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luminescencefics · 4 years ago

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fade in, fade out - part four

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***

The Catalyst

December 2009

During her fourth and final year at Townbridge, Nora is hardened. She spent her summer reviewing her college applications in between shifts at the beach, picking through each individual essay and making sure her grades were the highest they could be.

Nora was sick of small towns. Newport would always be home, but with growing up comes the all-encompassing need to find a new home somewhere else—which was why Nora was applying for schools in New York City. A place where she can start over without the stinging burn of high school rumors following her every step.

Luckily, Nora still had Lydia and Margot and a few other girls on the swim team, and that was all she really needed at the start of her final year. She didn’t even look at Harry and his friends in the hallways, and whenever they would snicker behind her back or approach her if they were feeling bold, Nora would just spin on her heel and completely ignore them, similar to the way they treated her at the beginning of her first year. And when she would share a classroom with Harry for their AP classes, she would make sure to sit in the back corner of the room where she couldn’t feel his lingering gaze on her frame.

On her eighteenth birthday, Lydia and a few girls took Nora out to dinner at Margot’s family’s restaurant on the water in East Lyme. They paid for her meal and took pictures out on the docks by the ocean and it was the happiest Nora had felt all year at Townbridge.

Nora was riding that high all the way up until Christmas break where she was actually excited to go home and spend the Holidays with her mother. But just like most things in her life, Nora’s high came crashing down when her mother informed her that she couldn’t come home for break, leaving her to spend her ten-day vacation away from school completely alone in the empty halls of Townbridge.

“I’m so sorry, Nora. Mrs. Clemonte is really sick and Warren is already on his way to Aspen with Willy. I can’t just leave her alone! Especially during Christmastime. Please don’t hate me,” her mother grievously said through the speaker of Nora’s brand new LG Rumor cell phone.

“I could never hate you, mom,” Nora replied honestly, curled up in her comforter on her twin bed on the eve before her mother was meant to pick her up from school.

“You’ll be okay though, right? Other students will be staying on campus with you?” Nora could sense her mother’s worry from over one hundred miles away, and before Shannon could hear her daughter sniffling through the phone, Nora took a deep breath and convinced her that she’ll be fine—even if she wasn’t completely sure of it herself.

In all honesty, Nora wasn’t even certain if any students stayed on campus during break, considering her classmates usually booked trips to Aspen or Vail or the fucking Swiss Alps for all she knows. So after confirming with her guidance counselor that the facilities will be open and she’ll be safe to walk around the practically barren campus, Nora’s shocked that the first person she runs into is none other than Harry Styles.

Nora had to blink a few times in the entryway of the dining hall to make sure that the figure hunched over the wooden table sipping a porcelain cup of tea and shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth was actually him. But when she squints and takes into account his discernible curly locks, his signature black trench coat, and his cotton grey soccer sweatshirt with his last name embroidered on the front layered underneath—there’s no denying that it’s him.

She looks around and notices that there are a few other students scattered about, eating their breakfast wearing thick sweatshirts and conversing amongst themselves. Before she can be detected, Nora buries her chin in her thick knitted scarf and walks around the edges of the room towards the kitchen to grab her own helping of eggs and pancakes.

Nora’s gotten quite good at keeping a low profile, so when she finds an empty seat in the corner of the room, completely far away from Harry’s slumped figure, she lets herself breathe for the first time. She unwraps her maroon scarf and unbuttons her navy parka before digging into her breakfast, flipping through her battered copy of The Princess Bride. Every year, Nora rereads her favorite books that were turned into films, and she figured now was as good a time as any to pick up where she left off.

Halfway through her breakfast, Nora realizes a moment too late that she picked the seat that’s closest to the tea and coffee station when she hears her name gruffly fall past Harry’s lips as he stands over her, a completely shocked look on his face.

“Nora?” Harry repeats after a minute has passed with the two of them just staring at each other, wondering what in the hell the other is doing spending their winter break at school all alone.

“Hi,” Nora says awkwardly, avoiding Harry’s gaze and choosing instead to look at the rolled-up paperback sticking out of his jacket pocket. She can’t quite make out the title of the book from her position, but the light blue coloring of the title page is familiar to her for some odd reason.

“What are you…” His words fall from his mouth without any clear purpose. She realizes then and there that the last words she spoke to him were a broken “fuck you” one year ago in Dr. Forrester’s AP Chem lab, and that thought is enough to cause her to stand up abruptly from the wooden bench, grabbing her tray in one hand and her parka in the other, trying her hardest to get out from under Harry’s intense gaze.

“Wait, Nora!” Harry calls after her as she scrambles towards the trash bin to clear her half-eaten plate. She ignores him, the need to get away from him much stronger than her urge to stick around and hear what he has to say to her. And before she knows it, she’s running through the snowy campus with her parka barely buttoned, recognizing a moment too late that she left her maroon scarf on the table in the dining hall in her mad sprint to the exit.

For two days, Nora skips out on breakfast—too terrified to run into Harry again. She eats the rest of her meals by the old fireplace in Millikan Library at odd times in the day, growing far too comfortable with the eerie solitude floating through the towering ceilings.

Most of her afternoons spent in Millikan are quite peaceful, considering the foot traffic is practically nonexistent save for the two librarians working the research desk and the small handful of students searching through the fiction aisle for a new book to read to keep them preoccupied during the break. Her spot near the fireplace is hidden in plain sight, somehow giving her the perfect view of the lower floor of the library while staying comfortably concealed from wandering eyes.

Luck isn’t on her side, though, and while she’s finishing up the last quarter of The Princess Bride, her focus is broken when a familiar maroon scarf drops in the middle of her lap, obstructing Nora’s spot on the page.

When she looks up she sees Harry, dressed in familiar black jeans and a simple white t-shirt underneath his trench coat. Snowflakes dust the tips of his curly hair, and when Nora squints she can make out the purple bags underneath his dull green eyes.

“You left that in the dining hall,” he says slowly, sitting down in the chair across from the matching one Nora is currently curled up in.

“Uh, thanks,” she mutters, scrunching the thick material up and shoving it into her backpack resting on the floor below her. A crinkled Pop-Tart wrapper comes fluttering out of her bag as she attempts to zip it up, and Harry notices it instantly.

“Have you been living off of those instead of eating real food?” he asks. Nora can’t tell if he’s actually concerned or if he’s teasing her, because his eyes are still dull and his face is still blank and she can’t read Harry Styles for the life of her.

When she doesn’t answer, he states simply, “You’re avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?” Nora responds quickly, looking at him with a layer of sadness hidden underneath her cerulean eyes.

“No, suppose I can’t.” He’s quiet for a few minutes, shifting his gaze towards the carpeted flooring below them. He looks as if he’s thinking very hard, and Nora wonders if he’s trying to figure out how to apologize to her. And when he’s still sitting there, a massive indent in the middle of his eyebrows while his lips pout downward in a frustrated frown, Nora thinks that a person like Harry has probably never had to apologize for anything in his entire life.

That realization is enough to keep her from running away from him again.

Harry lifts his eyes from the floor then, moving his gaze from Nora’s face to the book in her lap. She looks comfortable, wearing thick leggings and a woolen turtleneck, her blonde hair twisted into a low bun behind her neck, allowing her fringe to fall wildly against her forehead. He notices that her snow boots are on the floor, and her socked-clad feet are tucked underneath her thighs on the big chair she’s nestled in. For the first time in a long time—probably ever, if Harry really sits and thinks about it—he feels as if he’s looking at Nora Priestley for the first time, observing every freckle on her pale skin and every line and curve of her face. He’s not quite sure what that means entirely, but he’s sure that it has to mean something, in the grand scheme of things.

If she’s grown uncomfortable under his stare, she doesn’t show it, and Harry’s a bit grateful for that. Without really thinking about it, Harry reaches inside his jacket pocket, revealing his curled up copy of The Call of the Wild.

“D’ya mind if I sit here and read with you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Nora says, her voice pitch wavering, “Not at all.”

What normally would take Nora less than an hour to read, ends up being much longer, because she had suddenly grown extremely distracted with Harry’s presence across from her. It first started when he took off his black trench coat, revealing a threadbare white t-shirt that didn’t seem appropriate with the falling snow outside and the frigid temperature in the air. But it wasn’t the thin material that captured Nora’s attention. Instead, it was the various etchings of black ink swirling up and down his left arm. She tries not to stare, but she honestly can’t help it, because the images of shaded roses and thick anchors and anatomically correct organs is causing her head to spin. Nora never thought that picture-perfect Harry Styles, with all his splendor and daddy’s money, would brand his skin with outrageous tattoos. But it somehow fits, and Nora finds that she suddenly wants to know what every picture means, and its significance to the boy adorning them.

She tries to bring her attention back to her book, but it’s practically no use, considering her eyes keep falling towards his, watching the way he reads the old book in his large hands. From this position with the big bay windows behind her and the light flooding through, Harry’s green eyes almost seem blue. She’s not sure if he’s aware that he’s doing it, but his fingers keep constantly picking at the dry skin on his lower lip, and if there’s nothing left to pick, his fingers just push and pull at the skin as he flips to the next page. Whenever he seems to read a particularly interesting passage, Harry’s brows furrow as he concentrates on the words bleeding off the page. And just when Nora thinks she’s gotten used to his presence, he would absentmindedly fidget in the seat, changing which leg would be crossed over the other, bringing his foot up to rest on the seat so that his elbow can lean on something new, or even moving his body completely, so that his legs fall over the arm of the chair and his head rests against the other.

And when Nora’s no longer distracted by Harry’s existence, she finds that her thoughts linger on the hundreds of questions floating through her brain. She wonders what he’s doing here, all alone during Christmas break when he spends his summers in the south of France or the Hamptons or some other luxurious location. She wonders why, of all places to read an old copy of The Call of the Wild, he chooses to sit near her, a girl he’s supposed to hate. And she especially wonders why she doesn’t mind his proximity to her body, considering he’s done nothing but hurt her since they first met.

Nora finds this entire afternoon to be distracting, and without even finishing the book (even though she acts like she has, because let’s be honest, Nora’s read The Princess Bride enough times to recite the last page), she closes it and throws it in her backpack, exchanging the paperback for her maroon scarf and beginning to lace-up her snow boots. Harry looks up from his book and notices her getting ready to leave, and without saying anything, Nora watches as he dog-ears his page and begins to pull his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

“I’m gonna head to the dining hall,” Nora explains, even though she’s not entirely sure she wants Harry to follow her. But when he stands up from the chair and slips his book into his pocket, Nora finds that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter, other than to follow him down the stairs and out the front door into the snow.

Townbridge covered in a thick blanket of snow is quite a sight to behold, and momentarily, Nora can forget that Harry Styles is standing near her. Because the snow is falling lightly from the sky, dusting the tips of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and she thinks it’s probably the calmest she’s felt in a very long time.

But then Harry’s elbow knocks against hers as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and suddenly all of the distracting thoughts and the endless questions from before come rushing from her brain to the tip of her tongue, and Nora finds that she can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why are you talking to me, Harry? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” Nora’s words aren’t spiteful in the slightest. In fact, there’s barely any emotion behind them—just a statement that’s been at the forefront of her mind ever since he first approached her in the dining hall two days ago.

“I don’t hate you, Nora,” Harry chooses to say, looking down at her briefly as they continue the short walk to their destination.

“You certainly don’t like me,” Nora replies back, keeping her head down to avoid more snowflakes accumulating on her eyelashes.

“If this is about last year, I really am sorry. You were right to say those things to me in Dr. Forrester’s lab, I deserved it. All of it.” Nora waits a minute to speak, because she’s curious if Harry Styles will grovel in front of her, if he’ll beg for her forgiveness the way she’s dreamt about him doing for the past twelve months. He stays quiet, kicking his boot through a particularly thick segment of snow, and when Nora chances a look towards his face, she can see through his eyes that this conversation is torturing him. The dullness is tenfold, and his lips are in a very straight line and she’s never seen a jaw so clenched in her entire life. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, Nora accepts his apology, because although words have failed him (as they usually have in the past), his eyes give everything away.

The word pushover comes to mind, but Nora doesn’t think it’s a negative aspect of her personality. She was always taught to find the best in people, and if Harry’s apology consists of a handful of words and green eyes twisted in utter agony, she’ll take what she can get.

He holds the door open for her as they approach the dining hall and she gives him a quiet “thank you,” and Harry’s not sure if it’s for his chivalrous act or his bare-bones apology, but he takes it in stride. They grab chicken noodle soup and turkey sandwiches and steaming cups of tea and sit at the table near the large row of windows and for the first time, Nora doesn’t mind sitting across from him.

“So, why The Princess Bride?” Harry asks after a mouthful of soup, watching the way her mouth quirks at the mention of her favorite book.

“It’s one of my favorite movie adaptations. Movies are kind of my thing, I guess,” she explains, holding her warm cup of tea against her hands and she looks so damn cozy.

Harry nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“What about you?” Nora counters, watching the way his head tilts in confusion.

“What about me?” He echoes.

“Why The Call of the Wild?”

Harry grins, taking a long sip of his tea before replying, “I like classic literature. Guess it’s kind of my thing.”

Before Nora can say anything else, or tease him about copying her phrase, Miss Flaherty approaches their table with a bright grin. She’s one of the guidance counselors at Townbridge, an older woman who reminds everybody of their Nana. So when she places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes, Nora’s curiosity is piqued to the fullest.

“Harry! There you are, lovie. Will you be joining us tomorrow for the Toy Drive again? I’m sure everybody will be happy to see you.”

Sheepish has never been a word that Nora would think to associate with Harry Styles, but when his cheeks begin to flush and his eyes look anywhere but at Nora’s, she can tell that he’s nervous. And when she thinks back to Miss Flaherty’s question, more importantly, the word again, Nora’s wondering who on earth the boy sitting across from her truly is.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he tells her, smiling awkwardly.

“Amazing! How about you, Nora? Will you be joining us as well?” Nora’s suddenly aware of two sets of eyes on her, and when she glances at Harry and sees that his face is void of irritation, she nods her head and looks back towards Miss Flaherty.

“Of course! Count me in.”

Miss Flaherty smiles brightly and looks between the two of them happily. “Lovely! I’m sure Harry here will tell you all about it. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

After she walks away it’s quiet again, just the two of them slurping from their bowls of soups, trying to figure out how to address what just happened. Surprisingly, it’s Harry who speaks first.

“Uh, you don’t have to come if you don’t, er, want to.” He’s anxious and Nora wishes he would stop looking at the wooden table and would look at her, instead. Because she’s never given him a reason to be nervous around her, and the fact that he’s suddenly grown so small in front of her is all too confusing for her to understand.

“I don’t mind, really. Sounds cool, actually,” Nora admits, meaning every word.

Harry looks up at her then, observing her to see if there’s any teasing on her face. But when she looks back at him with nothing but a warm expression, Harry can tell that Nora actually means it, and he gives her a gentle smile in return.

Once they finish their lunch, they begin to walk back to their dorms. Nora lives on a different floor of Granary Hall and Harry lives in Quinby House, which is just across the small quarry outside of her building. It’s a comfortable silence, and Nora really wasn’t expecting him to walk her to the front door of her building. She’s not at all mad that he does, though, and when she turns towards him to say goodbye, he looks as if he’s trying to say something to her.

“I can drive you tomorrow to the Youth Center if you want. Easier than taking the bus,” Harry says, pushing his hands against the bottom of his pockets as he shuffles on the pavement in front of her, avoiding eye contact.

Nora nods, smiling softly before saying, “Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Harry.”

Before she can even mutter a goodbye, Harry’s already spinning on his boots towards Quinby House, and Nora’s left watching his figure disappear through the snow, thinking that out of the four years she’s known him, this is the most words they’ve ever spoken to one another.

Nora’s not even sure if she’s aware of it, but when she wakes up the next morning and chooses her nicest pair of jeans and applies a generous amount of mascara to her eyelashes, the idea of impressing Harry is barely even a thought in her mind. But there’s a reason for everything—and the fact that she brushed through her knotted hair and stuck her cherry-flavored lip balm into her pocket before rushing out the door, means that subconsciously she’s thinking about him.

They meet in the parking lot near his black Range Rover, and when he offers her a small smile and opens the door for her, she’s not quite sure what to think. He’s wearing his trench coat again with a grey thermal top underneath, and his curls are stuffed under a bright blue knitted beanie and he looks unbelievably warm. They don’t really talk much but they do listen to Big Star, and when “Thirteen” comes on and Nora starts to sing the words to herself, Harry snaps his head over in her direction with a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

“You listen to Big Star?” he asks, flitting his gaze between the road and Nora’s face.

She smiles, content that she’s shocked Harry, before adding, “Yeah, they’re one of my mom’s favorites.”

He nods, an impressed look on his face. “She’s got great taste.”

The rest of the ride is filled with more of Harry’s musical repertoire to which Nora sings along to the songs she knows. And if she listens close enough, she can hear the low tone of Harry’s singing voice, and she almost finds herself leaning closer towards him so that she can listen more clearly.

When they reach the Youth Center, Harry pops open his trunk and reveals two boxes filled with toys. Nora helps him and grabs the other, peeking inside and seeing wrapped presents of various sizes. They enter the room and greet Miss Flaherty, who immediately delegates Harry and his strong arms to deliver all of the presents underneath the tree, and Nora is sent to pass out homemade cookies and milk and read to the younger children.

It’s a blur of activity, and in between reading A Christmas Carol and making sure the younger children don’t choke on their cookies, Nora almost forgets to watch Harry. She mainly notices him in passing—a quick glimpse of a grey long-sleeved arm passing out presents, an electric blue beanie bouncing up and down in her periphery, a peek of brown suede boots running around behind her. It’s only once Nora’s begun reading the fourth stave, in which the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come visits Scrooge, when she notices denim-clad long legs sitting cross-legged in front of her, with a five-year-old blonde girl perched on his lap.

Harry sits there and listens to Nora finish reading the book, watching the way she acts out each character so that the kids in front of her are completely entranced. Her hair looks shinier today than when they were nestled in the library, and her blue eyes glisten whenever she hears a small child “ooh” and “aah” at the sentence she just read. And whenever her gaze falls on Harry’s, he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face.

When it ends, the little girl in his lap whispers into his ear, “Can we give Nora a cookie? She did a good job reading,” and Harry begins nodding excitedly.

“I think that’s a great idea, love. Up you go, let’s go pick out the prettiest sugar cookie on the table, yeah?” When she latches her small hand into his, Nora can’t help but watch in adoration as he lifts her up and brings her to eye level with the cookie tray, pointing at certain ones and waiting for her little nod of approval.

And when the pair approach her, the little girl holding up a paper plate with a snowman sugar cookie on it, Nora’s smile couldn’t be wider. “Is this for me?” Nora asks, bending at her knees so that she’s eye-to-eye with the small girl.

She nods, bashfully. “To say thank you. Harry said you should get the prettiest cookie.”

When Nora grabs the cookie, she looks up at Harry to find that he’s already looking down at her, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. But to Nora, it was practically everything, and she spends the rest of the afternoon in a blissful state, a smile permanently gracing her features.

When they get back to campus with both their stomachs filled with cookies and eggnog and Christmas breads, the sun is just starting to set past the horizon. Harry pulls into his parking spot but waits a moment to shut off the ignition, noticing how Nora’s gaze is focused on the sky as it turns from a cornflower blue to a prepossessing tangerine hue. The snow reflects the sunset perfectly, and even though it’s one of the prettiest winter sunsets Harry’s seen in a long time, he can’t stop looking at the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

She finally turns to him just as the sky changes from violet to indigo, “I had fun today.”

Harry nods, agreeing instantly. “Yeah, it was a good day.”

“Do you do that often? Is that why you stay here during Christmas break?” Nora’s not quite sure if she’s overstepping, but when Harry’s jaw doesn’t clench and his eyes stay rooted on her own, she can tell that he’s not as nervous to tell her things anymore.

“I’ve been doing it the past two years. My dad’s been going on work trips during the Holidays, so I just stay here.” It’s a version of the truth that he feels most comfortable sharing, and he’s grateful that Nora doesn’t push him.

“I’m assuming your friends don’t know,” Nora offers quietly, watching as Harry chuckles to himself, the sound being anything but funny.

“Yeah, they think I’m in the Alps.” He looks sad all of a sudden, and Nora wishes she hadn’t said anything. Because the fact that Harry’s father chooses to work during Christmas, thus leaving him no choice but to stay at Townbridge by himself, is a shitty thing to do. But instead of moping, he chooses to donate presents to children so they can have some sort of a normal Christmas, even though he doesn’t get the same in return. That’s quite admirable.

If it were Nora, she would be bragging to her friends about the Toy Drive, begging them to join her and spread more awareness. But Harry—Harry can’t do that. Because his friends would never understand, and that realization strikes Nora hard in her chest.

Giving him one last glance, she asks him, “Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?”

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up in confusion. The sudden change in conversation is a bit jolting, and when he tries to figure out her intention, she giggles uncomfortably before rambling. “I nicked the DVD player from our common room and set it up in my dorm. Nobody really noticed, so I’ve been watching movies on it all semester.” He’s still looking at her, but instead of confusion written across his face, his lips begin to form a smirk and Nora begins to squirm in her seat, much like the first time they met three years ago in the Great Hall. “So, uh, have you seen it?”

He shakes his head once, twice, the smirk growing into a smile.

