to maintain a low profile and if he's out biking throughout the grounds all the time, he won't have that confidentiality that he is requesting."

Oh, he got off lucky with not having to bike anywhere. If you know anything about the Soho Farmhouse, you know that it's hundreds of acres of land and to get anywhere on the grounds you had to bike there. Not that it was bad or anything, it was rather refreshing but could get quite annoying when you needed to be somewhere quick.

"Have you met him yet? Is he here?" I quipped in shameless excitement. It was Harry Styles after all, I couldn’t put a facade on forever.

Eve gave me a sly smirk, "He's incredibly handsome in person."

"No fucking way."

She put her hands up in defense, trying to reprimand herself and act more professional, "You know, I caught a glimpse. He had arrived only minutes ago but I hadn't properly greeted him yet. I want you to be the first one to introduce yourself..." She trailed off. "Any ways, we want him to be settled and comfortable first and I think a splendid thing for you to do is to bring him a robe and some coffee."

I felt my stomach tie into knots at her request and she looked back at me worried. "Well, just act casual," She suggested after I didn't reply automatically, almost as if she was reassuring herself as well. "There's a reason I picked you, you know."

"And what might that be?"

Eve grinned, "I think you and Harry would get on just fine."

———

I wasn't all to worried about how I would appear in front of Harry Styles. My fringe was a little all over the place because I didn't blow-dry it this morning and my blouse wasn't as ironed as it probably should be, but none of that mattered. I had decided to wait on signing the NDA until after I had met him and introduced myself. I wanted to make sure this job was the right fit for me.

I had his monogrammed fluffy grey robe tied up in a neat bow, sitting in the wicker basket attached to the front of my handy blue bicycle. To my dismay Harry's cottage was the farthest away and at the highest point on the premise, on top of the hill. So, it was a bit of a hike to say the least — I hoped that if I committed to the job that Eve would place me in a small cottage nearby to his so I wouldn't have to make this journey multiple times a day.

As I began the ride up the hill, I let my senses overtake me as I breathed in, listened and looked at the land that passed by me. Soho Farmhouse was one of the most beloved additions to The Soho company, an exclusive member only club made for the young creatives. To get accepted you had to pay a hefty application fee, be recommended by 2 existing members and do many interviews, but I reckon it's all worth it just for the Soho Farmhouse. I know I'd apply if I hadn't started working here. Forget the prestige Soho House's in New York and LA, this was the most beautiful of them all. There was something about the serene English countryside that blew all the others out of the water. The vibe was different, this was more of a retreat addition to the company, rather than the ones in big cities. When you went to those ones you expected overrated models and daddy funded 20 year olds. The Farmhouse was far from any of that.

The thing I liked most about the membership is that it isn't solely based on social or money status, although it may seem that way, but rather a safe haven for young individuals in creative industries. I had only been here for a month but have encountered endless amounts of interesting people, my own age which was a plus. Soho Farmhouse was the epitome of the ultimate British getaway, placed in the Cotswolds, composed of thousands of acred lands occupied by gardens and farm animals. The cottages, only 50, were each 50 yards distance from one another and faced views of slow running rivers giving you complete privacy. It truly is a scene out of a Jane Austen novel when you are here.

As I neared to the Farm Cottage on the very top of the hill, one of the biggest on the premise, I saw that there were 2 cars parked in the driveway. I became more nervous than ever, not so much because I had to meet him, but his management seemed even more intimidating. They were the ones who put that whole 15 page NDA together after all, and it came off pretty harsh. As I parked my bike amongst the two vehicles in the driveway, I kicked the stand up and grabbed the robe from the basket.

So this was it. I approached the front porch, the familiar creaky wooden steps of the cottages that felt so cozy were now being overtaken by fall leaves starting to pile up. Freshly cooled milk jugs were popped beside the giant wooden door — a small touch that we liked to do for all of our guests each morning. Using my foot I knocked on the door, my hands full from the oversized robe after all.

Almost as quickly as I had knocked, the door came rushing open and I was greeted with, well, not Harry Styles.

"Hey, I'm Jeff." He stuck his hand out, only to quickly realize my hands were full. "Uh, let me just take this for you."

"I'm Colette," I smiled back, handing him the robe that was keeping me quite warm being held to my chest.

"Come on in actually. I think you're going to be H's assistant throughout his stay here, if I'm correct?" I nodded back, quickly recognizing his American accent, like mine.

I allowed myself in. I started following Jeff to the front living area of the cottage and took a seat on the plush ivory couch. There was already an abundance of hefty suitcases and guitars scattered amongst the living room. The sound of a shower coming from the upstairs bathroom was where I assumed Harry may be.

"So, you'll be here checking up on Harry and all that?" He questioned, tucking his phone away and facing towards me.

"I believe so, I've never done anything quite like it before. Pretty nervous since it’s Harry Styles and all that. And you are?" I asked assuming he may be a close friend or a part of the band.

"His manager actually. And friend."

Oh. So he's the one who came up with all those rules and regulations? Maybe I should have been more enthusiastic answering his question.

"Oh, wow. That's great, sorry, I just..."I began awkwardly.

Jeff cut me short with a warm laugh, "Don't worry. We're like the same age, H and I. It's a great relationship we have but I make sure to keep him in line too and do what's best for him. Harry's a great guy, I promise he won't be overworking you at all."

"Well, I am very much looking forward to it. This opportunity is going to save me from being a waitress down at the Barwell Barn, now that is what I call being overworked," I joked nervously.

"You know actually, H is in the bathroom now. He's kind of had a tough day. I'll take the robe if you don't mind and then if you give me your cell I will text you with a later time today to stop by and introduce yourself," Jeff suggested kindly.

I nodded back at him, "Of course, I totally understand. It's been great meeting you, will you be staying here throughout the months?" I hated to prolong my stay, but I was curious.

"Only this week and then I'm back to LA, I've got my girlfriend back home and work waiting for me there. I'll probably stop by once a month though and check up on him."

"I miss California weather, I'm from there, actually. Just graduated university and I am visiting my nan here for a couple of months. That's actually what led me to this place," I spoke, becoming more and more comfortable with Jeff by the minute.

Jeff lifted his eyebrows, "I was wondering what may have lead you here. I was taken back by your accent...being not an English one and all that."

"Yep, this is a temporary thing for me, being here."

I didn't want to get too deep into a conversation or overstay my welcome so I stood up from the couch and offered my phone number as we approached the front of the cottage. Just as we reached the door, I heard the bathroom door creak open behind me. I wanted so bad to take a look and peak, but I knew this wasn't the right time.

“You know what," Jeff smiled, removing his hand from the doorknob abruptly, "Let's have a quick introduction now. Take a seat in the kitchen if you'd like, I'm going to make sure Harry's decent for you."

I guess I couldn't refuse to his request, "Sure thing," I grinned back, plopping myself onto one of the wooden barstools in the kitchen. Jeff hurried upstairs, I'm assuming following after Harry who had rushed up the stairs only seconds previous. I heard murmuring and then a door shut, leaving me alone on the first floor. Just me and my thoughts.

I didn't feel nervous at the thought of meeting Harry earlier, but Jeff stating he had a rough day and to come back later and now insisting I meet him, made me a bit weary of the whole ordeal. I didn't want to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way. All this time I was so caught up on what if I didn't get on well with Harry and didn't want the job, when in reality Harry could feel the same about me. I now felt an added amount of pressure I hadn't felt earlier.

Waiting around in the kitchen I couldn't help but notice every single candle was lit in the room. There was a surplus, way more than the standard amount that was placed throughout the cottages. There must have been a request for extra candles because the smell of tobacco vanilla had never been so overpowering then right now.

My thoughts broke for a moment, interrupted by a thunderous laugh coming from upstairs. The walls were thin in the cottages, floors too, so the echo of the laugh was booming. I felt a sense of relief to think that perhaps Jeff put him in a better mood, he did state they were good friends and all, and I knew that laugh didn't belong to Jeff. A quick stomping on the ground above me and a few claps, accompanied by more laughter echoed through the space. Whew, a rush of relief to know that maybe his tough day was over.

I looked down at my blue jeans, which I was now becoming self conscious of. Had I known when I arrived at 7 am this morning what circumstances I would endure, I would have dressed maybe a bit more presentable. And maybe I actually didn't like that I had rushed and not blow dried my hair. This is what I get for always sleeping in till 15 minutes before my shift and having no time to get ready.

I had no time to rethink and self criticize because I was overcome by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. My heart was racing, mouth a little dry, because I only heard one pair of footsteps. Fuck, I really hoped it be Jeff.

"Where are ya hiding, love?" A thick British accent hollered. "Ah, there ya are."

I turned to look at him, putting all my focus on the tall, tattooed man making his way over. I instantly felt something in my gut burn, in the good way, but not the good sexual way. A different type of good. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe everybody feels this way when they see Harry Styles, he is gorgeous after all, and it's so weird to see someone in real life you've only ever seen in pictures. I knew I'd be crazy to insinuate anything but the way he looked at me — almost like he was taken aback or expecting something or someone else. I assumed myself crazy to think he'd even give me a second look, I was just here to supply him with more candles and drop off food. I stood up quick, walking closer and meeting him halfway.

"I'm Colette, very nice to meet you," I brought out my hand to meet his.

"Pleasure. I'm Harry."

He was wearing plain jane grey sweatpants and a cotton white tee shirt, hair sopping wet, looking marvelous. It was casual and a very toned down look, night and day from the outfits you see him in on all the tabloids. No bright colors or funky patterns, no Gucci emblems, just simple, cozy attire. He looked so human. I think sometimes it’s easy to believe celebrities are so much larger than life, but he was just a person after all.

"Now," He began, putting his thumb to his chin and looking off, " 'M gonna need ya to fetch me twenty silk infused towels, the finest coffee grounds ya got and uh..."

He began laughing...at his own joke, not able to even finish his sentence. I too laughed with him, nervously though. It probably was funny in normal circumstances, but I could barely even process anything right now.

"Look, don't be so worried. Jeff's up there doing all kinds of things, he wanted me to come say hello. You seem lovely and I promise to be low maintenance. This wasn't even my idea, if I'm being honest..." Harry began to ramble.

"Buuuuuut," He added with a huge grin, "Looking forward to having ya on the team, Colette. Would you like to sit down for some tea, coffee?"

"Shouldn't I be making some tea or coffee for you?" I insisted with a small smile.

"Please," He scoffed, already heading towards the kettle. "Take a seat. Your cheeks look red, it's bloody cold outside, plus, I hear you're from California, so you're probably freezing."

"You're right on that one."

"What brought you here?" He questioned, genuinely seeming interested. He had his back turned to me as he rummaged around with the kettle.

"If I'm honest," I started embarrassingly, "I just didn't want to fully 'adult' yet. I graduated college and just wanted to get out and explore a little before committing to the adult lifestyle. My grandma lives just 10 minutes from here, so..."

"Smart choice. You're lucky to have that luxury of choosing to not commit to 'adulting' right away," He chuckled, turning to me to put adulting in quotation marks. I couldn't help but stare at him, he was not sore on the eyes at all. He was so kind, welcoming, a true gentleman. He had even welcomed me on 'the team' which was a promising sign, I wanted now more than ever to just sign my name and rights away on that stupid NDA. Whoever made that document up, must've been somebody higher up who didn't understand what having human connection is all about.

"Listen," Harry started, grabbing the two steaming cups and taking a seat across mine at the kitchen table. "I'm glad you're here. Promise to make your time here enjoyable as possible."

"The same for you," I replied quickly. "Obviously, that's what I'm here for."

He let out a small grin, glancing down at his cuppa. "I know ya had to sign one of those fancy documents."

"Haven't yet," I joked back. I already felt a lighthearted and friendly vibe from Harry, as if talking to an old friend I hadn't seen in months.

Harry quirked his eyebrow up with a smirk, "Why's that?"

"Wanted to make sure we'd get on or whatever. Couldn't work for a complete dick — excuse my language."

"I guess that's up to your own interpretation. But I have a feeling you'll be sticking around."

“Are you that sure of yourself?”

“Oh yeah,” He grinned proudly

We both laughed and then silence. An awkward beat passed by, I was looking down at the creases in the wooden table but I could feel his gaze burning. When I looked back up, he was fiddling with the rings on his fingers, shuffling them up and done. Might I add he had a ring for every single finger, minus two. Some were filled with bright gem stones, two of which were compromised of his initials H and S.

"Well, back to business," He awkwardly coughed. "What I was saying is that, I know in that document it said we can't exchange personal numbers. But I really can't be bothered to go thru Jeff to text you what I need 24/7. Soooo...can I trust you with my precious mobile number?"

He was obviously joking because a huge smirk was plastered on his face, his teasing face met mine. It was clear from these few minutes of knowing him, that he couldn't care to take everything too seriously.

"If you could ever so grant me with your sacred number, I'd be honored. Just give me a ring whenever you need me to draw a warm bath for you Mr. Styles."

"Hmph," He tugged at his lip with a smile. "Sounds good, now please, don't blow me up tooooooooo much."

“You afraid I might get all clingy?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, as if he’s dealt with something like that before. The two of us then exchanged contacts, casually sipping on our tea which he made fabulously, might I add. Jeff soon came back down to join us and the three of us talked amongst one another for 10 minutes or so before Harry's phone started buzzing.

"Ah fuck," He mumbled, Jeff peered over Harry’s shoulder to grab a glance at his phone and his face fell as well. The two of them stared for a second at whatever may have been on the screen, I could only imagine what it may have been. I'd never dare to ask.

"Right well, I've got some uh, stuff to take care of," Harry sighed, meeting my gaze. He looked obviously uncomfortable, almost sad. I smiled a bit too hard back at him, trying to lighten the mood since it seemed to go down quite drastically. I realized not even a second later the smile wasn't necessary because he didn't really reciprocate it. Now I just felt like a pansy.

"Let me uh, drive ya back to the front. It's cold and that's a long haul on a bike, I'd feel like a dick to let ya bike down there with these winds," Harry insisted, beginning to stand up. I couldn't let him do that though, I knew his mood was back down in the tank for whatever reason. I didn't want to have him drive me all the way back down to the front and inconvenience him, after all I was supposed to be tending to him, not the other way around.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I actually have to return the bike to a guest," I lied looking down at my phone. "Like right now, actually. Right now."

I was completely lying but I knew he couldn't refuse that and I didn’t want to have him pry anymore. I quickly rushed to the front door, Harry and Jeff following behind my footsteps.

"So very nice to meet you both once again, just give me a ring if anything is needed. I'm on call," I cheered awkwardly, pointing at my cellphone.

"Bye Colette, great meeting you," Jeff spoke up as I opened the door.

"A pleasure!" Harry called after me, as I rushed my way down the front steps of the deck. I scurried out so fast, you'd had thought I seen a ghost. Just like that, I was back on the handy blue bicycle again, wind rushing in my face, ready to sign those papers and officially take the job.

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

It was close to 9PM as I was just finishing up setting up my temporary home on the premises in order to take on my new position. It was small, like the smallest cottage on the whole grounds. I didn't complain though, I was on a meal plan and had infinite variations of body washes to try out, so I was pretty content with my situation. Unlike I had requested, I was quite a distance away from Harry's cottage on the hill, so I'd have to continue those tedious bike rides back and forth very frequently.

I hadn't heard from Jeff or Harry ever since I had departed them this morning. Eve assured me that they were just settling in and that I should do the same. Eve had drove me over to my nan's house where I announced the good news to her, I think she was just thrilled to have her house back to herself for a little. I did happen to have a habit of never putting my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and I didn't get on quite well with her two cats. So, I packed up an abundance of clothing and some essentials that I figured would be needed, I didn't overdo it though, I was only a couple miles down the road if I needed more.

I had taken a steaming bath, with all the windows open, my view was the running river in the back. Lit up lantern adorned the back garden and it felt like the epitome of autumn, my favorite season. I wasn't a huge fan of the tobacco vanilla candles, so I opted for the fall fragranced ones. I texted a few friends back home, letting them know to call me back whenever they had a chance, I was eager to let them know of my new position. Then I had a reality check where I realized I probably signed all those rights away in that NDA I never fully looked over.

So it was just me drowning in my thoughts, in a super oversized tin bath tub. I was more focusing on if I'd be busy at all tomorrow or if I just had all the time to myself in my new little home, and if so, what would I do? Should I start to Amazon prime myself some books or start a new series on Hulu? It was exciting, I was literally getting paid around the clock to just sort of wait for a request from Harry. I don't think I could have ever dreamt of a more better way to spend my months here in the English countryside.

Unfortunately, things were going too good too soon. I should've known that when Eve insisted she pay me around the clock that there was a reason. The slight vibration coming from my phone broke me out of my thoughts.

Jeff: Hey Colette. I know it's starting to get late, but we have a few friends at Harry's cottage here and it'd be awesome if you can bring the bar cart on over. Within the hour would be best. Thanks!

Fucking hell, not the bar cart. I had just gotten into my cozy PJs and was about to lay down to get an early's night rest —I guess that will not be an option tonight. The bar cart was one of the biggest pains in the ass, right alongside the breakfast cart. These carts where actually bright blue vintage-like vehicles, that are specially requested to the cottages. You drive them up, park them and hang out in the back of the cart and cater to whatever the guest of the cottage wants. They get hammered, you watch — exciting. For a full hour usually, and even more if they have the money to keep it past just one hour. I had never had the pleasure of taking on this role, but from what I heard, it was the worst of them all. I wasn't even trained for this, I could barely make a decent vodka soda, and now I have to go on up there and make a bunch of fancy drinks.

I started dialing Eve's number as I approached the bathroom to make myself somewhat presentable.

"Colette, what's up?" She spoke lazily on the other line.

"Jeff said Harry is requesting the bar cart to be brought up, isn't it too late?" I asked with a hint of annoyance.

"Oh, no. Not for Harry Styles darling.. I'll call up someone to drive it up, can you just be there when it arrives so you can cater and make the drinks?"

I rolled my eyes, there was no way of getting out of this and I suppose I was getting paid for a reason. "All right, I'll be there."

"Don't seem so down, people will kill for this opportunity," Eve quipped. "Now I got to tend to my children, shoot me a text if you need anything."

As soon as the call ended I began to freshen up and look somewhat presentable. Eve had requested someone to bring up the bar cart, and I'm sure she explained it was an ASAP type of request and I'd probably have to bike over as soon as possible.

I threw on a pair of jeans with a slouchy white tee shirt and a parka. I walked out and it was fucking crispy out, like I could totally see my breath when I breathed out. I wasn't so used to this weather in Southern California and I didn't know it would get so cold so soon here, it was September for fucks sake.

Hopping on the bike I began my journey up to the top of the hill. Despite the sky being so dark, the premise was brightly lit with a bunch of light posts. Opened cottage windows shined brightly onto the cobblestone, guiding me through. It almost felt like this place was a safe, utopian village where time stopped. It was everything you imagined when you thought of the English countryside and I was becoming more in love with it each day.

I could hear laughter and cheers become more apparent as I began to reach Harry's cottage. Of course, the lovely blue bar cart was already parked in the road approaching the driveway. Eve really wasted no time at all when it came to catering to Harry Styles, I had never seen her so on top of things before.

"Hiya Colette," Michael, one of the porters who worked here waved at me as I went to approach the cart.

"I'm assuming you are the one who brought this on up here, are you staying?" I asked, hopping off my bike and planting it along the side of the vehicle.

Michael had a tight lipped smile splashed on his face, "Unfortunately, I am needed elsewhere tonight. Aaaaaandd... I kinda don't have a way back down to the main area so I'm going to need that bike of yours."

"Uh-uh, no way am I going to be held responsible for driving the cart back down after all this," I spoke back, pointing at the brightly lit up cottage in front of us.

"Just ring the front desk later, get somebody to ride up on a golf cart. We'll leave the bar cart here till morning, don't worry."

I gave him a harsh glare but allowed him to take my precious bicycle. "Good luck," He laughed as he started pedaling down the hill.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled to myself as I opened the back door of the cart, stepping up into the platformed area where a slew of alcohol bottles and mixers awaited me. Lucky for me there was a handy dandy drink recipe book laying around. I figured it would give me a rough outline for all these fancy drinks these fancy people would be ordering.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket to shoot a text to Jeff announcing my arrival and that I was ready and waiting.

Colette Adkins: Hey Jeff. I'm here, pretty quickly too. Whenever people are ready they can come on out! :)

I hit 'send' and then took a quick look around to see what I was dealing with. A small opening with a wooden table was attached to the side, so I could hand over the drinks and they could order. Theoretically, this was a cute and great idea. Realistically, it was a total pain — not to mention very breezy. There was no sort of heating going on and I was so thankful I had chosen my giant parka in this moment.

The bottles to the right of me were adorned beautifully amongst one another, only the best of the best I presumed. I wasn't a huge drinker, I preferred a glass of Trader Joe's wine or an occasional white claw — mango flavored, of course. Did they even sell those here? Hmm, had to look that up when I got back to my room.

"Oi, oi!" A deep voice shouted out, happily walking down the driveway to my cart, arm wrapped around a beautiful blonde. Oh, so he has a girlfriend too? Harry strutted out from the house looking majestic, hair blowing in the wind with a big award winning grin. Jeff and another man with long hair tied up in a ponytail were following closely behind laughing and taking sips out of their crystal glasses.

I couldn't help but think that Harry looked extremely overjoyed, a huge difference from how I had left him earlier today. He wore a bright blue sweater with a baby chick on it and creme flowing pants — it definitely made a statement. And by the way he swayed when he walked, he was probably a little drunk, if not more.

As he approached me, his arm unravelled from the girl beside him and instead he plopped his elbows up on the wooden attached table and let his face fall into his tattooed hands. I couldn't help but notice a fresh coat of baby blue paint on his nails, sloppily done — I'm assuming done by him.

"So..." He trailed off with a beaming smile. "What are ya whipping up tonight Miss. Colette?"

I chuckled back at him nervously, 'not shit' I thought to myself. Maybe he'd be too drunk to notice how terrible my bartending skills will be.

"Oh and this, this lady right here is my lovely 'real world' assistant, Jamie. She's great," Harry added eagerly, gesturing towards the stunning blonde and bringing her back close to his side.

"Lovely to meet you both," I chirped. Jamie shot a smile back at me and reached out her perfectly manicured hand to me.

"Pleasure," She drawled with a thick London accent.

"We've been drinking a lot already but I think 'm down for some shots, yeah?" Harry called out to his small entourage surrounding the bar cart. Everybody laughed and I managed to throw a little wave to Jeff. I was relieved that it was only the four of them, I could only hope nobody else would show up. The smaller the crowd, the better.

"Well," I started, "I'm actually not a bartender and I have no idea what I'm really doing. A shot would probably be your best option, I can definitely fix that up for you."

"Pour it up then!" Harry exclaimed. "You got some tequila in there?"

I took a quick look to my side at the selection of alcohol, we had tons of varieties of almost everything. I mean it was quite an impressive collection for a little bar cart.

'Let me uh, actually, do you mind if I hop up in there with you?" Harry asked inquisitively, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were glossed over with pleading eyes, lips pouty pink and his hair disheveled. I knew I shouldn't let him, Eve would have a fit if she knew he was coming up to try and make his own drink. Eve would also have a fit if I said 'no' to Harry Styles, though.

I didn't have much time to answer because Harry was already hopping up the steps and trying to make space for himself in the small little enclave inside the wagon. I couldn't help but get a whiff on his divine cologne, it smelled so musky and cozy — manly, but not too much. I looked down and Jeff, the pony-tailed man and Jamie were having their own sorts of conversation amongst themselves paying no attention to Harry and I, they were probably used to his drunken behaviors.

"So, what we do we have here, hmm?" Harry glanced over at the alcohol options. "You reckon you can make me one of those Rusty Nail drinks they make over at the Soho House in New York?" He put on a serious face, looking at me inquisitively before letting out a small laugh.

"I don't have an actual clue on that one," I laughed, knowing he was most likely not being serious. "Didn't even know a drink could be referred to as a Rusty Nail?"

"Indeed there is a drink called the Rusty Nail."

"Sounds terrible."

"I beg to differ, buuut, a tequila shot will have to subside. Casamigos?" Harry questioned, picking up the clear bottle and raising his shoulders at me suggestively. Oh, oh...so he wanted me to take a shot with him? That was a big no.

"You want me to take a shot with you?"

"Why fuckin' not? It's a celebratory night and it wouldn't be fair for you to stay sober whilst we're all getting hammered, eh?"

He was very considerate, friendly, too friendly. Like definitely doesn't know the fine line between business and friendship and I was strictly on the business side.

"I guess I'm a little cold, maybe a shot would warm me up..." I bargained, looking at the bottle and back to Harry's face, it was hard to say no to a grown man with a baby chick sweater.

"Aha!" He exclaimed, "Now everybody, come take a shot with the lovely Colette and I!"

I gave a look to Jeff worriedly, feeling as if he was going to reprimand me for agreeing to do this, but instead he waved his hand shaking the whole thing off with a laugh. Harry grabbed the very, very expensive shot glasses all in one hand impressively, I closed my eyes afraid he might drop one. With a hard ding he somewhat arranged them in an even line, sloppily filling them all up to the brim.

"Tonight," He began happily. "We celebrate a new era...new songwriting, new ideas...a much needed break." Everybody nodded their heads silently in agreement. "Mitch, my best and most talented pal, happy to have ya here with me. Jeff, can't believe you're leaving me for Glenne in LA, I hope she says, 'yes.'" Jeff raised his shot glass up laughing. I too held one in my hand, was there such a thing as a dramatic toast followed by a tequila shot? I suppose, in the lavish world of Harry Styles and company there was.

"Jamie, you're bloody great but get back home to that husband and child of yours in London. Enjoy some well deserved time off. And..." Harry turned to face me, "Colette, I already know you are a great addition to the team. Looking forward to seeing you show up at my door with an abundance of those fresh candles every week...cheers!"

The four of us raised our shot glasses and downed them quickly, the burn of the liquor tingling my tongue and throat. Holy shit, I had not had a tequila shot in so long I forgot just how gross they were. I let a little cough out as the tequila sank in, the warmth itching my throat.

Harry turned to me looking down, "What do ya say we sneak a couple bottles and just head into the cottage? Its cold out here."

"Not sure if that's allowed..." I started.

"Fuck it. Come on, grab your favorite one," He insisted, pointing to the bottles. "Let me guess you probably like them white claws or whatever."

"How'd you know?" I deadpanned pursing my lips.

"You Americans really have a huge thing for those, they're shit by the way," Harry teased.

"No they're not! They're delicious...especially the mango ones or, hey, have you tried the watermelon ones?"

Good one Colette, smooth, nice, funny, never been done before. I wanted to face palm myself in that moment. Harry snorted at my little joke though, so it couldn't have been that bad.

"Very funny you. Okay so, vodka?" He questioned, wrapping a few bottles in his arm. "Don't even answer that because it's what you're getting," He added jokingly. I didn't even have the heart to tell him I hated straight vodka because it was quite endearing the way he was trying so hard to be all inclusive. With the bottles in his arms, he teetered out of the bar cart, me following behind.

"Oh, Colette, come here!" Jeff insisted, waving at me. I walked up to him as he embraced me for a quick hug, I could tell he too was plastered. "This is Mitch. He's Harry's guitarist, super cool, one of us."

I switched my gaze to Mitch, the mysterious ponytail man. "Nice to meet you," He said shyly.

"You as well!" I said back cheerfully. I had barely eaten a thing today and just that one shot had created a small amount of excitement in me that wasn't there when I had first arrived.

"He'll be staying here with Harry, so I'm sure you'll be getting to know him some more. What do you think of Harry so far though?" Jeff asked inquisitively. We were all making our way up the driveway, Harry and Jamie were already inside.

"I mean, wow, he's great. Didn't really expect him to be so welcome and inclusive, if I'm honest. Can't help but think I'm overstepping my boundaries a little," I replied worriedly.

Jeff brushed it off casually, it was just now me and him on the front deck, everyone else was already inside. "That's just how Harry he is, he is just nice like that. I hate to try to be serious and all right now but, Harry's going through a bit of a tough time. This is his getaway for him, you know? He feels uncomfortable with the fact that you're here at his beck and call these upcoming months...so he is trying to make you see that you're now a part of his circle."

"Oh, wow." I didn't really know what to say. I'm assuming Jeff is probably that super emotional drunk, who just talks and talks trying to make a lesson out of everything.

"H is a great judge of character, though. He see's something in you, you left an impression on him earlier. He felt terrible kicking you —"

"Oi!" Harry hollered, abruptly opening the door and almost knocking my head. "Mate, I hate to cut you short but we're doing another round. Get the fuck in you two!"

Jeff sent me a 'told you so' look and we both happily pranced inside behind Harry, ready for whatever was to happen inside those

PART 2: THE BAR CART

#dog years #dogyearsmasterlist #Harry Styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ff #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #1dff #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles x ofc #one direction fanfiction

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plaidbooks · 4 years ago

Text

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 1

A/N: It’s finally here! I really wanted to finish this series before I started posting (mostly because I was afraid I wouldn’t finish it). This is my first time writing for an OC, and for SVU! I promise not every chapter will be this long; I was just trying to establish the character.

The first three chapters are prequels. This chapter takes place during season 5.

Next Chapter

Tags: child prostitution mention, sex trafficking mention, minor character death, child death, guns, blood, normal SVU stuff.

Words: 10k+

Devon Motely got out of bed and stretched, yawning loudly. She walked over to her window and threw the curtains open, letting the sun stream in. She glanced at the clock, 7:05am. She shook her head; it was later than she was used to, but not really; time zones still made sleep times awkward. The dawn was just peaking over the city buildings. New York, Devon thought, a thrill running through her. She had just moved across the country from California at her boss’s suggestion, transferring in the same department, but a new place; a welcome change from the monotony that was Devon’s life. It was fine by her; she was kind of done with California: the heat, the drama, the constant worry of her childhood coming back to haunt her. New York was a fresh start, a new adventure. Though, as someone who worked in the FBI, an adventure wasn’t always a good thing. But she wouldn’t think about that, instead focusing on the positives. For example, her best friend and fellow special agent, Emma, was reassigned with her. Plus, her old psychiatrist-turned-friend was reassigned to New York years ago, and she was hoping to catch up with him.

Devon was nearing thirty and had been an FBI agent, working with the Hostage Rescue Team, since she was 18—a whole decade ago! Most of the time, she hardly believed it had been that long. Other times, it felt like it had been so much longer; working HRT meant she had to do and look at things that would make others sick. They made her sick, too, but she could deal with it; she had to, it was her job. Sometimes while working undercover, however, she had moments of weakness, moments when she couldn’t commit to her illicit cover story, and she had to isolate herself to get back in the mindset. Only once did she ever have her cover blown; she grimaced when checking out “product”—little girls—and she couldn’t recover. She lost a couple girls that day, and she learned to always put on the correct face after that, no matter what she said or saw. Devon was damn good at her job, though, and she almost never lost another life since. Almost.

1 year later

Cubicle of Devon Motely

Thursday, October 25th. 12:37am

Devon sighed heavily; she was in the office—a rare occurrence indeed—flipping through pictures and unconsciously clenching her teeth in disgust and anger, slowly giving herself a headache. The Assistant Director, and subsequently her boss, Thomas Jenkins, had personally given her this task. It was a delicate procedure, one that he needed to make sure made it into the right hands. For that, only one name came up, and that was Devon’s. Devon scrolled through the pictures looking, searching for anything that could be useful—a tattoo, a building, a street sign. Anything. Hell, she’d take a moldy food wrapper at this rate; her search has pulled up dead-end after dead-end, and she was getting frustrated. She knew, though, how to relax and refocus her efforts; getting frustrated helped no one, especially not the poor children that were caught in the middle of this chaos. That being said, flipping through hundreds of kiddie porn images wasn’t the way she wanted to spend her day.

About two weeks ago, another field agent had been able to shine some light on a huge human trafficking ring, one that the FBI had been trying to break into for months. Devon hadn’t really been on the case, besides maybe looking through some facts or pictures in her fleeting free time, but she was now called in. Thomas mostly wanted her to stay caught up on the details because he wanted to send Devon in, hence why she was now stuck at her desk in the middle of the night, obsessively looking for some clue as to the location of where the kids may be. The other field agent, the one that first broke into the ring, was shockingly able to take one of the pimps alive, and even more shockingly, they were able to break through the encryption on the bastard’s laptop. All that he really had on there, however, were private messages with anonymous johns and pimps, something that the FBI’s best computer techs were trying to crack the identities of, and then some very, very disturbing pictures and videos.

Devon had mentally prepared herself for a couple hours before going to work on watching the videos; she figured that they were probably the worst things there, so she’d deal with them first. Sadly, she was correct; the things that she saw in those videos—mostly violent kiddie porn—made her skin crawl and still haunted her at night. It had been about a week since Devon started this “project,” and she had either gone to or talked to a psychiatrist almost every day afterwards. The pictures were…better isn’t the correct word, but they were less intense than the videos...for the most part. Devon kept a notepad and pen by her as she flipped through file after file. She came upon a particularly horrible picture and turned her screen off for a moment, feeling nauseous. She stood up quickly and took a couple steps from her desk, rubbing her temples, trying to get the image out of her mind with no luck. She needed a moment to recollect herself before she did something she regretted—going into their secure facility to beat that pimp to a bloody pulp would help no one. Though, it may make her feel better.

She sighed, taking a sip from her long-cold coffee. She picked up her notepad, going over the few—mostly useless, she knew—clues that she could pick up from the files she had already gone through. One kid in a video—a young boy, no older than 10--begged the man to not touch him, calling him by name, Evan. She wrote down the video timestamp; you can see half of Evan’s face for the briefest of moments. That’s been the most helpful thing she had found, though. Everything else she had scribbled down was just a description of the various rooms in the videos and pictures, or one of the children’s names, or the brand of…items used—anything that may be helpful in tracking down where these children could be. There was a grand total of 4 different rooms; she labeled one as “Evan’s room” and had scrawled down a basic description, but no other names of the pedophiles came up.

Tossing the notepad back onto the desk, Devon took a deep breath before sitting back down. She steeled herself, trying to force herself to feel nothing at all. It was good that she still felt repulsed, she told herself. Once she really did feel nothing, then it would be time to quit…and find a better therapist. Barely containing her groan of discomfort, she turned her computer screen back on, and analyzed the grotesque picture that appeared, looking for something, anything, that could help this child and all the others.

It took her two more days, and thousands of images that she’d need the strongest alcohol in existence to erase from her mind, until she found something concrete. There was a picture of the same bed that Devon had seen a hundred times now, the bed that she had labeled under “Evan’s room.” But Devon ignored the…scene that the picture was attempting to focus on. Instead, she focused her attention on what looked like a receipt—one that someone would get after they signed for something, a carbon copy of the signature on the bottom—that was on a clipboard on a dresser on the other side of the bed. It looked like the signature said “Evan Thompson” or “Evan Frampton,” but it was hard to tell. She needed another set of eyes, a fresher set that aren’t bloodshot from looking at a screen for days. She called Jenkins on his direct line and waited for him to come over to her desk to inform him about her discovery, see if he could make it out.

“I was starting to give up on you,” Jenkins joked as he appeared in the office doorway.

Devon gave a tired smile. “Trust me, I’ve been wanting to give up on this since the first image.” Jenkins came up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the image on the screen. Devon had saved him from seeing the whole image, having it punched in on just the receipt. “What does that signature say to you?”

Jenkins leaned over her shoulder, putting his face almost against the screen. “Evan Thompson?”

“That’s what it looks like to me, too. Think the techs can clean it up?”

Jenkins leaned back, nodding. Devon turned to face him, cautiously hopeful. “I think it’s worth a shot. Good work Motely,” he replied, giving her a pat on her shoulder.

Grateful for the praise, and for the possible lead, she copied the file into a message and sent it to the techs. It took them only an hour, in which Jenkins had retreated back to his office and Devon had been engrossed in more pictures, before they sent back the picture, clearer than before. The receipt now clearly read “Evan Thompson.” She could even see a total amount above it now. With how much it came to, she was pretty sure that she knew what he had purchased; more children.

With a name now confirmed, Devon opened the Bureau’s database, typing in Evan’s name. Thousands of matches pinged in seconds. She narrowed the field down; in New York—the apprehended pimp accidently mentioned that detail--still alive, not incarcerated. Down to a couple hundred. She then pulled up the half-of-a-face picture she had saved and added in a couple things in her search; white, aged 35-50, 160-190lbs. Only a handful of addresses this time. She wrote down all of them, then got up to go to Jenkins’ office, give him the good news. She needed a team of—she looked down at the number of addresses—at least 16 people, if they were to go at all of these Evans at once and in pairs, as per protocol. They were all over the state, but in clusters. The furthest an Evan was from another was 5 miles. Perfect.

The FBI had been desperate to catch this trafficking ring; they had people at their disposal. Getting the field agents to interview the suspects would be the easy part; the hard part was assembling teams to go back them up. Devon wanted to be coordinated in this takedown. If the real perp was to catch wind of the FBI coming down on Evan Thompsons, then he’d be in the wind instantly. They had to be ready to take all eight down at the same time, just in case. They couldn’t let this guy get away. Because of their close proximity, they were also able to place teams in between the suspect’s locations, saving them some manpower. Devon conveyed as much to Jenkins, who agreed; now they just had to pull every agent they could back to base, go through the briefing and saving those children.

FBI Headquarters

Monday, October 28th. 8:05am

Everyone crowded in the briefing room, standing with their partners or teams, watching Jenkins intently. Jenkins went through the whole operation with everyone, 80 agents in all—16 field agents and 64 SWAT members. Every single person wanted these kids in safe hands; they all wanted to take these bastards down, and they hung on every word Jenkins said. Assignments given, the agents started to prepare. Devon vaguely noticed the field agents that were assigned to interview the suspects pair off and get their equipment.

“We better get this guy,” she heard one agent mumble to another. Devon pulled on her bulletproof vest, strapping it tight. She strapped on her glock and put her badge on over her head—she had it on a chain necklace for this. Then she grabbed the rifle issued to every SWAT member. She wasn’t normally SWAT, and the metal weapon felt heavy and unfamiliar in her hands. True, she had learned to use it in training, but it was rare that she used it at all. She couldn’t wait for this mission to be over, to be back in the field, alone, with no liabilities. It was easier that way.

“Hey Dev, don’t sweat. We’ll get those kids out safely,” a familiar voice said. She turned to see Emma next to her, red hair pulled back into a low ponytail, helmet already secured on her head. Devon didn’t have many friends, inside or outside of the FBI, but Emma had always been nice to her, always had her back when Devon had to play nice with others instead of going undercover by herself. While Devon counted Emma as her best friend, they didn’t see much of each other outside of work, only a stray text here or there.

“God, I hope so,” Devon replied. She didn’t want to imagine the scene that may be awaiting them. She had done this hundreds of times, but it never got any easier; her brain liked to imagine the worst possible scenario. It didn’t help that she had seen that scene in person. Every time she geared up for a siege like this, the dead bodies flashed in her mind. She shuttered.

“We will. I know we will,” Emma said with such conviction, how could it end any differently? Devon simply nodded back, putting on her helmet. Once fully geared up, Devon, Emma, and the rest of their team—6 other men--made their way to their SWAT van. Devon felt the familiar butterflies in her stomach on the drive to their outpost spot. She tried to calm her nerves; there was only a 1 in 8 chance that she would even see any action today. But she knew her luck. And she knew how much Fate liked to fuck with her. So, she counted the minutes ticking by while her team idly chatted about nothing; getting drinks later, the Knicks game the previous night, the wife and kids wanting to go on vacation with their father for once. Devon had nothing to contribute—she hardly did anything outside of work—so she just listened, replying only when prompted.

Devon’s phone rang, causing her to jump and the others in the van to go silent, looking towards her. Devon quickly silenced it, looking at the caller ID. She never got phone calls outside of spam or telemarketers; she had completely forgotten to turn it off before this. She was shocked when she saw a name appear; Dr. Huang. Fighting the urge to answer it, Devon let it go to voicemail. Dr. Huang only ever called in case of emergencies, opting to communicate through text. But there was no time to answer as the van’s engine sprang to life, Jenkins informing them through their earpieces that the Evan they were sitting on was their guy. Devon shot a quick text to the psychiatrist—emergency, call you later—before putting her phone away. She fought down the thoughts that had sprung up, wondering why the doctor had called her; she had more important things to worry about. The knot in her stomach had returned and every bump in the road made it feel like she was going to be sick. The van drove for a couple more minutes before cutting the engine. Everyone in the back of the van readied themselves. They laid out a basic plan on the short drive over—Jenkins had told them it was a warehouse. A team of four people were going through the front and the other 4 were going through the back. Devon and Emma would be in the latter group. They had done this a handful of times before; all the team knew each other, trusted each other. Devon gripped her rifle, stifling any lingering nerves. She switched her thoughts off, ready to rely on instinct and training. The van doors were thrown open, and Devon and her team charged out and into the beyond.

Warehouse of Evan Thompson

Monday, October 28th. 12:47pm

Devon and her team stormed the place as quickly and quietly as possible. They found the backdoors quickly, unguarded. One of the men pulled out a crowbar, shoved it into the crease between the doors, and ripped it open. It was loud, and they moved in slowly, listening for any sign of life. Hearing nothing, they started clearing little office rooms before they made it to the big, empty space. Well, empty besides a couple of abandoned cement guardrails, like something that littered parking lots, and a huge chain-link cage. Devon had taken the lead, had been the first to peer around into the expansive place. The cage had caught her attention immediately, not because of its size, but because of its contents. What seemed like at least 30 children, all between what looked like 8- and 12-years-old. Devon felt the nausea come back but shoved it down. She could feel sick later. She motioned for the team to follow her as she led them slowly towards the cage, keeping an eye out for danger.