“Would you like to?” Nora’s not quite sure why she’s nervous, or more importantly, why she’s even inviting him up to her room in the first place. Maybe she pities him in the slightest, or maybe, just maybe, she’s found that she actually enjoys his presence for once in her life.

“Sure,” he replies easily. Nora watches as he turns the key in his ignition to shut the car off, before hopping out and waiting for her by the trunk. They walk inside Granary Hall together, ride the elevator up to the eighth floor in silence, before entering the fourth door on the right.

The room is moderate, practically identical to the one he had last year with Will, but for some reason, it just screams Nora Priestley. He can already tell which side of the room is hers due to the mix-matched comforter set, the thick homemade quilt, the generous stack of books leaning precariously against the wooden desk, and the collection of polaroids stuck to the wall above her bed nestled in the corner. While she takes off her parka and snow boots, Harry leans towards the photographs, smiling to himself when he sees the happiness radiating off of each one.

His eyes seem glued to the images of Nora and who he assumes to be her mother, with their arms wrapped around each other and their long hair tangling in the ocean breeze. They seem to have done everything together—various images of the two of them on beaches and hiking trails and in the front seat of an old car. Harry’s never seen pure happiness before, and he wishes he could burn these images underneath his eyelids so that he never forgets what that feeling looks like.

“That’s my mom,” Nora says from behind him, almost startling him. He turns around with flushed cheeks, an apology at the tip of his tongue for so obviously intruding. But when he sees her face and notices that she’s not angry at all, he feels his shoulders relax.

“You guys seem to do everything together,” he says softly, choosing his words carefully as to not overstep. The topic of family has always been a difficult one for him in the past.

But for Nora Priestley, she seems to have no qualms about the topic, with the way she’s nodding easily with a nostalgic grin on her face. “Yeah, it’s always been that way. Just the two of us.”

Harry doesn’t say much else, but the look on his face says it all. Some mixture of sadness and jealousy, because even though Nora only has one parent, it’s more than the two he’s known his entire life.

Nora fills her arms with the pillows from her mattress and creates a makeshift pallet on the floor against the end of her bed. Harry takes the seat closest to the door and watches amusedly as she begins to microwave popcorn, opening the door with ten seconds to spare so that she can mix in a package of M&M’s.

When she joins him moments later, she flicks the light off and hits play on the remote. Just as the opening credits begin, she plops down next to him and holds the bowl out in his direction.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, completely serious. He’s looking at the bowl with fascination, wondering what sort of salty-sugary concoction Nora just created.

“It’s the ultimate cinema snack,” Nora explains, grabbing a handful of chocolatey kernels and dropping them into her mouth, munching quietly as Harry looks at her with a glimmer in his eye.

When he pauses for a second time, looking between the movie and the bowl in Nora’s outstretched hands, a sudden realization falls over her.

“Have you never done this before? Gone to the cinema and eaten enough sugary sweets to give yourself a guaranteed stomachache?” The opening scene has already begun but Nora’s too focused on the boy next to her who shakes his head solemnly and looks into the bowl, avoiding Nora’s gaze. She wonders what else the boy she thought had everything in the world has seemingly missed out on.

She turns back around to face the screen, unknowingly scooting closer towards Harry so that their sides are nearly centimeters apart. He can feel the heat of her body against his own, and just when he’s about to say something, Nora announces, “Well, Harry Styles, there’s a first time for everything. Eat up.”

And he does just that.

The next morning at breakfast at their usual table, Harry finds that he’s nervous. And not in the way that makes him angry and quiet and want to run away, but the kind that usually is caused by a girl. His stomach feels fluttery and his palms are sweating and he’s consistently overthinking, and he’s not even sure why—because he’s Harry Styles, for fuck’s sake. And the girl in question is none other than Nora Priestley.

But she’s wearing a beanie with a bobble on top and her cheeks are pink from the cold and there’s still snow clinging to the ends of her hair and he can’t help but feel out of his element. And he shouldn’t, truly, because he’s been with enough girls to know that these feelings don’t exist and that he’s probably fallen ill or something, most likely caused by the cookies they ate all afternoon and the popcorn-M&M monstrosity he inhaled during their movie.

They haven’t really said much, and Harry finds that he doesn’t mind, because he’s not really used to comfortable silences. Alyssa talks enough for the both of them and Grace and Erin are practically human echoes. Carter always has something new to say and Will answers him because he knows Harry won’t, so the fact that he can sit in the dining hall with somebody and read from each other’s books and talk about things that actually matter—it’s refreshing.

“These buildings are quite eerie when they’re completely empty, don’t you think?” Nora asks after they’ve disposed of their dirty plates.

“I think it’s kind of cool. Have you not been anywhere else besides here and the library?” Harry asks, grabbing his scarf and knotting it around his neck.

When Nora shakes her head, Harry’s hand reaches out to grab her own and he’s dragging her through the exit before she can even button up her parka.

“Harry!” Nora squeals, nearly tripping over her own two feet when she tries to keep up with his obnoxiously long strides. His hand still has hers in a vice-like grip and he doesn’t seem to be letting go any time soon, and it’s only once they’ve appeared in front of the English building when Nora digs her heels into the ground, causing Harry to turn around abruptly.

“What?” he asks, noticing the way her head shakes aggressively and her eyes are blown out as if she were completely and utterly afraid.

“No way. We’re not going in there, are you crazy?! It’s the most haunted building on campus, and it’s empty. No fucking way, Harry,” Nora says, standing her ground.

But with one roll of his eyes and some gentle prodding falling from his lips, Nora finds that she’s somehow ended up inside the stairwell of the empty building, laying next to Harry on the marble staircase. It’s silent, save for the sounds of their hearts beating in their chests and their even breaths falling from their parted lips. The window over the second-floor landing paints a pretty light through the surface, and Nora finds that she’s oddly comfortable in this haunted building she’s so terrified of.

She wonders if it’s because of the boy lying next to her.

“Where are you off to next year?” Harry asks suddenly, his head tipped towards the ceiling four stories up.

“Columbia, hopefully,” Nora says, focusing on the rays of light creating illusions along the stone walls.

“New York City?” Harry asks, sounding quite impressed.

“Yeah. How about you?” she asks, twisting her fingers absentmindedly in her lap.

Harry’s quiet for a moment and when Nora looks over, noticing the way his eyes close slowly and his jaw clenches harshly, she wonders if he’s okay. “Oxford,” he finally spits out, his eyes blinking towards the ceiling once more. “As expected.”

Nora thinks of how to respond, but before she can string together a cohesive thought, Harry suddenly turns his neck so that he’s facing her. “I hate expectations. I wish they didn’t fucking exist, if I’m being honest. How are you supposed to grow if you’re forced to do certain things that are already mapped out for you?”

Nora looks back at him, unexpectedly understanding a good chunk of who Harry is. How even though he’s Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the perfect boy who seemingly can get whatever he wants, he’s missing one thing. Happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“What do you want to do when you get to Columbia? Like if you had the choice, and nobody was making it for you, and you didn’t have to worry about anything else—what would make you happy?” Harry asks, a shocking hint of vulnerability laced in between his words.

When Nora stops and thinks about it, the answer is literally right in front of her face. It’s what she’s always wanted to do, what she wishes she could do—but knows deep down that she can’t do. Because it’s not stable and it’s not why Nora went to Townbridge in the first place.

“Scriptwriting. I’d want to write screenplays and work on sets and help construct films that people like me can watch over and over again and never get tired of,” Nora whispers, thinking that if she says it quietly in the stairwell with just Harry around, she can still keep it locked up buried deep inside, away from people who would ridicule her over it.

“What would you do?” Nora asks before Harry can comment on her dream. She’s still not sure she’s ready for that.

His answer comes easier than hers. “I’d want to teach. English lit, preferably.”

Vulnerability is a scary thing. It’s even scarier when it’s shared between two people who, up until five days ago, were practically strangers. As they watch each other, heartbreakingly realizing that these dreams of theirs are just something they’re supposed to chase—a sudden sadness washes over them on the stairwell.

“I can’t do that, though,” Harry says, turning towards the ceiling just as his voice breaks. “Because it’s not in the plan.”

“What is the plan?” Nora asks curiously, eyes still locked on Harry’s side profile, watching the way his jaw moves as he speaks.

“Business Administration at Oxford. An internship at my dad’s company during my second year, and then a full-time job there once I graduate. Board of directors by twenty-five, until I fully take over by thirty. That’s it. That’s my life.” Harry’s voice has never sounded so broken before, and Nora feels her heart splinter a little for the boy lying beside her. Because right now, he’s eighteen, and he’s not supposed to be feeling this inordinate amount of pressure. But he is, and that thought makes Nora incredibly sad.

“And you?” Harry asks suddenly, looking towards her again.

“What about me?” Nora asks cautiously.

“What’s stopping you from becoming a scriptwriter?”

It’s a simple question if Nora really thinks about it. But things aren’t always that easy, and explaining to Harry how his anguish is not too far off from her own is quite a terrifying thought. Because they come from two separate worlds, and finding common ground in the fact that the things they truly yearn for are just not tangible is a sobering experience.

“My mom has higher expectations for me. I mean, I’m The Scholarship Girl. I’m not even supposed to be here. But my mom pushed for me and Mrs. Clemonte supported my application and before I even had a say in it, Townbridge was my plan,” Nora starts, feeling Harry’s eyes on her as she looks anywhere else but in the green of his. “My mom had me young, so she never got to go to college. She’s always telling me to do the things she couldn’t do, make better decisions than she made, be the best version of me I can be. And I do try, constantly. Because she works endlessly and she does everything she can to make sure I don’t end up like her, and that’s a lot of pressure for one person to take, because how can I repay her by studying performance arts and joining an industry that’s already extremely difficult to get into?” Nora’s eyes fall from the ceiling towards Harry, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t do that to her. It would break her heart.”

Harry nods like he understands, and for a brief moment, Nora thinks that he truly does. Because even though their situations are different and they come from two completely separate walks of life, they both have fallen victim to an excruciating amount of pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounding more sincere than he ever has in his entire life.

Nora just shrugs, turning her face back towards the ceiling. “Not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, I guess,” Harry whispers, and Nora almost misses it over the sound of her own breathing. But when she feels his eyes warm her left cheek, she looks back at him and sees that he’s suddenly overridden with guilt.

“It’s okay, Harry—”

“—No, no. It’s really not.” He’s staring at her intently, and Nora’s suddenly found that she can’t look anywhere else. “What Carter did was wrong, and I didn’t do anything about it. And you lost all of your friends and he just went on the same as he always did, and the whole thing is just so fucked up.”

“I didn’t lose everybody,” Nora adds sheepishly, wishing this conversation would end. She doesn’t want to relive last year, she wants to forget its existence entirely.

“Still, it was wrong,” he frustratedly repeats. “You shouldn’t have just one friend at school.”

“It’s okay, though,” she says one last time, her voice urging him to understand her so that they can ultimately end this dreaded conversation. “I’d rather have one true friend than a bunch of fairweather ones.”

Harry nods and turns back towards the ceiling, and she knows that he isn’t going to say anything. Because this conversation is over, and what Nora said is unquestionably true. But he doesn’t want to face the harsh reality of his empty friendships, so instead, he stares at the ceiling, wondering how his life would have turned out if he fell into a different group instead of the one he has now.

Once Nora’s back starts to ache against the stone stairwell, she sits up and peers through the window on the second-story landing. The snow is falling down a bit harder now, coating the campus below in a thick, billowing white blanket. She thinks it’s beautiful. She thinks it’s far too inviting. So without thinking (something she’s been doing a lot of this week), she reaches for Harry’s hand and heaves him up, dragging him out of the English building and into the empty quad.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, confusion and amusement weaving together beautifully in his voice. Without answering, Nora reaches down and makes a snowball through her fingerless gloves, before hurling it straight towards Harry’s chest.

He looks at her with his jaw practically on the floor, faking his anger even though Nora can see right through it. She’s giggling loudly, almost hunched over at the shocked expression on his face. And before she can even comprehend it, Harry makes a snowball faster than her own and hits her right in the shoulder.

“Hey!” she calls back, wiping the leftover snow off her parka. Harry’s mischievous grin is clear as day through the thick snowfall, and when she mirrors it back, they’ve suddenly found themselves in a snow war.

Their laughter echoes through the quad and bounces off the stone buildings, and once Nora’s beanie is submerged in the snow and their jeans are soaked through and the only sound they can hear is their teeth chattering together, Harry calls a truce and drags her towards the direction of Quinby House. It’s closer than Granary Hall by at least five minutes, and when he holds the front door open for her, Nora enters without really thinking of the repercussions.

“Our floor’s empty and we have a private bathroom, so, er, if you want to shower first you’re more than welcome to. I’ve got warm clothes you can change into,” Harry offers quietly, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. Nora can’t tell if the blush coating his cheeks is from the snow clinging to his body or something else entirely, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she nods, following him to the last door on the left of the third floor, removing her snow boots in the hallway outside and beginning to walk towards the adjoining bathroom.

Nora closes the door without turning the lock, and immediately turns the shower on to its highest setting as she removes each soggy layer of clothing. She steps in just as the steam is clouding the small room, and when she notices the citrus body wash in the corner, she grabs that one instead of the Irish Spring bottle, knowing that it’s Harry’s.

Just as Harry’s pulled out a tight pair of joggers and his freshly washed soccer sweatshirt, he hears the distinct sound of the door creaking open. When he looks over his shoulder and finds that Nora isn’t peeking her head out from behind, he immediately gulps, knowing that the old door and the hot room caused the hinges to loosen.

As he approaches the door to close it securely, he can’t help but look up and notice Nora’s bare back through the mirror. Luckily he doesn’t see anything else, but still, he finds himself not being able to look away. Her milky skin is slightly red from the hot streams of the shower hitting her back and her blonde hair is sudsy and a part of him hopes that she picked his shampoo instead of Will’s. And when she moves her hair from the nape of her neck, Harry notices four black letters tattooed into her skin, and suddenly he closes the door before he can make out the blackletter script.

He sits on his bed across the room, his elbows resting on his thighs with his head in his hands as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing. It’s a fucking back for Christ’s sake! Harry’s seen far more amongst other girls, and the fact that her hidden tattoo is causing his heart to beat erratically is giving him a migraine. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley behind that door, and he’s Harry fucking Styles. And he needs to remember that before he embarrasses himself any further.

But when the door finally opens fully and she’s standing there in a tiny towel barely covering her legs and her wet hair framing her blushing face, Harry knows he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley. And she’s standing there naked underneath terry-cloth and he doesn’t try to ignore the fact that his thumping heart and his staggered breathing are all because of her.

“So those, uh, clothes you were talking about…” Nora says awkwardly, staring at the carpeted flooring of his room instead of his face. Because she’s very clearly naked and very clearly uncomfortable, and when Harry points towards Will’s bed where the articles in question are resting, she barely mutters a thank you before the wooden door is shut again and she can finally breathe properly.

When they exchange places, Nora’s grateful that Harry has the decency to bring his change of clothing into the bathroom with him, because if she had to stare at his wet torso, she’s not quite sure she could bear it.

She snoops through his dorm room once she hears the water running, and finds that his side is practically barren. There are no pictures of his family, no personalized anecdotes to distinguish Harry’s side of the room from Willy’s, nothing except a collection of books in the open section underneath his nightstand. She reads through the titles, realizing that Harry does, in fact, have a thing for classic literature.

Just as she’s moved on to Willy’s desk, observing the stoic photograph of him and his parents that must have been taken recently, Harry emerges from the bathroom in comfy sweats and wet curly hair, and Nora looks away before she’s caught admiring his figure.

“What are you looking at?” Harry asks, dropping his wet clothes into his hamper before turning towards Nora’s position against Will’s desk.

When she holds up the frame, Harry looks between the picture and Nora’s face. As Harry studies her expression, noting the way her eyes are clouded with familiarity and a hint of sadness that lingers underneath, he can tell that she knows this family quite well.

So he asks, “You know Will, don’t you?”

“Knew would be the appropriate term,” Nora says quietly, placing the frame back where she found it before leaning her backside on his desk so that she can face Harry properly. “My mom was his nanny.”

Before Harry can comment, Nora quickly adds, “But please don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to think I’ve ruined his reputation or anything.”

“Why?” Harry asks, stepping towards her slowly. When she looks up at him with confusion, he continues, “Why would you let him lie to everybody?”

Nora just shrugs. “He obviously didn’t want anybody to know. But I know the truth, and Willy knows the truth, and he’s the one who has to live with that, not me.”

Harry looks at her from the middle of his room, thinking it’s quite remarkable that her brain works like that. Because Will had embarrassed her clear as day in front of all of his friends, and not only that, he lied, too. Harry thinks that if he hadn’t said those words, and if Alyssa and her friends hadn’t reacted that way, and if he just had a moment to talk to Nora before they had interrupted—maybe things would be completely different.

But Harry doesn’t like to think about what if’s. So instead, he grabs his laptop from his desk and powers it on, laying down on his twin bed in the spot closest to the wall, pulling up his movie library and patting the empty spot on his mattress.

When Nora lays down next to him, her back propped up on his headboard as her left side is flushed with Harry’s right, she asks, “Are we watching your favorite this time?”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “No, I’d rather watch another one of yours.”

Blushing, Nora grabs the computer from his lap and types in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, a classic that she’s sure Harry will enjoy. And when she hands his computer back to him, she tries to ignore the fact that Harry was watching her face instead of the screen.

“Have you seen this?” Nora asks, trying to break Harry out of whatever weird trance he fell into.

“Nope,” Harry admits, balancing his computer in the middle of their thighs so that they can both view the screen properly. Nora tries to ignore the fact that she had to move closer towards him to fill in the gap, but the redness flushing up and down her neck practically gives her away. “Why is it one of your favorites?”

His question is simple in hindsight, but it makes her heart bubble when she realizes that he’s actually interested in the little things about her that seem meaningless. “Well, it’s a classic, and I know that’s sort of your thing,” she says, smiling when she pulls a chuckle from his mouth. “And it’s one of my favorite examples of breaking the fourth wall in a screenplay.”

“What on earth is that?” Harry asks, clicking play once the movie has finished loading.

“It’s sort of like metafiction in literature. Basically, it’s a plot device that scriptwriter’s use when the main character speaks to the audience. Ferris does it, like, all the time.” When Nora realizes that she sounds extremely nerdy divulging scriptwriting plot devices and intricacies about film that nobody really cares about, she shuts her mouth, turning crimson.

Harry doesn’t say anything though, and she’s grateful for it. Because even if he thinks it’s weird and nerdy (which he doesn’t, of course, but he’d never tell her that), he turns his head towards the screen and tries to hide the smile on his face.

And when the opening monologue begins and Ferris is in the shower talking to the camera, Harry whispers into Nora’s ear and asks, “Is that it?” She tries to cover the shiver running through her skin at the feeling of Harry’s lips brushing against her earlobe, but Harry notices it, like he notices everything about her lately. So for good measure, when Ferris breaks the fourth wall again at Cameron’s house, Harry leans over and mumbles, “And this, yeah? This is it, too?”

Nora knows he’s teasing, so when she turns her face in his direction so that Harry can see her rolling her eyes in good humor, he tries to ignore the warmth on his shoulder from where her chin rests.

Around halfway through the movie, Nora finds that she’s suddenly grown tired. She sneaks a peek at Harry and notices that he’s captivated by the movie on the small screen, and she really doesn’t want to interrupt him. After her third stifled yawn, Nora can feel her eyes drooping, and without really thinking, her head falls against the fleshy part of Harry’s bicep. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does flinch for the shortest of seconds, before looking at her and realizing that she looks far too content dozing off on his arm. So he keeps quiet, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

The next morning, Nora wakes up and finds that she’s not in her room. She also finds that her left cheek is smushed against comfy cotton material that keeps rising and falling steadily. And when she finally comes to, she finds that the comfy cotton material belongs to Harry, and the rising and falling belongs to his chest, and when she notices her right arm wrapped securely around his lower stomach just above the waistband of his joggers where a sliver of warm, tattooed skin lies, she freezes. Before Harry can wake up and go through the same motions she just did, Nora springs up, a stupid decision that results in Harry stirring abruptly.

He seems to have realized the compromising position they were just in, and before Nora can run out of the room in a panic, he mutters, “I’m sorry,” in his incredibly scratchy morning voice and Nora finds that it really doesn’t help matters.

Because Harry Styles in the morning is something special. He looks good in every lighting, if Nora is being brutally honest, but there’s something about his puffy face and swollen lips and crackling voice that makes her appreciate him a little bit more than she probably should in the early hours of the day.

“It’s, uh, my fault. I was the one who fell asleep,” Nora offers lamely, raking her fingers through her matted hair to try and alleviate the awkwardness in the room.

And when Harry mutters, “I didn’t mind” at the same time Nora says, “I should probably go,” they both freeze and look at each other timidly. Harry’s wondering why he doesn’t want her to leave and Nora’s wondering why she wants to wrap her body around his again, and it’s all too much for nine in the morning.

But he’s still looking at her, and she’s still looking at him, and somehow they’ve both landed on solid ground for the first time. Harry’s finding out that he quite likes the look of her burrowed in his soccer sweatshirt and Nora’s discovering that she’s never slept better than when she was lying next to him, and when he asks her if she wants him to save their usual table at the dining hall for breakfast, Nora nods, thinking it’s the greatest idea in the world.