“What the fuck?” a male’s voice called out from across the warehouse. Devon whipped around to the source of the sound, seeing 4 heavily armed men coming out of a small room. Then, pandemonium. The traffickers open fired, forcing them to take cover behind the cement guardrails, firing back. Devon looked over to the cage; it was far enough out of the line of fire that none of them were injured, though the children were all on the ground now, hands covering their heads and ears. But how long would it take until the traffickers decided to cut their losses?

“Cover me,” Devon said, mentally preparing herself for the short run to the cage—it was at least 10 yards. She felt the familiar churning in her stomach when having to make this tough decision; she knew it was highly unlikely that all the children would survive, but it was better than leaving them stuck like fish in a barrel. Wasn’t it?

Emma saw what she was planning and shook her head. “You’ll be killed before you make it halfway.” A bullet pinged off the cement by their heads, as if to emphasize this point.

“That’s why I said cover me.” Without waiting for a response, she poked her gun out from behind the low wall she was crouched behind, rapid firing in the direction of the traffickers. Their gunfire quieted as they took cover from the barrage, allowing the FBI agents to peek their heads out, taking better aim and giving her the cover she had requested. Devon took her chance and sprinted to the cage, firing at the traffickers as she went. A couple of stray bullets got close to her, but none hit their target. The kids noticed the agent running towards them and scrambled to their feet. They came rushing to the door, reaching for Devon through the chain link wall, voices overlapping, panicking as they begged, pleaded for help.

“Stand back!” she yelled over the ruckus. It wasn’t until she took aim at the lock that the kids backed up. She pulled the trigger, bullet destroying the padlock. Devon turned her back on the cage, firing wildly at the traffickers while the children ripped the door open.

“Run, run! Go go go!” she ordered, raising her voice over the gunfire. She could barely hear the children fleeing across the warehouse towards the waiting agents. Devon chanced a glance to the side, trying to make sure they were making it. She felt a pang in her heart when she saw Emma positioned halfway between the cage and the other agents. It was in that moment, that split-second glance, that Devon realized that she loved Emma.

The traffickers renewed their efforts, obviously pissed that their product was escaping. Bullets flew, but Devon held her ground until the last kid left the cage. Once the cage was empty, Devon started to retreat back to her previous cover. It was a perilous journey; there were a few bodies in the path—Devon glanced to find her footing, but otherwise tried to ignore the small, unmoving corpses and the sudden sadness and anger that they conjured. After what felt like hours, Devon made it back behind the low wall. As she was moving to crouch behind it, however, she was hit in the chest. It hit her vest, but that didn’t stop it from knocking the wind out of her, causing her to fall onto her back. It hurt like hell, and she knew she would have a wicked bruise, and hopefully that was it. She scrambled back to her knees, trying to get a baring on her surroundings again. One of her teammates was covering the escape route from their cover to the hallway leading to the exit; a much closer trek than the cage was. The other agent that stayed behind was giving them cover fire from the hallway. Devon joined in; having no more distractions besides the pain in her chest, she was able to take precise aim, shooting two of the traffickers, their bodies falling like a sack of bricks. The firefight seemed to go on forever, but eventually, the warehouse fell silent. Keeping their guns at the ready, the agents came out from behind the wall, making their way towards where the traffickers had been in cover. Six dead bodies; two more must have joined the original four. Right at that moment, the other half of the team came in from the front, calling out the all clear. Devon let out a heavy sigh, lowering her weapon.

“Thanks for the cover, Emma,” she said, turning to find the spunky redhead. But she wasn’t with Devon’s team. She unstrapped her vest, checking the area that she was shot. It hurt and was already bruised, a bump forming, but no broken skin, and from the feeling, no broken bones. “Emma?” she called out after a couple moments of silence.

“You didn’t see?” one of her teammates asked. Devon felt a stone drop into the pit in her stomach. She shook her head and the man raised his hand slowly, pointing. Devon hesitantly followed his finger and felt the ground drop out from under her. The children who were hit were laid out in almost a line from cage to cover, an indicator of their flight. And among them was a redhead, complete with SWAT vest.

No, Devon thought. A pain completely unrelated to her injury punched her in the heart. She hurried over, knelt down, and turned her friend over, hoping against hope that she was just grazed, that she was still alive. Emma’s eyes were flat, grey, staring at nothing. A bullet hole was almost perfectly in the middle of her forehead, blood already drying. Devon dropped her as if burned, falling backwards onto her ass. She started hyperventilating, bile rising in her throat. She had to get out of the warehouse, get some fresh air. There was a roaring in her ears, her heart beating frantically. Out of nowhere, a faint whimpering broke through the blood rushing in her head. Devon whipped her head in the direction of the sound. There—a small form was crying, breathing hard. Devon scrambled over to the child, anything to get away from her dead friend, and found a little girl. She was clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her grasp.

“I need medical attention!” Devon yelled, ripping the shirt off a not-so-fortunate body, and using the fabric to try and staunch the bleeding. She held the shirt firmly, but not too hard; pushing too hard on a stomach wound could damage the internal organs. Devon stayed like that with the poor girl until paramedics came. A different set of medics checked Devon’s injury. They tried to convince her to go to the hospital, to make sure nothing was damaged internally, but Devon declined. She was quiet the whole trip back to the FBI HQ, mind completely blank.

FBI Headquarters

Monday, October 28th. 2:26pm

Devon moved on autopilot, making her way to her locker, ignoring the congratulations or condolences sent her way. She opened the locker and started taking off her gear, her hands like machines. She unstrapped the helmet from under her chin, lifting the piece of equipment and placing it on an empty shelf. She then gently took off her vest, wincing in pain, the events from the past hour still fresh in her mind, flashing before her eyes, as if she were still in that warehouse. Devon closed her locker door forcefully, hands still feeling sticky from all the blood, even though she had scrubbed them clean. In all, 7 children laid dead in the warehouse. The little girl, Patsy, was the only one who was found to still be alive in the pile. She was still in surgery, and Devon had asked for updates; she needed one win to come out of all this. The other 25 children survived, and the FBI were now attempting to track down their family members, if they had any. Now out of her SWAT gear, Devon made her way to Jenkins’ office. She was running on autopilot, Emma’s dead stare branded in her mind’s eye. She really rather just go home, drink until she couldn’t see straight. But she had to be debriefed, and she knew Jenkins would force her in to see the Bureau’s shrink before she was allowed to leave—if she didn’t tell Jenkins that she was shot, then he wouldn’t force her to the hospital.

The debriefing took upwards of an hour, and Jenkins gave her a shot of strong scotch—not Devon’s drink of choice, but she was used to it from past hard cases and highly grateful for the burning liquid, warming her cold, empty shell of a body. As she had predicted, Jenkins all but ordered her to go to the shrink before she left for the day. And to take some time off—she had enough vacation days saved up—and to continue seeing a shrink at least once a week. Devon hid her pain as best she could, but she knew Jenkins saw her little winces. Jenkins, to his credit, ignored it; he knew that she’d make sure she was alright, but he also knew that she needed some time. It wasn’t until Devon was sitting in the waiting room of the company shrink that she remembered that she had a call from a different FBI psychiatrist earlier, before everything went to shit. She pulled out her phone and redialed Dr. Huang’s number.

“Hey George. What’s happened?” she asked when he answered.

“I need a favor, and it’s very time sensitive.”

SVU Department

Monday, October 28th. 4:30pm

Devon stepped through the doors of NYPD’s 16th precinct after blowing off her appointment with the shrink, claiming she was meeting up with Dr. Huang. The psychiatrist had giving her a hard look, but agree that Huang could counsel her, too. Devon looked around curiously; she had never been in this particular precinct before and had to ask for directions from the deskman, who directed her to the elevator. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the Special Victims Unit. Officers and detectives were wandering about, doing paperwork, or otherwise working. Devon felt eyes trailing behind her as she made her way through the precinct. She tried to shove that down, along with all her other emotions; there was a time and place for that eventual breakdown, and this wasn’t it. Work was work, and this seemed important as well as stressful, as her work normally was. NYPD already felt like walking on enemy ground, no matter how much people wanted to claim about them being “brothers in arms.”

“May I help you?” a woman asked, breaking through Devon’s thoughts. She was in street clothes—a detective, then—with short cropped hair. She had bags under her eyes, slumped shoulders; she was obviously running on overtime, probably hasn’t slept in a day or two.

“I’m looking for Dr. Huang,” Devon replied. She felt a fresh wave of pain as she subconsciously puffed out her chest. She didn’t try to engage in posturing, but this woman already was giving her a hard glare.

The woman nodded. “Ah, you must be his FBI friend—” Devon didn’t miss the…resentment? Venom? in her voice—“he’s in the Captain’s office.”

“Thanks,” Devon said, pushing past the detective. She was used to NYPD disliking her; the Bureau had no friends. But she rarely had someone using that kind of tone so boldly to her face; it was usually coy smiles, sugar-coated threats, and other politics designed to make them seem like friends to the untrained ear. She may not like the detective, but she respected her bluntness. Devon ignored all the other eyes that she could feel on her as she made her way to the only office in the place. She knocked on the open door, sticking her head in. Before she could say anything, Dr. Huang stood up from his seat, gesturing her in.

“Devon, it’s nice to see you again,” he said, giving her a hug. He released her quickly, giving her a concerned look when he felt Devon tense up, hissing in pain. She subtlety shook her head, promising to explain later.

“Same to you, George.” Devon had met the doctor years ago in California as a patient; they’ve been good friends ever since, even after Huang was reassigned to New York. As much as Devon liked him, though, she had a hard time reading him; it made her slightly uneasy, but not enough to stop being friends with him. They��ve worked on cases together in the past. Huang was a profiler as well as a psychiatrist; he made most of Devon’s aliases when she went undercover in her early years, would spend hours working with her until she became that person.

Dr. Huang gestured to the man, presumably the Captain, sitting behind the desk. “This is Captain Cragen,” he introduced. “Cragen, this is Special Agent Devon Motely.” They shook hands.

“I assume Huang told you why you’re here?” Cragen asked by way of meeting.

Devon let out a breath. “No, actually. Only that it was an emergency.”

Dr. Huang gave her a weird look but said nothing. Devon knew the look, though; she had said something wrong, something weird. She knew he’d ask about it later, when they had more privacy. She wasn’t looking forward to that talk.

Cragen looked between the two before answering, “well, we have a missing kid. Kidnapped 16 hours ago. Believed to be taken by a gang member in retaliation. It’s a…delicate situation, one that I felt the need to call Huang in on. Though, he has convinced me that you specialize in this kind of work, that you could get this kid out with no casualties.”

The familiar knot formed in Devon’s stomach; the dead children from earlier, Emma’s dead face flashed in her mind. She took a sharp breath, trying to ground herself in now. She needed to focus; there was another child in danger, another child that needed her help.

“Do you know where the perp is, where he took the kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, professional.

“No, but I have every available officer on it; we’re closing in on them.”

Devon nodded. “Tell me about the perp.” All business, nothing else. Emotions didn’t belong here.

Cragen led the two FBI agents to where they had a screen and whiteboard, all filled with information on this case. The woman detective from earlier was there, as well as two others; one was a tall white man with glasses and grey hair, the other was a black man, slightly taller than Devon. Another detective was at his desk, on the phone and typing on his computer. Cragen introduced the man as Elliot Stabler, the woman as Olivia Benson, the tall man as John Munch, and the black man as Fin. Devon nodded to them each in turn, but got mostly the cold shoulder or a hard stare in return. As Cragen filled her in, she tried to memorize every detail she could, no matter how small. The perp’s name was Jose Gonzalez, the kid was Eddy Suarez. Eddy’s father was in the same gang as Jose; from what SVU understood, the father had slighted Jose in some way, so Jose took his kid as payback. He was considered armed and dangerous.

“Captain, I may have something,” Stabler called out, slamming his phone on its receiver. His desk was against Benson’s desk—partners, then. The group hurried over to look at his screen. “Got the car and license plate crossing the bridge into Staten Island.”

“Let’s move,” Cragen said, spurring the detectives into action. Devon followed; Huang would stay behind, waiting for the interrogation, to where his skills would be needed.

“We need to talk,” he murmured to Devon as she hurried by him. She simply nodded, then followed the Captain out of the precinct.

540 East Marigold Lane

Monday, October 28th. 5:28pm

They pulled up a couple houses down from where Jose had barricaded himself with the child. ESU was still arriving, scrambling to get into place. It was a normal, suburban house, one story, complete with white picket fence; ESU didn’t need long to surround the place, evacuating the houses nearby. Devon wanted to get in there before they were ready; the most important part was getting the 7-year-old Eddy out, alive and unharmed, not something ESU was trained for. She got out of the car, bulletproof vest on and ready, trying to ignore the pain in her chest and her heart, but failing miserably. The nerves that she normally got in these situations were absent; she was still reeling from the warehouse earlier. She kept glancing around, trying to find Emma, then remembering and grimacing. It was like she couldn’t control her emotions, her mind. Devon was afraid that she’d feel this anytime she put the vest on again.

“You alright there, Agent?” Stabler asked, coming to stand next to her. She nodded absently, not really pay attention to the man. Devon’s mind was far away, her nerves fried. She felt like she was about to scream, cry, explode, all of the above. She shook herself, shoved all of her thoughts and feelings down; all that mattered now was that little boy being held hostage. She conjured up the picture she saw in the precinct; a little boy, laughing, being held by his dad who was also laughing. She focused on that boy, focused on the fact that he was in the house in front of her, scared to death. She took a deep breath, then made her way around the house, away from the NYPD officers. She vaguely heard someone call out to her, asking where she was going, but she ignored them. There was a backdoor in the backyard that had a huge window next to it, blinds open, giving her a clear look inside.

She could see a large living room with couches and a TV mounted on the wall. There was a coffee table and a couple of bookshelves full of a variety of books. Otherwise, the room seemed empty. Looking through it, Devon could see an empty kitchen and a hallway. No sign of the man or child. She tried the doorknob and was stunned that it was unlocked. Why had no one else come back here? she thought. Fearing it was a trap, she unholstered her gun, the familiar steel in her hand. She twisted the knob, opened the door slowly. She stepped back, aiming her glock for anyone who may jump out at her. Nothing. Confused, she slowly went through the open door, checking both ways as if someone could be hiding there against the wall, waiting to kill her. Empty. The house itself seemed empty, but then why was ESU and the NYPD stationed outside? Might as well clear the building, make sure that they were just overreacting rather than blaming them right away for botching the location.

Devon crept through the rooms, listening for any sound, but hearing nothing. She then made her way to the hallway; there were only two doors lining the walls, with a master bedroom at the end. She took one step into the hallway, and her mind flashed. She blinked, and she was back in the warehouse, hard concrete under her boots, Emma’s breath loud in her ears. Devon’s breath caught in her throat as she whipped around. But no one was there; it was an empty living room in a quaint house in a suburb. Trying to calm her racing heart, Devon turned back to the hallway; all the doors were open, almost confirming that there was no one here with her. The first room was an empty child’s bedroom, nothing in it disturbed. The second room was a small bathroom, also empty of human presence.

“Get out of here,” a man’s voice called from the master bedroom, making Devon jump, heart racing painfully against her chest. She heard a soft, metallic sound and looked down, trying to find the source. She was surprised to find that it was coming from her; the hand holding her glock was shaking, hard enough for it to be making noise. Calm down, she told herself. She glared at her own hand until the shaking stopped. Devon took a deep breath, then made it to the doorframe, pressed up against it. She tried to peek in, to see the situation she was about to be in.

“Let the boy go. We can talk about this,” Devon replied, gripping her gun tighter if only to keep in control. She could just barely see the man holding the child, gun to the latter’s head. Eddy let out a choked sob. Another flash in Devon’s mind and she saw Patsy lying in a pool of her own blood. She pulled back, breathing hard. Quit it! she yelled at herself, her own mind.

Jose’s voice wavered slightly as he said, “this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

It took a moment for Jose’s words to make their way into Devon’s mind. “Then stop it from continuing. All you need to do is let the kid go, and we can all walk out of here unharmed.”

She could almost hear him shaking his head. “Naw, that’s not gonna happen. If I let this kid go, you’ll just shoot me. I don’t wanna die, man.”

Emma’s face flashed across her mind. She didn’t want to die, either, Devon almost spat out, but she held her tongue. What was happening to her? It had been a long day, and she needed to get out of there. “I’m going to put my gun down, okay? I’ll be unarmed, and I’m coming into the room.” True to her word, she put the safety on her gun, then gave it a little toss into the room, not close enough for Jose to reach it, but definitely out of Devon’s reach. A little show of trust, so that hopefully he will trust her, even a little bit. She then put her hands up, reaching them around the doorframe before coming in herself. “I don’t want anyone here to get hurt, Jose, I promise. Why don’t you tell me how this happened?” Keep him talking, help him see that there was no winning here, that he’d have to do as she asked.

Jose used the hand holding the gun to rub his shaved head. He was panicking, but Devon was hoping to calm him down, even if she couldn’t keep her own mind calm. “Alonso fucked up for the last time”—Devon recognized the child’s father’s name— “and the boss wanted to make him pay, ya know? So, he had me pick up his kid, but then he wanted me to kill him and I just, I can’t kill a kid, man. But if I don’t, boss will kill me.”

Devon felt a pang of pity for the man; he was in a lose-lose situation. But her fraying nerves and overall exhaustion was making it hard to think straight, making it hard to play the nice cop. “Jose, you’re not leaving this house alive unless you surrender yourself. But, no listen to me, if you give yourself up, you’re only going to jail. You hurt that kid, though? You’re done, you’re in the ground, I guarantee it.” She spat out the last part, a little more violently than she meant to. Normally, she’d use a threat like that just to get a suspect to comply. But right now, she was afraid…afraid that she wasn’t using an empty threat. Afraid that she may actually kill this man if she didn’t end this soon. She had never felt like this before.

Jose let out a pained whine. “I don’t wanna die,” he mumbled. He tightened his grip on Eddy, who was starting to cry louder, as if he understood that the more distressed Jose became, the least likely he was to survive.

Devon took another deep breath, trying to shove all of her personal feelings down, trying to bring that professional side back out. The field agent that she always was. “I won’t let you die, Jose. Trust me, I can get you out of here, but you have to put the gun down. You said it yourself, you don’t want to kill this child. What would that even accomplish? Eddy has done nothing wrong. Think about how terrified he must be, how cruel it would be to end his life before he got to do anything that he’s dreamed of.” Devon glanced at the cross Jose was wearing around his neck. “Do you really believe that God would forgive you for ending this child’s chance at life?” If personalizing Eddy didn’t get through to him, religion probably would.

Jose sniffled, the hand holding the gun starting to shake. “You—you can get me out of here? Alive?”

Devon nodded. “Of course, but you have to put the gun down, let Eddy go. I give you my word.” During this whole exchange, Devon had been making her way slowly through the room, around the bed towards Jose. Jose looked like he was thinking through all of his options, breathing harder and harder. After what felt like forever, he released Eddy, who ran to Devon, wrapping his arms around her legs. She jumped as if shocked by the touch, but played it off, trying not to scare the child. Jose then slowly handed his gun to Devon. She put it in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back.

“I’m so sorry,” Jose said through tears. He turned around, head down, defeated. He put his hands on the back of his head and waited. Devon took her handcuffs out of her back pocket and awkwardly made her way to Jose, Eddy hanging off of her.

“Don’t let me die,” Jose whispered, more to himself than to Devon. Once he was secured, Devon let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. All of her nerves were on fire, as if the slightest touch would set her off. It was taking everything in her to not react to Eddy hanging off of her. As she led the two out of the room, she swooped down to grab her gun, replacing it in her holster. Eddy stayed by her side, never releasing her leg. She was glad he was safe, that she could provide some safety to him, but it was starting to annoy her more and more. He’s a scared child. You just saved his life. Suck it up, she thought to herself. She thought back to Patsy, still in surgery. If Devon had patience for her, she’d have patience for Eddy, too.

“Let me go first,” Devon said, stopping them when they had reached the front door. She pushed Jose gently against the wall by the doorframe, so that none of the awaiting officers could get a clear shot on him. She moved the child behind her legs, effectively becoming a human shield. It’s not that she really distrusted ESU or the NYPD as a whole, but all it took was one overzealous cop to have a twitchy finger, to let this all go to hell.

“Coming out! Suspect is unarmed and apprehended! Don’t shoot!” she yelled out the closed door. Slowly, she unlocked the door, then turned the knob, inching the door open. From the outside, she knew that ESU would only see her standing there, a child behind her. From her point of view, Devon saw guns from every direction aiming at them.