An hour later, after Nora’s gone back to her room to change (begrudgingly) into her own clothes and freshen up, it’s almost second nature when she falls into the seat across from Harry with a steaming plate of waffles and fruit. He has her coffee ready for her just the way she likes it, a splash of cream with one sugar cube, and she can’t help but match the grin covering the lower half of his face.

Even though Nora had the best sleep of her life, and waking up next to Harry was something she wishes she could do over and over and over again—she feels guilty. Because Harry is with Alyssa and Alyssa isn’t here and the whole thing makes her head throb painfully.

So, regretfully, Nora apologizes for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

“Nora, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Please stop apologizing, it’s driving me mad,” Harry jokes, stealing the syrup from her hands and pouring a generous amount over his stack of waffles.

“It’s just—Alyssa’s your girlfriend. And I know she doesn’t necessarily like me, but that still doesn’t make it right to share a bed with you,” Nora explains even though she knows it’s driving Harry crazy.

Harry nods, dropping his silverware against his plate so that his attention is focused solely on the girl across from him. “I know, but as I said earlier, I didn’t mind. If I didn’t want you to stay, I would have said something,” and before he resumes eating, he adds quietly, “It’s not like Alyssa’s really my girlfriend.”

“What do you mean?” Nora asks, noticing the way Harry exhales out of his mouth slowly.

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could call her that. But it’s really only surface level, because if our parents didn’t summer together every year and force us to be together, it probably never would have happened in the first place. But it did, and we put on this show and everybody thinks we’re this happy little couple. And maybe we were, for a short while. But I haven’t really been the nicest boyfriend to her and she’s strayed on more than one occasion, and it’s all sort of scrambled,” Harry admits, staring at his tray to avoid Nora’s eyes. If he did look up, though, he would have noticed the sadness floating through her eyes and the frown swooping over her lips.

The rumors about Harry flirting with other girls and the occasional sneaky kiss in back corner’s of parties have been brought to Nora’s attention on multiple occasions. And even the ones last spring about Alyssa sneaking out of Carter’s dorm room trickled down to Nora’s group of friends, but she did her best to ignore them. Because she knows better than anyone how the rumor mill works, and even though Alyssa, Carter, and Harry did nothing to help Nora, she still couldn’t bring herself to stoop down to their level.

“Sounds like an incestuous mess to me,” Nora decides to say, trying to bring an air of lightness to the sudden uncomfortable topic of discussion.

It works, and Harry finds himself chuckling loudly across the table. “Yeah, it’s all about labels. Kind of a shitty thing to admit, but I’ve never really loved Alyssa. Can’t say I see that happening in the future, either.” He’s willingly giving Nora information that he hasn’t even told anybody before, and she’s not quite sure what to do with that revelation.

“That’s quite sad,” Nora says softly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, curious.

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re just wasting your time, I guess,” Nora pauses and Harry can tell she’s trying to figure out how to phrase her next thought. “Maybe I’ve watched one too many movies, so ignore me if I’m wrong, but being with somebody isn’t supposed to feel like a chore. It should be fun. Exhilarating, even. What you have with Alyssa just sounds—exhausting.”

When Harry’s quiet for a few moments, Nora suddenly realizes that what she had just said was probably completely out of order. “Sorry if I’m overstepping, that was probably rude of me.”

Noticing Nora’s distress, Harry gives her a small smile and just shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not overstepping. You’re probably right, if I’m being honest. But at this point, there’s no use in switching things up.” There’s a brief pause in which Nora breathes out a sigh of relief, reaching towards her coffee and taking a generous sip. Before Harry realizes what he’s saying, he asks her quickly, “Have you ever had that feeling?”

“What feeling?” Nora asks.

Harry grins shyly. “Being with someone and having it be fun and exhilarating.”

Nora nods slowly, thinking about Connor. “I think so. For a little while, at least.”

“What happened?” Harry’s not sure if he’s the one who’s overstepping now. But when he notices Nora’s cheeks blush ever so subtly and her lips quirk up into sentimental half-smile, he suddenly feels an uncomfortable knot form in his stomach. It’s twisting and turning and he’s never had this feeling before—not when he found out Alyssa was sleeping with Carter, not when his parents decided to go to St. Tropez without him, not ever. But with Nora sitting across from him looking wistfully in the distance, Harry’s found that he’s practically consumed with jealousy, and he fucking hates it.

“He moved away, and I had to come back here for school,” Nora explains, breaking out of her daydream and looking back towards Harry. When she notices the unreadable expression on his face, she decides to change the subject. “So, what do you want to do today?”

Harry tries his hardest to forget about Nora’s mystery man for the rest of the day, but he can’t help it. The jealousy is like a seed planted in the depths of his stomach, and he feels it growing and growing inside of him until he’s practically turned green with envy. And he has no fucking idea why it’s bothering him so much.

Hours later, they’re back in Nora’s room for another movie night after a day filled with exchanging their favorite novels and talking about things Harry’s never even discussed with his own friends. Nora chooses Notting Hill, thinking that out of all of the movies in her favorites list, this one has got to be one that Harry’s seen before.

But when he shakes his head when she holds up the plastic DVD cover in his direction, Nora’s mouth is already on the floor and Harry can’t help but laugh at her shocked expression.

“How have you never seen this?! You’re British! You should be ashamed! I’m calling Gordon Brown and asking him to revoke your citizenship,” Nora exclaims, setting up the DVD player and inserting the disc inside the tray. She’s changed into leggings and chose Harry’s soccer sweatshirt over the worn-in Townbridge one she’s owned since freshman year, and Harry feels giddy with pride at the thought of it all.

“I already apologized for it! Give me a break, Priestley!” Harry calls back, amusement lacing his words.

Nora finds herself giggling in response, and once the title screen is displayed on the television, she peeks over her shoulder and finds that Harry is getting himself comfortable on her bed. He’s wearing track bottoms and a cream-colored henley, and when he claims the spot near the wall and burrows underneath the quilt her mother cross-stitched for her last Christmas, Nora can’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“This movie makes me want to visit London,” Nora admits, pressing play on the remote and walking towards her bed. When Harry opens up the blanket for Nora to slide into, she does so easily, feeling the most comfortable she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, dropping the blanket underneath Nora’s chin and throwing an arm around her shoulder.

Nora surprisingly doesn’t flinch. Instead, she curls closer to his body, resting her chin on the planes of his chest and her hand just below. “Yeah.”

“I think you’d like it,” Harry whispers against the crown of her head just as the opening scene begins.

The first few scenes of the movie pass by in comfortable silence. But just after Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts in his bookstore, Nora can practically feel Harry’s brain whizzing because he’s thinking too hard. And just when it starts to become distracting, Nora asks, “What’re you thinking about? I can hear your brain churning from here.”

He exhales out a laugh and admits truthfully, “I keep thinking about your exhilarating crush.”

Nora feels stunned all of a sudden, her body freezing against his own. “Why?” she somehow chokes out through her dry throat.

Nora can hear the gulp Harry takes from above. “I dunno. Suppose I’m very interested to know what kind of guy swept Nora Priestley off her feet.”

She sits up with her back to the television, completely ignoring the movie playing behind her. The quilt falls from her shoulders and pools around her waist, and she’s suddenly grateful for the cooler air of her dorm room whipping against her neck, because she’s grown increasingly warm. Harry slides his body up on the bed until his torso is flushed against the headboard, staring at Nora with those green eyes that for the first time, aren’t dull. Instead, they’re almost twinkling in the dim lighting of her room.

His gaze is focused solely on Nora—on the messy fringe falling against her forehead, the gentle slope of her nose, the plushness of her pink lips, the angular curve of her jawline. The way she looks buried in his sweatshirt with the sleeves falling past her fingertips causes his heart to beat loudly inside his chest, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her has never been more prominent before in his life.

“I think I’ve always thought about it,” Harry admits quietly, his eyes never falling from her own. Because if they did move, he would have missed the way her mouth parted slightly, a small inhale slipping down her throat. He would have missed the way her eyes widened almost comically, the blueness reminding him of the sky on a pleasing, clear day. And when he takes all of that into consideration, he comes to the conclusion that Nora Priestley is undoubtedly beautiful, and probably always has been. He’s always just been too stupid to realize it.

“You never said anything,” Nora whispers back, staring at Harry with the same ferocity. “You never say anything.”

Harry nods, “I know.” And when he inches his body closer to hers and notices that she doesn’t back away from him, he adds, “I’m saying it now. Am I too late?”

Nora watches the way Harry leans towards her, his body being held up by his hands that are anchored to the mattress in front of her knees. Even though the movie is still playing from the television behind her, she can’t hear anything except for the accelerated beating of her heart racking against her ribs and pounding against her chest.

He’s so close to her now, the tip of his nose brushing against her own so tactfully that Nora’s not even sure if it’s actually happening. At this proximity, Nora can see inside his eyes and she finds that they’re not as green as she once thought. Instead, they’re almost a turquoise color, with golden hues circling his pupil and when she looks closely, she can see her own face in the reflection. And suddenly, that’s the only answer she needs before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips against his own.

Even though Harry Styles is Nora’s third first kiss, it’s the best one she’s had yet. It’s slow at first, just the gentle pressure of two sets of lips pressing against the other’s. It’s hesitant, timid, nervous, until Harry wraps his arm around Nora’s back, pulling her closer towards him so that their fronts are completely flushed. After that, it’s intense, passionate, frenzied.

His teeth nip at her lower lip until she opens her mouth ever so slightly, allowing his tongue to slip through. Once Nora gets the message, she opens her mouth wider, angling her head to the side so that she can slip her own inside of his mouth, the two fleshy organs tangling together causing a reverberating hum to break from the back of Harry’s throat.

The sounds cause Nora to still, and when she breaks away and notices the dark hue in Harry’s eyes, the exasperated breaths causing his chest to rise and fall sporadically, the bright pinkness of his lips—it’s all Nora needs to push Harry back into his seated position against her headboard, crawling over on her knees until her legs are straddling his hips. She slinks both hands through his wild hair until they connect at the back of his head, and their lips connect for a second time.

This time, Nora’s not shy to let her teeth clink against Harry’s in a mad rush to gain dominance over their kiss. This time, Harry’s not reticent to let his hands roam the expanse of her back, slipping them underneath the bottom of his baggy sweatshirt so that his fingers can dance against her flushed skin without a barrier in between.

Nora’s hands fall from Harry’s hair to his neck, to the chain that rests against the middle of his chest that’s exposed through the unbuttoned part of his henley, all the way down his stomach until her fingers play with the hem of his shirt. When her nails lightly scratch against Harry’s lower stomach where Nora knows the tips of two tattooed ferns lie, he gets the hint and unlocks their lips, reaching his hands over her own and pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Nora sits back on Harry’s thighs, watching how Harry throws his crumpled shirt somewhere on the floor of her dorm room without care. His hair is mussed from a combination of Nora’s fingers and the quick way he removed his henley, and when Nora’s eyes ogle at the two identical swallows underneath his collarbones, the small definition of his chest, the butterfly permanently drawn in the middle of his stomach, to the small trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his track pants—she’s hot all over.

Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and find that he’s suddenly nervous. He’s blinking up at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, and when the hands that rest against her hips start to fall ever so softly, Nora grips the bottom of Harry’s sweatshirt and lifts it over her head, throwing it against the floor.

She’s sitting there, against his hips wearing a simple nude bra, and Harry feels his breath constricting in his throat at the sight of her. Her lips are swollen and her fringe is frizzy and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her cheeks begin to flush, Harry’s hands reach behind her neck to bring her down to his face. And just before their lips meet for the third time, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” against her mouth, sealing it with his own so that she never forgets it.

Nora’s never done this before, but when Harry’s mouth falls to her neck and she accidentally grinds her hips into his own below in surprise, the groan that emits from his throat is practically feral. So, she does it again, her throat hitching when his teeth sink into the fleshy juncture of her shoulder and neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, and the other is resting on her hip. But when she grinds into him for the third time, he brings that hand up to the clasp of her bra, removing his lips from her neck and breathing against her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice sounding more strained than ever before. Nora finds that it’s unquestionably the hottest thing she’s ever heard, and when she brings her hands to rest on his searing chest, her nails scraping against his skin, the whine that falls from his lips might just be hotter.

“Yes,” Nora whispers back, holding her breath when his fingers easily undo the clasp, the straps sliding down her shoulders as the cups covering her breasts begin to fall. When she lowers her arms so that her elbows are no longer bent, the garment falls easily from her body and onto the mattress below.

Cautiously, she looks at Harry and finds that he’s looking into her eyes to make sure that she feels safe with him. The thought alone makes her nerves completely subside, and when she nods ever so slightly, Harry finally lets his eyes fall towards her chest. She watches him as he sits up, bringing his lips to the base of her throat as he places gentle kisses along the expanse of her neck, down to her sternum, until his lips are centimeters away from her breasts. When her fingers tangle into his curly hair, Harry peeks up at her briefly before placing his mouth around her right nipple, his hand softly massaging her left.

Nora’s head falls back and a moan tears through her throat, and it’s the first time that’s ever happened in her life. Harry stills, his lips moving slightly so that he can watch her, and it’s enough to make the bulge in his pants grow until it’s practically unbearable. His tongue continues to move down her body, kissing along the lines on her stomach until his hand moves to rub the fleshy part of Nora’s hips, hesitantly moving towards the front of her body. And when his right hand cups her legging-clad core, Nora’s hands halt in Harry’s hair, and he removes his lips from her body and looks at her.

“I don’t think I’m—” Nora pauses, her confident streak breaking. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Harry says softly, bringing his hand up to take a piece of her blonde hair that’s fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We can do something else if you’d like. But the second you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” He’s never been this patient with somebody before in his life, and somehow Nora can sense that. She’s incredibly grateful for Harry then, and once her breathing has regulated and she’s no longer anxious, she nods, pecking him softly on the lips.

Harry pecks her back once, twice, thrice until cupping his hand back against her front. He rubs her slowly then, and when Nora feels the stickiness from inside her underwear permeate through the thin material, she shudders against his body. His fingers curl into the waistband of her leggings, and after asking her for permission, she lifts her hips and her knees so that he can pull the black material halfway down her legs, leaving Nora in just her simple baby blue underwear.

Harry resumes his ministrations, causing Nora to wrap her arms around his neck, her elbows resting against his shoulders as her body quivers again. And when his fingertips sneak underneath the material, a long finger gently stroking her slit, Nora’s hands use Harry’s hair as an anchor as her forehead rests against his own as she emits a blissful sigh. Just before his finger slides in, he brings his lips against hers so that he can feel her moans hit the back of his throat.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward at first, and when her breath hitches in her throat and her lips break away from Harry’s, he pauses, looking at her with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

Nora looks at him, her hand ruffling his hair tenderly as she shakes her head. Grinning, Harry brings his lips back to hers, resuming pumping his finger inside of her.

After a few strokes, Nora starts to feel her rigid body unraveling, and suddenly she’s matching Harry’s rhythm as she grinds down onto his finger. When his wet thumb starts to circle her swollen mound, another moan rips from her throat, causing their kisses to halt.

“I love that,” Harry whispers against her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own and beginning to move his hand faster.

The stickiness is accruing inside her underwear and Nora can feel sweat brimming at the nape of her neck. She feels hot to the touch, and when Harry changes his thumb strokes from clockwise to counter-clockwise, a fluttering like no other vibrates through her lower stomach as she whines into his mouth.

“I think you’re close,” Harry says, bringing his hand that isn’t inside of her around her lower back to keep her steady. And when his finger curls and presses against a spongy spot inside of her, Nora feels the fluttering turn into a full-blown explosion, and suddenly her eyes close shut at the ferocity of it all.

Nora stills on top of him, feeling the stickiness begin to coat her inner thighs as a loud moan rips from her throat. Her hands move from Harry’s hair to his shoulder blades, and when she opens her eyes and realizes that her fingernails have carved crescent moons into the flesh, she immediately removes them.

The warmth has gone, and in its place, a numbing sort of calmness. Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear and when he looks up at her and sees her irises blown out and her cheeks pinkened and her lower lip indented by her front teeth, he grins smugly and kisses her softly.

“Alright?” he asks once her eyes have opened fully and she no longer is panting against his cheek.

Nora nods, a bit shy considering she just had her first orgasm and she’s not quite sure what to do next. She looks down and notices the bulge in Harry’s pants, and smiles at him unsurely. “If you tell me what to do, I can, er, help you out?”

Harry smirks, running a gentle hand through her hair and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Just, uh, give me a mo’. I’ll be right back,” he says softly, placing two hands on her hips and lifting her slowly so that she’s no longer straddling his waist.

When she pulls her leggings back on, the stickiness is far too uncomfortable between her thighs. Harry notices her wiggle on the mattress and chuckles to himself, finding it all too adorable. When he gets up from her bed, shifting his pants so that his erection is less painful, he turns towards Nora before crossing the hall into the communal bathrooms.

“Where do you keep your linens?” Harry asks from his position by her door. Confusedly, Nora points towards the wardrobe near her desk and he opens it slowly, grabbing a folded hand towel and passing it to her. She smiles softly, thanking him before watching him retreat into the hallway.

After Nora’s changed her underwear and put on a pair of sleep shorts, sliding Harry’s sweatshirt back over her body once her skin has cooled down, she gets back under the covers and turns her attention towards Notting Hill. Harry comes in a few minutes later, the front of his pants lacking a distinct bulge. He looks over and notices her lying comfortably in her bed, and when she moves her eyes from the screen to his figure standing in the doorway, a cute grin covers the lower half of her face.

“You coming to bed?” Nora asks, patting the spot on the mattress beside her. With a quick smile, Harry walks towards her, lifting his body over her own so that he can resume his position by the wall. And just as his arms are on either side of her body, his shirt still somewhere on her floor and his pants low on his hips, he sneaks a kiss from her lips before plopping down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders tightly.

“Think we can start this movie over?” Harry asks, playing with the ends of Nora’s hair that falls inside the hood of his sweatshirt.

Nora hits rewind, wondering if it’ll hurt falling asleep with a grin permanently stuck on her face.

The next morning, Nora wakes up feeling far too warm. Her backside is flushed completely with Harry’s front, and he’s spooning her tightly. His arms are wrapped securely around Nora’s stomach and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck in hot spurts, his nose brushing the spot underneath her ear. His curly hair is tickling the sides of her face and his legs are slotted between her own and Nora’s never been so tangled up with somebody else before.

And while it’s comforting, there’s no denying that Harry’s body heat is pervading through her skin, and when she wiggles to try and figure out a way to lower the duvet from underneath her chin, it causes Harry to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he subconsciously brings Nora’s body closer to his own, and when he finally does open his eyes fully, he notices how close they’ve gotten in the middle of the night. Harry’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow being wrapped up with Nora Priestley has caused him to have the best night’s sleep of his entire life.

“Morning,” she whispers, her chin resting on her left shoulder as she peeks at him behind her. Her blue eyes are foggy in the morning and her lips are beautifully swollen, and even though her hair is knotted and her cheeks have red jagged lines from her pillowcase all over them, he can’t help but grin back at her, finding her perfect.

“Hi,” he says back, his voice cracking from lack of use. They both roll over so that their backs are flat on the mattress. And just when Harry’s about to swing his arm over Nora’s shoulder to bring her closer to his body so that they can fall back asleep, his Blackberry rings loudly from the nightstand.

Before he can let it go to voicemail, he reaches around Nora’s body to grab it, gulping when he sees Alyssa’s name across the screen. Apprehensively, he brings the phone to his ear, ignoring the heat of Nora’s gaze against his cheek.

“Hello?” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“Baby! Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ll all be back on campus in, like, two hours. Our flight just landed. When will you get in?” Nails scraping down a chalkboard would be a better sound than the one he just heard through the speaker of his mobile. Because suddenly, his Nora Priestley bubble has popped. Their ten-day vacation has come to an abrupt end, and Harry can feel the panic begin to spread throughout his body.

“Harry? You there?” Alyssa asks, and it’s only then when Harry realizes he’s been deadly silent.

He coughs into his fist uncomfortably, before saying, “Hey, sorry. Uh, sounds good. My flight got in a few hours ago. I’m actually, er, pulling into campus now,” Harry lies. The familiar feeling of shame washes over him, and when he feels Nora slide out of bed beside him, a puzzled look falling across her face, he’s never felt worse in his life.

“Perfect! Can’t wait to see you, baby!” Alyssa squeals, and before Harry can respond, he hangs up the phone, tossing it purposelessly against the end of her bed.

It’s silent between the two, and not the sort of comfortable silence that they’ve grown accustomed to with each other. Instead, it’s heavy, weighing them both down until they feel fatigued under the burden of it all.

Nora knows deep down that this is it. The Harry she’s grown to adore the past ten days is no longer there. In its place is the cold, disheartening, lifeless Harry that she’s hated ever since he casted her out during the First Year Mixer almost four years ago. Just like with Connor, her romance with Harry is fleeting. It has an expiration date. And sadly, they’ve reached their end.

He doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t expect him to. He’s clearly tormented by all of this, getting out of her bed ploddingly as he scans the floor for his clothing from the night before. He’s distracted as he puts on his wrinkled Henley, slides on his boots without tying them, slips his arms inside his trench coat, and places everything else he can try to remember inside the pockets. And just before he leaves her room, he stops and turns, looking at her with those dull, green eyes from before.