She put her free hand up in surrender, the other hand holding Jose by the cuffs. “Hold your fire!” she called out. She waited until she heard whoever was in charge repeat her order before she moved Jose through the doorframe and out into the open. Eddy took Devon’s free hand when she had lowered it, gripping her tightly. She couldn’t even imagine how terrified this kid must be having this many guns pointed in his direction. She led them out slowly, struggling not to flinch as officers came hurrying up. They all but ripped Jose out from her grip, reading him his rights, and throwing him in the back of a squad car. Devon gave him a sympathetic look as the car pulled away. At least he didn’t die, she thought. More officers came up to take the boy, but Devon refused to release him as Eddy gripped her hand tighter, turning to hide his face against her legs. All of the anger and frustration that had been welling up inside of her finally had a target.

“Back the fuck off,” she said, venom dripping from her voice. The officers scrambled to get out of her way as she led him over to the awaiting paramedics in the ambulance. She waited by his side as he was checked out for injuries. She looked over and saw the SVU detectives, Cragen in their center, looking over to her, something like respect and astonishment in their eyes. She knew Cragen would want to debrief her, but at this point, she was emotionally exhausted—she had spent all day in this damned vest. So, she stayed with Eddy, giving him silent support while he was poked and prodded, asked questions. It eventually came up that they wanted to take him to the hospital, run more tests to make sure he was physically okay.

“Don’t let them take me,” Eddy cried, grabbing Devon’s hand like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, Eddy. I’ll ride with you,” she replied softly. She climbed into the ambulance before the medics could say anything. If they didn’t want her there, they made no mention of it as they loaded up. The whole way to the hospital, Devon whispered encouragement to Eddy—“everything’s fine, you’re safe, you did so good back there”—until he calmed down. Devon stayed with him until the nurses kicked her out, much to his dismay.

“I’ll be right outside. I promise, I won’t leave you until your parents get here,” Devon said as she was shooed out. She went to the waiting room and was shocked to see two detectives—Stabler and Benson—already there.

“That was good work today,” Stabler commented quietly. Benson nodded in acknowledgement. “Even if you did go a little rogue going in the house.” Benson rolled her eyes at that.

“I’m just glad there were no casualties,” Devon replied before slumping into a chair. She felt so drained, so tired. And yet, today wasn’t quite over; she wanted to be there for the interrogation, to let them know about Jose’s impossible situation. To maybe give him some sort of mercy, and maybe some protection from his boss. This day just got longer and longer. Plus, she should probably get her injury checked, too. She rubbed at it absentmindedly, trying to relieve some of the pain.

Benson sat down next to her. “How’s Eddy?”

“He’s fine…relatively. He’s going to need some counseling. But physically, I think he’s unharmed.”

Benson nodded. “Detective Olivia Benson, by the way. Detective Elliot Stabler,” she said, gesturing to the man. Devon was glad that the animosity from earlier seemed to have disappeared. Rescuing a child had that effect on people.

“Special Agent Devon Motely,” she replied, giving them both a small smile. “Any word on Eddy’s parents?”

“They’re divorced; mother is going for full custody, and after today, I’m sure she’ll get it,” Stabler explained. “She’s on her way now.”

Devon nodded, but was too tired to answer. Hopefully, the mother can better protect her son from her ex’s illicit life. She’d make sure she gave them her business card, let them call her if they were ever in trouble again. Even if Devon was busy, she had connections all over the city.

It took about 20 minutes of the three officers sitting in silence—the detectives seemed to know how tired Devon must be, mumbling to themselves every no and again--before the mom showed up. Devon and the detectives had been barred from seeing Eddy until a parent or guardian gave the okay, but they were informed that the child was indeed unharmed, just shaken up by the ordeal. The mother was shown to his room, and the nurse asked for Devon to follow her about 5 minutes later.

“Not you two,” the nurse said to Benson and Stabler. Stabler looked like he was going to start a fight, but Benson waved him down. Devon followed the nurse to Eddy’s room, his mom standing next to him, grasping his hand in both of hers.

“You’re the one who saved my boy?” the woman asked. Devon nodded and the mother came over, flinging her arms around Devon’s neck and pulling her into a tight hug. Devon grimaced as fresh pain coursed through her, but she did her best to stay quiet, keep her pain undetected by the civilians. She awkwardly patted the woman’s back as she cried, thanking the agent over and over again.

“I’m glad he’s alright. You got to watch him, though. Make sure he doesn’t get wrapped up in this again,” Devon replied after she extracted herself from the mother’s grip. She handed her card to the woman. “You call me, though, if anything does happen, okay?”

“Yes, yes of course,” the woman nodded fervently, taking the card from Devon. “We’re moving out of the city, though. Moving closer to my family in Connecticut.”

Devon felt a weight lift off her; getting Eddy out of New York was probably for the best. “Good, that’s good.”

Feeling like they needed time alone, Devon said her goodbyes to both Eddy and her mom—who never stopped thanking her—and backed out of the room. Both detectives were still in the waiting room, and Devon relayed the information to both of them.

“As long as she brings him back to testify, then it’s fine,” Stabler huffed.

“Do you really need a 7-year-old to testify?” Devon asked, incredulous. Devon hated the courts; such bad memories from her past there, plus the unneeded drama and politics that came with it. Besides, hadn’t Eddy suffered enough?

Stabler gave her a hard look. “If we want to get him on kidnapping, then we need the actual kid that was napped,” he explained in a slow tone, as if Devon was an idiot. This was why she liked her job. She only needed to catch the bastards; she didn’t have to go through the whole façade of lawyers, courts, and the politics involved.

“That’s your problem,” she shot back. She really wanted to just go home, have a nice, relaxing bath, and listen to some orchestra music. But she needed to go back to the precinct, listen in on interrogation. Like hell she’d ride with this asshole, though. She said nothing as she left the hospital, hailing a cab. She was sure that the detectives were staying behind to interview Eddy, anyways.

SVU Department

Monday, October 28th. 8:36pm

She made it back to the precinct quickly. Her mind had wandered on the drive over, and she was having trouble focusing. She vaguely realized she didn’t see a doctor about her gunshot wound while she was at the hospital, but she couldn’t force herself to care. She felt like she was floating through the precinct, weaving around the officers as she made her way to SVU’s floor. Her emotions were so frayed, she didn’t think she’d ever feel anything ever again. One of the officers pointed her towards an observation room, where she found Captain Cragen and Dr. Huang watching Fin and Munch grill Jose.

“Fin and Munch have been able to get the whole story out of Mr. Gonzalez, here. Not that it took much prompting,” Cragen said by way of greeting.

“From what he told me in that house, he was in an unwinnable situation. I do hope that you and your DA will take that into consideration when indicting him,” Devon replied flatly. She didn’t have the strength to put up a polite exterior anymore.

Cragen gave her a wondering look; he didn’t seem mad about her tone, just curious about her, about why an FBI agent, especially someone who works in HRT, would be on the perp’s side. “He kidnapped a 7-year-old and held him hostage at gunpoint. Do you really think we should go easy on him?” It didn’t seem like he was trying to defend this point, simply wondering how Devon would answer. As if he were in charge of the debate team in high school, seeing if she could defend her point.

“He was just following his boss’s orders, the promise of death if he failed. And even then, he didn’t kill Eddy. He made it clear how much he didn’t want to,” Devon explained.

“And what would have happened to Eddy if we didn’t find them? If you never talked to Jose?”

Devon didn’t have an answer for that. She’d like to think that he wouldn’t have shot a child, that he may have even killed himself instead. But she could also see the possibility of Jose doing it, because he could make sure Eddy didn’t suffer in death. It all came down to Jose’s fear of death versus his fear of God’s wrath. She resigned to watch in silence as Jose continued to tell the detectives—Fin and Munch—about the hierarchy of the gang, about his boss, about anything they asked about. She could feel Huang’s gaze on her, but she ignored him, trying to focus on Jose’s words.

All three looked to the door when a redheaded woman walked in. Devon felt a punch to the gut as she recalled Emma’s face for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. No matter how many times her empty eyes flashed across Devon’s mind, the nausea and emptiness hit her hard.

“This is ADA Casey Novak,” Cragen announced. “Novak, this is Special Agent Devon Motely.”

“I didn’t know this was a Federal case,” Casey said, giving Devon the familiar I-don’t-trust-the-FBI look.

“Off the clock,” Devon replied, giving her a small, exhausted smile. Maybe she could still have some pleasantries. Casey gave her another look, this time of disbelief—who the hell wanted to do this kind of work off the clock?--before focusing in on the interrogation. Cragen filled her in on the details, including the fact that Devon was the one who collared him, before Devon interjected.

“I’d like to request that you go a little easy on the man,” she said.

Casey gave her an appraising look. “He kidnapped a child, with a gun.” It was the same conversation over and over again. Devon was getting sick of it.

“Yes, but Jose had a gun to his own head. He was acting under duress. Plus, he’s giving you guys all the information on his boss that you need,” Devon reasoned.

Surprisingly, Casey agreed. “I’ll plead him out, then. Kidnapping is 5 to 25 years; I’ll recommend 7.”

“Thank you,” Devon said before excusing herself from the room. With her work effectively done, Devon just wanted to go lay down somewhere for a couple hours…or days. She heard someone follow her out of the observation room and sensed Dr. Huang’s presence.

“We do still need to talk, Devon,” he commented. Devon’s shoulders slumped and she hung her head in defeat as she followed him to an unoccupied room, full of standard-issued beds. Must be where officers could sleep when they couldn’t make it home. It seemed like a cruel joke to bring her here, with how tired she was, but at least it was private. Devon resisted the urge to sit on any of the mattresses; she was afraid she wouldn’t get back up again.

“What’s going on, Dev? Are you okay?” Huang asked once he shut the door.

“Don’t treat me like a patient, George. I know you know me better than that.”

Huang nodded, dropping the professional tone, and adopting something more personable. Yet still that overall calm that he exuded was present. “You’re right. Something did happen to you today, though. Do you want to talk about it?”

Devon huffed out an unamused laugh. “Not really, no. I would rather just down a bottle of whiskey and sleep for three days uninterrupted.” She knew by admitting that, Huang would just dig in further, at least until she got everything off her chest. But she was too exhausted to come up with some elaborate lie about how she was feeling, too exhausted to really care what anyone thought of her right now. She felt nothing, only the dull ache in her chest that pulsed in pain in time with her heart.

Huang looked concerned but hid it well. It only showed in his eyes. “You need to talk it out,” he said. When Devon didn’t reply, he continued, “first, you missed my call, texting me that you were in an emergency. And second, you told Cragen that I gave you no details. I told you the whole case over the phone.”

That stunned Devon; she thought back to the phone call that felt like days ago—how was it only earlier today?—tried to remember what was said. She didn’t remember a single word, though he must have at least old her to come to the 16th precinct, since she showed up here.

Sighing, Devon recounted the Thompson ring takedown. She was a little shocked that Huang didn’t get the notification—“I’m not a field agent, and I was already assigned here,” he explained. Devon got a little choked up when recounting the 7 dead children, and the 1 dead FBI agent, shocked that she even had emotions left.

“I don’t have many friends—you know that. So, losing Emma hurt more than I thought it would,” Devon finished. She refused to acknowledge the feelings that became apparent shortly before the agent’s death—that would be something to unpack later.

Huang had listened intently to her plight. He gave her a look of sadness as she recounted the dead; no matter how many times someone saw another person killed, it never got easier. “You saved 25 children from hell, though.”

“And lost 8 people in the process.”

Huang weighed his words, then responded, “but don’t the lives saved outweigh those lost?”

Devon’s phone went off right then. She recognized the hospital’s number and answered. She felt the dread build in her core, tears finally springing to her eyes as the final nail of the day was hammered into her. “Correction, 9 people. Patsy didn’t make it.” She let the tears flow freely now; it was the first time she had cried that day, but all of the sadness, anger, and guilt from earlier rushed out of her in a wave. She collapsed onto one of the beds hard, face buried in her hands as she let everything out. She vaguely felt Huang sit down next to her, patting her back in comfort, careful to touch lightly after hearing about her being shot. He let her cry until they became hiccupping sobs. Devon wiped her face with her shirt, trying to regain her composure. She tried to make it a point to not cry in front of people; she didn’t want to appear weak. The fact that Huang had been here to see her fall apart hurt her pride more than anything.

Huang waited until she seemed to be back in control before whispering, “Devon, why do you still do this job?”

The question caught her off guard, and an answer didn’t immediately jump out at her. She thought about it, really thought about it; why she got up in the morning, put on the badge, and went to deal with the worst side of humanity. Why she put her life on the line for strangers. Why she cared enough to help people.

“Because if I don’t, who will?” she sniffled. She wanted to expand on that, but the right words didn’t come up right away. She took a deep breath, tried to pull in her scattered thoughts, then said, “you’re right, you know. The lives saved are more important than the lives lost. This city, this world, can be a terrible, terrible place. But if I can save even one person, one child, then it’s worth it to me.” She sniffled again and blurted out, voice desperate, “I just want to help people.”

Huang nodded. “That’s a good answer. The fact that you even had an answer is a good sign, Devon. You still have your humanity. You’re still a good person.” Huang always knew exactly what Devon was really feeling; inadequate, remorseful, and most of all, guilty.

“Even if those 9 deaths are my fault?”

“Devon listen to me. Emma”—her name still hit Devon in the stomach—“knew what she was doing. It was her choice to cover the children’s escape. Besides, if you didn’t unlock that cage, what do you think would have happened to those kids?”

As much as Devon wanted to argue that the cage was out of the line of fire, she didn’t know what would have happened. Maybe the kids would’ve been safe until the firefight was over. Or maybe the traffickers would have decided that they didn’t want any witnesses.

“Survivor’s guilt takes time to digest, to move forward. I agree with your boss, too; talk to a psychiatrist about this. I can talk to you as a friend, but not as a doctor-patient anymore. The one in your sector is good, and a friend of mine,” Huang said.

Devon nodded, agreeing to go to the company shrink. “You know me, though. I can’t take time off; I’ll go insane.”

“You are a workaholic,” Huang agreed. He was the only one allowed to call her that, no matter how true it was. “How about I arrange Cragen to call you if he can use your help?”

Work for the NYPD? Busting low-level rapists and pedophiles? Trudging through the shit field work, the court systems, and the corrupted politics of the mayor’s office? “Sounds like a deal…as long as I don’t have to work with that Detective Stabler.”

“He can be a little abrasive,” Huang said, smiling. “But he grows on you…eventually.”

“Like a parasite?”

Huang laughed at that. “He is a good detective, and a pretty good person. He gets angry, and he’s headstrong. But at the end of the day, I’m glad SVU has him on their side.”

Conversation coming to an end, they both stood up. Devon didn’t really care what her face looked like after all that crying. All that mattered was that she was tired and hurting but feeling lighter than she had all day.

Huang stopped her as she went to leave. “Do me a favor, though.” When Devon arched an eyebrow, Huang said, “go see a doctor for that gunshot wound.”

#everyone deserves love #edl #fanfic #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #law & order svu #law & order svu fanfic #barba x oc #oc fanfic #my writing #chapter 1

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glenncoco4 · 4 years ago

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War Zone

A/N: Apparently all it takes is a little Aly & Aj to get me in the zone! Chapter 5 coming at ya!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

The sunlight streams in from their bedroom window, bathing their bodies in golden rays as he traces the scar with his finger. The scar that brings back memories of the worst best day of his life. "I still remember it like it was yesterday."

Her arm that's around his waist, squeezes him tighter as the flashes of that day run through her mind. "You sure did time it perfectly."

"So not my fault."

Tilting her head, she brings her lips to the underside of his jaw. "I'm just playing with you, baby."

He shimmies down the bed so now they're face to face. She thinks he's going to stop but apparently he has other ideas when his lips find the 4 inch scar on abdomen, relishing thinking back to one of the closest calls that either one of them have had. "I'm so glad you're alive."

"I'm so glad you're alive." Tears threaten to fall from her eyes as she watches him nuzzle his nose against her skin, her fingers finding their way through his golden locks.

She knows they can't go down this path, because if she thought about how many times she could've never seen him again, to be doing what they're doing right now, she'd be an emotional wreck all day. "I wonder how many scars we have from the same ops?"

A grin spreads to his face as he trails kisses up her abdomen, between her breast, placing a kiss to each nipple before finally making his way up to her lips. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, his eyes almost a steel grey, desire so clearly shining through. "Only one way to find out."

XXXX

November 24, 2008

She slowly becomes aware as she's pulled out of her slumber by a ringing. Opening her eyes, they adjust to her surroundings as she rubs the corner of her eye. Once she realizes where the noise is coming from, she reaches out on the floor in search of the offending object. She presses the accept button but before she can say anything a very familiar voice hits her ear.

"I know it's 2 in the morning, but come outside."

He hangs up before she can even responds which sets off her warning signals. Her brow furrows in confusion, and she slowly comes out of her haze, immediately sensing something's off. Throwing back her blanket, the Chief Petty Officer throws her legs over the edge of her cot, slipping on her boats before she takes a few steps to the opening of her tent.

Once her eyes adjust to the darkness, a sliver of light from the camp's generator, illuminates his blonde locks. "Marty, what are you doing?"

He closes the distance as she walks towards him, her eyes swimming with concern."Listen, Kens. We don't get to see each other a lot and we're in different places in our lives-"

"You're doing this now? In the middle of the desert?" She bites her bottom lip, not sure if its her trying to control her anger or stop herself from crying, when she realizes what he's trying to say. The brunette can feel her heart slowly break, she thought he loved her because god knows she loves him. They were on the same page, wanted the same things.

"I have to."

"Why? You could've at least waited until-"

"Because I have to be with you.'

Kensi's eyes go wide as she watches his movements. Her heart begins to race as her boyfriend gets down on one knee, pulling a Twinkie out from behind his back. "I want to be wherever you are and when I can't be, I want to know that you'll be coming home to me. I may not be in the same place as you are in life right now, but I want to be. Chief Petty Officer, Kensi Marie Blye, will you marry me?"

"Oh, my god."

"What are you waiting for, boss?"

Kensi whips her head around to see her team standing outside their tents in anticipation before turning back to her boyfriend whose cocky grin is ever so present. Her eyes lock with his steel blue eyes, looking for any signs that he's joking but is met with a sureness she's never seen before."How would we make it work?"

His body relaxes at her question, because she's not saying no but trying to look for his assurance. "Baby, we've been making it work for the last 6 months."

"Don't you want to move back home? I love you, Marty. But I'm not ready to give up this life."

"Who's asking you too?"

"So you don't want to quit?"

"Of course not. I love my job and I know how much you love yours, but I'm not gonna let that stop me from being with you."

Her eyes stay on him. There's so many thing she wants to say to him right now. She's never felt about anyone else the way she feels about him. He's here fighting for them and he'll continue to do so for the rest of their days, this she knows. It may be hard and they may spend more time a part than together, but the one thing she knows for sure is that whatever time she has left on this planet she wants to spend with him."Yes."

"Yes?" His eyes go wide in excitement as he jumps up off the ground, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up as she bringing her lips to his.

"Way to go, Blye!"

She laughs against his lips at her team's subtle way of yelling across the camp in congratulations. They're both deliriously happy as so clearly evident as they stay in each other's embrace, lost in the moment, but their joy is soon dashed when the flashing ball of fire a few yards away from them sends pieces of shrapnel barreling their way.

XXXX

Present

He delicately runs his finger up and down her arm as they lay stated, curled up after their early morning celebration.

"12 years…that's a long time."

"Almost as long as high school."

Titling her head back from where it rests on his bare chest, she can't help the smile that crosses her face at the "seriousness" written in his eyes. "You're such an idiot."

He laughs, flipping them over so he's on top of her, his lips immediately finding her earlobe. "An idiot in love."

XXXX

November 26, 2008

"Blye, there's someone that wants to see you."

She feels the tears that threaten to spill in her eyes as she watches his battered body be rolled into her room. Concern swimming around in his own beautiful blue eyes.

The nurse rolls Marty to the edge of her bed, his hand immediately grabbing hers. His eyes shining with unshed tears."Hey, are you okay?"

"Why, what happened?" She does her best to keep a straight face but her grin gives her away. Expecting him to return her smile, she's surprised when tears begin to silently fall down his face. She cups his jaw, running her thumb across his cheek to wipe away his tears, her demeanor changing from playfulness to regret in an instant. "I'm sorry."

He knows she was just trying to lighten the mood but he can't get the images of her laying next to him with that large piece of metal sticking out of her side, bleeding out. Placing his hand over hers, he leans into her touch."I love you."

"I love you."

Their eyes stay locked for a few minutes as they take time to relish in the fact that they're still here, together. They survived. "I've been thinking about the last conversation we had and-"

"I get it."

Her brow furrows as she watches his shoulders deflate. "Get what?"

"It was in the heat of the moment. You need more time."

Realization strikes her, it's almost like their roles are reversed from the moments before the explosion. "Are you kidding, if anything I need less time."

"What do you mean?"

Before she can answer him there's a knock on the door. A grey haired man pokes his head, small smile on his face. "Kensi?

"Sergeant, you made it."

The photojournalist's brow furrows as the man in full dress blues steps into his girlfriend's room before turning back to her. "Kens, what's going on?"