This is it, Nora thinks, watching the way his eyes fall from her face towards his big sweatshirt on her body to her long legs hidden underneath her tiny sleep shorts. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to come back to bed. He’s going to—

“Can I have my jumper back?” Nora feels as if she’s just been kicked in the chest, air ripping from her lungs and falling into the space between her and Harry. She’s never felt so small in her life. And when his eyes are still dull and his foot begins to tap impatiently and he looks as if he’s about to burst, Nora knows this is truly it. The Harry she knows is officially gone.

Or maybe this is who Harry really is. And the version she got was just a figment of her imagination, an imposter Harry, a Harry that only existed within the ten days of Holiday break inside an empty Townbridge Academy.

With shaking hands, Nora rips the sweatshirt off her body, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a sports bra below. She flings the material at Harry’s chest, and she hopes that it diverts his attention from her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.

He sees everything, though. And without another word, he pivots on his foot, his back towards Nora as he enters the hallway and closes her door tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the sound of her crying through the heavy oak.

Nora should have expected it, in hindsight. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

This time around, it’s not like Carter Donnelly. Instead of spreading rumors to their classmates, Harry says nothing—not even a lie to his friends, not even a subtle brag about how he was the first person to ever see Nora Priestley come undone—nothing. He keeps quiet, barely looks at her, and goes about his life the way he always has—as Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the prodigal son, who always gets whatever he wants.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Harry has enough pressure in his life—pressure from his father, pressure from his friends, pressure from fucking everybody who looks his way. It’s enough to break somebody in half, so succumbing to both is easier than fighting them.

So when his friends come back to campus and resume their lives the way they always have, Harry can’t help but follow suit. Because telling them that he spent the past ten days with Nora Priestley is simply not an option, even if they were the best ten days he’s ever had. And it’s a heartbreaking realization, because even though Harry doesn’t really care for his friends that much, he still doesn’t want to disappoint them.

Whenever he passes by Nora in the hallway, he doesn’t bother looking in her direction. When he can feel her gaze on his back in AP English, he doesn’t turn around. And when he sees her sitting at the table in the dining hall that they deemed their own for ten days, he doesn’t say anything. He just feels his heart freezing over until it’s an icy block inside of his chest.

And when he’s taking pictures with Alyssa at prom and notices Nora’s pretty blue dress that makes her eyes shine, he almost feels the ice crack. But then she looks at him, for only the briefest of moments, and in that minuscule period of time, he can see the disappointment and anger in her eyes, and it’s enough to make the ice harden.

Harry tries to convince himself that when he’s standing on stage with Alyssa with a plastic crown on his head, he doesn’t notice a flurry of blue exit through the front door. Because when he looks out in the crowd and sees an empty spot near Lydia and Margot that Nora once filled, he knows for sure that the flurry of blue was her. And halfway through his dance with Alyssa, when he’s looking at her strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes and makeup-filled face and expensive purple dress, Harry feels empty inside. Because he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to be around her or his shitty friends anymore.

So he leaves.

But it’s too late—of course it’s too late. Because second chances don’t come to people like Harry, and it’s in Nora’s best interest for him to leave her alone. He’s caused enough hurt in her life, he’s done enough irreparable damage to last a lifetime.

During graduation, Harry tries his best to not look two rows ahead of him and stare at Nora in her red cap and gown. And when her name is called, he tries to ignore the singular cheer from the back of the Great Hall, the cacophonous finger whistle echoing off the walls following shortly after. He wonders if he’s the only person who can see the glimmer of pride in Nora’s eyes when she locates her mother in the back of the room. And when Alyssa scoffs under her breath from the row behind him, muttering a, “How fucking embarrassing,” to her friends, Harry turns around and tells her to fuck off.

As he’s stoically taking pictures with his mother and father in the quad after the ceremony, he sees Nora and her mother in his periphery. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than when she’s smiling with her mom, clinging to her so that they can share this moment together. And when he notices her mother’s matching blue eyes filled with pride, he looks at his own set of parents and wonders if they’ve ever looked at him like that before.

It’s almost enough to make the ice melt. But then his father is taking a business call and his mother is whisked away to talk about society functions with Alyssa’s mom, and Harry’s left standing there completely and utterly alone.

“That boy’s looking at you, Nora,” her mother says, eyes falling on somebody over Nora’s shoulder. “Do you know him?”

When Nora turns around and sees Harry standing there, green eyes full of hope and yearning and wonder, she doesn’t spare him a second look. Her head whips around just as quickly, looking at her mother with a small shake of her head.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Nora says, meaning every word.

And when she drives away from Townbridge for the final time, she’s suddenly brimming with happiness at the fact that she’ll never have to see those people again. And more importantly, she’ll never have to see Harry Styles for as long as she lives.

*** A/N: When I started writing Fade, it sort of ended up playing out in three acts. So with that, this is officially the end of Act One (and officially my favorite chapter of the entire high school years.) Let me know your thoughts and predictions, my inbox is always open for those who want to scream at me. It’s probably going to happen a lot with this story.

To make room for editing and ensuring I have enough written ahead of time for Act Two to keep with the weekly update schedule, (and because I sort of like the idea of separating things into acts because I’m annoying like that) I’ll be taking a week to sort everything out. Therefore, the next chapter and start of Act Two will be posted on Friday, March 12th. Until then, stay safe and be kind! x

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scatter-the-stars · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt: Terror

Prompter: @okaybutihitanightfury

note: Once again, I apologize since this part doesn't stick to the prompt that much.

Part 2

Part 1

The moment on the couch from the night before replays in Kurt’s head as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He woke up an hour earlier and briefly thought that the night before was some wonderful dream. Like the many others he had in the past year. But the delicious ache in his ass said otherwise.

Blaine fucked him.

His boyfriend’s seriously hot dad fucked him in a way he had never been fucked before.

To say he liked his boyfriend’s dad is putting it mildly. From the moment he first saw Blaine, he was smitten. Wanted the older guy. Wanted him more than he wanted his son.

Last night was inevitable. Blaine and him had been racing to that moment from the very first time they met. And he’s glad it finally happened. Glad they reached the place where they were always meant to be.

Kurt stands and goes to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face. Forgoes a shower for the time being so he can have Blaine’s scent on him a bit longer.

With Dex still sleeping, he dresses and walks out of the room. His heart jumps at the sight of Blaine in the small kitchen scrambling eggs. The mere sight of him has the night before replaying in his head. Has him wanting to repeat it again as soon as they can.

“Good morning.”

Blaine looks up. One corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile. “Good morning, Kurt.”

Kurt takes a seat at the breakfast bar and watches Blaine cook. Isn’t sure how to bring up the night before without sounding needy or desperate. Because he wants more. Wants to ask Blaine for more.

“So, um…”

“Yeah?”

“About last night.”

Blaine stops and gives all his attention to Kurt. “Last night was…” He blows out a breath. “It was phenomenal.”

“Yeah?” The hope Kurt has that Blaine wants more grows.

“Yes. But…”

That one word kills that hope. He deflates like a punctured balloon. “But, what?”

“It was a mistake that can’t happen again. Let’s just forget about it,” Blaine suggests.

“Yeah. Of course.” Kurt does his best to hide his disappointment. Doesn’t want Blaine to know he wanted more. “It’s for the best.”

He barely tastes the eggs Blaine serves him. Forces himself to eat every bite so Blaine can’t question if something is wrong. Says he’ll clean since Blaine cooked.

“Thanks, Kurt.” Blaine walks back to his room.

As he starts cleaning the dishes, Kurt hears the shower in Blaine’s room start to run. By the time he’s finished with the dishes, he’s somehow talked himself into going to Blaine’s room to confront him. It’s ridiculous, but he has to do this. Has to at least try before completely giving up.

Stood at Blaine’s closed bathroom door, he takes a deep breath before opening the door. He chokes on a breath at the sight of Blaine’s naked body under the spray of water. His cock swells as arousal pools in his belly.

He wants this man. Wants him more than his next breath. And he’s going to make sure Blaine knows that.

Before his confidence leaves, Kurt undresses, opens the shower door, and presses to Blaine’s back.

Blaine turns to him. Surprise on his face. “Kurt. What are yo-“

“I don’t want to forget about it,” he says. “I want it to happen again.”

“But Dex?”

Kurt loosely winds his arms around Blaine’s neck. “Dex barely notices me anymore. I’m lonely, Blaine. I want to feel good again. And you made me feel amazing.” He skims one hand down past Blaine’s defined chest and toned stomach. Stops right below his belly button. Teases his fingers at the base of Blaine’s cock. Feels Blaine grow hard against his hip. Confidence growing about this whole thing knowing Blaine wants him. “Please, make me feel that way again.”

Blaine says nothing for a long moment. Kurt starts to fear that he royally fucked up. That maybe he wanted this more than Blaine does, and he just made a complete fool out of himself. And that growing doubt and fear only intensifies when Blaine grabs his upper arms and pushes him away a few inches. The hard set of Blaine’s eyes feels like a precursor to his anger. Which he rightfully deserves. Because here he is propositioning his boyfriend’s dad for sex when said boyfriend is nearby. He really is what he confessed last night: a terrible person.

Tears fill his eyes as shame and embarrassment have him wanting to flee. Not just this bathroom, but the hotel and Aspen. He wants to run away until there are states between Blaine and him. Until endless space between them is all they share.

“I’m sorry.” He looks away from Blaine. From the man he’s shamelessly and selfishly fantasized about for a year. He drops his eyes to his feet.

He would give anything to curl into a ball and disappear in that moment. To go back a day and rescind Blaine’s dinner invite. To not know how it feels to be with Blaine. Wishes things were better with Dex so he didn’t have to fantasize about his dad, or turn to him when he wants to feel good.

“Kurt, look at me.”

Although he would rather continue to stare at his feet and not see the sympathy and anger in Blaine’s eyes, he lifts his head. A small, surprised gasp is torn from him when, instead of sympathy and anger, he finds Blaine’s eyes darkened with arousal and need.

Hope and excitement start to bloom. They chase out the shame and guilt he was feeling moments before.

Blaine pushes him until his back comes in contact with the tiled wall. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Kurt hears the underlying uncertainty in Blaine’s voice. And he should be the good guy he’s always been and accept Blaine’s answer as finality. But he can’t. Not when last night was the best night of his life. Not when he’s never felt desire so great for someone. That’s why he confidentially hooks a leg around Blaine’s waist and pulls him close. Why he says, “But?”

A sexy, salacious grin spreads across Blaine’s face. “But I want you too fucking much to push you away.”

Kurt moans when Blaine crushes their mouths together in a brutal, fiery kiss.

This is so wrong and fucked up. But he can’t stop himself. Won’t deny himself what he wants, even though he’s hurting someone.

Whatever the consequences are if Dex finds out, he rightfully deserves.

Right now, though, he deserves to feel good.

He rocks against Blaine. Their cocks glide together. The glide is made easier by the water and precum sliding down the sides of their cocks.

Blaine lifts his other leg and wraps it around his waist. Starts to rock faster against him. Admits with a groan, “I wanted this for so long.”

Kurt shivers at the pleasure Blaine is creating inside him and the honesty in his voice. He looks at Blaine and admits his own longing.

“How long?” Blaine curiously asks.

He doesn’t feel bad saying, “Since I first met you.”

Blaine groans and roughly kisses him.

They suddenly become frantic in their movements. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck. Smashes his lips together to hold in the moans wanting to break free.

The mounting pleasure inside him spills over moments later. He buries his face in the side of Blaine’s neck as his orgasm slams into him. He spasms against Blaine while his cock jerks and spills between their bodies.

He’s still trembling against Blaine and riding his high when Blaine finally comes. A moan escapes him when Blaine’s hot cum hits his skin and mixes with his own. It’s dirty and hot.

A few minutes pass where they say nothing. Both of them trying to catch their breath. Kurt feels Blaine’s heart pounding against his chest. Hears his heavy exhales by his ear.

Blaine finally steps back after setting him down. He moves to stand under the water.

Kurt stares at him. Stares at his back that is to him. At the strength he sees. He knows Blaine works out to keep the body he has. That he works hard for it. And he appreciates that. Appreciates every single inch of Blaine’s sculpted, hard body.

Eyes drop down to Blaine’s full, round ass. An ass he’s thought about more than his boyfriend’s. Said boyfriend who does not take after his dad.

Tired of staring and wanting to touch, Kurt steps close to Blaine and presses to his back. Water cascades down around them. It quickly washes away the cum still on his skin.

Blaine covers his arms when he wraps them around his stomach. “We should get out soon.”

“We should,” Kurt repeats, but not wanting that. He wants to have more fun.

He reaches a hand down and skims his fingers along Blaine’s soft cock.

“Kurt.” Blaine groans.

“How long until you can get hard again?” Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s cock and gives a soft stroke. He kisses at Blaine’s neck. “Because I want you to fuck me again.”

Blaine covers Kurt’s hand and guides him in jerking him off. “I’m forty-five years old, Kurt. I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.”

“Dex?”

Kurt understands Blaine’s concerns. So, he eases his worries. “Trust me, he’ll be passed out until after noon.” He’s dealt with a drunk Dex enough to know his patterns. To know he’ll sleep until the middle of the afternoon sometimes after a night of drinking.

“Fuck.”

Kurt isn’t sure if Blaine says that more because of what they’re doing or because he’s upset with his son. Maybe a combination of both.

As he strokes Blaine, guided by his hand, he takes in every ridge and vein of Blaine’s cock. The length and girth of him. Which is something else Dex didn’t take after from his dad. Where Dex is average in size and not that girthy, Blaine is bigger in length and girth. And he loves the upgrade.

He reaches his free hand down to play with Blaine’s balls. Feels the heaviness of them in his hand. Rolls and tugs them. Anticipates the moment he gets to suck them into his mouth.

With his hands on Blaine, and one of Blaine’s hands covering his, Kurt imagines what they look like. Groans at the mental picture he has. Knows there would be no coming back or talking himself out of this if Dex were to walk in and find them.

That should be enough to stop this and walk away. But it’s not. He’s positive nothing ever will be.

After several minutes of slowly stroking Blaine, Kurt feels him start to grow hard again. “Someone is ready,” he hotly whispers into Blaine’s ear before sucking and lightly biting the lobe.

Blaine grabs both his wrists and removes his hands. Kurt is about to complain when Blaine turns to face him with a fiery need in his eyes. He shivers at the sight. At the possibility it brings.

His whole body suddenly aches for this man. The emptiness he feels intensifying. He’s never wanted someone so badly like he wants Blaine.

Kurt steps back as Blaine steps toward him. His back comes in contact with the wall again. He breathes heavily with anticipation and need.

“You going to fuck me now?” His body would really love it if Blaine fucked him.

“No. Not yet.”

That’s not the answer he wanted to hear.

“Why?”

“Because,” Blaine grins, “there’s something else I would like to do first.”

“W-What?”

Blaine drops to his knees and looks up at Kurt. He wraps a hand around his stiff cock and strokes. Thumbs at the head. “Last night, when I sucked your cock, I quickly realized I could do that every day for the rest of my life.”

Kurt loves the sound of that. So does his cock since it twitches in Blaine’s hold. He rocks forward so it glides in and out of Blaine’s tight fist. Does that a few times. But whimpers when Blaine suddenly lets go and grabs at his hips.

All the warning he gets is Blaine saying I need to taste you before sinking his mouth down around him. He barely has time to slap a hand over his mouth before he loudly moans. With his free hand, he grabs the back of Blaine’s head.

Mouth clamped shut, and sure he won’t be loud, he drops his hand to grab at Blaine’s shoulder. He shuts his eyes and allows himself to sink into the sensation of Blaine sucking him off.

When Blaine did this the night before, he nearly came the moment his mouth was on him. This had been something he fantasized about frequently. Thought about it when he jerked off. Is even ashamed to say he thought of Blaine whenever Dex would go down on him. But it’s been months since Dex has done that. That’s another reason he almost came so quickly the night before. It’s been a while since he’s had the kind of attention Blaine is giving him.

He won’t apologize for going after something he needs and craves. Even if it’s with someone that isn’t his boyfriend. He’s human. Has needs just like everyone else. Needs that are not being met. Dex hasn’t attempted to touch him in weeks. And he’s tried on his part. He’s done everything he can think of. Even went as far as greeting Dex naked when he came home. But Dex took one look at him and walked away. That hurt more than Kurt will ever admit. To have your boyfriend look at you with no interest and walk away. He felt ridiculous. Held back tears as he dressed and fled Dex’s apartment. Promised himself as he made his way home that Dex’s sudden loss of interest in him had nothing to do with him. That something else was going on.

After that, he tried a few more times to get Dex to fuck him and ended up with the same results. Each rejection felt more and more disheartening than the last. That’s why he was happy for this Aspen trip. He saw it as a perfect opportunity for them to rekindle the spark that had gone out. To try and save what they had.

Fate, though, had other plans.

Confessing to Blaine the night before that his son hadn’t touched him in weeks seemed to light the fuse that started this. And he wouldn’t go back and take those words back.

As Blaine sucks and bobs his head, twirls his tongue around the swollen head of his cock, Kurt thinks of what else he told Blaine. That he had his reasons for staying with Dex.

At first he stayed with Dex because he thought he was happy with him and didn’t want to lose that. But he quickly realized that wasn’t the truth. It dawned on him one day a few months ago when Dex asked if he wanted to have dinner with him and his dad. The excitement and rush of joy he felt at the mere mention of Blaine was like a light bulb going off. He knew right then and there that the only reason he was staying with Dex was because of Blaine.

Guilt washed over him as he sat there. He tried his hardest to shove the thought away. Spent the next few weeks trying to fix his relationship to ignore the glaring truth. But he couldn’t. Blaine was his happiness. The person to make him genuinely smile and laugh. To make his heart race and stomach flip. The guy he thought about when he first woke up and before he went to sleep.

Blaine is why he stayed.

He didn’t want to lose that. Decided to stay with someone who lost interest just so he could still see their dad. But he made himself promise he would never do anything with Blaine. Promised to try and fix his relationship with Dex.

He kept those promises. Until last night. Until everything boiled over. Until his long denied desires and needs and feelings had him going after the one person he shouldn’t have fucked.

Karma is a tough bitch. But he deserves whatever it throws at him for what he did, and is doing.

Cold air hits his dick when Blaine pulls off. He looks down and watches him kiss and mouth along his cock. Thrusts forward when Blaine lightly nips at the base of his cock.

Before he can say anything, Blaine dips his head down and takes his balls into his mouth. Sucks on them a few times before releasing them. Lifts his head and sinks his mouth back down around him.

Kurt lets out a small moan as Blaine starts to suck him again. He holds the back of his head tighter and starts to shallowly thrusts his hips. Revels in the sensation of his cock sliding between Blaine’s lips.

He does that until the water starts to turn cold. Doesn’t increase his force or pace. Keeps his slow momentum since he doesn’t want to come this way.

Slowly fucking Blaine’s mouth, terror suddenly seizes Kurt for a brief moment when he thinks he hears something outside the door. He stops Blaine and listens; stares at the bathroom door expecting it to be flung open at any second by Dex to confront them.

Blaine stands and looks at the door. “What is it?”

Kurt looks at Blaine and breathes a sigh of relief at knowing they’re still safe. That they’re horrible secret is still just that. “Nothing,” he says. “I thought I heard something. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He grabs Blaine’s chin and turns his head so he’s looking at. “As much fun as this has been, will you please fuck me now?”

Blaine chuckles. “Yeah. Not here, though.”

They turn off the water and step out of the shower. After drying off, Kurt follows Blaine out to his massive bedroom. The king sized bed draws his attention. A blush staining his cheeks at what they’re about to do on it.

“Bend over the end,” Blaine orders before walking to his open luggage and grabbing his toiletry bag.

Kurt bends over the end of the bed as instructed. Shivers as the cool air hits his hot skin.

The sound of a lock sliding into place reaches his ears. He looks back in time to see Blaine walking away from the door while holding a condom and small bottle of lube. His stomach clenches as his need ramps up.

“Your ass is amazing.” Blaine grabs at his ass with both hands after dropping the supplies on the bed. He palms and squeezes at the flesh. Spreads him open. “How could he not want you?” he silently muses.

That’s the million dollar question right there. One Kurt has no answer to.

Blaine drawing the pad of a finger over his hole makes him shiver. He pushes back on the touch. Wants more when Blaine pulls away.

He hears the click of the bottle of lube being opened. Steps out further right before Blaine presses in with two slick fingers.

“Tell me, Kurt?”

��What?”

Blaine works his fingers in and out. Slowly fucks Kurt with them. “Have you always had a thing for older guys?”

The answer to that surprises even Kurt. “No.” Before Blaine, he wasn’t into older men like some of his friends were. Didn’t see the appeal. Then he understood when he met Blaine. Saw how mature and grown up he was compared to the guys his age who still acted like kids. And he really understood the appeal last night when Blaine fucked him. Where men his age are just in the game, someone older like Blaine has years of experience. Which showed last night when he fucked him better than any of the men he slept with previously.

“You love having this older guy fuck you now, huh?” Blaine says as he pushes into him after rolling the condom on. “Love how I made you feel?”

Kurt arches and pushes back to take more of Blaine into his body. “Yes,” he whines.

Once Blaine is sheathed inside him, he immediately starts to rock back on him.

“Can you reach a pillow?”