"This is a Sergeant Massey, he's an old family friend."

He maneuvers his chair so that he's now facing the marine but his hand stays locked with hers. Extending his free hand, Marty offers to the older man. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

The Master Sergeant takes his offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet too, son." His attention turns from the blonde to the brunette, in question. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Marty's voice turns from confused to stern. "I hope you don't think you're going back into the field right now, because I will strap you to this bed myself if you think you are."

The Chief Petty Officer's heart warms at the assertiveness in her fiancé's voice. If it were anyone else telling her what she was and wasn't going to do they'd need a hospital bed themselves, but with him, she knows he just being protective over her as she would be him. "He's ordained. And if we want, he can marry us right here, right now."

He does a double take of the Master Sergeant, before turning back towards her. The hope that floods his body is making it hard for him not to jump out of his wheelchair. "But, are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"I just thought you'd want to do it state side with a big party and fancy white dress."

"I don't. I want to do it, right here, right now."

"Baby, we can't. We're in the hospital."

Her shoulders deflate at his words, she really thought he'd go for this. She thought he'd be more urgent after what happened a few days ago.

"Look, I know how much you love my smoking hot body, but we're in no state to ravage each other right now."

"Marty!"

Sergeant Massey, takes in the exchange between the two and smiles. He's known Kensi since she was 5 years old, when he and her father were stationed together. Before Don died, he made him promise that if anything ever happened to him, he'd look out for his daughter and be there for her. In all his years of knowing the SEAL, he's never seen her glow like this, or see this light shining in her eyes when she looks at the man sitting next to her. And judging by the way the blonde looks at her, he knows without a doubt his feeling are reciprocated.

She squeezes his hand, her eyes swimming with emotions. "I love you and I don't want to spend another minute not being with you."

He wipes another trail of tears from his cheeks, smiling none the less. "Dammit, Blye. I wasn't emotionally prepared for this today."

"Just trying to keep you on your toes, babe."

His lips find the back of her hand, his eyes staying locked with hers. "Since day one."

Looking from her fiancé to her "uncle", Kensi nods, assuring the marine that they're more than ready.

XXXX

Present

He comes up behind her as she steps out of the shower, nuzzling her neck. "Best day ever."

"Well for a few more months it will be."

He looks up, locking eyes with hers in the mirror. Her smile turning his legs into jelly as she lays her hands on top of his that are on her stomach. Their baby's in there. This is their last Thanksgiving as a family of two. Leaning her head back against his shoulder, she turns her head, to meet his lips with hers.

"Hello? Kensi? Marty?"

They pull back from their embrace as the familiar voice runs through their house. "Dammit, they're here already."

"Hey, that's your family." She gently shoves her husband before stepping into their room to change.

He takes hold of her hand, pulling her back into the bathroom with him, his eyes darkening as he takes in her bare chest. "I don't mean- I just wanted to ravage your body one more time before the house was full."

Knowing they can't have the fun they want to right now she rubs her breast against his bare chest just because she can. "Tonight."

Before he can do anything else, she slips from his arms and walks into their closet to change, smiling as he lets out a loud groan. "Evil."

XXXX

Kensi makes her way down the stairs followed by her husband as her brother and brother-in-law bring in the last load from the car. "Hey, guys!"

Sabatino sits down the bag in his hand, smiling as he wraps Kensi in arms. "How's my favorite sister?"

She smiles at the sentiment, but knows just what to say to make him cower in fear. "I'll be sure to tell Talia you said that."

"No, please." He may be their older brother, but out of all three of them, he's definitely the weakest.

"It's good to see you Sabatino." Deeks hugs his brother-in-law as Kensi walks over to Eric giving him a hug as well.

"Uncle Marty! Aunt Kensi!"

Marty's face lights up when he hears the familiar voice call out his name, his attention turning towards their guest bathroom as their nephew walks out. "Ez!"

The ten year old runs up to his aunt and uncle wrapping them both in a hug.

"Oh, my gosh! You've gotten so big." She says, running her finger through his hair.

They all walk into the kitchen as Ezra runs off into the living room to play with his Legos. As Marty checks on the turkey in the oven, Kensi and Eric stand over the trash can and begin peeling the sweet potatoes.

"Aunt Kensi, what are these for?"

The brunette looks up, unprepared to see the tiny pair of sneakers her nephew is holding in his hand. "Oh, that's um..."

Eric's jaw drops when he sees the shoes and quickly turns his attention to the brunette standing next to him. "No."

A blush rises to her cheeks, her eyes immediately finding her husband's. A smile bright on his face. "Yeah."

"You guys!" Eric wraps his arms around the pair, pulling them into an embrace.

Sabatino rushes in from the backyard at the sound of his husband's excitement. "What? What's going on?"

"Kensi's having a baby!"

"I'm getting a cousin?" The little boy questions, looking for confirmation.

"Yeah."

Ezra throws his fist in the air as he jumps up in excitement. "YES!"

Shaking himself out of his shocked state, Sabatino walks over to his little sister and brother-in-law, giving them both a hug. "How far along are you?"

"Just about 14 weeks."

"Does anybody else know?"

"Just Talia."

"Which means Sam also knows." Marty says, knowing none of the siblings can keep anything from their spouses.

"We were gonna tell everyone at dinner tonight."

"Oh, man, I can't wait to see the look on mom's face." Sabatino smiles, thinking about the woman who was more of a mother to him than his own was, and how she reacted when he and Eric told her that they were adopting Ezra.

Kensi laughs when she remembers how excited her mom got at the news of Ezra and how ever since she met Marty she's been not so subtly dropping hints about having all the time in the world to babysit, she just needed a baby.

As the older brother, Sabatino's had his fair share of talks with his sisters. Ever since their dad died, he's found it his responsibility to be that protecter and encourager that his father was for them when he was alive. "Hey, Kens, I know you already know this but dad would be so proud of you."

"I really hate that he's not gonna get to watch this little one grow up." Her left hand finds her abdomen, thinking about all the wonderful moments he's going to miss. Tears springing to her eyes.

"I know. When we found out about Ez I just pictured all of the things he would miss. But you know what?"

"What?"

"You, me and Talia...we're gonna teach this baby all the things that he taught us, just like we're doing with Ezra."

"He'll be here."

Kensi's attention is drawn away from her brother when she hears her husband and nephew's conversation as they start mashing the potatoes. "I'm sorry, bud, we're not naming the baby Big Bird."

"But why?"

"How about this, how about Aunt Kensi and I name the baby, but you come up with your own special nickname for it that only you call them."

The raven haired boy's eyes light up in glee at his uncle's counter offer. "Oooh, that would be so cool."

Sabatino watches the exchange, his heart overwhelmed at the fact that this is the man that could give their dad a run for his money when it comes to being the best dad. "He's gonna be a great dad."

"He is." She nods, knowing without a doubt that her brother is right.

Marty looks across the kitchen, catching her eyes, the smile that's reserved for her lighting up his face. "Don't tell me he's trying to get us to name the baby Vostanik."

"Hey, that's a good name." Sabatino puts his hand to his chest, affronted by his brother-in-law's playful jab.

"I don't know who told you that, but they were clearly lying to you."

"Your words hurt, Marty."

"You'll get over it." Kensi smirks, answering for her husband.

Marty can feel the room get warmer as his wife sends him a wink. That paired with her helping him double team her brother, he's doing all he can not to drag her back up to their bedroom. One thing's for certain, it's going to be a long day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Kensi's dad and Sabatino look too similar...

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #Kensi Blye #Kensi Deeks #Marty Deeks #AU #War Zone #NCIS: LA Fanfic #NCIS: LA #Eric Beale #Vostanik Sabatino #Chapter 5

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redbokuto · 4 years ago

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Awaited Encounter~ part 5

I kicked my legs in the air with my frail hands gripping onto the chains of the swing. A small smile graced my lips while I stared at the idiot in front of me. His booming laughter filled my ears as he ran in a straight line. “Kou, your shoes are untied.” I commented while the little boy dashed through the field.

The gray-haired boy ignored my words and continued to zoom around. It didn’t take long for him to trip and face plant onto the ground. “I told you.” I hopped off the swing and walked over to my best friend.

Bokuto picked up his head and looked at me as I took a seat beside him. The gray-haired boy giggled, causing me tilt my head in confusion. “What?” I asked before leaning my head back to look at the clear sky.

Small gushes of wind got caught in my hair, making my curls bounce in the breeze. The smell of fresh cut grass and mulch glided through the air. Along with your average kindergarten chatter.

“You always watch me.” Bokuto uttered. I looked down to meet his eyes, but instead I was met with his large smile. Bokuto’s toothy grin spread across his face, scrunching his slightly red nose. It was a marvelous sight.

My cheeks reddened as my dark orbs scanned his face. “You wouldn’t survive if I didn’t Kou.”

Bokuto only laughed, flipping over and landing on top of me. My arms supported my body to steady myself. Bokuto’s hair brushed against my chin as his hands wrapped around my back. His laugh only grew louder, which made me wonder what was so funny.

“You’re the best Keiji!” Bokuto exclaimed. Just when I was about to respond, Bokuto picked up his head and did something unexpected. Soft, small lips pressed against my uncovered forehead. My thoughts became hazed as my body became flustered.

Bokuto backed his head away and looked down at me, “my sisters do this to me all the time! They say it’s a way of showing you care about someone.”

I pressed two fingers on the spot Bokuto kissed. It still felt warm. “O-oh I see.”

Bokuto got off me and continued to waste his energy in the field. I sat there, watching him with a dorky smile I could not suppress. Kou cares about me.

“Look it’s him.” A voice from behind me uttered. From the soft tone I could tell it was a girl. “He’s so weird, I keep telling you we should stay away from him.”

I tilted my head to look who was behind me. I was not surprised to see two girls from our class a couple feet away. I didn’t remember their names. To me, everyone else in this school is irrelevant.

The girls turned their head towards me and jumped a little from my stare. One hid behind the other, whispering to herself. “H-hi Keiji!” Both girls said in unison. They both giggled as if I said something funny, but I only stared.

They walked closer to me, so I stood up to face them. One of the girls were taller than me while the other was an inch shorter. “Don’t call me that, call me Akashi.” I insisted with a monotonous tone.

Both girls grew more nervous from my voice. The one behind clung to the taller one in front. “Akashi then. Would you like to be friends?” The smaller one managed to push out. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.

“No.” I responded simply.

The girls were taken back from my answer. Apparently being rejected was not something they were used to.

“Why? Don’t you want friends?” The one in front asked. She seemed to be the more courageous one of the two.

“I have friends.” Both girls looked at each other before looking back to me. “You mean the weird kid.”

This name is said often when it came to Bokuto. A lot of people find Bokuto’s mood swings and random boosts of energy to be weird. Which is why the nickname has stuck. The other kids shun Bokuto, but I don’t. And I never will.

“No, I mean Kou. I do not want to be your friend.” I stated with a tinge of disgust.

“But why!?” The shy girl in the back asked.

My answer came out without hesitation, “I find you both annoying and stuck-up people. I despise people like you. Don’t try talking to me again.” The girls were shocked by my blunt answer, but I meant it. Anyone that is mean to Kou will not be allowed in my life.

Both girls stepped back, one on the verge of tears and the other boiling in anger. “You’ll regret this!” The taller one stated before they both ran away.

I sighed at the meaningless threat and turned around. When I did, I got a face full of Kou. Kou was staring at me with wide eyes while biting his lip. “Keiji… do you think that way about me too?”

The question took me back. His expression made my heart buckle. “Kou…” The gray-haired boy closed his eyes, he looked like he was about to cry. So, I did the only thing I could do.

Pushing myself on my tippy toes, I squeezed my eyes shut. My lips tapped against his forehead, mimicking the action he did prior.

When my heels touched the ground, I opened one eye to see if Kou was still about to cry. The gray-haired boy had his large golden eyes open with tinted cheeks. His eyes sparkled as if he had just experienced a life changing moment.

“Does that answer your question?” I asked in a low whisper. Kou could only nod, keeping his awestruck look.

“Keiji… I-“

The loud beep of my alarm screeched in my ears. I groaned in displeasure before throwing my phone at my alarm. The sound of the device slamming against the floor made my shoulders relax. But then the beeping continued.

I stuffed my head in my pillow, annoyed from the fact I couldn’t finish my dream. It was one of my favorite memories of me and Bokuto. Back then I would always call him Kou, he did insist on it after all.

After a minute of constant beeping, I got up. First, I checked my phone to see if it was cracked; it wasn’t. The lock screen flashed before my eyes with several notifications from my mother. This was not surprising seeing that she obsesses over me.

My finger ran past my screen, not bothering to read any of her messages. I glanced at a new name that popped up on my phone. Bokuto. Me and Bokuto exchanged numbers the day the professor assigned me to him, though we have never texted.

Clicking the notification, my eyes squinted from the bright message in the dark themed chat.

Bokuto:

AKASHI LOOK LOOK LOOK

Akashi:

You haven’t sent anything yet.

Bokuto:

OH I FORGOT THAT PART

An image popped up on our near empty chat; It made me smile.

Akashi:

Congrats on your B Bokuto.

Bokuto:

I’M SO HAPPY! I TOLD KURO THAT I AM SMARTER THAN HIM NOW!

Akashi:

What did he say?

I sat my phone down and pulled out some clothes to change into. Once my dark blue, long sleeve settled on my shoulders, I picked my phone back up.

Bokuto:

HE TOLD ME I NEVER WOULD BE! CAN YOU BELIVE THAT?!

Akashi:

Yes I can, you’ll beat him one day Bokuto.

The texts never stopped. Today was my day off so I didn’t mind them. Like in real life, Bokuto led the conversation. He chatted about random things with unique emojis following behind. At some points you can catch me smiling from his words.

Bokuto:

Akashi, where do you live?

The question made my blink at my screen. Why would he want to know that?

Akashi:

Why?

This time Bokuto hesitated to type.

Bokuto:

I have a present for you…

And I have to deliver it personally.

Even though I was skeptical, I sent my address anyways.

We texted for another ten minutes before someone knocked on my door. I rose off my bed and walked to the front of my apartment. It was now the middle of the afternoon, what could Bokuto want to give me?

I pushed the wooden door open slowly, taking in the sight of the gray-haired man. Bokuto had on his signature grin, but he looked giddier than usual. “Thank you, Akashi!” Bokuto exclaimed before wrapping his strong arms around my frail torso.

The hug was tight and warm; it felt so familiar. “There is no need to thank me Bokuto.” I insisted, failing to hold back the ounce of happiness I was feeling. How could a hug feel so right?

Bokuto squeezed tighter as he stuffed his head between my neck and my shoulder. “Let me thank you. I don’t know why but being around you makes me feel nostalgic.” That statement slammed a weight on my chest. I was glad Bokuto couldn’t see my expression, I looked pained by his words.

Why am I doing this to him? Bokuto is such a nice person, he should never be lied to.

My recent dream came flashing through my mind, causing me to tug at Bokuto’s shirt subconsciously. The gray-haired man took this as a sign and released me. He stepped back and scratched the back of his neck with a nervous look. “Sorry Akashi, I forgot that you don’t like receiving attention from people.”

I looked down at the ground, my eyes trailing across the patterned wood. “Those rules don’t apply to you.” I mumbled under my breath. Silence floated in the air, causing an awkward tension to arise.

Bokuto stared at me, but I couldn’t see his expression. My gaze stayed tilted down, “you wanted to give me something?” I had to wait a couple moments before my words registered. Bokuto’s hands began fidgeting by his sides, “well you see. I couldn’t think of anything you like. Whenever we talk, I am the one doing most of the talking. I assume you like it that way?”

I kept my eyes down but nodded. “Good! Well, you know… Anyways I was thinking that we could go out for lunch. I at least know the kind of food you like since we ate together often during studying.” Bokuto stated shyly.

I nodded again and gestured for him to come inside. “I just need to get my wallet.”

Bokuto took a seat on my couch as I walked into my room. When I came out, he was waving something in his hand. “What’s this Akashi?” The gray-haired man asked with curious eyes.

“It’s a book Bokuto, have you not seen one before?” I took a seat on the couch next to him as he read the back cover. My best friend let out a hum when he was finished, “is this your favorite?” I lifted a brow at his question before nodding. “It’s a series called Witches and Wizards.”

“I never thought you would be into fantasy Akashi.” For some reason, Bokuto’s eyes lit up from his words.

“I don’t read it for the fantasy, though the world is interesting. I like the characters and the minor love story.”

“Oh, so you’re a romantic? That’s a shock.” Bokuto put the book on his lap, letting his eyes scan over it.

The room went quiet once again, only this time the silence was comfortable. Bokuto stayed staring at the book, as if he was taking in all the details he could. “It’s not that shocking.” I uttered in a low tone.

Bokuto picked up his head and started to chuckle, “yes it is. Anyways, let’s get going.” The gray-haired man sprung up from the couch and dragged me along outside. We walked together through the busy streets until we settled on a place to eat.

The café wasn’t fancy, I have never liked fancy areas. It was petite and quiet with dark red paint decorating the walls. Me and Bokuto took a seat in the corner on the cozy booths. “Are you ok with this place Akashi?”

It made me feel happy knowing Bokuto was always thinking about my feelings. It also made me guilty at the same time. Once again shame filled my stomach.

Back then I would never lie to Kou. I wouldn’t even dream of it. We were inseparable with him always making me happy and me making sure he stays happy.

“Akashi?”

My eyes blinked to adjust to Kou’s close face. His golden orbs laced over mine, causing a lump in my throat. “Nothing Kou it’s fine.” I squeezed out, not realizing my words till the last second. Blush spread across my face in moments, not just mine but Kou’s too.

I never thought Bokuto was capable of blushing, but here he is. Red faced and awestruck by the pet name. He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed.

My hands gripped my pants, struggling not to reach out a touch Bokuto’s flushed face. Why is that even an urge? Me and Bokuto haven’t had such a connection since we were young. Shouldn’t those feelings have faded by now?

The moment shattered when Bokuto’s eyes squeezed shut. The gray-haired man leaned back, clutching his head in pain from a sudden headache. “A-are you ok?” I stutter before reaching out to Bokuto.

Warm flesh brushed against my fingers, “Bokuto…” It seemed to calm him down. Bokuto’s hands slowly fell from his head as his eyes traveled towards me. I leaned down closer to him for my full hand to caress his cheek. “Are you ok, Bokuto?”

After what seemed like an eternity, Bokuto answered. “Yeah, I am ok, my head just started throbbing out of nowhere.” I sighed in relief before realizing the position I was in. Half my body leaned over the table that separated us. My hand was on Bokuto’s cheek, tilting his face upward to look at mine. Bokuto’s cheeks were still dusted with red while his face was inches away from mine.

“Hey Akashi, did I hear that right, or did you call me Kou?” Of course he would ask that question now. When my face is burning with embarrassment from the fact I want to lean closer towards him.

“Yes…” No use in lying about it. Another eternity of eye contact occurred. I tried to look anywhere but Bokuto’s eyes, but of course my gaze landed on something far worse. Bokuto’s lips.

I swallowed hard and tried to look back to his eyes. But it was too late, I was caught. Bokuto’s lips stretched into a smirk, making my face heat up more. I would have never guessed the ball of energy could make such a seductive expression.

“That’s very out of character for you Akashi.” Bokuto uttered as he leaned back away from my face. I leaned back as well, trying to collect my thoughts.

Looks like more things have changed about Bokuto then I thought.

#haikyuu ships #haikyuu keiji akaashi #haikyuu au #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu fic #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu koutarou #haikyuu fanart #haikyuu!!#hinata shouyou #hq art #hq koutarou #koutarou bokuto #bokuto x akashi #bokuto

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years ago

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Road Trip : Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 2,717 Rating: M Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: If you missed Part II you can find the link below as written by @heroics-and-heartbreak my partner on this adventure and co-founder of our little Punk!AU. Read on for angst!

Part III – It’s all over, baby, but I’m still yours

{Part I} {Part II}

“Give me the phone.”

Aevryn’s eyes widened and she clutched the phone tighter. Everyone had left the van quickly except for her and Yennefer who had watched as Aevryn’s mouth curled into a little smile as she looked at the phone. She knew exactly what was going on and it was time to confront her while the rest of the group was gone. Especially Jaskier.

“Yen it’s not what it looks like,” Aevryn began. Yennefer propped a hand on her hips and fixed her with her patented “don’t bullshit me” stare.

“And what do you think it looks like, Aev?” she asked. The phone buzzed in Aevryn’s hand and Yennefer looked down at it pointedly.

“Listen… I know this is going to sound stupid. But I think, maybe this time… I think he’s trying, Yen, and don’t give me that look!” Aevryn protested as Yennefer shook her head, a familiar look of disappointment in her eyes that stung, “We had a long talk and he hasn’t been shitty. He’s been worried but that’s something, right?”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Yennefer asked. Aevryn winced, Yennefer’s words striking her as painfully as her fists may have.

“I don’t owe you anything here, Yen,” Aevryn said, her voice growing distant and icy and defensive, “I’m a grown adult. So is he. People can change. For fuck’s sake, I thought you of all people-”

“What the hell does that mean?” Yennefer asked. Aevryn took a deep breath, willing herself not to say anything she’d regret later. She knew Yennefer was protective for good reason and with good intentions. But she was already having this fight with herself, she didn’t need to have it with anyone else. Not yet. There would be time for fighting later.

“Are you going to tell Jask?” Aevryn asked.

“No,” Yennefer answered quickly.

The phone buzzed again.

“Win’s going to be looking for me,” Aevryn said, moving to push past Yennefer. She held her back by the shoulder and the pair locked eyes.

“How many times are you going to let him hurt you?” she asked. If she’d said it with disdain Aevryn could have been angry. But she’d said it sadly, the weary voice of someone who has had to help pick up their friend time and time again and is watching them hurl themselves right back into the fray.

“You don’t have to take care of me if it goes wrong. I know the risks,” Aevryn said, jostling past her and heading towards the low rolling fields as quickly as she could, tears stinging her eyes.

“But I will,” Yennefer called after her. She could tell by the stiffening of Aevryn’s shoulders that she’d heard her, but she continued walking as though she hadn’t and Yennefer let her go.

“Fuck,” Yennefer whispered to herself, kicking the tire with her boot.

“Hey, leave Roach out of this.”

Yennefer wheeled around to find Geralt walking over to the other side of the van. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket and he gave her a searching stare. She’d once compared him to malware, always scanning for problems.

“How long were you standing there?” Yennefer asked, an edge to her voice.

“Not long,” he admitted, “I was looking to see if I could find someplace quiet to meditate but they’re making too much damn noise.”

The whoops and laughter of the rest of your group were carried on the slowly cooling evening air though they couldn’t be seen anymore. They’d gone deep into the fields, leaving Yennefer and Geralt to catch up when they chose. Or, as was the silent understanding, if they chose.

“Any chance you’ll tell me what’s got you all twisted up?” Geralt asked, leaning against the van and tossing her a glance that tried just a bit too hard to be casual. She knew he could see everything; the frustration, the fear, the sadness. The way her hands trembled slightly as it did after a confrontation with someone she loved, caused by the fear that it would lead at any moment to losing them forever. Geralt knew these things but he was too good to speak on it without her permission. He was too good period.

“No,” she answered bluntly, and he gave a wry, knowing smile, nodding and then tilting his head back to rest against the rusted metal. A low roll of thunder sounded overhead, the skies going grey without their notice and Yennefer thought back to another night like this one. A night that had started beautifully and ended in a storm from which neither ever fully returned.

“You still do tarot?” Geralt asked, though he knew the answer.

“Why?” Yennefer asked, cautious but intrigued despite herself. He shrugged and his eyes, such a light brown they nearly glowed golden, peered down at her.

“Thought you might give me a reading,” he said. Yennefer cocked an eyebrow in disbelief at him.

“You always said it was horseshit,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I’ve been wrong about things before,” he answered with a shrug, “So, you gonna do it or not?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and pushed off of the van, moving towards the passenger side where she’d left her bag, Geralt’s eyes following her the whole way.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” she said sarcastically. He climbed into the back of the van and she followed suit, a deck of cards in hand that she quickly began to shuffle once they’d sat down.

“What kind of spread are you looking for?” she asked. Geralt gave her a wolfish smile and she fixed him with an unimpressed look though she had to bite back a laugh.

“What questions do you have for me?” she tried again and Geralt sat back against the window, his large frame crouching to fit into the small space.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Can’t you just pull some cards and tell me my future or whatever?”

“If you’re just going to be a dick I’m not doing this,” Yennefer said, moving to put the cards back in their box. A large, scarred hand reached out and rested on top of hers, stalling her movement. She looked up to meet his eyes which were apologetic.

“Ok,” he said, relenting, “I want to know…”

He paused and Yennefer watched breathlessly, chest tightening as she thought about the answers she knew he was still looking for, ones she couldn’t give him no matter how badly she wanted to.

“I want to know how the road trip’s going to go,” he said, and he saw the almost imperceptible shift of Yennefer’s shoulders as she exhaled with relief.

“Fair enough,” she said, continuing her shuffling. The deck was one she’d made herself, from the cardstock she’d crafted from wood pulp to the ink she’d distilled from lavender oil and other harvested ingredients. She’d designed the tarot images herself, making them unique to her. While Geralt had his reservations about magic, he unreservedly admired her ingenuity and craftmanship. He’d made the box for her cards, hewn from oak with a message burned on the inside of the box that both of them were careful not to pay attention to or mention though both knew it was there.

She spread the cards out gently and carefully facedown on the crinkly plastic covered seat.

“Pick a card, any card,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, serious in her craft but playful in her methods. Geralt took his time, staring down at them as though he were trying to will the cards to work in his favor. He was pretty sure that wasn’t how this worked but damn if he wouldn’t try. He finally pointed to one and Yennefer pulled it out, flipping it face up between the two of them.

Disembodied hands reaching out from the bottom of the card posed in supplication to a breaking dawn depicted in shimmering, golden ink. In the middle, as it was in all of her major arcana cards, a roman numeral was drawn; XX.

Geralt looked to Yennefer’s face immediately, trying to read her reaction to figure out if it was good or bad. She looked at the card for a few minutes in silence.

“Well?” Geralt asked finally, unable to wait any longer as the tension built.

“Judgement,” she said. His brows furrowed in concern and she looked up to meet his eyes.

“It’s not bad,” she explained.

“Judgment has rarely been favorable for me,” he said. “Whose judgment?”

“Good question,” she said, looking back down to the card, “It’s usually associated with resurrection and awakening. Second chances or new beginnings. Something coming to an end to make way for something else.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Geralt said, glaring at the card.

“Well you don’t believe in it, so it doesn’t matter much,” Yennefer said with a little shrug, gathering her cards and opening the box to put them back. Her eyes slipped to the words on the inside; all my love. It had been so sweet once upon a time. Now it weighed on her heart.

“I may not have always understood or believed in the methods, but I will always believe in you,” Geralt insisted.

Yennefer didn’t know if it was the urgent need in his voice the betrayed how badly he wanted her to know he believed in her – still, present tense, not past – or the closeness of their bodies in the small space. It could have been the scent of leather and aftershave that muddled her senses or the way his hand brushing against hers triggered memories throughout her body of the way it felt to be held and stroked and touched by him. It could have been the threatening knell of the Judgment card calling for an end and the panic that flooded her at the thought that the end could be this, could be them forever, finally. Destiny making a call she hadn’t been strong enough to commit to fully. Whatever the reason, be it all or none of them, she found herself pressing into his arms, her mouth seeking his and finding him eagerly receptive. His large hands seized her waist and pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him, feeling the hardening length already straining against his jeans. Her hands cupped his face, the familiar sensation of scruff and jaw and soft silver hair twining around her fingers comforting her like a song she’d turn to in times of sorrow. He ran a hand through her long, dark hair, as silky and soft as it had always been, would always be.

“This is a bad idea,” Yennefer murmured as Geralt’s lips moved down the slender column of her neck, tongue laving at the crook of her neck, undoing her in quick succession, aware of all the spots she loved best and therefore he loved too.

“You’re right,” he agreed, a hand cupping one of her breasts through the thin fabric of the cotton crop top she’d worn. “Do you want me to s-”

She cut off the question with a kiss. If she had to answer it, she had to think. And she was tired of thinking. Tired of questioning and guarding and- just tired.

“Shut up. Kiss me. Hold me tight,” she ordered. He growled in response and their bodies fell into an old dance. Hands worked at buttons and clothes were pushed aside and soon they were together again, joining as they had a thousand times before, each time peppered with an extra sense of urgency as they feared it would be the last time.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighed, the words slipping out on the heels of a moan as Geralt rocked into her.

“Gods I’ve missed you too,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers and gripping her tighter.

“I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you,” the words fell from her lips like a confession and she found herself unable to stop them. It had always been hard to hide from Geralt for too long. He always saw her, and she always came back, eager to be found and seen and… other things she feared.

“Yennefer,” he pressed her name against her lips and she tasted the unspoken emotion he felt for her in it. The unspeakable thing that kept them tethered against all odds.

She stopped his mouth with her own, but she could feel him say her name still, every kiss a declaration her body answered in turn. It didn’t take long before she felt the tension building rapidly to a place there’d be no coming back from and Geralt could feel it too, pulling her face back to look her in the eyes, watching her soft flesh warm and redden and her chest rise and fall and her mouth wrap around the final, breathy gasps of her release. The sight alone would have been enough but the way she clenched around him brought him with her and as he came he pressed his head against her chest, feeling her heartbeat flutter rapidly. Yennefer pressed her lips onto his head, her arm wrapping around him and holding in there against her chest for a beat, and then two, and then she began to worry that she would never able to let him go.

“I love you.”

He heard her heart skip a beat and then it was gone, her body pushing away from his too fast for him to stop, already bitterly angry with himself for letting the words out. And then angry that he had to try.

“Yennefer,” he called, quickly tucking himself back in and going after her as she jumped out of the van, pulling a top on quickly and pausing only to button her clothes as she got out.

“Yennefer I love you,” he repeated, knowing there was no way to walk it back so he might as well have it out, “I love you and I know you love me.”

She looked up at him, eyes wild like a wounded animal who’s been cornered and he knew she was dangerous and he loved her for it.

“Geralt don’t,” she said warningly, though she knew it was too late. The thunder, forgotten in their time in the van, rolled louder overhead, echoing the emotions that warred in her.

“I’m not going to ask you to marry me. Not again. But why does that have to be the end of it? Why do we have to pretend that there’s nothing here when there clearly is. What did I do?” his voice cracked at the last word and nearly knocked the breath out of her.

“You didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Then why?” he asked, “Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

“It’s not all about you, Geralt,” she snapped, retreating into anger as the other emotions became too large and terrifying to face any longer. He could see her retreating, see the icy wall she held in place slowly build back up and he grasped her arms, pulling her in as though the added warmth of his body could help melt it away. It only rose quicker, harder, colder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “I’m still here.”

“This was a bad idea,” she repeated, more to himself than him. She wrenched herself out of his grasp and turned, walking into the field with no clear idea of where she was going or what she would do. In any other instance she would have sought out Aevryn but the very thought of her friend twisted her heart further. She couldn’t have Geralt, she couldn’t protect Aevryn. She didn’t really have any right to hate Valdo the way she did when she of all people understood him best. Because what was she doing with Geralt if not practically doing what Valdo did with Aevryn? She’d never been disloyal to Geralt but she was just as inaccessible and just as selfishly pulled between wanting the love and attention she received and pushing everyone away out of fear of being hurt. She knew Valdo couldn’t be trusted because she couldn’t be trusted. Not with her own heart and certainly not with Geralt’s.

Tonight, she’d chosen poorly. Tomorrow, she’d choose better.

Or she’d leave.

#Road Trip:Punk!AU #Vicious Mockery AU #Punk!Geralt #Punk!Yennefer #PunkGeralt! x Punk!Yennefer #Punk!Aevryn #Vicious Mockery

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fadingcoast · 5 years ago

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Death Of The Lie || Chapter 26: Uncovered

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism & @fadingcoast

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: Multi RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!

Chapter 26: Uncovered

The chill humid air of the Alfheim lake filled Loki with the warmth of familiarity, giving him a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was only allowed to enjoy it for a second, however, before a pulse of magnetic energy emanated from where they had apparated.

“That was the alarm,” Loki warned Hela, his magic already weakened by the effect of the pulse. “The guards will be here in seconds.”

Hela nodded her understanding, and struggled to summon a long black cape to cover herself with, while Loki sent a small magical token Hela did not know where.

Several soldiers materialized in front of them, closing in like shadows coming from the trees. All escape routes were covered, their combined magic annulling any attempts of teleporting again. Instinctively Loki put himself between Hela and the soldiers, straightening his spine and taking a deep breath to draw the attention away from her.

“I am-”

“LOKI!?!”

The familiar voice brought a smile to Loki’s face. But he didn’t have time to speak before a plasma blast hit him full on the chest.

“I KNEW IT!!” Another blast knocked him backward. “I KNEW YOU WERE ALIVE!!” Loki tried to shield himself, but his seidr was barely recovering. “YOU MISERABLE LITTLE RAT!” Yet another blast. In all honesty, Loki didn’t mind much. He felt he deserved it. “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME??!” Another blast that hit him right on his lower belly.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please stop!”

Loki was bent over himself, hand held up to make Sigyn stop. Between all the wincing and the burning, he still smiled at her. It only infuriated her more. She glared down at him, hands clenched in two tight fists. Loki straightened up slowly and walked closer, reaching for her hands.

“I am so terribly sorry, my queen-”

Sigyn kneed him right on the groin and he doubled down in pain again.

“I probably deserve that as well,” he admitted in a little voice.

“I hope, for your own sake, that you have an extremely good explanation for all this!”

“He does.”

Sigyn turned to face the cloaked figure that had stood behind Loki. Hela uncovered her head and held herself proudly. She hadn’t even opened her mouth when Sigyn bowed low to the ground.

“Your majesty,” she said with great reverence.

The Alfar guards, though clearly confused, lowered their weapons and took Sigyn’s lead. Each one knelt even lower than their Princess.

A glint of satisfaction sparkled in Hela’s eyes, though she still was perplexed. It had been centuries since anyone had treated her with the respect her position demanded. She eyed Sigyn, seeing familiar traits in her lovely features.

“You are Iwaldis’ child, aren’t you?” Hela asked, eyeing Sigyn. “As bright as your mother, I see.” With a hand gesture, she allowed Sigyn, and the guards, to stand again.

Sigyn gasped with delight, taking a step closer to Hela. “You knew her?”

“Briefly. She taught me about Seidr, in secret.” Hela gave no more information about it, but Loki could tell there was much more to the story.

“I assume you found much more about me, about us, than whatever is left in Asgard.” Loki held Sigyn’s hands and squeezed.

“We must discuss this further at the palace.” She looked at Hela, and then at Loki, returning his gesture. “You are in for a very long history lesson.”

Books piled up on every table in the small council room. Old tomes with ancient smells and yellow pages, kept from falling apart with magic. Loki wondered just how long Sigyn had been researching in his absence, and how much of it she had shared with her father. Sigyn searched for a particular volume and handed it to King Frèyr, pointing out a page to start reading. Loki and Hela listened.

It’s an ancient conflict between Asgard and Jotunheim, traced back to the times of Bor. The Frost Giants were one of the few who opposed Asgard’s rule, and sacrificed many lives to keep their freedom. Before his death, Bor had left instructions to assemble an army so powerful that the Jotunns would have no other option but surrender. When his son Odin ascended to the throne, the army was ready. The most skilled warriors of the Nine Realms came together as part of the Valkyrie Army. The conflict became even more savage and sanguinary.

When the time came for Odin to wed, there was only one woman he wanted: Rindr, General of the Valkyries and his most trusted war advisor.

“In Asgard,” Frèyr paused his reading and turned the book for Loki and Hela to see. “You will find many volumes written about the prowess and victories of the Valkyrie Armada. But there’s too little about how they came to an end.”

Loki looked at the book. On the page next to the one Frèyr was reading, there was a vivid drawing of the Valkyrie Army. It was very similar to the one Hela exposed in the throne room, but at the same time, different. There was nothing glorified about the blood dripping from the swords, or the bodies being trampled by horses. It was brutal in its honesty.

Hela traced her fingers over the drawing of her mother, and read the caption at the bottom.

The Jotnar king, Ymir, outsmarted King Odin’s strategy and led Queen Rindr and her army to a trap. The Valkyries were all slaughtered, and the Queen captured. It is said that King Ymir offered mercy.

“Mercy!” Hela scoffed. “She would not come home defeated and without her army. Asgard would not tolerate the indignity of defeat.”

“What happened then?” Loki asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Depends on who you ask.” Hela pursed her lips. “According to Odin, she was sacrificed in the middle of the plaza, her head on a spike for everyone to see.” She gulped and took a breath. “In truth, she commited suicide. Valkyries follow the King’s orders to either victory or death. There was no victory, so they died.”

“I have read of such a ritual, for fallen warriors to kill themselves honorably and still go to Valhalla,” Sigyn offered. Hela nodded.

“I was but a little girl, growing up listening to lies. Being fed nothing but rage and thirst for vengeance.” Hela flipped through the book, turning its pages to find images of Odin’s battle and the death of King Ymir. “Odin used to say that I would take my mother’s place by his side, and lay waste to those who oppose us.” Flicking through more pages, she stopped on a small drawing of Laufey ascending to the throne of Jotunheim. “For a while, I was exactly that. A weapon for him to use. I would come to regret it later.”

Loki’s mind wandered back to all the vandalized books, all the information that had been lost.

“There is no way Odin could have gotten away with it. Someone must have known.”

“They were permanently silenced, I assure you,” Hela said, venom in her words.

Loki looked to Freyr. “And the other realms?”

“The war against Jotunheim was not our war. We were purposely left out, told to mind our own business.” Frèyr shrugged. “But the Alfar value one thing above all else, and that’s knowledge. They knew something was amiss. It took great effort to track down the truth, but they found it.”

Hela made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl. “And they had to keep Odin from knowing, or it would have ended up swept under the rug, with everything else, and everyone else.”

Loki knew this was true. If Odin had known Alfheim had that knowledge, he would have burned it to the ground. Hela stared at the drawing of Laufey, her breathing becoming more audible and rapid by the second.

Frèyr softened his voice when he spoke to Hela again. “There was no way we could have known about your marriage to Laufey, though, or your pregnancy.”

“The ceremony was done in secret, in Jotunheim,” Hela said with a small shake of her head. “Jotnar tradition is different. Their temple is their book, and holds their history. I had already been -” She paused to clear her throat. “Even after my banishment, I knew Odin was spying on me. It was only a matter of time before he would find out I was with child.”

Loki wished he could melt into the chair, but Sigyn held his hand. He was hanging desperately onto every word from Hela’s mouth and he had to remind himself to breathe. A lifetime of lies, finally leading to the truth, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“Do you…” Loki cleared his throat and forced himself to get the words out. “Do you know what happened the night I was taken to Asgard?”

Hela’s face paled, and she stared at her hands in her lap. A few moments passed before she could gather herself together. When she looked back up at Loki her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“That was the night you were born,” Hela managed to say. She took a deep breath and continued, her long fingers turning the pages of the book in front of her until she saw Laufey’s portrait again. “Odin had only just found out about you. You could say he was less than pleased. Less than two days later he came to Jotunheim with an army to drag me back to Asgard.” Finally she met Loki’s eyes. “I was in labor.

“Laufey ordered me to hide, so I did, for you. Once you were born Odin was close to discovering where I was, so I used what strength I had to teleport you to the temple. That’s all I know.” Shocked silence followed her last statement. It didn’t take much stretch of the imagination for Loki to figure out what happened after that.

The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?

“One fact still remains, my queen.” Frèyr said very solemnly. “You are the rightful heir to the throne. Alfheim will pledge allegiance to you, and help you reclaim what is rightfully yours.”

“Why?” Hela said, her eyes narrow slits as she closed the book in her hand.

Frèyr said nothing, but looked at Loki and Sigyn holding hands, making it clear that Loki was the one they were helping. Hela nodded, her chest tightening at the sight of her son in such distress.

Frèyr gave a lighthearted smile, trying to lighten up the mood. He ordered his maids to arrange a room for Hela, and have dinner served, ignoring protests from both her and Loki. There was nothing either of them could do, he insisted. They needed to rest, gather their strength and plan for the next step. They all knew Asgard wasn’t going to bend so easily.

After supper, Loki walked Hela to his old room to find none other than Gwyn pulling fresh sheets onto the bed. The old maid smothered Loki with her powerful hugs and introduced herself to Hela. After some good-natured chastising, Loki let Gwyn take over and made his way to Sigyn’s chambers. He had a lot of explaining to do.

Sigyn poured a glass of wine for herself and offered some to Loki, but he politely refused. The two of them had been catching up for over an hour, but they both knew they were getting to the most difficult part of their conversation. The part Loki was purposefully avoiding. So he directed the discussion to the exact point when all of Odin’s lies crumbled.

“…Odin is about to die, and he reveals you as heir to the throne of Asgard, rather than the golden boy.” Sigyn took a long sip of her wine and smiled over her glass at Loki. “How did Thor take it?”

“He didn’t have time to take it. He was flung from the Bifrost before we made it back.”

Sigyn coughed, spilling red liquid down the front of her dress. “How??”

“It’s a…” Loki didn’t want to get into details, but Sigyn’s stare made him continue. “I called for the Bifrost, we all got sucked into it, and Thor attacked her, so she retaliated. I’m not sure if he’s… well, let’s just say the odds are against him now.”

Placing her empty wine glass on her nightstand, Sigyn shook her head, reaching for Loki’s hand. “That had to have been hard for you, even after all you’d been through with him. I’m sure he’s out there somewhere, though, he’s a tough guy.”