Kurt reaches up and barely manages to grab a pillow with his fingertips. He gives it to Blaine, who shoves it under his hips to prop his ass up. Hands on his shoulders hold him down. Blaine shoves as deep as he can and grinds against him. Rolls his hips over and over. He clutches at the sheet beneath his hands. Humps the pillow under him for some relief on his aching cock.

Blaine’s grunts and groans mix with his moans and whimpers when he really starts to fuck him. When he slams his hips forward so hard he’ll be feeling it later.

Sex has never been this good for him. Especially with Dex. Where with Dex it was always about him, and getting him off, with Blaine it’s the opposite. Blaine makes it about him and his pleasure. Makes sure he is taken care of before coming. And it’s nice to come first instead of lying there afterwards and jerking off to finish.

Skin slaps together as Blaine fucks him hard and fast. And when Blaine pulls out and flips him over, he lifts his legs to wrap around him. Moans when he sinks back inside him. When he grabs behind his knees and pushes them up to his chest.

As Blaine moves, he notices him keep his eyes trained down on where his cock is disappearing inside his ass. Remembers him doing the same thing the night before. Realizes Blaine likes watching himself fuck his ass. It makes him grin.

The pressure builds until he can no longer ignore it. He reaches a hand down to grab his cock. But Blaine immediately grabs it and his other hand and holds them down by the wrists above his head with one hand. “I make you come,” he growls.

Kurt trembles.

Blaine’s free hand wraps around his cock and strokes.

It takes all of four strokes before he’s coming. He cries out while spilling over Blaine’s fist. Pleasure swirls through him. And it only grows and grows as Blaine continues to stroke and fuck him through his release. He makes sure to wring out every drop of pleasure from him that he can.

Right as he finishes coming is when he feels Blaine bury himself deep inside his body and come. The hand around his wrists tightens its hold as Blaine’s cock jerks inside him.

After, after Blaine rides out his release and pulls out, after they scoot up on the bed to lie in the middle, after Blaine disposes of the used condom in the trash and wipes their stomachs, Kurt lies on his side and stares at the man he can’t stop wanting.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Blaine reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from Kurt’s face.

“I was loud,” Kurt replies. “That was dangerous.”

“Considering the moment, I won’t hold it against you.”

Kurt moves close and cuddles against Blaine, who drapes an arm over his side and holds him. He wishes he could spend hours in this bed with Blaine fucking and being held close.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Blaine says.

“What?”

“Last night you said something.”

“I said a lot of things last night.”

Blaine chuckles “At dinner.”

“What did I say at dinner?” Kurt has a feeling he knows where Blaine is going with this.

“You said you had your reasons for staying.” Blaine skims a thumb down Kurt’s cheek and strokes it over his lips. “At first, I thought it was because of the sex.”

Kurt snorts. Can see where Blaine would think that. “And now?”

“Now, I’ve had time to think.” Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s neck. Strokes his thumb along his jaw. In a serious voice, he asks, “Why did you stay, Kurt?”

A sheepish smile spreads across Kurt’s face. A blush stains his cheeks. “You know why.”

“I do. But I want to hear you say it.”

Kurt pushes Blaine to his back and lies on top of him. He smiles a big, happy smile down at him. “I stayed because of you.”

A huge smile of Blaine’s own turns up his mouth. “We are in so much trouble.”

“We are,” Kurt agrees before dipping his head down and claiming Blaine’s mouth in a kiss.

They steal a few more minutes on that bed kissing and holding each other. It takes great effort on Kurt’s part to finally climb out of bed and walk out of Blaine’s room. But he does so with a grin and a wonderful twinge in his ass. And a promise from Blaine of more.

Dex is still sprawled on the bed passed out when he walks back into their room. Anger unfurls inside him at the sight. At his reckless, childish boyfriend who seems to only care about himself.

He can’t remember what he ever saw in him. Can’t remember what made him agree to that first date. And that’s not a good thing.

Kurt takes a quick rinse to wash away the smell of Blaine and sex and the last of cum on his skin. Steps out of the bathroom to Dex still sleeping.

He walks out to the living room after dressing and finds Blaine sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. Without thought or care, he walks up to him and grabs at his shoulders before straddling his lap.

Blaine sets his phone aside before grabbing at Kurt’s hips. “What are you doing?”

“Having some fun.” Kurt drops down to sit in Blaine’s lap.

“Some dangerous fun.”

“Isn’t that the best kind?”

Blaine grins. “It is.”

Even though he shouldn’t, considering Dex could wake up and walk out of the bedroom at any moment and catch them, Kurt closes the space between them and kisses Blaine. Fire immediately ignites the moment their mouths touch. It grows wild and uncontrollable inside him when Blaine teases his lips open and thrusts their tongues together.

Kurt begins to rock against Blaine. Holds in the moans at the wonderful sensation of their cocks rubbing together.

“Want you again,” he softly murmurs against Blaine’s lips.

This sudden and strong hunger for Blaine is no surprise to him. Not only has he gone weeks without his boyfriend touching him, but he’s been crushing on said boyfriend’s dad since he first met him. So this is him finally being able to unleash all the desire and need that’s been built up inside him for over a year.

“We can’t,” Blaine replies.

Kurt playfully pouts after pulling back. He hates the reply but understands. It’s too much of a risk to have sex right here right now.

Blaine slides one hand around and pushes it past the waistband of Kurt’s jeans and underwear and palms at his ass.

“Let’s go somewhere, then.”

He watches Blaine consider the suggestion for a moment. Really hopes he takes him up on his offer. Because this morning wasn’t enough for him. He’s hungry for more.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright. I know a place.”

Some time later, Kurt holds Blaine’s hand as he leads them to something called the Silver Queen Gondola.

“What is this?”

“A gondola ride up to the mountain.”

“Oh. Um…” Kurt rips his hand out of Blaine’s even though that’s the last thing he wants to do.

Blaine looks at him with worry. “What’s wro- You’re scared of heights. Right.”

Kurt’s heart jumps at Blaine remembering that. Just as it did last night when he remembered why he learned French.

“I… I can’t.” He shakes his head and starts to walk backwards.

“No.” Blaine grabs his hand and stops him. “It’s okay, Kurt. It’s a twenty minute ride up that mountain.” He points up the mountain. “And twenty minutes is a long time.”

“Yeah. To be filled with terror.”

“No.” Blaine grins and leans in to whisper into Kurt’s ear, “To suck your dick so you forget about the height thing.”

Kurt’s stomach clenches. “Oh. Yeah. That… That is enough time,” he babbles.

Blaine pulls back with an even wider grin. “Then lets go.”

In front of the gondola that will take him up the mountain, Kurt pulls in a deep breath to calm his already racing heart. He steps inside and clings tight to Blaine after he joins him. The terror he spoke of earlier coming on in full swing.

“It’s okay.” Blaine kisses the top of his head and says, “I’ll make it better soon.”

Soon happens a couple minutes into the ride. Kurt sits down and lets Blaine pull his ass to rest at the edge of the seat after he drops down between his legs. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. What if someone sees?”

“No one will see. Now, relax and enjoy the ride.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt walks off the gondola flushed, riding a pleasure high, and wearing the biggest smile.

“That’s a new way to start to get over a fear.”

Blaine chuckles.

“So, what are we doing now?”

“Lunch and then I figured we could do the guided nature walk. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like fun.”

For the next few hours, Kurt has the most fun he’s had in a long time. Blaine and him talk and laugh like they haven’t done in a while. He completely forgets about his boyfriend. Has no remorse or guilt since he is owed this piece of happiness.

Later, laughing at something Blaine said as they walk into the hotel room, Kurt is a bit upset to see Dex awake and sitting in the dining area eating. He quickly hides his disappointment at not being able to fool around with Blaine. Plasters on a fake, cheery smile. “Hey, Dex. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Dex grumbles. “Where were you two?”

“Oh, Blaine invited me to go on a gondola ride.” Kurt removes his scarf and hangs it over the back of the chair. “Then we had lunch and went on this wonderful nature walk.”

“It was great. I wish you could have joined us,” Blaine adds.

Kurt knows that’s bullshit. Especially since Blaine took every opportunity they had to kiss him out in the open where no one knew them and what they were doing.

“That’s not for me.” Dex stands and takes his dirty dishes to the sink.

“What are you doing tonight?” Blaine asks.

“Why?”

“I thought we could all have dinner together.”

“Oh. Um…” Dex runs a hand through his shaggy, curly hair. “The guys invited me to a party they’re throwing.”

“A party?” Kurt questions. “But you promised to make -up last night to me.”

“I know. But we still have two weeks here,” Dex replies. “I can do that any time. You can come with me to the party if you want.”

“No thanks.” Although he knows their relationship is basically over at this point, it still hurts to be rejected and ignored in this way by Dex. “I’ll go with Blaine to dinner.”

“Alright. I’m gonna go shower and get ready to meet up with the guys. They want to hangout before the party.”

“Okay.” Kurt turns and walks away. Hears Dex tell Blaine that he’ll most likely crash at the house where the party is being held. And he feels no guilt at the excitement that courses through him at knowing that while his boyfriend parties away he’s going to be having hot, dirty sex with Blaine all night long.

As he sits on the couch, he notices Blaine walk after his son looking angry and frustrated. He yawns and lies down; tired after everything he’s done today. Eyes fall closed and it feels like seconds later that someone is kissing him awake. He returns the kiss. Already knows the feel of Blaine’s mouth against his to know it’s him that he’s being kissed by. Briefly forgets where they are and who could catch them. He tenses with fear and pulls away.

“It’s okay. He’s gone,” Blaine says.

Kurt relaxes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour. I wanted to let you sleep.” Blaine cups the side of his face. Strokes a thumb over his flushed cheek. “I’m sorry about Dex. I tried talking to him.”

“It’s okay. I expect nothing different from him. Besides,” Kurt covers Blaine’s hand with his own, “I can spend the night in your bed.”

“You can.” Blaine grins. “Are you sure you can handle what I can give you?”

Kurt’s stomach clenches at the promise Blaine’s voice holds. “I’m ready to try.”

He sits up and climbs into Blaine’s lap after he sits down next to him. Hungrily kissing him, he can’t help but to think that between Dex and him, he got the better deal on this trip to Aspen.

As he kisses Blaine, thrusts his tongue against Blaine’s, he reaches down and pops the button of Blaine’s jeans before shoving his hand inside. He grabs Blaine’s hard, thick cock. Aches to have it inside him.

“Let’s skip dinner,” he suggests.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can order room service. I want you to fuck me.”

Blaine groans. “Sounds good to me.”

Kurt lets out a small squeal when Blaine stands and tosses him over his shoulder before heading to his room. Tossed on the bed, he is perfectly content and happy to start their night of sex early.

A few hours and a couple rounds of amazing sex later, Kurt watches Blaine as he takes the power nap he suggested. The warmth that blooms and grows inside him is something he’s never felt before. No man has ever come close to making him feel what Blaine makes him feel with a simple look or smile.

He’s fucked. Well and truly fucked. Because he knows with all that he is that he’s in love with his boyfriend’s dad.

He’s in love with Blaine.

It fucking terrifies him to come to that realization. Because this will cause nothing but trouble for everyone.

Kurt pushes that realization down and focuses on the moment. Doesn’t want to ruin this night with Blaine. And when Blaine wakes up and pulls him close, he drowns in the pleasure he gives him to avoid the feelings raging inside him.

#klaine #klaine fic #Kurt Hummel #Blaine Anderson #prompt fill #sorry again for a fill that doesn't follow the prompt too much #okaybutihitanightfury

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forevercaroline · 3 years ago

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For @iamcarito, @misssophiachase, @karinanic, @missmystic-vampirebarbie, @crazychicke, @infernal-panda, @austennerdita2533, @vampsandchill

Forbes chapter 3

Everyone is settled in the living room of the sorority house, they are in their pajamas, there’s popcorn, candy, chips, fruits, granola bars, there’s something for everyone. Before the movie Melissa stands in front of the fireplace which the tv is mounted above. “Instead of Aspen we will be going to Palm Springs or Montecito for our retreat.”

There are murmurs through out the girls while the movie is going through the opening credits. Lexi leans forward to address the girls in front of the couch she, Erica and Lydia are sitting on. Malia, Allison and Kira are sitting on the other couch. “Since it’s my generosity lending one of the Forbes homes to this retreat I don’t think anyone should be murmuring about anything. Now I can take my generosity back and we can all stay in a hotel and not even a Forbes hotel. Now which would you rather stay in a mansion with a movie theater, and a private pool or a four star hotel with a public pool. I know which one I would prefer but I’m not the one murmuring about location change.”

She sits back and Erica snickers at the girls while Lydia’s phone vibrates alerting her she has a text and it’s from Parrish asking if she is going to come over tonight.

Xxx

“There’s paparazzi camped out at the gate asking us about the Salvatore’s.”

Her father is in his office at the hotel he has Lexi on speaker phone as he goes through papers. While Lexi is in her room trying on the new outfit she got for her date tonight with Isaac. “Do they realize the Forbes live in California and the Salvatore’s live in New York City. We’re family but we don’t talk every day.”

Lexi looks at herself in her mirror, she looks like she is going to a business meeting for the hotel not a dinner and movie date with a cute guy. She turns around quickly and lets out a little yell.

“What’s wrong?” Her fathers voice showing all concern he picks up the phone and is ready to leave at a moments notice of Lexi is in danger.

She closes her eyes and puts a hand over her chest as she answers her father. “I thought I saw someone it’s nothing it’s probably the light playing tricks or a member of the staff.” As she is taking off the outfit and throwing it on a chair in her closet someone moves in her bedroom.

When her mother died the paparazzi hounded them just wanting to take pictures of them grieving. They had a private viewing at the estate and one photographer jumped over the gate and came in the house to get a picture of their grieving. Ever since then Lexi is a little jumpy when paparazzi are at their gate, she knows they are a way of life well her life anyway but she doesn’t have to like that part.

“Should we bring up the topic of private security again?”

“Dad I’ve told you I don’t need a bodyguard, the bodyguard would be bored by my life the estate, school, one of our other homes and shopping, and sometimes a nightclub.”

As Lexi is looking in her closet for another outfit her dad tells her. “Who could be bored by your life your a Forbes.”

The blonde picks out a pair of jeans, black tank top and grey sweater with black ankle boots as she is coming out of her closet she is spooked by someone entering her room she lets out another little yell, it’s only the chef coming to finalize the menu for the date. As she leave Lexi puts her phone to her ear and tells her father. “Ok on the private security but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Xxx

As everything is being prepared in the pool house Isaac is let into the main house. Lexi meets him at the front door. “We’ll be dinning in the back in the pool house.”

They go out into the backyard and Isaac has never seen such opulence everything is so fancy from the perfectly manicured bushes, to the statues, and the outdoor pool the little bit of the main house he saw.

When they enter someone from the staff asks Isaac for his coat. At first he is still stunned by the luxury of this estate and the Normalcy of the pool house it looks just like a dining room. With the circular bar off to the side opposite of the curved couch in the nook underneath the window the couch is decked out in red white and blue pillows. In the middle of the room there is a tan medium size table with matching tan changed.

Noises are coming from the kitchen across the hall from the changing rooms. Isaac is looking around taking everything in, not really carrying on a conversation with Lexi. She sighs all this effort and she is forgotten for the glamour of the house and he only saw a tiny bit of the main house then some of the greenery. She sits down on the couch in the corner and pulls out her phone she first texts Erica then Aiden, Ethan has been with Jackson and Danny all day.

“This is all part of your home?”

“Yes if your impressed by this floor wait until we go upstairs to the watch the movie or if you want we can go downstairs for a swim although I don’t think you brought a swimsuit.”

He looks back at her. “You don’t have extra swimsuits?”

She puts her phone down and looks at him. “This is a home not a mall.”

Their food comes out, Lexi decided to just have a easy menu chicken and salad. Through out the whole meal Lexi is just picking at her meal her head leaning against her hand while Isaac drones on about how magnificent this estate is. Lexi knows her home is beautiful but hearing someone talk about nothing else but how beautiful her home is not entertaining. She thought Isaac was different but just because he has a accent doesn’t mean he’s any different then the other guys she goes on dates with always blown away and forgotten when they see the luxury of her life. At least she knows being this far away from the gate she knows there is no way of paparazzi getting to the pool house. They really should hand out maps of the estate to guests. She smiles at that thought it would be funny if they actually did that.

“Want to go watch the movie?”

He nods and they go up the spiral staircase and through the double doors into the home theater. Lexi sits down in one of the corners of the long curved custom made red couch one of the many seating in the room. Issac sits in the middle and they watch a movie.

After the movie ended and Lexi walked him back to his car. He kissed her on the cheek. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Maybe.”

He leaves and she bee lines for the guest house hoping at least one twin is there. When she lets herself in she is in luck both twins are there. She falls onto the couch and her feet are in Ethan’s lap.“Isaac Lahey hot, but that was a terrible date. He spent the whole time going on about how lovely the estate was. I know how lovely it is I live here.”

Aiden lifts her head so he can sit underneath her head. “Aww hon we’re sorry you had a terrible date.”

“After spending the whole day with Danny and Jackson I still can’t decide I like them both.”

“Are they coming with us to Paris tomorrow?”

“No I told them would be out of the country for a couple days.”

Lexi smiles up at both of her best friends, she can not imagine her life without Ethan or Aiden. Not only are they her best friends they are like her brothers. “Are you guys ready for full fashion emersion with both Forbes and Salvatore families coming together.”

Ethan and Aiden have went on vacations with the Forbes family but they haven’t met the other members of the family IE: their cousins the Salvatore’s. They have read all about them in the magazines and heard about them from Lexi.

Xxx

When Peter comes home that night Genevieve the head of the staff at the estate comes up to him. “Mr. Forbes there was an issue while you were gone.”

Click on the link for the rest of the chapter.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13726612/3/Forbes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185111/chapters/78081137

#multi chapters #forbes #lexi forbes #lexi branson #peter forbes #peter hale #sawyer forbes #erica reyes #ethan and aiden #caroline salvatore #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore

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bumbleartz · 4 years ago

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So got inspired by @sondrawr and @gotham-mother-of-monsters and had this ramble pop into my head. Hadn't flipped through my Mercy books in a while so it was fun to go back and refresh. Covers from the first book up to Storm Cursed and has spoilers if you haven't gotten that far.

Jesse has heard the title Marrok on and off throughout her childhood. Usually the title is whispered between the wolves or her father in tones she isn't supposed to hear. These conversations always ended in her being hustled off to the care of her mother or after the divorce being sent off to her room. The first time it became more than a hushed precursor to her being shuffled off is after being taken hostage. Her father had pulled her into his office and given her a name to go with the title along with a number to enter into her phone. "He is the head of all the wolves. If something happens regarding pack business or you feel for some reason you can't get to any of us or Mercy you call that number." She'd dutifully filed the number away as instructed under Bran Cornick and promptly had the conversation fade to where she kept the rest of what was considered pack information.

The first time she sees the Marrok is in the entryway way to the house in the middle of the night. She's too distracted by the fact her father is home safe to pay much attention to the others in the room as she is carefully wrapped into his arms. He looks like crap and smells worse even to her normal human nose. She can't bring herself to care as the tears she's fought so hard not to shed wet her eyes. When she unburies her face from her father's chest long enough to take note of the others there she's honestly too tired from the stressful nights of waiting to register anything beyond them being in one piece and alive. Later, after the first good night's sleep she's had in days, there will have been too many new faces for her to register who was who. The only one she can place a name to with any certainty is Charles. Mercy laughs and tells her Charles has that effect on people when she goes to see her later.

The first time Jesse meets the Marrok is not long after on a midnight escapade to calm her nerves. Another nightmare has had her shooting awake and the images are still playing in full technicolor behind her lids each time she closes them. It's been almost a year since she was taken hostage and yet the blinding terror feels as fresh as ever. She'd turned down therapy when it was offered. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, some werewolf thought they could use me as leverage to make my dad behave so they could use him in some murder plot with a side of treason? She'd known how well that would have gone over. She'd thought they would fade over time. Maybe they would have if things had gone back to normal; a demon vampire threat, murder plotting psychos, and the attack on Mercy had happened instead. Jesse didn't bother adding the destruction of her social life and ongoing mom issues to the list since they just seemed to pale in comparison to the rest. Anymore Jesse found herself waiting for the next horror story. The most recent of which was currently causing all the wolves various fits. She currently wasn't clear which was bothering them more: one of their own being resurrected or Mercy being pulled into the pack. The kitchen light is on as she rounds the corner and she expects to see any number of people outside of the vaguely familiar stranger currently staring back at her. Somewhere between him asking her if she couldn't sleep and making the hot chocolate the same way Mercy does it dawns on her this person who looks barely older than her is the Marrok. Her tired brain tries to summon up the awe with a side of shock she should be feeling and fails miserably. Instead she finds herself nursing her mug of cocoa and making small talk while the Marrok takes drinks of his own. In the midst of the conversation he manages to get her to verbal vomit about her nightmares and the troubles she's been having at school. She manages to find out he has a deep dislike of Shakespeare, has a deep love for music, and possesses a terrifying wit. By the time she is making her way back to her room and he to the guest room she is feeling better then she has in months. He's already gone when she gets up leaving her without ever getting a chance to say thanks. While it isn't a big thing it bothers her just enough to pull her phone out and send a text to the number she'd all but forgotten. The simple thank you is accompanied with a YouTube link to her favorite Lindsey Stirling video. After all, Jesse views not knowing who she is and being a violinist as a crime. The little smiley face emoji she gets in reply makes her grin.