“I suppose.”

Sigyn gently ran her thumb over Loki’s palm in small circles. “You have yet to tell me what happened to you after you - after your fight with Thor, when you learned about Laufey. Before Thor brought you back to Asgard.”

A flash of cold shot down Loki’s spine, and he gulped hard against the lump in his throat. “I wish I could tell you, but-”

“It’s okay.” Sigyn gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand. “I am an empath, Loki. It’s been clear to me for a long time, and with the growth of my powers I learned to control it. Master Indilwen said I would make a great healer, but alas, I’m a princess.” She scooted closer to him on the bed. “You don’t have to tell me. You can show me.”

Loki nearly sighed with relief. “What do I have to do?”

“Let me in.”

Loki turned to face Sigyn, legs crossed on her bed, and took both of her hands. He drew a deep breath and allowed his defenses to drop, letting Sigyn’s magic flow inside of him. Quickly he realized doing that meant he was also reliving everything he was showing her. His first instinct was to resist the memory, but Sigyn’s warm energy slowly began to soothe him.

Flashes of time appeared before his mind’s eye, and Loki felt Sigyn’s hands tremble more with each one. The cold metal floor of a prison cell, the fierce dry heat of the Sanctuary II’s engine reactor core shoving razor sharp tendrils of scorching pain down his throat and into his lungs. Days spent dangling by his throat so only the tips of his toes touched the red hot floor. Long, clammy fingers shoving needlelike spikes under his skin, the same creature laughing at his defiance and speaking in honeyed verses praising the Mad Titan. One voice ringing out over the rest, the voice of the one who wished to control him.

How do you break a frost giant?

Loki could feel his skin turning cold. He wanted to pull away from Sigyn before he hurt her, but the harder he fought the more she held him.

Endless days of training, fighting against the Titan’s children with no rest until he won. Words fed to him to condition his broken mind to Thanos’ cause. Glorious purpose… glad tidings… freedom is life’s great lie… you were made to be ruled…

No! Stop! That’s not me!

Sensing Loki’s distress Sigyn released his hands, wincing a bit from the frost that had formed between them. Loki’s arms faded back to his usual pale color, but his face was bright red, tears streaking down his face as he stared off at the wall behind Sigyn’s head.

“Loki…”

Loki shook his head, trying to compose himself. It had been too long since the last time he let himself show any emotions, and wanted to hide them back as soon as possible. Sigyn didn’t push, and gave him space, wiping her own tears in the meantime. It took them several minutes to calm down.

“I don’t know how or why I survived. But I did.” Loki spoke again, his voice still broken.

“The norns still have plans for you, it seems.”

“Can they be good plans? Or are they just toying with me to torture me ever further?”

Sigyn took his hand, and Loki saw the worn gold ring still on her finger. “I guess we’ll find out,” she assured him. “If your fears turn out to be true, we’ll fight back.”

“We?”

Loki was, to say the least, surprised to hear Sigyn say that. He was convinced that given the new information about his true parentage and what he really was, she would be disgusted, she would reject him, and obviously call off their engagement. Her assurance that her feelings had not waned was more than he could have ever expected from her.

“Don’t look at me like that! We are still going to be married!” She stated matter-of-factly, as if there had never been any question of it. “Just… after all this is over. Then you - we - can finally live in peace.”

Loki burst out laughing. “As you wish, my queen.”

<< Chapter 25 – Chapter 27 >>

@nikkalia @xalgaliareptx @christy-winchester @silverhart93 @honeybournehippy @unseelie1963 @angryowlet @thelittlestlittlecutiepie @moonlightprime @velvetzybanshee @bengalaas @damalseer

#Loki #Loki (marvel)#Hela #Hela (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #Hela fanfition #Loki Helason #death of the lie #DOTL

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hunnywrites · 5 years ago

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Chapter Four: Lifeguards On Duty

Summary: The town of Hawkins has been turned upside down with the news that Will Byers has suddenly gone missing. Teddi Larsson and Billy Hargrove are gonna get to the bottom of things. Season one AU.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/OFC

A/N: I guess I’m bumping the rating on this to mature now. I should throw out a disclaimer that I sort of hate writing smut so that’s why it’s so brief. We’re also getting our first glimpse of papa bear Hopper. Trust and believe that if he could legally adopt Teddi and Billy he totally would. Hope you enjoy!

Once Teddi and Billy made sure that Dustin, Lucas and Eleven made it home safe, they headed back to Billy’s place. The lights inside the living room where on. Probably Susan waiting up for Billy and Max to come home. Teddi parked her van a little ways down the street and hurried to the back side of the house to Billy’s window. She rubbed at her arms roughly to try and warm herself up as she waited for him to let her in.

His light flicked on, and Billy quietly opened his window and helped pull Teddi inside. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s already on the news about Will. Susan had a million questions.” Teddi pulled her puffy jacket off and plopped down onto Billy’s bed.

“Is Max okay?” she asked quietly.

Billy sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. “She’s gonna be okay. It’ll just take awhile. Susan’s making her hot chocolate.” he said with a small laugh. Like he thought it was funny that Susan seemed to think hot chocolate could fix the fact that Max’s friend was dead.

Teddi’s eyes burned. Her bottom lip was trembling again. She clasped a hand tightly over her mouth to try and quiet the sob that escaped her. Will was dead. He was gone. She would never see him again. And the last image she had of him was his body being pulled out of the quarry. She felt Billy place a kiss on the top of her head, and his hand rubbing slow circles on her back as she cried. Teddi knew that he hated it when people cried. He would always say that he never knew what to do. But he was better at comforting than he thought. All she needed was for him to sit there with her.

She cried for Will. And for Joyce and Johnathan. She cried for Mike, Lucas, Max and Dustin. Even El. Why did life have to be so unfair? Why did Will have to be taken so young? Why had Benny felt so alone that he had killed himself? Why did she, Billy and Max have to live in such terrible households?

Eventually her crying quieted. Teddi wiped roughly at her eyes and sniffed loudly. “...You want me to get Susan to make you some hot chocolate?” Billy asked lowly, a hint of teasing in his voice. Teddi let out a soft laugh and shook her head.

“I’m okay...god, I should probably head home.”

“Stay,” he said into her hair. “You shouldn’t have to be alone tonight.”

Teddi sniffed again and frowned up at him. “What about Neil and Susan? We’ll get caught.”

“Let me worry about it. We can skip school tomorrow. Go out to the lake or something.” His hand moved from her shoulder to her waist, and he picked Teddi up with ease. She twisted around and settled onto his lap, straddling him. She idly played with the collar of his jean jacket as she considered his offer. Maybe Will’s death had made her realize that life was short. Maybe this was a seize the moment type of thing. Maybe it was because she felt so vulnerable. Or maybe it was the way Billy was softly nipping at her neck, his fingers digging gently into her hips...

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.” Teddi said suddenly. Billy pulled away from her almost as if she had slapped him.

He blinked a few times. “...You don’t want to do what anymore?” he asked carefully.

“This. Us,” Billy only frowned and she shook her head. “I mean...god, what do I mean?” she asked herself, her hands grabbing onto his jacket tightly. “I don’t want to see other people anymore. I want you. Us. I want you to take me out on a real date. Even if it’s just to fool around at the drive in,” she said with a soft laugh. “I mean, I…” why couldn’t she just say the words? She felt it. She knew she did.

“...Are you saying you love me, Larsson?” he wasn’t teasing her. He said it quietly, as if someone was trying to listen in on what they were saying.

Teddi let out a relieved sigh. The fact that Billy knew exactly what she was trying to say solidified her decision to speak her mind. It also gave her the boost of confidence she needed. “I love you.” she repeated.

Billy smirked at her, pressing two fingers behind his ear and turning his head. “Sorry. I don’t think I heard that. You mind repeating it?”

Teddi smiled, rolling her eyes and giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Shut up, dick.” Billy chuckled, pulling Teddi to him and kissing her deeply. There was a small part of her that worried he wouldn’t say it back. She sort of expected it. Billy had grown up with the idea that showing genuine affection made him look weak. And while he had made leaps and bounds in that area, he still had issues every now and then. He didn’t have any trouble with physical affection, but the emotional affection was still a sore subject.

Billy’s hand ran up and under the back of Teddi’s shirt, his fingers drawing circles on her skin. She pulled away from him and took his face gently in her hands. “...And don’t feel like you have to say it back, okay?” she added shyly.

Billy shook his head. He tucked a strand of Teddi’s sandy blonde hair behind her ear. “But I do,” he said. Teddi’s heart was hammering so hard in her chest she was positive that he could probably feel it. There was a second where his guard went up again. He almost looked like he regretted saying it. But it was gone in a flash. He knew he was safe with Teddi.

That casual smirk was back. “Guess it’s you and me ‘till the end then, Larsson.”

“‘Till the end…” Teddi mused with a smirk of her own. “...I don’t know. Not sure if I’ll be able to stand you for that long.” she teased. Billy scoffed and tossed Teddi off of his lap and back onto his bed.

He hovered over her, Teddi’s hands finding a home on his biceps. “If I have to put up with your mouth then you have to put up with me.” he grumbled, kissing her again. “How ‘bout I put that Kate Bush shit you like on and we consummate this thing?”

Teddi fell into a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth to quiet her laughter and nodded. “Took the words right out of my mouth.” she teased.

Something about the way Billy touched her that night was different than usual. It was almost like he was afraid he might break her. Her own hands felt like they couldn’t stop shaking. It was more than just her nerves being shot from the night’s events. It was like the two of them saying those three little words had somehow changed the entire dynamic of their relationship.

Their movements were clumsy. The pair shared quiet laughter each time their heads knocked together or when Teddi bit down on Billy’s lip just a little too hard. The butterflies in Teddi’s stomach were almost overwhelming. Her stomach flipped and turned with every touch, every kiss, and every slow rock of Billy’s hips. Teddi’s fingers wound themselves into Billy’s hair as that wonderfully warm feeling joined the butterflies in her stomach. His fingers dug softly into her hips, his nails leaving small crescent moons in her skin.

Teddi’s eyes still ached from all the crying she had done earlier that night. Her eyelids were drooping sleepily as she curled up at Billy’s side. He was smoking and talking to her about something. She couldn’t really make out what. For the first time in days her mind seemed clear. Empty. Eventually she drifted off into a deep sleep. She didn’t dream that night.

---

Billy woke up the next morning with a start. Someone was knocking on his bedroom door. “Billy?” Susan called softly. Teddi stirred gently next to him. He shot out of bed, quickly getting dressed before popping his head out of his door. Susan smiled at him somewhat nervously, her hands fiddling together as she hovered awkwardly out in the hall. “Could you do me a favor? Max is staying home today, and I have errands to run...could you maybe watch her? I’ve been so worried since we heard the news about Will…” she swallowed thickly. “She’s not speaking much. I don’t think she’ll be much of a bother.”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded. “Sure, Susan. No problem,” Susan could drive Billy crazy on a good day. Now with everything going on and the added fact that he had a naked, sleeping Teddi in his bed made him want to all but shove Susan out of the house. “I’ll see you later, huh?” he shut his door, whirling around to focus on Teddi. He almost didn’t want to wake her up. She looked so peaceful.

He crawled back into bed, wrapping an arm around her middle and burying his face in her neck. “Ted, come on. Time to wake up. Susan’s gone so we’re in the clear.” much like Billy, Teddi wasn’t much of a morning person. Teddi let out a whine like groan and turned over, hiding her face in her pillow.

“Can’t we just stay here?” she asked, her voice muffled.

Billy let out a chuckle. “Yeah, sure,” he pulled his shirt over his head. “But as much as I don’t want you to, you should probably put this on. Max’s is staying home.”

Teddi grumbled, snatching his shirt and slipping it on. As if on cue Max knocked on Billy’s door before slowly peeking inside. “...Can you give me a ride to Mike’s?”

“Now? It’s seven AM.” Billy muttered, his lips clamped around a cigarette as he lit it.

“He says it’s important. Something about Will and El.” she explained. Billy only rolled his eyes. Max looked over at Teddi, who was bundled up under the covers, with a pleading look. “Teddi, make him give me a ride.”

Billy scoffed. “She can’t make me do anything, Max.”

If Teddi was given 900 guesses as to what Mike could possibly have to say about Will and El she probably wouldn’t be able to guess. So she was pretty intrigued by it. Plus, she wanted to check in on Eleven after the way Mike had treated her the night before at the quarry. “Come on, Billy. Let’s give her a ride. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Billy shot her a look. “You honestly have to ask that?” he looked over at Max, and then back at Teddi. This wouldn’t be a fight he’d win. “Jesus, fine. I’ll take you.” Max was out of the room and down the hall to change nearly before Billy could even agree. He looked over at Teddi, who was failing to hide a smile. “...You don’t make me do anything.” he repeated firmly.

“No, no of course not.” she said, crawling over him to get out of bed.

Mrs. Wheeler wasn’t home when they arrived. Mike said she took Holly out to run errands and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. “We have to get El to school. So she can call Will.” he explained as he lead Teddi, Billy and Max down to the basement.

Teddi and Billy shared a look. “...What do you mean so she can call Will?” Teddi asked carefully.

“That body they pulled out of the water last night wasn’t Will.” Mike said firmly.

“Mike…” Max said with a soft sigh.

“No! You have to trust me. Last night Eleven called Will on my walkie. He’s still alive. He was singing that song he likes so much. But she can’t call him for long. So we need a bigger radio.”

“The AV club.” Max said, as if it were obvious.

“Exactly. So we’re trying to disguise El so we can get her there without anyone noticing her.” as the four of them entered the basement, Lucas and Dustin were fitting a blonde wig on Eleven’s head. She smiled when she saw Teddi, Billy and Max.

“Oh yeah, that’s not conspicuous at all.” Billy said sarcastically. Teddi elbowed him harshly in his side. Eleven was hovering awkwardly, her fingers fidgeting with each other as her wide eyes surveyed each person in the room.

Teddi leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. “What do you think, El? I’m digging the new look.”

El smiled softly and nodded. “Pretty.”

“Very pretty,” Teddi agreed with a smile. “...Has Mike been feeding you?”

Lucas let out a snort. “He gives her half of whatever his mom makes him.” he said. Mike shot him a cold look.

Teddi held out her hand. “Come on, I’ll make you something while these guys finish up their grand scheme. Can’t call Will on an empty stomach, right?” The thing was, Teddi wasn’t much of a cook. She lived off things you could pop in a microwave and fast food. But she figured anything she could make would be better than Mike’s lukewarm leftovers.

“So...how are things with Mike? Did he apologize?” Teddi asked as she started to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

Eleven nodded. “Yes.”

Teddi looked over her shoulder at the girl and smiled. “...You don’t talk much, huh?” she asked. El shook her head, a shy smile forming on her lips. “That’s okay. I can talk enough for the both of us. At least that’s what Billy says,” she said with a soft snort.

There wasn’t much in the way of microwaveable food. Which didn’t really surprised Teddi much since it was Karen Wheeler’s kitchen. Eventually she pulled out a box of Eggos from the freezer, holding it up to Eleven. “How ‘bout it?”

Eleven noticeably perked up and nodded. “A girl after my own heart. I’ll make you my super special breakfast of champions.” she popped four waffles into the toaster.

“You can’t feed her waffles and coke.” Billy said as he walked into the kitchen.

“And what should I feed her?” Teddi asked, grabbing a can of coke and a jar of strawberry jam from the fridge. Eleven watched the exchange quietly, observing the two teens.

“I don’t know...what do kids with superpowers eat?”

Teddi rolled her eyes. “What do you think they eat? Radioactive rocks?” Billy pulled a face at her. Teddi spread the jam on each waffle, stacking them onto a plate and topping it off with some whipped cream. “There ya go, Ellie Bean.” El looked at the treat with wide eyes before digging in.

Billy groaned beside her. “If you name it you’ll get attached, Ted.” he warned in a sort of sing songy way.

Teddi shot him a look. “She is not an it, Billy. And will you stop it with that already? I’m being nice.” El wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. She was nearly shovelling the waffles into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Billy opened his mouth to argue, but Max and the rest of the kids came running up the stairs. Max looked between Billy and Teddi, taking in their angry expressions. “...What are you two bickering about now?”

“Nothing.” they said at the same time.

Billy gave Teddi one last look before turning to Mike. “Can we get this over with? Go get in the car.” he ordered, shooing the kids through the kitchen and out the front door. Eleven shoved the last bite of waffles in her mouth, wiping some excess whipped cream away with the back of her hand. She smiled up happily at Teddi before running off to join her friends in the van.

If you name it you’ll get attached. Teddi scoffed at Billy’s words. And why couldn’t she? What was so wrong with that? Eleven didn’t have anyone. Why couldn’t that be Teddi? She knew that this was probably some deep, psychological thing that a therapist would have a field day with. Trying to make up for the shitty childhood she had and all that.

She didn’t really care.

---

Teddi and Billy dropped the kids and their bikes off at the middle school. They promised that once El got in contact with Will they would ride their bikes back to Mikes and call them to tell them what happened. Now the pair were at a diner that sat on Hawkin’s main street.

“You think they’ll find anything?” Teddi asked, absently stirring her strawberry milkshake with her straw. She had her own doubts. Mainly because they had seen Will’s body the night before. If he was really alive, how could anyone possibly explain something like that?

“Nope.” Billy answered firmly. His mouth was full with chilli cheese fries.

Teddi let out a loud sigh and sunk further into her seat. “Can’t you be a little more optimistic?”

“Nope,” he repeated, taking a large swig of coke. He let out a soft sigh when he saw the sad look on Teddi’s face. “...What do you think they’ll find, Ted? I mean, you saw Will’s body-”

“I know. I know...I don’t know what I expect. I just hope they find something. For their sake, I guess.”

Their conversation was cut off when there was a loud knock on the window beside them. Chief Jim Hopper was looking down at the two teens with a stern look, his hands on his hips and his jaw set tightly. “Great…” Billy muttered.

Hopper walked into the diner and over to the two teens. He wasn’t in his uniform, which Teddi found a little odd. “Aren’t you two supposed to be in school?” he asked, checking his watch.

Billy and Teddi exchanged a look. “...We’re sad about Byers.” Billy said eventually.

Teddi rolled her eyes. “We are sad about Will.” she shot Billy a dirty look.

“You know, Powell and Callaghan are looking for you two. They’re over at the high school questioning your friends.”

Billy noticeably tensed up. “Questioning us for what? We haven’t done shit.”

Hopper looked over his shoulder quickly before sliding into the booth next to Teddi. “Barb Holland’s missing. We got a call from Karen Wheeler. She says you’re the last ones to see her.”

Teddi’s eyes widened. “Barb’s missing?” she asked. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. “What do you mean she’s missing? I thought she was sick.”

Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Who said she was sick?”

Billy let out a low groan and sunk in his seat. “Nice going, Larsson.” he muttered.

Teddi glared over at Billy. When she turned back to Hopper her expression softened. Teddi was more confused than she had ever been. There had been so many twists and turns the past few days that she barely knew which way was up. But she knew that Hopper would listen. He might not believe her, but he would listen. “Barb didn’t come to school yesterday. Nancy was worried because I guess Barb left the party early-”

“We were already gone by then.” Billy interjected, earning another glare from Teddi.

“So I told her that maybe Barb was just sick or something. She cut her hand-”

Hopper held up his hand to stop her. “She cut her hand? How?”

“...Shotgunning a beer.” Teddi said, not meeting the chief’s eyes. Now it was Billy’s turn to glare at her.

Thankfully Hopper only gave what passed as a stern look before moving on. “But you two haven’t seen her since this party? Haven’t heard from her?”

Teddi shook her head. “We left to go pick up Max just after she cut her hand. And he probably couldn’t pick her out of a lineup,” she jabbed a thumb in Billy’s direction. He didn’t argue. “Do you think something bad happened? Do you think it’s related to what happened to Will?”

Hopper gave her an odd sort of look. Like somehow they were both in on the same secret and he didn’t want anyone else to know that they were in on it. But it was gone in a flash. “What happened to Will was an accident. It’s horrible, and it’s sad, but it was an accident. We’re gonna get to the bottom of what happened to Barb. And until then I want you two to keep your noses where they belong, okay? No more parties after curfew, and no more skipping school,”

Teddi and Billy both shifted awkwardly. Hopper reached over and took one of Billy’s fries. “I’m gonna look the other way this time. But I want you two back in school tomorrow. And you stop worrying so much, kid,” he put a gentle hand on Teddi’s shoulder. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” Billy said with a smug look. Teddi rolled her eyes.

Hopper looked over at Teddi with a sort of teasing smile. “See? You know if it’s serious if me and him are agreeing. You two stay safe, okay? I gotta get going,” he rose from the booth, turning and pointing a finger at each of them. “School tomorrow.” he reminded them. Billy gave a mock salute and Hopper was off.

There was a long silence before Teddi finally spoke up. “We need to do something.”

Billy let out a sigh. “Like what, Ted? Go monster hunting?”

“Exactly.”

“Teddi-”

Teddi leaned across the table and looked at Billy with a tired expression. “Did you see Hop’s face when I brought up Will? It’s like he knows something. Maybe he knows what we know, and he just doesn’t want to say it.”

“You mean about the Demo…” he drifted off, clearly not able to remember the name.

“Demogorgon,” Teddi finished for him. Billy gave her a look. One that said ‘do you hear how crazy you sound?’ Of course she knew that. But she was past the point of caring. “They said that Will drowned, Billy. What are the chances that Will drowns and Barb runs away? You know that Quarry. We used to hang out there all the time in middle school. If you fell into it you would be dead before you hit the water. Every single bone in your body would break. You saw his body. Did it look like anything was broken to you?”

Billy couldn’t argue that point. There had been this rumor when they were kids that some guy had fallen into the quarry back in the 60’s, and when the cops dragged his body out of the water he looked like a jellyfish. Will definitely hadn’t looked like that. He hadn’t had a scratch on him.

Billy took another bite of his chili fries before thoughtfully looking over at Teddi. “Well, what’s the plan, Teddi Bear? We’re gonna go camp out in the woods until something tries to kill us?”

---

“This is one of the dumbest fucking things I’ve ever done,” Billy muttered. “And that includes the time we were gonna run away to Disneyland when we were ten.” Billy and Teddi were sitting in Teddi’s van. They had driven a little ways into the woods, not far enough to lose their way from the main road, but far enough in that no one driving past could see them.

“...That was a pretty decent plan.” Teddi defended. It wasn’t. Somehow they had seemed to think they could actually walk to California with nothing but some clothes and their toothbrushes shoved into their backpacks. Hopper had found them about twenty minutes into their grand escape plan. He took them to the bakery down the street from the police station, bought them both donuts and talked to them about what things were like at home before he took them back to school. Steve had been pretty pissed that they hadn’t invited him along.

Billy turned in his seat and pointed back where there was a bottle of kerosene and a can of Billy’s hairspray they had tossed into the back of the van. “How can you say any plan is worse than this?” he asked.

“It was your idea to be Smokey Bear’s worst nightmare, Hargrove. Not mine,” she argued. Teddi shut the van off and hopped out. Billy grabbed the kerosene and hairspray and got out behind her, muttering angrily. “Besides, we have to be able to defend ourselves somehow, right?”

Billy gave her a tired look. “Defend ourselves against the make believe monster? Oh, sure,” he turned to the woods that sat before them. “Watch out, Demogorgons! Lifeguards on duty!” he called sarcastically.

“Be quiet!” Teddi hissed out, slapping her hand over his mouth. “If there is something out there it’ll know that we’re here!”

Billy rolled his eyes and pushed Teddi’s hand away. “Let’s just get this over with.” he muttered.

Teddi let out an annoyed huff and took off ahead of Billy. She hated when he got like this. All grouchy and stubborn. It was rare that it was aimed in her direction, but Teddi was never one to put up with Billy’s attitude.

Billy’s jaw tightened as he watched his girlfriend venture further into the woods without him. He let out an annoyed breath out of his nose and followed after her, nearly stomping like a toddler having a tantrum. Teddi flicked on her flashlight, the bright beam illuminating their path.

Billy was firm in his belief that there wasn’t anything in the woods. But still, he had to admit he felt a little uneasy the further they walked. It wasn’t too far. If he turned around he could probably still see the outline of Teddi’s van. But he couldn’t help but feel like they shouldn’t be there. Like they were trespassing almost.

He felt like they were being watched. The little hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Billy tried his hardest to make his eyes adjust to the dark. He couldn’t see anything or anyone. But there was something out there. He could hear something moving around them. Getting closer.

Teddi jumped a little when she felt Billy’s hand gently touch her arm. He had caught up to her, taking a step or two ahead as if he were trying to shield her from something. She opened her mouth to let out some sassy comment when Billy held a finger up to his lips to quiet her. She frowned up at him, watching in confusion as he surveyed the area around them. He started fumbling for the lighter in his jean jacket.

“Billy, what-” Teddi’s question was cut off by a horrible screech. It was that same horrible sound they had heard the night Will went missing. It was close. Teddi’s entire body started to tingle. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking. The scream had been so loud she could hear a quiet ringing in her ears.

Billy wrapped his hand around Teddi’s wrist and he pulled her closer to him. “We’re going back to the van.” it wasn’t a suggestion. Teddi wasn’t going to argue. There was a loud snap somewhere nearby. Teddi jumped at the sound. Something was coming towards them. Slowly.

Teddi couldn’t help herself. She shined the light of her flashlight to their left. The beam of light was shaky, but she saw a flash of something moving over behind the trees. She let out a small gasp, and Billy’s hand tightened around her.

“What the fuck is that?” Billy asked. He was breathing heavily. He pushed Teddi further behind him and took on a defensive stance. It was an animal, he thought. It was too big to be a coyote. Too thin to be a bear. Whatever it was, he was sure it was stalking them.

There was another loud snap. Teddi pointed the flashlight out in front of them. She’d caught it this time. Neither of them knew what they were looking at. It was...a creature. Nothing they’d ever seen before. It was on all fours. It had paused mid stride. It had a long, thin, almost sort of gangly grey body. It didn’t have a face. It’s head almost looked like a flower that hadn’t bloomed just yet.

Teddi’s hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the flashlight. She felt Billy’s entire body go tense. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she almost hadn’t heard him. “When I tell you to run, you run back to the van and you don’t look back.”

The monster slowly rose to its feet before them. It easily had to be seven feet tall. Teddi suddenly noticed the way that its long, thin fingers ended in sharp points. She thought she would be sick. It’s face opened, revealing six red petal like appendages that were lined with rows of tiny, sharp teeth. It let out that horrible scream again. Billy told her to run. She did. She knew that Billy was behind her as she carried herself back through the woods and to the van. The monster wasn’t far behind them. Teddi let out a startled gasp as it screeched again, stumbling over some branches.

Her van was close by. She could see it through her blurry, tear filled vision. Teddi willed her legs to move faster. She couldn’t let herself think about what would happen if that thing caught her.

Billy was telling her to get in the van. He had slowed down behind her. Teddi threw the driver’s side door open as Billy came to a stop in front of the van. He held up the lighter to the can of hairspray, a large flame shooting out in front of him and towards the creature.

It screeched again. Like it was in pain. Teddi started the van, screaming for Billy to get in. He didn’t let up with his makeshift flamethrower until he was safely back inside next to her. “Hit it.” He said firmly.

“What?” Teddi asked helplessly. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Run the fucking thing over!” He yelled.

Teddi slammed her foot down on the gas. There was a loud crunch. The entire van lurched forward as she collided with the monster. She was sure the front of her van had been crushed. It felt like she had run into a semi truck. Teddi threw the van into reverse and sped backwards towards the main road before taking off down the street.

She didn’t let up on the gas until Mirkwood was no longer in view.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x oc

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wannabe-bella · 7 years ago

Text

Headlines

Part 4 to the “Your Side” story. Your Side Beca’s Side Explanations

Headlines

Quietly, Beca motions for the Bellas to remain silent as she sneaks up behind Chloe. Wrapping her arms around the redhead's waist she whispers a "Boo!" into her ear.

Jumping, Chloe glances over her shoulder to find Beca cheekily grinning back at her, "Stop doing that!" She says, laughing. Rolling her eyes as Beca shakes her head, she leans into her touch, "Where were you?"

"Somewhere..." Beca smirks.

"Well, isn't that specific," Chloe says.

"It's super specific." Beca agrees, before adding, "I was out."

"I noticed. Where did Jesse go?" Chloe asks, noticing that he didn't return with her.

"Oh, he'll be here soon, he's just in the middle of something right now." The brunette explains, "In the meantime, how about we go for a walk?" She suggests.

"Oh," Chloe raises an eyebrow, "And where would we be going?"

Kissing Chloe's cheek, Beca whispers, "Somewhere special," into her ear before pulling back from the embrace. "Come on," She says, grabbing the girls hand and entwining it in her own.

"You're all about specifics today, aren't you?" Beaming, the redhead follows her girlfriend out of the bar. Giggling as Beca drags her along the streets of Copenhagen, Chloe can't help the joy that fills her from the bright smile that adorns the brunette's face.

"Beca! What are you doing?" She suddenly exclaims as Beca opens a side gate with a clear sign stating, "NO ENTRY," written across it in bold.

"Don't worry," Beca eases, "We'll be fine." She assures with a wink before pushing the gate open and beckoning the girl to walk through. "After you." She says with a smile.

"I feel so rebellious," Chloe giggles while entering, "I'm assuming this is how you felt during your teenage years."

"Are you assuming I was a teenage rebel?" Beca questions, shutting the gate behind her, "Because if you are, then you would be damn right!"

"Sure, sure," Chloe chuckles, "So, is this it?" She asks, motioning to the alleyway they're currently standing in, "Is this somewhere special?"

"Oh, yeah," Beca answers, taking hold of the girl's hand again, "This dark alleyway is the place I wanted to bring you."

"I knew it!" Chloe bursts with wide eyes, "You were planning of murdering me!"

Shaking her head with a chuckle, Beca continues to walk forward and mumbles a "You're such a psycho," before dragging Chloe along.

Stopping at the end of the alley way, Beca looks over to see Chloe's eyes light up.

"Wow..." The redhead says, looking out over the river currently in front of them. "How'd you find this place?" She asks, turning to Beca.

"Jesse did," She says with a shrug, "When him and Benji were out yesterday, they stumbled across this place," She explains, "Pretty awesome, right?"

"Yeah. It's really awesome." Chloe says in amazement bringing her attention back to the river. The moonlight glistening down, adding a sparkle to it.

"He came to me earlier to tell me about it, and if I'm correct, he should be meeting us 'round about now."

"Wait, wh-"

"BECAW!" Jesse booms from the bottom of the small hill they're stood on. Glancing down, Beca gives him a small wave.

"Hey, Jess," She greets once he's beside them, "Everything set up?" She asks.

Nodding, he pats her on the shoulder, "Have fun."

"Thanks, man," Beca says before he departs.

"What was that all about?" Chloe asks, watching as he vanishes through the alleyway.

"I'll show you." Beca replies. "Come on," She tips her head towards the hill before directing them down.

Opening her eyes, Chelsea lets out a yawn as her vision goes into focus. Reaching out for her phone, she switches it on to find that it's 8am. So, deciding to get up, she slides from the comfort of the duvet, stretching out her legs before making her way to the kitchen.

While waiting for her coffee, she clicks onto her Instagram when something catches her eye.

DJ MITCHELL SPOTTED OUT WITH EX-GIRLFRIEND? BECHLOE BACK TOGETHER? SWIPE TO FIND OUT MORE!

Furrowing her brows, she sees it was posted not long ago by one of the news outlets she follows. The post itself includes a picture of her girlfriend standing beside a redheaded girl. Said redheaded girl being none other than Chloe Beale.

Chelsea knows who the famous Chloe Beale is, not because Beca has told her but from reading about her in past articles about Beca. From what she knows, they had ended on bad terms after a 4 year long relationship.

She'll admit, they were a cute couple. Beca and Chloe were the 'it' couple for as long as she can remember. And in fact, she may have been a slight #Bechloe supporter a few years back before meeting Beca.

Chelsea and Beca have only known each other for a few months, they started off as friends until one day Chelsea decided to ask Beca out. The green-eyed girl had always had a crush on the DJ but never thought she'd actually meet her, never the less date her!

So, when opportunities came, Chelsea went for it and shockingly Beca agreed. Which is how they're here, 5 months into their relationship. It's nice, Chelsea thinks. She treats Beca well, and Beca treats her well. They can joke around without hurting each other's feelings.

So, yeah... It's nice.

Which is why Chelsea is feeling a little uneasy as she reads over the article. In all 5 months of dating, not once has she come across one like this.

Exiting out of the app, she quickly goes to her messages and clicks on Beca's name. Typing out a text, she reads over it.

To Beca: Hey, babe. I know it's probably nothing, but could you maybe explain this?

She adds the image shown on Instagram before sending it. After a few minutes a reply comes through.

From Beca: Oh, don't worry about that. It's nothing big. We were just catching up

Narrowing her eyes, Chelsea fires back a quick reply.

To Beca: Okay

Thanking the employee, Chloe takes hold of her coffee before paying him. Making her way out, she unhooks the lead attached to the post keeping Billie guarded.

"Hey, girl," She coos down to the puppy before continuing their walk towards Jesse and Aubrey's house.

On the walk, she thinks back to the "talk" with Beca yesterday. Hearing Beca's side of the story only adds to her sadness.

If only she had let Beca explain a year ago.

But stupid emotions got in the way and fucked that up.

Taking a sip of her coffee, her mind wanders to the day before and how their conversation ended.

"So..." Beca says, making her glance up. "You still accusing me of cheating?"

"I-" Chloe stalls, thinking over her words carefully. Clearing her throat, she shakes her head, "I'm... I'm so sorry, Beca."

Narrowing her eyes, Beca looks at her confused, "Sorry?"

Nodding, Chloe takes a drink of the coffee in her hand, "I screwed up." She says, "I let my emotions get the better of me and I'm sorry," She adds.

"Chloe... Sorry isn't going to just fix this," Beca explains with a sigh before slouching back into the chair, "You accused me of doing something I would never even think of doing. You left without letting me give an explanation." She adds, "I thought you knew better than that. I thought... I thought you knew me better than that." She says, looking deep into Chloe's eyes.

Beca lets her words fill the air for a few moments before bringing her attention to her drink, "Look, Chloe. I don't know what exactly you want from me. I don't understand why you've decided to march right back into my life now-"

"I came back to apologize-"

"Yes. And you've done that." Beca interrupts, a little edge to her voice. "I've heard your apology." She says. "You had all year to say sorry. So, why choose now?"

"Because I realized what I did was wrong," Chloe replies, sitting up in her seat, "I accused you without letting you explain and that was wrong of me." She admits, "But in my defence, I did try to reach out to you! But not once... not once did you try to contact me." She chokes out, her eyes slightly watering. "If this actually mattered to you as much as you say it does... then you would've at least tried to reach out to me."

"Chloe, come on," Beca argues back, shifting in her seat, "I've been busy! I've been working constantly on music-"

"So that hasn't changed," Chloe interrupts, venom laced in her words. Her tone causes Beca to stop and raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't changed." Chloe repeats, bringing her focus to the side window. Watching as others pass by, she's brought back by Beca's voice.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Sighing, the redhead brings her gaze back to Beca, "When we were together, your focus was always on music-"

"Now, that's a lie." Beca corrects only to see Chloe shake her head, "Our relationship was always my main priority, Chloe." She adds.

"Maybe back in Barden it was."

And like the flip of a switch, suddenly Beca's angry façade breaks and her shoulders slump. Bringing a hand up to her face, she leans on it, watching as the redhead in front of her wipes below her eye.

The sight breaks something inside Beca and before she knows it she's-

"I'm sorry."

Pausing, Chloe brings her hand down to rest on the table before her eyes find Beca's, "It doesn't matter anymore," She sniffles, picking at her coffee cup, "It's in the past. And as much as I wish I could go back and change everything..."

"You can't," Beca finishes, Chloe nods. "I think..." The DJ says after a moment, "We both have regrets. But the only way to move on is to move forward."

"And what does that mean for us?" Chloe timidly asks, as she looks at Beca.

Shaking her head, Beca glances away, "I don't know."

The phone on the table lights up catching the brunette's attention. The words, "Studio," show up. Confused, she picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mitchell," Comes the voice of the senior producer of her workplace, "We're gonna need you to come in."

Glancing over, Beca sees Chloe watch on, "Now?" She asks.

"Yes." He says, quickly adding, "I hope you have that demo ready."

Sighing, Beca brings her gaze to the laptop beside her, "Okay. I'll be there ASAP."

Hanging up, she looks to Chloe apologetically, "I gotta go."

"That's okay," Chloe says before pointing to the phone, "Sounded pretty serious."

"Yeah, new artist is coming in today," Beca explains, packing up her belongings, "Apparently, they like to show up 3 hours early."

"Yikes."

Beca's lips twitch upwards at the use of word before she bobs her head, "Yikes indeed." Throwing the messenger bag over her shoulder, she hooks a thumb in the direction of the door. "You need a ride back to work or something?"

"No, no, it's okay," Chloe replies, standing, "I prefer to walk." She explains before following Beca out of the café.

Once outside the door, the pair stand opposite each other. Rocking back and forth on her heels, Beca raises her eyebrows, "So.. Uh... I'll see you around?" She asks a little awkwardly.

Nodding, Chloe replies, "Yeah, sure." Taking a few steps forward, she moves to hug the brunette only to halt. Pulling back, she instead pats Beca on the shoulder mumbling a soft, "Goodbye," before making her way back to work.

Thinking back, Chloe likes to believe it went relatively okay. I mean, sure, it was a little awkward but at least they got some release from it.

And maybe she didn't get to explain herself as much as she would have liked, but there's always another day for that.

Hopefully.

She doesn't really know where she stands at with Beca at the moment.

Seeing Aubrey and Jesse's house nearby, she quickens her pace a little before walking up the sidewalk.

Once at her friend's house, she turns into the driveway before stopping outside the door. Knocking a few times, she patiently waits for someone to open.

When they do, she's greeted with her best friend smiling brightly down at her.

"Chloe! Come on in," Aubrey greets before moving to the side and gesturing for Chloe to enter, "Hey Billie," She bends down, petting the puppy.

"Hey, Aubs," The redhead greets with a small smile before following her into the kitchen. Letting Billie sniff around, she hops up onto one of the stools.

"So, how's everything?" Aubrey asks after a few moments, sitting opposite her.

"Good," Chloe lies, putting on a fake smile.

Aubrey sees right through her and raising an eyebrow, she sends her a look. "Don't lie to me."

Slouching, Chloe nods, "Chicago and I broke up." She says.

"Oh... Chloe," Aubrey sits forward, "I didn't know."

"Because I never told you..." Chloe shrugs before watching Billie strut around.

"But you seemed happy together," Aubrey says sounding confused, "What happened?"

Bringing her arms up, Chloe rests them on the counter in front before going into a detailed explanation of all the recent events. Right from her breakup with Chicago to seeing Beca again.

"You what?" The blonde exclaims, sitting up straighter, "You went to Beca?"

"Yeah," Chloe nods, "I know I shouldn't have but..." Shrugging, she brings her gaze to the marble counter," I miss her." She says a little weakly.

"I know Chloe, but you really hurt Beca and seeing you couldn't have been easy for her, I imagine." Aubrey explains, "Beca changed once you left." She adds making Chloe snap her head up.

"Changed?"

"Yes, changed," Aubrey affirms before shaking her head, "But that's a story for another day."

"But she seemed fine yesterday," Chloe says, her eyebrows furrowed, "I don't understand-"

"Another day, Chloe." Aubrey interrupts, repeating her words before grabbing hold of Chloe's hand.

"Come on," Beca says, holding the redhead's hand in her own while walking towards the end of the hill.

"Okay, I trust you," Chloe grins, following the girl. Suddenly Beca stops once they've reached the bottom and hears the redhead's breath hitch.

Underneath a tree, is a picnic basket laid on top of a striped blanket that looks over the river. Above, are fairy lights dangling from the branches giving the area a magical glow.

"You did this?" Chloe asks in amazement, bringing her attention to the brunette.

"Well, not really..." She shrugs, "Jesse did. When he told me about this place, I asked him if he could help me out."

"It looks incredible," Chloe says her eyes falling forward.

"Yeah," Beca nods, "He did a great job."

"Wait," Chloe says, "Are we even aloud to even be here?"

"Yep. Jess and I kinda sorted that out by placing the fake NO ENTRY sign on the gate." She explains with a laugh. "You don't wanna know how we got that," She says with a grimace.

"That was you!" Chloe's eyes widen, "I knew you were a rebel!" She laughs, a carefree smile on her face.

"I thought my alt look proved that already?"

"Bec?" Chloe asks later that night while they lay beside each other on the blanket.

"Hmm?" The brunette hums, absently running her thumb along Chloe's hand.

"Where do you see yourself in 10 years?"

"10 years?" She turns her head to glance at Chloe, "I don't know. I guess hopefully making music," She shrugs before finding Chloe's eyes. Looking between them, she nods "But most of all, I see myself with you." She says, causing a loving smile to appear on her girlfriend's face. "As long as you're by my side, I don't care where I'm at."

Smiling through glossy eyes, Chloe shakes her head, "You're so cheesy," She chuckles. Turning on her side, she catches Beca's gaze on her, "I love you."

"I love you too," Beca responds before leaning in to capture Chloe's lips.

So, yeah... Here's the next part of this story. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far. Let me know if you are, and I just want to thank all of you who have been following this. It really means a lot.

Also, I'm not sure how often I will update this. It could be weekly, or it could be within a few days or I could randomly update like twice in one day. Who knows? So, just bear that in mind.

#bechloe #Beca x Chloe #Pitch Perfect #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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