The next time they meet she's the one providing the hot chocolate. The pack has managed to get themselves entangled with a fairy queen and Mercy has yet again made the sacrifice play. Everyone is chasing their proverbial tails trying to find her while remaining outside of her father's war path. In the meantime, Jesse feels she's improved in her chaos handling as she's only broken down twice. Apparently having your boyfriend kidnapped and going on to a fairy queen's court doesn't have the same punch as other things she has dealt with lately. When she sets the mug on the coffee table it's the wee hours of the morning and the Marrok has been seated cross legged on their monstrosity of a couch for the better part of a day. If she hadn't gotten to know him a little better over the previous months she would have felt she was intruding. However, Bran was not against using all available resources and she'd been pulled in regarding the newest resident of Aspen Creek. Kara and Jesse had clicked right off the bat and become faithful texting pals ever since. Bran rubs the bridge of his nose and blinks hard a few times despite his eyes having been closed before reaching for the mug. He looks beyond exhausted and she knows not all of it has to do with the current situation. Kara has confided in her about his lack of sleep and the way he's been running himself ragged. Jesse does her best to lighten the mood with a joke about the fairies contacting them any moment begging them to take Mercy back. Her effort is rewarded with an amused smirk and a quiet chuckle. She ends up rambling about different ways Mercy is driving the fairies nuts and is encouraged when Bran joins in. Jesse wakes to the noise of people rushing around. Bran is smiling and gripping a walking stick with a white knuckled grip from his spot on the couch when he tells her Mercy has been found.

Jesse is biting her lip to keep from laughing too loud as she informs everyone the butterflies have succeeded where the dove idea failed. Marji is cackling on the video feed in victory while Bran seems too amused to care he has just lost a hundred bucks. Two days pass in a blur of emergency calls and group texts. Despite the short time frame the wedding goes off without a hitch. Mercy is surprised and Jesse can't remember the last time her father looked so blissfully happy. Once the two love birds are off Jesse spends the rest of the reception twirling around the dance floor with Gabriel. The raised eyebrow this gets her from Bran makes her stick out her tongue. The fact Mercy comes back from the honeymoon in a wheelchair shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Jesse can picture Bran doing his iconic bridge pinch when she sends him the picture.

Bran's text to Mercy makes Jesse's lips quirk in amusement. After the destruction of the Rabbit she could use the humor. That humor plummets when the number comes up disconnected when Mercy tries to reply. The knot of concern only tightens with each person Mercy tries and fails to reach. The pain of it becomes near unbearable when they find Ben and no one else. The pain doesn't start to ease until she recognizes the dark haired man fighting beside Tad. After months of having Asil tease her about her hair after seeing it during a video chat with Kara she'd know him anywhere. Seeing her father and the pack alive and well makes the knot come undone. At least it does until she realizes one is missing and hears of Peter's death. She knows how her father will take the loss and can't bring herself to add more weight to those already overburdened shoulders. So she turns her focus to looking after the younger Sandoval children and burying her feelings as deep as possible. This works until Asil catches up to her in the kitchen getting together snacks for the kids. All he has to do is ask if she's alright and she falls apart. Asil pulls her into a hug and gives reassurances in Spanish. Jesse doesn't understand a word but it soothes her all the same. He tells her everyone in Montana is safe and she sags in relief. When everything is over and she gets a new phone that has been programmed by Charles, Asil's number is listed in the contacts.

Her mother has only been living with them for a day and Jesse wants to scream. She loves her mother but watching the resulting train wreck her mere presence is causing makes her wish she'd just leave them all alone. Even though her talk with Mercy has eased some of the hurt and anger, it hasn't gotten rid of it. Mostly because despite what Mercy said she can see the way her mother has gotten under her skin and cut her to the quick. Anger and the need for a voice of reason has her contacting Bran. Bran gently reminds her Mercy is more than capable of holding her own in a dominance dance. He must know this isn't what she was looking to hear because the next message contains Charles' number and instructions to text him. Jesse has no idea why Bran would have her talking to Charles but she copies and pastes the message she previously sent like instructed. Bran must have warned his son because Charles doesn't seem surprised to get the message. Charles turns out to be an unexpected fount of wisdom when it comes to the difficulty of broken family dynamics. It's odd how hearing from someone else that she is allowed to love her mother and yet not like her makes it feel OK. By the time her mother's stalker has been dealt with Jesse thinks she might finally be finding the path between love and hate.

Jesse isn't a wolf, but she can still feel the moment Bran breaks ties with the Columbia Basin Pack. She doesn't wait for her father and Mercy to come out of the office. Tad seems to know something is up but doesn't say anything when she gives the excuse of homework and heads to her room. Her phone is a lead weight in her hand because what do you say to someone who just had to throw away someone they love? A part of her is angry too. Angry at the pain she knows this has caused Mercy and the difficulty it will cause her father. However, Jesse knows what it is like to be caught in a situation outside your control due to the actions of those you love. She types out a promise to do what she can for Mercy and to send a warning the instant something happens requiring help. She ends the text with a little heart emoji. Current circumstances might make it harder but family out ranked all else. Jesse already knew if something happened Bran would help. She's proven right when Baba Yaga saves her father in Underhill.

Jesse's proven right again when Bran goes with her father to get Mercy back from the Lord of Night. He sends her a message promising her he will bring Mercy and her father back in one piece. She replies telling him she knows. She also tells him to come back in one piece too or she's going to have to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At this point she's gone to battle to protect her new pyro of an adopted younger brother and managed to keep him from burning the house to the ground. She's pretty sure she can at least annoy a vampire lord. The fact she'd have backup from an Italian mercenary, a Dark Smith and more than one werewolf pack was completely irrelevant. After all the one thing she knew for certain was you always looked out for your pack, your family. Which is why as soon as she hears everyone is returning from Italy in one piece she sends a message to Tad for him to tell his dad. She also makes sure Warren passes on the message to Stefan though he doesn't need reminding. She snaps a picture of everyone getting out of the car when it pulls up and sends it to Charles and Asil because she knows hearing someone you care about is safe is not the same as seeing it. And because he is family in her eyes at this point, after she hugs her father and Mercy, she hugs Bran too.

#mercy thompson #patricia briggs #Bran Cornick #Jesse hauptman #writing

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lamesiscanon · 4 years ago

Text

Pine Tree

Day 8 coming in 6. DAYS. LATE. because someone's computer decided to just not work anymore :( Anyways, thats my excuse so please enjoy. (prompt list by @remus-john-lupin )

The morning chill was almost enough for Remus to tuck his feet back under the blankets and succumb once again to the comfortable lull of sleep and a warm body tucked against him. Key word: almost. Remus hadn’t set his wand alarm this early for nothing, and he was going to stick to his plan. With great effort, he swung his legs out from under the blankets and over the edge of the bed to quietly get ready for a cold morning spent in the snow.

Lemon raised her head from her spot on the sofa when he came downstairs. If she was curious why Remus was awake so early, she didn’t show. Instead, she licked her paws a few times and laid back down again to go to sleep. Reese’s was another story. Her wagging tail hit Remus on the shins a couple of times as he leaned down and tried to pet her. He was able to calm Reese’s down by pouring her an early helping of food in her bowl, and Lemon’s too, just to be fair. The dog and kneazle best friend duo ate side by side as Remus prepared his morning tea as quietly as possible, and then he’d be out of the house.

Reese’s came to the door with him after she was done eating, tugging on her leash hanging from a hook near the back door. They rarely used it, but it was her way of showing that she wanted to be outside. Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to have her with him, Remus opened the door for the both of them to venture into the expanse of trees they were lucky to call their back yard.

The morning was light, but there was not yet any rays of sun to warm him through the three layers of coats. Remus took Sirius’ sweatshirt as his first layer, and then wore his own jacket as a second, and finally, Lyall’s old flannel coat was bundled tightly over the whole of it. Still, Remus was looking forward to either the sun rising, or getting back to the cabin. Which ever came first.

Reese’s walked ahead of him, diving under the fresh powder of the forest and barking at random tree branches. She disappeared under a pile of snow for a couple of seconds before coming back out with her tongue out and tail wagging happily.

The search for the perfect pine tree was tougher than Remus was expecting. It was easy to completely disregard the few aspen trees scattered here and there and focus on the green pines, which were tall and plentiful. But that was exactly the problem. Remus was trying to surprise Sirius with the perfect real tree to put in their living room, and everything he’s spotted so far was either too tall or too bare.

Reese’s started barking again, though this time she was out of Remus’ sight. He gave up on the tree he was looking at now, which wouldn’t have been too tall if he just cut from the middle but it wasn’t full enough. Instead, he followed the sounds of Reese’s’ barking and found her facing the most beautiful pine tree in the world. It was the perfect height with the ideal amount of branches. It wasn’t bare in the slightest, but it wasn’t too full that Sirius could decorate it if he chose to. It was exactly what Remus was looking for when he came out into the forest at the crack of dawn.

In hindsight, he should’ve realized that there would’ve been a completely different reason for a dog to be barking at a regular pine tree, but Remus had it cut with his wand and levitating behind him as he made his way back to their cabin home. Reese’s was still barking at the tree when they arrived on the back porch, so Remus left her outside to get some of her energy out while he set the tree up in it’s stand in the corner next to the fireplace. When all was said and done, Remus went back to the kitchen for another cup of tea and to get started on a proper breakfast for him and Sirius.

Halfway through cooking the hash browns, a pair of arms made their way around his waist and a chin was resting over his shoulder.

“Hey.” Remus greeted, leaning his head against the one resting on him for just a moment before focusing back on the food.

“Hey yourself. Would you mind telling me why there’s a pine tree in our living room?” Sirius’ voice was still groggy with sleep and his tone was accusing, though his arms didn’t go anywhere from Remus’ waist.

“Hmmm, well if I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure I went out and cut it down this morning.” Remus took the pan of hash browns off the heat and turned around in Sirius’ arms to face him. “Since you wanted one, and all.”

Sirius squinted his eyes up at Remus for a moment before his face broke out into the widest of grins and he leaned up to kiss him. “I only mentioned it in passing, you know. You didn’t actually have to wake up this early just to get me a tree.”

“No shit?” Remus asked, trailing his hands up and down Sirius’ arms and relishing in the warmth that was brought back to him after his frigid morning. “I wonder why I did it anyway... hm, could be that I’m in love with you.”

Sirius kissed him, a quick peck to the lips before he was dragging Remus away from breakfast and into the other room to look at the tree.

In the living room, they found Lemon in her same spot still snoozing on the couch. One look told them Reese’s was outside the window on the back porch, no longer barking but staring intently at the tree. Remus paid no mind.

Sirius walked around the tree, trying to look contemplative but was betrayed by his own wide grin that took over. Remus watched him, content with the peaceful moment of the beautiful morning and with himself for finding such a beautiful tree, and nothing had even gone wrong.

“Remus?” Sirius spoke up now, standing behind a branch where Remus couldn’t see him. “Why is there a hedgehog in our pine tree?”

Remus hurried over, putting Sirius behind him as an act of protection and getting him out of the way so Remus could get a look at whatever Sirius had spotted. Indeed, there was a little creature nestled on the branches of their pine tree.

“Oh.” Remus reached out to the animal, looking at the branch it resided on and was careful to keep his voice low. “It’s not a hedgehog, it’s a Knarl. Similar to a hedgehog in looks and behavior, but their quills have magical properties that can be useful in potions. They are cautious creatures, but will take to you almost immediately just by avoiding eye contact and not making so much noise. They don’t like loud things, but they don’t like quiet, either. You can talk to them quietly, but usually humming a song will do the trick.”

Remus was busy trying to convince the Knarl into his open palm and did not notice Sirius staring at him until he was turned around with a tiny creature in his palm. He was smiling to himself and softly petting the animal with two fingers, completely immersed in Professor mode.

“The females are larger in size and have a darker color in quills. Males are smaller, but the unique thing about them is their quills often have a gradient change in color. More often than not, a male Knarl’s quills will start at a darker color closer to the skin and get lighter at the top. Based on the size and color of this one, she’s a fully grown female.” Remus looked up then, and Sirius reveled in the moment Remus remembered that he was at home with his husband, not in his classroom at Hogwarts.

“How do you even know all of that? You’re the DADA professor, not Care of Magical Creatures.” Sirius asked as he came up to pet the Knarl with his own fingers. Remus smiled.

“I’m just smarter than you, that’s how.” Remus admitted, watching the Knarl curl up in his palm and sniff his fingers. “Any questions?” He joked.

“Hmmm. How did I get so incredibly lucky?” Sirius asked, but Remus’ only answer was a roll of his eyes. Sirius hummed to himself now, a Led Zeppelin song that had played on the radio yesterday. The Knarl looked up at Sirius, who was careful to avoid eye contact just like Remus said. The creature deemed Sirius a worthy candidate and made to move from Remus’ palm and into Sirius’.

“So, what are we naming her?” Remus asked, beaming at his husband and the way he was marveling at having the Knarl in his hand.

Sirius’ head snapped up, though he was careful to not jostle the girl. “We can’t keep her, what if she doesn’t want to stay here?”

Remus looked out the window for a brief moment to see Reese’s tail wagging and no longer staring at the pine tree in trepidation. It made sense now, that she had barked at the tree the entire way home and took up guard duty at the window before Remus or Sirius knew that they had another pet on their hands. Reese’s probably deserved a few extra Christmas presents this year.

“We’ll let her leave if she wants to,” Remus shrugged, “But I did sort of cut down her home on accident, so maybe she’ll want to stay. I’ll name her, you can charm the tree to stay alive, and if she still wants to leave then we’ll allow her to.”

“Wait, why do you get to name her? You named a Kneazle Lemon!” Sirius asked, careful to still keep his voice down as the Knarl crawled over his arm and explored his jacket.

“Because she’s yellow and white, it made sense! You named a black dog after a candy that is brown and red so therefore, I get to name our new friend.” Remus stuck out his arm when the Knarl crawled to the ends of Sirius’ fingertips. The Knarl hopped onto Remus’ arm to scurry the whole way up his arm and settle into the flop of greying curls.

“Oh Merlin, that’s just too precious. Look, Moons, even the animals know your hair is a nest!” Sirius hurried away to find their camera, and Remus was too amused in the situation to be mad. Sirius came back, snapping a picture of Remus looking up towards his hair with a dopey grin on his face while the Knarl snuggled into the curls.

“So? What’d you decide for the name?” Sirius asked as he put the camera away and sat down on their couch. Lemon woke up and moved herself onto his lap to receive affection.

“I thought we’d keep the food theme going. She looks like a Cocoa, don’t you think?” Remus took a seat next to Sirius, grabbing his book with his right hand and holding Sirius’ own with his other. The whole time he was careful not to move his head too much.

“Cocoa? You had an opportunity to call her Carl the Knarl and you went with Cocoa?”

“Well she doesn’t look like a Carl to me! She looks like a cocoa.” Remus defended. “And you don’t get to say anything about my naming choices since you named our dog after a peanut butter cup.” Remus settled back into the couch, indignant about not being able to settle into his book.

Sirius let him be for a moment, still holding his hand and petting Lemon. Reese’s had been let in before they had sat down, and she took to running circles around their new pine tree. From the soft breaths coming from on top of Remus’ head, Sirius could tell that Cocoa had fallen asleep. Sirius was struck with the sudden clarity that this was his family, and he felt like he belonged.

“Hey, Remus?”

Remus didn’t look up from his book, but he hummed in acknowledgement to show that he was listening. Sirius wanted to tell him how he had never before felt so happy, that his best moments were these ones spent with Remus doing almost nothing together. He wanted to tell Remus that he would do anything for him, just like Remus had got up early to go out and get a tree just because Sirius had wanted one even though they didn’t have any ornaments. Most of all Sirius wanted to tell Remus that he was truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Remus knew all of this, though. As much as they said it aloud to each other, they said it through actions, like getting a pine tree for their living room. And so Remus already knew.

“Thanks for the tree.” Sirius told him instead, but he knew Remus heard what he had meant anyway, and beamed.

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lyssismagical · 4 years ago

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Okay so I don't have a prompt from, like, a list? But: either Peter or Harley taking their younger sister trick-or-treating and ending up getting scared by somebody? Idk it's not a great prompt but

I kinda took this prompt on a little adventure but here we are (late as always lmao)

This is also incredibly AU so oops ,,,

Harley’s incredibly reluctant when his mom shows him the costumes she picked out for them. He would do pretty much anything for his siblings, but this was a little over the top.

Apparently, Abbie had begged to do a group costume this year, and they’d decided on Winnie the Pooh.

Jonah, the second youngest of the Keener’s at three, got to be Winnie the Pooh, and Harley would be lying if he said he wasn’t the cutest little kid on the planet.

Dayton’s seven and he chose Tigger.

Piglet went to Aspen, the middle child at 10 years old.

Abbie claimed Eeyore before Harley could.

Leaving Harley as Kanga, and the baby of the family, Bentley, as Roo.

It’s embarrassing, walking around his hometown dressed as Kangaroo with his baby sister in his pouch, the train of Keener’s following along behind him.

The anxiety is a lot higher than the shame, though. With five children to look after singlehandedly, Harley feels like he’s going to lose his mind, counting them every few minutes to make sure they haven’t lose anybody.

Rose Hill’s generally a pretty safe town. It’s small enough that everyone knows everyone. If any of these people saw one of the Keeners in danger, they’d be sure to stop it. Harley trusts the people in the town.

But Rose Hill’s also a popular trick or treating spot. Everyone in neighboring towns come to theirs because nearly every house will have candy or chocolate available. They always go all out. So there’s a lot of strangers about.

“C’mon! It’s Tay’s house!” Aspen shouts, racing ahead, hand linked with Dayton’s. “She said she’d have special treats for us!”

“Aspen!” Harley chastises with no results. Abbie shakes her head, holding onto Jonah’s hand. The pair system generally works alright but leaving the two middle kids together doesn’t work out quite as well as Harley was hoping for. He tries to pick up the pace to catch up, but Bentley is proving to be a difficult addition to their team.

He loses sight of Aspen suddenly, lost to the groups of people on the streets. He grabs Jonah from Abbie. “Go catch up to the others and then wait at Tay’s until I get to you.”

Abbie jogs off, bag of candy tossed over her shoulder. Jonah whines pitifully at being left behind and Harley’s forced to lift him into his arms to soothe him.

Now saddled with two kids and three bags of candy, Harley struggles to keep his cool.

“Help!”

Harley turns, fear chilling him to his very bones. It could be one of his kids, voice high and scared.

But when he sees the source of the voice, it’s a girl he doesn’t recognize, probably eight or nine years old, eyes wide and a deep shade of brown.

“Everythin’ okay?” Harley asks, shifting Jonah’s weight to lean down to her height.

She shakes her head, mouth settling into a pout. “I can’t find my brother.”

“Alright, honey, I’ll help you out. Can I guess he’s dressed as Peter Pan?”

The girl nods. She’s dressed as Tinkerbell, a little green dress and wings and the iconic green shoes with white balls on the ends. “I got scared but I can’t find him anymore.”

“Okay, well, I’m Harley and this is Jonah and Bentley. What’s your name?”

“Morgan. And my brother is Peter.”

Bentley babbles wordlessly from Harley’s kangaroo pouch and Jonah’s fist curls into Harley’s hair.

“Where did you see him last?” Harley asks. He can’t help looking over his shoulder, still worried about Abbie, Aspen, and Dayton. “Do you remember?”

She nods. “I’m not allowed to tell you. It’s a secret.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”

She leans in closer, eyes so wide and earnest, voice dropping into a stage-whisper. “He’s Spider-Man. He saw someone who needed help and he told me to stay put but I got scared.”

“Spider-Man? I thought he was Peter Pan?”

“No, he’s Spider-Man, for real. My daddy is Iron Man.” Morgan rolls her eyes like Harley’s silly for thinking otherwise.

Instead of continuing to argue, Harley just accepts this and moves on. “Alright, well now that you’ve told me that, we can retrace your steps and find your brother, yeah?”

She nods, lighting up in a smile.

“First,” Harley says, unable to stop the constant waves of fear, “Let’s go grab my other siblings, yeah? And then you can lead the way.”

She grabs onto Harley’s tail, keeping herself attached as he leads the way, not having a hand available for her.

They get to Tay’s driveway, waving the three kids over.

“What’s up?” Abbie asks, frowning at Morgan. “I know there’s a lot of Keener kids to remember, but I think I would recognize this one.”

“She can’t find her brother, so we’re going to help out.”

Dayton frowns, shaking his bag of candy. “But there’s still a lot of houses to hit.”

“We can go later. First, we’re helping Morgan.”

He shifts Jonah again, weighed down by everything. Bentley babbles some more. Morgan looks like she might cry if Harley doesn’t find her brother soon. Dayton and Aspen look a few seconds away from throwing twin tantrums.

“Alright,” Harley says, taking a deep breath. “Abbie, keep Dayton and Aspen together and following. No running off this time. Morgan, you’re leading the way. You can all have one piece of candy before we go.”

He gets a lollipop for both kids and one for Morgan too, at least it’ll keep them occupied for a little bit. And then he makes sure everyone’s good before they start off again, following Morgan’s lead.

At the very least, she seems to know where she’s going, but she seems nervous, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure Harley’s still there.

Harley feels like he might cry, shoulders aching and back throbbing in pain as Jonah falls asleep against his shoulder and Bentley squirms against his stomach. And at one point, Dayton starts complaining about his feet hurting, so Harley passes off his bag of candy to Abbie, and lifts Dayton up onto his shoulders, making sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt Jonah.

“I was standing right here,” Morgan finally says, eyes sparkling. “Peter went down that road and left me here.”

Harley nods, looking around. “Did he say he’d come back to meet you here?”

She nods.

“Alright, I guess, let’s wait and see if he shows up. He’ll know you’re waiting here for him. In the meantime, Abbie…”

Abbie nods, already understanding what he’s asking of her. She puts the candy bags down. “I’ve got my phone on me and I’ll just check down this road. I’ll be twenty minutes max.”

“Be safe please. Mom would kill me if I lost you.”

She takes off and Aspen sits down against the brick wall with Morgan. Harley doesn’t want to wake up Jonah and he can’t get Dayton down without Abbie’s help so he just leans against the brick wall and hopes it won’t take long or else his shoulders will fall off.

And then, as though the universe is out to get him, Bentley starts crying.

He can’t hold Bentley, his only ability is to try to soothe her with words.

Morgan’s eyes go wide, like she might cry too. And Harley doesn’t think she could deal with that right now.

“Spider-Man’s not going to save you now.”

Harley turns quickly, pushing himself in front of Morgan. This is probably what scared her earlier. “Listen, man, we don’t want any trouble.”

He steps out of the shadows and Bentley cries harder. The man’s holding a gun, pointing it right at Harley.

“Spider-Man hurt my business. He ruined my life. I just want the girl.”

Harley quickly slides Jonah onto the ground, leaving him with Aspen, and with his hands free, he can pull Dayton onto the ground as well.

Abbie rounds the corner and she freezes, staring at them. “What- Harley?”

“Abbie, take Bentley,” Harley orders, keeping his hands lifted and eyes on the man. “We don’t want any trouble, okay?”

As soon as Bentley’s safe, Harley takes another step forward, putting as much space between the kids and the man as possible.

Behind him, not only is Bentley crying, but it sounds like Jonah, Morgan, and Aspen are as well.

“If you don’t move, I’ll kill you too.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you get at any of them. I can’t. Just put down the gun and we won’t have any problems, alright?”

The gunman flicks off the trigger and Abbie shouts wordlessly, sitting against the brick wall, holding all the kids with her.

Harley keeps his hands raised in surrender. “Please, don’t do this. They’re just kids.”

“Move or I shoot.”

Harley’s hands are shaking, fear running his blood cold. But he doesn’t move.

And then, swinging down from a nearby rooftop, is Peter Pan.

Peter Pan knocks the man to the side, hat barely staying on his head, and webs the gun to the bricks, too high for anyone to grab. The man doesn’t have much fight left to give, and Peter Pan webs him to the ground pretty quickly.

As soon as he does, he spins around, eyes darting until he sees Morgan.

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathes, racing over and lifting Morgan into a tight hug. “You’re okay. You were gone and I was thinking the worst. Christ, I was so scared. Don’t do that to me.”

Harley turns, falling to his knees and immediately checking to make sure everything’s alright.

“Is everyone okay? Nobody’s hurt?”

Abbie shakes her head. “We’re okay. Don’t fucking do that, though. You’re so stupid.”

Harley takes Bentley back, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her forehead in an attempt to soothe her. He gets out some more candy for Dayton and Aspen, hoping it’ll be enough to keep them calm.

“Hey, Morgan said you saved her.”

Harley looks up at Peter Pan. “I’ve got five younger siblings. I know what it’s like.”

“This is different. You could’ve let him take her to save yourself and your siblings, but you didn’t. You protected her.”

“It’s not a big deal. You saved me from getting shot, so we’re even.” Harley shrugs, offering a little smile. “Do you live around here?”

Morgan shakes her head. “We drove super long to get here.”

“Not super long, just a bit. We live nearby. Her parents needed to get out of the spotlight and this is what they came up with.”

“Come on then, I live just a few blocks from here-”

Aspen frowns, voice going high and whiny. “We’re not going to keep trick or treating?”

“You really want to-”

“Please!” All of them shout, even Morgan.

Harley sighs harshly, but Peter shrugs. “Yeah, alright, we could do a couple more houses, huh, Harley?”

Peter takes Dayton and Morgan, Abbie takes Aspen, and Harley’s left with Jonah and Bentley. Harley introduces Peter to all of them.

It’s so much easier to have another ‘adult’ with him to watch the kids, even if there’s an extra kid to account for. They trick or treat at another three blocks worth of houses before calling it a day and heading back to the Keener Household.

Harley puts Jonah, Bentley, and Dayton to bed. It’s late enough as is, before he sets Abbie, Morgan, and Aspen up to watch a movie.

And then, he takes Peter into the kitchen.

“You hungry? Thirsty? Anything I can do for you?”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. “Take off the Host Hat.”

Harley turns from the fridge and nods before getting distracted. It’s not his fault, really, it’s just that Peter’s wearing tights and a very definingly tight green shirt with a belt cinched around his small waist. He’s got little freckles drawn onto his cheeks and black eyeliner that makes his doe eyes look so pretty.

He probably looks so silly dressed as a kangaroo in comparison.

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you did today, Harley. If it weren’t for you…”

“It’s really not a big deal. We’re even.”

Peter smiles softly. “You’re a really good guy, Harley.”

“You’re a superhero, Peter. There’s no way I could beat that.”

“It’s not a competition.”

Harley takes a step closer. “You make a really good Peter Pan. It fits.”

“What fits? The role or the tights?”

“Both,” Harley smiles, close enough now to cup Peter’s cheek and lift his head up to meet his eyes. “The hat’s cute too.”

Peter grins. “The kangaroo look is adorable, it works for you, believe it or not.”

And then Harley’s kissing him, tugging his body flush to his, and hands tangling into his curls and knocking his hat askew.

It only lasts a few minutes before Abbie’s wolf-whistling from the doorway.

“God, Abbie, buzzkill, much?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Mom just left for her shift at the hospital. Morgan’s determined on having a sleepover with Aspen so I sent them both up to her room, and I’m heading up to get some homework done. Keep it down, alright?”

“Abbie!”

Peter laughs, hiding his face against Harley’s chest.

“Guess you’re staying the night, huh?” Harley asks as soon as Abbie’s gone. Peter laughs some more before kissing Harley again.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @zanderljones {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #harley keener #abbie keener #peter parker #morgan stark #parkner fic #dayton keener #aspen keener #jonah keener #bentley keener #tagging it just in case i use the characters again lmao #sorry this is like a week late

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karihighman · 4 years ago

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Two is Better Than One: another Upstead one-shot

Hailey thought she had hospitals handled. Besides, it was her that held Jay’s hand the first time he finally got the flu shot.

That was eventful, she thought to herself, thinking back to the morning almost two years ago. Jay was a wreck, complaining the whole way there and back as Voight made it a new requirement for their yearly physical. Hailey knew it was usually required period, so she didn’t know how Jay avoided getting it for so long — especially since his brother, Will, is a doctor at Chicago Med, of all places.

Close and easy. But no, not for Jay. Jay preferred to do things the hard way, which made things interesting for Hailey, though she was used to it by then.

About 6 months after that, Hailey had too much to drink at Molly’s and Jay drove her home. She thanked him for taking such good care of her. “You’re the best partner ever, I love you,” She had said before slowly closing her eyes.

Jay didn’t know what the hell to do with himself, but he knew he wasn’t gonna leave her alone. So, as she passed out in her bed, he camped out on her couch until morning. He even woke her up with the smell of fresh coffee.

“What? No breakfast too?” She quipped, coming out to her kitchen in an oversized shirt and pajama shorts. She must’ve changed, he thought to himself.

Her hair fell in very messy waves around her face, and even with the smudges of mascara underneath her eyelashes, Jay couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful woman.

And that’s when he realized he loved her too.

It took him a week of semi-awkward surveillance nights and early morning coffee runs before he worked up the courage to invite her to his place. She figured it was just for one of their famous “things that worked,” as their caseload had been ridiculous.

It was. But it also set the stage for Jay’s confession, err, confessions, as he fessed up to Hailey that he never stopped thinking about her slurred words from the week prior.

A very much sober Hailey told him for real that she meant every word, and a very sober Jay repeated those 3 little words back to her. Their whiskey and tequila laid untouched that whole night on his countertop.

They were safe every single night they’d been together. Well, Hailey remembered, except for at Adam and Kim’s wedding.

Oops. In her defense though, they were in Aspen, it was gorgeous, and where else were you supposed to have crazy, over-the-top sex?

That was 2 months ago, and they’d been so busy with work that they barely had time for date nights, let alone time in the bedroom.

They maybe spent 2 nights together since the wedding, one of which they actually just fell asleep on his couch after talking, and the other they both passed out after a night of karaoke with Kevin and Vanessa.

She sighed, as Natalie Manning’s voice brought her back to the present moment, aka: the reason why she was standing in Gaffney Medical Center in the first place. She’d been chasing a suspect when he clocked her on the head with a crowbar.

She had told Jay to go, that she’d be fine as she found her way back to her feet. But, when she faltered a second later, he insisted she go to Med.

She was just thankful Voight forced him to do his statement and finish his paperwork on the incident right then, so he had to duck out of the hospital early.

Will had assured him she’d be fine, if anything she had a concussion. But, upon further inspection, she did have a laceration on her forehead. He gave her a tetanus shot, and pulled her medical chart just to make sure she was up to date on everything else.

When he noticed her oxygen level was low, he consulted Natalie. He wasn’t sure why, since she was perfectly healthy. She countered that maybe he read it wrong, that it was her iron levels. Either way, she ordered a blood draw.

And what she discovered made her stand in front of Hailey as opposed to Will. Natalie white lied and said it was a female issue she needed to discuss with Hailey, she just didn’t tell Will what kind of feminine issue.

“Hailey?” She asked the blonde that sat in front of her.

“Yeah?”

“Have you been feeling lightheaded, nauseous, or anything like that lately?”

“You mean aside from today thanks to my pounding headache?” She tried to joke, but stopped after she saw Natalie’s face didn’t change.

“Yeah, I mean aside from that.”

“Yeah, a few times. But we’ve been working crazy hours trying to catch that burglary crew, which is why I was so pissed off I let the one guy get the jump on me—“

“Hailey,” Natalie said firmly, making the detective go silent.

“You’re pregnant.”

Hailey was shocked. She always, in the very back of her mind, wondered, but she just figured it wouldn’t happen to her. Not like that, anyway.

“Does Jay know?”

“Does Jay know?!” She scoffed, running a hand through her damp hair as Will had to clean her scalp free of any debris from the pipe. “I didn’t even know until five seconds ago! I mean, I suppose I did know...I had this gut feeling, but I brushed it off.”

Natalie sighed, looking down for a moment. “So, you haven’t told him, have you? Or talked to him at all about the possibility?”

Hailey stayed silent, too embarrassed to have been so stupid. She was a cop, for god sake. She should’ve known better, been better.

Natalie looked back up at Hailey, a twinge of solemness in her eyes. “Do you even know if he wants kids?”

Hailey nodded. “He does, I mean, we haven’t talked about it in a formal manner, but I remember he told me at Kim and Adam’s wedding that he wanted this, the whole nine yards. And he grabbed my hand and looked at me like I was the most special thing in the world and was like, ‘and you’re the one I want that with.’ It was the sweetest thing,” she said, getting emotional over it now with the new meaning it held.

Natalie smiled. “See, he just wants the best for you. And I’m sure he wants what’s best for you too. Which means you can’t be so reckless anymore. You could have lost the baby.”

Hailey nodded, realizing she wasn’t just caring for her own life anymore. “I know.”

Natalie added, “And Jay deserves to know, too, Hailey.”

She nodded again, giving Natalie a small, slightly sad smile. She had no idea how on earth she was going to tell her boyfriend that their world was going to change. But, they’d made it through so much together, she knew she had to try.

So, that night when Jay picked her up from the hospital — Will, still clueless as ever to whatever female issue Natalie had talked to Hailey about, told Jay that they were just “finishing up their girl talk.” Natalie had nodded and said Hailey was good to go — she knew she wanted to tell him.

He was walking her up to her door and had helped her inside to her sofa when she asked him if he could sit with her.

“Of course,” he had said, asking her if she wanted anything to eat or drink first.

She shook her head no, but told him she did have something she needed to say.

He got serious, an adorable crease in his forehead taking shape as his brows furrowed in concern.

“What is it, Hails?”

“I—“ she sucked in some much needed air, willing herself to push through.

“Jay,” she tried again. “I’m pregnant.”

He was speechless. And Hailey opened her mouth to tell him anything, like she didn’t mean for it to happen (she really didn’t), or that she didn’t mean to spring this on him (she really hadn’t)...when she realized Jay’s eyes were teary.

“Jay?” She whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes too.

He just took her hands in his, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Hailey, I love you. So so much. And I’m gonna love our baby just the same. I just— wow, I know it’s not something we planned, but after everything we’ve been through, it just seems like the perfect little miracle, doesn’t it?”

She sniffled, laughing lightly. “Yeah, it sure does.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, Jay kissing her back with just as much softness. He released one of her hands, and he put his on her stomach. Hailey laughed, knowing she definitely wasn’t showing right now.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m just trying to suss out whether it’s gonna be a boy or a girl” he said excitedly.

“Jay, we can’t tell the sex for months! Plus, I already know you want a boy.”

He looked at her, his forehead creasing once again.

So, she continued. “Don’t you? That way Owen would have a playmate, you could teach him all the sports trivia or to love that damn truck as much as you do, or—“

She paused mid sentence when he vehemently shook his head, disagreeing with her sentiment.

She was shocked. “Wait. You’re actually okay with a girl?”

He smiled, pulling her intertwined hand in his down to her stomach. “Yeah, I am. Because she’ll be just like her mom. Brilliant, brave, and beautiful.”

Hailey knew a few tears slipped down her cheeks that time. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Jay said, smiling earnestly. He brushed her tears away with his thumb. “Plus, I can scare all her future boyfriends away by putting them in the cage or showing up with a shotgun.” He broke into one of those boyish grins that made Hailey roll her eyes.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” She said, trying to stay a tiny bit annoyed.

“Yeah, I know. But I also know that you love me anyway. And I love you—“ he paused, leaning down to talk to her belly. “And whatever this little one turns out to be, a whole hell of a lot.”

“Heck, Jay, language!”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever you say, Hailey Anne.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You love me anyway.”

Yeah, that he did. And she just the same.

____

*original prompt by @upsteadlover on Twitter; request made by @onechicagofam_ on Twitter; photos of Natalie & Hailey w/in prompt tweet by @onechicagoedits on Twitter; gif by @xofeno (: // words by me, of course*

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tarnishedhalo · 3 years ago

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first mistake he makes is checking his email before coffee. It sits there, an anonymous tag in his personal inbox. And Riley's face starts to slowly collapse from the outside in, his body becoming rigid as he takes hold of his chair arms. Shoulders hunch pulling stiff muscle and scar alike before giving up supporting his weight and he drops heavily down into the chair, the leather and the wheels grunting in protest. The second mistake is letting that bitter and cold rage rise up and sit in the middle of his chest where it does its best to hamper Riley's breathing. Even if he were to take the laptop to the computer forensic techs, they won't be able to really tell him anything. Unlike CSI: Wherever the Fuck would have audiences believe, you can't just track down someone's exact location from a single email. There's vpns, there's a half a billion ways of keeping yourself one step ahead of the game. The proof of that is evident in the Black Hats and their crimes, the White Hats and their cyber-security jobs. Of course he could take this to Aspen and she'd stand a better chance than the code monkeys in the House, but that would also be exposing her to this fucktard who can't seem to leave well enough alone. And there's still his rising body-count. Obviously the sicko's a him, Riley knows that much. And he possesses some of the common traits of serial killers but not all; the sensation seeking, lack of remorse, need for control and predatory behaviour are all ticked boxes but there's a lack of impulsivity. There's a methodology here that Riley can see even if the others cannot. There's a touch of eroticizing the violence done to each of the victims but ultimately, Riley can't really say that the violence and sexual gratification are intertwined in the killer's psyche. And to categorize what he must consider his art or expression in that base view is doing everyone from the killer to the investigation a disservice. Riley's easily wracked up hundreds if not thousands of hours going into this case, even if he's not officially on it as more that a conduit for the FBI, which chaps his ass like nothing else can. They are a joke and he doesn't think they will ever close the case. It's personal. A Cat-and-Mouse game, poor choice of words, and unfortunately Riley isn't always the cat. The killer...is nigh folk. There's no doubt in his mind. Otherwise he'd be able to see the crimes even after they happened by examining the interconnected nature of time and location. Something beyond the pale is preventing him from that but also makes it near impossible to pin down exactly what the killer is, other than getting his rocks off tormenting Riley with victims that could pass for at least two of the most important people in his life. He growls a curse under his breath, and hits the reply button. Hey, fuckface. How about instead of playing your bitchass games, and screwing with little girls you come at me? Take your best shot. I'll be waiting. He stabs the send button just before Beth sees the message when she comes up behind him, a mug of coffee in one hand. Because she’s already up and ready for the day. She presses a kiss to the back of his neck. "Y'don' look so hot, Panda," she says quietly and he can feel the tension riding roughshod over her. He takes the mug out of her hand and without bothering to roll the chair back and try to use it to leverage himself up, or ask her to bring him his leg, his free hand grabs hers. He returns her kiss against the pulse at her wrist. "Call in today. I don't want you going into work." "If can, can. I no-" He cuts off her refusal and his fingers tighten until her tawny skin blanches from the pressure. "I wasn't askin', Bean."

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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In Plain Sight, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Written for @k-itsmaywriting‘s birthday! I hope that, despite how weird the world is right now, you have an amazing day!

Shirayuki understands how this is supposed to work. She’s seem movies after all-- Witness, of course; Sister Act 1 & 2, if only because Opa thought Whoopie Goldberg was a national treasure and Oma thought she was too young to be watching Ghost; and Our Lips Are Sealed about eight times on video cassette, since she’s old enough (and Opa resisted DVD long enough) have both VCRs and wholesome Olsen twins content as a part of her childhood.

(Her favorite formative twins were Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap; they were red-headed, just like her, and one of them had a British accent. She’d been devastated to find out that not only were both of them American, but they were also only one girl. She’d watched Double Trouble to console herself)

In any case, she knows how this goes, at least narratively. She lays down in this amazingly comfortable bed, stares up at the ceiling in a tense yet melancholy fashion for hours, and dreams in plot-relevant flashbacks. Extra points if they reference the crime she witnessed.

The problem is: she didn’t. She’s just the unfortunate collateral to her father’s personal redemption. All the life ruining without ever being part of the A plot.

There’s an upside though: the second she hits that firm cloud of a mattress, she’s out like a light.

Absolutely nothing wakes her, but Shirayuki jolts into consciousness anyway, as unpleasant as any false start. She expects to be confused; she’s not a graceful riser to begin with, and every morning in temporary housing, she’d bounce off three walls at minimum trying to find a bathroom that didn’t exist.

(Well, the bathroom did exist, it just didn’t exist where it should, which was down the hall to the right, and was compounded by the door being in exactly the wrong place too.)

Instead, she knows exactly where she is. Knowledge which is quickly followed by the low-key, seething resentment for the man who put her here.

She groans, lifting her head from the pillow. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just--

7:00, her alarm clock says. Tuesday, her brain provides after a long moment.

She should be getting up, habit told her. Getting her morning fix of avocado toast and orange juice with Paul Newman’s face stamped on it.

There’s worse ways to start your day than having a fine pair of eyes smiling at you, Oma would say.

What can I say? Opa’d grumble back, flipping through the paper. It’s impossible to compete with Butch Cassidy.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. There’d be none of that today. Agent Jiang-- Obi’s assistant had gotten her Simply Orange instead. A small mercy. It’s hard enough to be someone else when there’s still so much her clinging to the edges.

It’s tempting to linger in bed; she’s always been a morning person, up with the birds, but maybe Claire isn’t. Maybe Claire likes to stay up late and sleep in, sleeping past the three alarms she sets for herself. Maybe she likes to have waffles for breakfast, straight from a box, and drinks pomegranate juice. Maybe she doesn’t bike into the lab at eight because--

She groans. Because Claire doesn’t have a job. A thing that will have to change soon, since Claire has to pay for this house.

There’s a great deal of compromise that happens between bedside and bathroom; habit insists she needs to be fully dressed, ready to greet the day, but everything else--

Well, she’s not going anywhere is she? There’s no reason she couldn’t wallow in her pj’s all day

Standards, habit insists. But those belonged to Shirayuki, not Claire. Claire has no job, no friends, and nothing to do on a Tuesday morning besides--

Oh no, the recycling.

The bin is nearly two-thirds her height, but with only one day under her belt, it’s already overflowing. Good thing she’d looked at that brochure when it slipped out from between the takeout menus.

She shrugs her hoodie a little tighter, pulling it down over her leggings-- habit and hedonism settled on exercise wear as a happy medium-- and grips the handle, tugging it out the opening garage door, right into the fresh Texas morning--

And promptly throws her hoodie back into the garage. She might need that with the downright frosty temperature the house is set to, but oh, she was not going to cover her skin out here any more than necessary. Even now, she’s starting to sweat in impossible places beneath her leggings.

Hooking her palm back around the handle, she tugs the bin down the drive. Her gaze fixes to the pavement-- the last thing she needs is to trip right over herself on her own driveway taking out the trash-- and she doesn’t look up until she hits the sidewalk. It’s a struggle to get it to sit right-- these are proper curbs, white poured cement with squared edges meant to puncture cheeky tires; one of the wheels catches in a gap and refuses to budge until she hip checks it out onto the next slab.

She’s damp at this point, skin dewing with giant drops of sweat she’s tempted to shake off like a dog, but--

But Martha Kino has an arm slung along their fence, holding a tall glass of iced tea that makes her mouth water just to look at.

“Oh, um, good morning!” she calls out with a weak wave. “I didn’t, um, see you there.”

It’s only when Martha slides her gaze to her that she realizes her neighbor hadn’t been looking at her at all. Her mouth curves into a knowing smile at the sight of her. “Good morning, honey. You here for the show?”

Shirayuki blinks. “The show?”

“Mm-hm.” Martha takes a long drag from her straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Here it comes now.”

Shirayuki tracks her line of sight right across the cul-de-sac, squinting at half acre of immaculately trimmed, completely invasive Bermuda grass. Their front garden is well-kept, as well; thickly mulched with giant hibiscus blooming blood red against pristine stone facade.

Oh, and there’s a man as well. That’s probably what Mrs Kino is looking at.

He’s tall. No, tall is an understatement; he’s a giant, six foot four at least with shoulders to match. He’s trimmed with the same military precision as his lawn, clean shaven with an undercut that could scratch glass. Heavy brows draw sharply over his nose, forehead rumpling as he tears a box right down the fold--

Ah, well, all right. It’s not doing much of anything for her, but the Vitruvian man’s more ideal cousin ripping up boxes definitely counts as a show. Halfway through, he grabs the hem of his shirt, mopping his brow, and ah, hm, he could definitely have made money as an anatomical model. His rectus abdominis are, ah...very defined.

“Is he--” Shirayuki searches for the words-- “from around here?”

“Oh, him?” Martha’s gaze doesn’t stray for a second, not even as she sips at her tea. “That’s Scott. Aspen’s husband. They just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Shirayuki glances around the neighborhood. Seems like more than a few of her neighbors hope they’ll never leave either.

“Quite the pair, those two,” Martha hums. “She’ll be at the luncheon. I know you two will just get on like houses.”

More like houses on fire if she mentions she’s seen her husband’s floor show. “Oh, right. The um, luncheon.”

Mrs Kino grins as Scott hops back inside, out of this heat, just like she’s dying to do. “By the way, he mows the lawn on Sunday, just before lunch.”

“Oh, um, great.” She’ll be sure to miss it. “Can’t wait.”

It’s too early to bake cookies.

There’s not a baked good on earth that tastes as good two days later as it does fresh out of the oven; Shirayuki knows that down to her toes and bones, but still--

Stress baking. It’s a thing. And she doesn’t have to make anything right now. She could get all the ingredients together, just to make sure she has them. And then...just not do anything.

She can. Definitely. Absolutely. She’s Claire now. Claire probably doesn’t even like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh gosh, who is she kidding? Only monsters don’t like chocolate chip cookies. What next, Claire doesn’t like brownies? Apple pie? Snickerdoodles?

It’s a slippery slope, not liking things. Best to just keep it simple and eat everything, that’s what Opa always said at the church potluck.

The morsels and brown sugar already sit out on the counter when her phone lets out a piercing ting. She’s half tempted to ignore it; she’s having a contentious battle with the ten pounds of King Arthur flour that’s tucked away in her cabinet-- what was she thinking?-- and she refuses to show any fear in the face of baking supplies but--

Ting. No one knows her number. Well, no one except the government.She settles back on her heels with a sneeze. The government probably doesn’t take kindly to being left on read.

Her hands clap against her thighs, flour misting into the air as she leaves two partial prints right over the helical print. She frowns, plucking at the fabric, nose wrinkling as more powder burst into the air. Ting.

“I’m coming,” she mutters, stumbling over to the island. “I’m coming.”

Sugar Daddy i got just what u need pumpkin check ur email

The corners of her mouth dig furrows into her cheeks as she clicks on the notification. It’s the only message in her inbox, aside from the ubiquitous Welcome to Gmail spam and a few coupons for Banana Republic and a couple of other retailers. They’d taught her about this at orientation; they couldn’t do much about an empty inbox, but everyone had at least a few mailing lists they’d either forgotten to opt out of or regularly used.

Still...what about her said Banana Republic? She glances down at her spandex-clad legs. If they were going to go for a too-expensive clothing line, they could have at least sprung for Lululemon.

Ah, but that wasn’t the point. Marshal Jiang-- Obi hadn’t texted all...that...to show off some spam. Sitting at the very top of her inbox is a Cornell email address-- Cornell-- with an attachment.

Dear Claire, the message reads, We’re so sorry to see you go, but I’m glad we’re able to keep in touch. Of course we kept the copy of your old CV. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.

It’s signed by some professor; not high profile enough for her to have heard of, but she doesn’t doubt that he’s real, someone a curious party could look up on Cornell’s directory. Well, at least for the next six months.

The Columbia alumna inside her writhes in agony. Cornell. She doubts it’s a coincidence.

Me Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?

Not that she’s very, um, up on the specifics of such a relationship, but she’d been under the impression that sugar...children?...were supposed to be fully reliant on their sugar parent. Her mouth pulls thin. Already she’s thinking about this far more than she’d ever hope to.

Sugar Daddy a good daddy makes sure his baby can take care of herself ;)

This declaration is followed by a stream of emojis, ending with an eggplant and a peach, and she just-- doesn’t need to know. She wipes away the sweat that beads at her hairline-- from embarrassment, of course-- and downloads the attachment.

Me I’ll take a look. Thank you.

She sets the phone back on the island, face down, and glares. He can’t possibly be like this to everyone. People would complain. They wouldn’t just let him insinuate that he-- that they--

Ting.

Sugar Daddy good girl

All right. Maybe they would.

Shirayuki doesn't get homesick.

She’d been the first brownie to leap out of her car at summer camp; Opa barely had time to lurch into park before she was traipsing across the field, backpack slung over her shoulder and duffel bag dragging on the grass. Freshman year, she moved into the dorm by herself, pressing kisses to wrinkled cheeks as she lugged her suitcases onto the train; she’d almost forgotten to wave from the window.

But as soon as she lays down in bed, the lights snuffed out and the world still, it hits her. Just a soft roll of her stomach at first, the barest itch on her skin, like wearing a wool sweater on a spring afternoon. It’s fine; too much to ignore but nothing that would keep her up too long.

It doesn’t stay that way.

Her stomach clenches, tears pricking at her eyes, and it’s everything she can do to just roll onto her side, letting the chills wrack through her body. She shivers so hard her teeth chatter, and this-- this isn’t the gentle ache of nostalgia her books prepared her for. This is an illness, plain and simple, like when she caught norovirus in eighth grade can could hardly do anything but lay on the bathroom floor and wait for the next wave to begin.

This isn’t her, she isn’t like this, she doesn’t get like this, but-- but--

Before she always knew her home was waiting for her; she could leave but Oma and Opa would always keep the front lamp on, waiting for weary travelers and last minute bookings.

It’s different now that there’s no home to come back to.

7:00, her alarm clock says. She watches it tick over, like she has for every hour before it.

She must have slept at some point; it’s impossible that she’s lain awake, staring at the clock for eight hours. But that doesn’t make her any less tired, and so when her alarm starts up, beeps cutting through the quiet white noise of the air conditioner, she reaches out and slaps it off.

Shirayuki may not sleep in, but Claire is certainly warming to the idea.

Her notebook sits open on the island; neat, looping script stretches across the page, straining the boundaries of the blue lines that contains it. She’d done her homework yesterday, combing through job sites to find the most likely candidates. There’s five on her list right now, ranked according to preference, and oh, is Shirayuki glad she had the gumption to do this before, because this morning she feels like roadkill being scraped off the blacktop.

Still, she worries at her lip as her laptop boots up, peering over her list. In the cold light of the morning, five seems too few, but...desperation hasn’t set in yet. She’s allowed to still have standards.

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she glances at the next page: another list. No, a set of instructions. Edit CV. Write cover letters.

Shirayuki groans. Even with the bullet points she left for herself, composing cover letters is a circle of hell all its own. With only three hours of solid sleep under her belt, it’s an insurmountable hurdle to getting hired.

“Right,” she murmurs, hooking an ankle around a stool and pulling it under her. “Editing it is.”

She clicks on the pdf Obi sent her, scrolling down and--

“Oh no.” She rears back from the screen, heart pounding. “No, no. There’s got to be a mistake...”

“Hey, baby,” Obi’s voice rumbles through her speaker. It’s thick and warm and would be utterly distracting if she were in any less of a crisis. “A little early for a b--?”

“What happened to my papers?”

“Uh.” All the suggestion in his tone evaporates. “What?”

“My papers.” Her hand grips the phone so tight it creaks. “They’re gone.”

His end goes silent. Silent enough to make that weird click, like the line’s cut out, and she pulls back to check--

“Someone stole your passport?” He laughs, incredulous. “Some sort of luck you have, Miss. Barely had it for a day and already you’ve gotten your identity stolen.”

She blinks into the barren air of her kitchen. “What?”

“You know,” he hums, too amused, “I picked out a cute house in the suburbs for safety, and here you are, getting robbed. Did you leave them in your car? Or did you just go out--”

“N-no!” She’s honestly half tempted to say what car, until she remembers the tasteful mid-sized SUV in the driveway, the one she’s still been calling the girlfriend car in her head, and realizes-- it’s hers. She’s the girlfriend.

Except she’s not. At all. Which is fine! She doesn’t even want that! If she’s still thinking about what his mouth feels like as he wraps them around his words, then--

She really can’t be thinking about this right now. “I mean my papers! I just looked at my CV and it’s a page!”

He hesitates, though not enough for the line to click again. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“CVs aren’t resumes,” she informs him patiently, pen twisting between her fingers. “They’re dick measuring contests--”

Her teeth snap around the words, but oh, it’s too late. They’re already out there in the aether, and he’s laughing.

“Now there’s something I didn’t think I’d hear out of you, Miss.” He doesn’t need to sound so pleased about it.

“It’s something my old PI used to say,” she mutters. Oh, Garak would be so proud of herself if she knew. “It’s not very polite, but she’s not, um, wrong.”

“I’m sorry the US government made you under endowed.” His words practically rattle as he says them. “It’s not the size that matters, Miss, but how you use it.”

“Obi,” she huffs. “All the work I’ve done for the past ten years of my life now is attributed to my birth name and my birth name only! According to this CV I have the same level of experience, but less papers than an undergrad! And you can’t tell me that any of these are searchable on PubMed.”

And none of them are first authors, is what she doesn’t say. It’s a petty thing to worry about when her entire academic career is functionally extinct.

“Hm.” His fingers drum quickly on a table. Desk? It’s strange not knowing anything about the man who is her only lifeline. “I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t want to be, um, alarmist, but I can’t get a job with this.” Her hand shakes as she scrolls down her screen. “No one is going to hire a post-doc with a one page CV.”

“Don’t worry, Miss. There’s a plan for this, somewhere.” She can feel his grin when he says, “You can’t be the first academic who’s had to go into hiding.”

She smiles, despite herself. “Considering some of the conferences I’ve been to, I can believe it.”

“Besides, you could always apply to pharmaceuticals.” The very word is like a donkey kick to her gut. “The pay’s supposed to be better--”

“I can’t work for Big Pharma.”

He hesitates. “You...can’t?”

“Obi, they make little old grandmas pay eight hundred dollars for insulin!” She presses a hand to her chest. “Banting and Best didn’t sell the patent for one dollar so that people could get gouged by--”

“I get it, I get it,” he assured her. “Preaching to the choir. But as a safety, I’m sure you could find one that isn’t stealing candy from babies.”

She huffs. “I doubt it.”

He rasps out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. As I said, can’t be the first PhD on the lam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Just yours?”

“You are certainly some kind of education, Miss.” He hums. “Give me a day. See what I can turn up.”

“You have two,” she informs him magnanimously. “I have the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.” She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s lounging, smug like a cat post-canary. “Looking forward to joining the neighborhood’s Ladies’ Committee?”

“Ha ha,” she drawls flatly. “Very funny.”

He is unnervingly silent on the other end.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice certainly does not fill with a nervous quaver. “You guys don’t have things like that around here.”

Obi hums, humoring her.

“W-what would they even do?” She picks nervously at the sticker on her laptop, prying up part of NVIDIA. “Plan potlucks? Organize the Neighborhood Watch? Cotillions?”

She doesn’t know how he makes his grin so palpable over 4G. “Looking forward to your debut, Miss?”

Shirayuki scowls down at her screen. “I think I’m firmly up on the shelf, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I have cookies to make.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #witness protection au #ans #i wanted SO BADLY to get to the ladies lunch this chapter #but a lot of the lead up in here got too long #and in the interest in cutting it at a place that made sense #it all got moved one chapter over #BUT it is almost to where the true conceit of this fic arrives #always a nice place to be

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hushedhands · 4 years ago

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Challenge 71

@everbeenminee

*Maxon, America, and two-year-old Addy visit the bakery from Chapter 30 of The Laws of Inheritance

“Please, Maxon?”

“Ames.”

“Please?” America pouted just a little, this time cradling her enormous baby bump for added effect.

Maxon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. America was still a couple of weeks away from her due date, but that was exactly when she’d given birth to Addy. She was liable to go into labor at any second, and the stress was already gnawing away at him. Now she wanted him to authorize a family trip into town?

“Hey! Daddy’s sad!” Addy came toddling up to her father from where she’d been playing with her dolls on the other side of the common space between her parents’ bedrooms and her nursery. “No crying.” she ordered.

Maxon chuckled, “I am not crying, Birdy. See? No tears.”

Addy studied him carefully, but he was right.

America added, “Daddy’s not sad, baby bird, he’s worried.”

“Worry?” Addy wasn’t sure what this meant.

“Scared.” America clarified.

“Monsters?” Addy’s eyes widened, returning her attention to her father.

Maxon chuckled and swept his two-year-old off her feet. “No monsters. Not anymore: Daddy, Uncle Aspen, and the guards defeated them all.”

Addy was too busy giggling at finding herself suddenly horizontal in mid-air to pay much attention to his words.

Maxon returned his attention to America, “But Ames, that baby could come at any second. I don’t want to have to deliver our next baby in the back of a car.”

America tilted an eyebrow at him, amused, “You think I want to deliver our next baby in the back of a car? Wouldn’t that be worse for me than you?”

“Yes, of course—“

“Maxon, I’m not proposing a road trip across the country! It’s fifteen minutes away—“

“There could be traffic! We could have to go into lockdown—“

“So we should hide away inside our Palace in case of my immediate onset of advanced labor, combined with epic mid-afternoon traffic, and a sudden resurgence of zombie Southern Rebels?”

“I’m serious, America!”

“It doesn’t sound like it—“

Maxon frowned, ready to argue with her, when Addy started squirming in his arms. “Fly me!” she encouraged.

Maxon sighed and stood, Addy still cradled to his chest, then he started tossing her body up a foot into the air and then catching her in a cradle again. She laughed riotously. After a minute, he sat her down and asked her to play dolls a little longer while Mommy and Daddy finished their conversation.

Maxon collapsed back down on the sofa, slightly out of breath, and returned his attention to his wife. “Any trip that involves the entire royal family is a risk to all of Illéa.”

“This is a good risk. The proprietors of the shop have served the royal family for centuries, the guards know how to secure the location because I visited there a couple of years ago, and it’s very close to home.”

Maxon eyed her and her stomach with suspicion.

“Gavril thinks it would make great press. The royal family on one last outing before the arrival of a new baby…”

Maxon still wasn’t sure. For all he knew, America was in labor right now and just hiding her contractions so that she could get her way. That was exactly what she’d done with Addy.

“Maxon, if anything goes wrong we’ll cancel, of course. If it doesn’t seem safe, or if I go into labor, we’ll just come home.”

“Hmph.”

America giggled at him and reached out for his hand. She placed it on her stomach and held it there. “Come on, Max. Don’t you want some chocolate cake?”

He did want chocolate cake. He was very stressed, and chocolate cake would help tremendously.

“Are you certain the baby wants strawberry tarts?” Maxon asked, one last effort to change America’s mind. But she’d been craving these very specific strawberry tarts all week, and he already knew the answer—

“Yes.”

Well? What kind of man would he be if he denied his wife and unborn child such a simple joy?

***

Addy still couldn’t get over the fact that they weren’t going to Gramma’s house. That’s what cars were for, in her mind, because the only time she rode in one was when she was going to visit Gramma. Her parents said they were going to get treats, but Gramma had treats, so why not just go to Gramma? It was all very confusing.

Addy rode in her safety seat with Elephanty, and her daddy sat beside her. Across from her, Mommy stared out the window at the city as they rode, fingers absentmindedly stroking her stomach.

“Ames? Are you okay?” Maxon was convinced she was in secret labor.

America furrowed her eyebrows, annoyed that he’d asked her that question so many times in the same day. “You really think I could hide labor from you? You must think I’m very tough, or labor isn’t really all that painful. Which is it?”

“Tough, of course.” Maxon hurried to save himself. “Obviously I’m concerned about the pain of labor, Love, that’s why I’m so worried about you.”

“Mommy hurt?” Addy attempted to join the conversation.

“No, my little Bird. Mommy is fine.” America reassured her daughter, then glared at her husband. “Maxon, we’re on the same team. You have to trust me. I will tell you when I have anything to tell.”

Maxon looked sufficiently chastened.

“You think I’d rather have desserts than hospital-grade pain relievers when I go into labor?” America challenged him.

“Sometimes.” Maxon teased.

America shook her head at him, but she was smiling. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Mommy, we please go to Gramma?” Addy was getting antsy. The car was essentially a Gramma machine in her experience, and all this no Gramma was really wearing on her.

“We’re going to get some yummy treats at a very special bakery in town, my lovely.” America reassured her. “Then we’ll go back home and play with Astra and the twins.”

“Why?”

Maxon leaned over and pressed a kiss to Addy’s hair, “A long, long time ago, the very first King in all of Illéa ate at this bakery. And every single king, queen, prince, or princess has eaten there ever since. And now, you get to go for the very first time and have a yummy, yummy treat. What kind of treat will you get, Adrienne?”

Addy kicked her legs in thought, accidentally making contact with America’s knee. “Oops, sorry Mommy!” Addy rushed to explain that she hadn’t meant to wound her mother.

“That’s okay, baby.”

“Ummmmmm…” Addy drew her thought out, returning to the question at hand. “I want…” There was so much to consider.

“They’ll have cake, cookies, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, stawberry tarts—“

“Cheese.” Addy decided.

America laughed, her big round belly bouncing in a way that made Addy giggle too.

Maxon chuckled, “They won’t have cheese, but they might have cheesecake.”

Addy turned to him, eyes wide, astonished, “Cheese… cake?”

“Yes, my little milk baby.” Maxon was thrilled to have blown her mind like this. “Does that sound good?”

Addy nodded excitedly, all thoughts of Gramma forsaken in exchange for cheesecake.

The car slowed down to reveal a rope line full of people eager to meet their king, queen, and princess. Uncle Carter said some words into his radio and then Uncle Aspen appeared beside the car and opened the door.

America required extensive help to get in and out of the backseat of the car, so Maxon went first, waved to the crowd, and then helped his wife up. While America got to work signing autographs and posing for photographs, Maxon unbuckled Addy from her safety seat and scooped her up on his hip.

The crowd was loud, but they were all smiling. Paparazzi yelled Maxon’s name, but there was a rule that they weren’t allowed to yell at Addy, so she didn’t feel scared of them. Maxon signed autographs with one hand and kept ahold of Addy with the other.

“Do you want to try signing, Love?” Maxon offered Addy, much to the delight of the woman whose paper was being signed.

“I write?”

“Yes.” Maxon handed her the pen.

Addy scribble-scrabbled on the paper, her very first signature. It didn’t have any recognizable letters, of course, but it was still a momentous occasion.

Shortly after, Addy lost patience with the repetition and asked to be released so she could go to Weaver. Maxon agreed, setting Addy down and watching until she’d dashed the distance back toward the car, where Officer Weaver stood waiting. He had a small toy car in his pocket that she immediately started playing with. She pretended the car was going to cheese-cake’s house, zooming it in circles, driving it up Weaver’s arm, and putting it in airplane mode so it could fly over to the real car and drive along the back door.

“Bird?” America called for her daughter. “Time to go inside.”

Addy handed the toy car back to Weaver and hurried to grasp her Mommy’s hand, then they led the way inside, followed by her daddy and the guards.

Inside the bakery, Roseabelle stood waiting in front of the display of desserts, her son and granddaughter next to her. All of them sank into curtsies and bows at the sight of the royal family. The only photographer allowed inside was the royal photographer, and he clicked away as Maxon shook hands with each proprietor. When it was America’s turn to greet them, Roseabelle welcomed her warmly, “It is an honor to serve you again, your Majesty.”

“I’m so glad we were able to squeeze this into our schedules.” America grinned. “I’ve been craving your strawberry tarts for weeks, I think this little one was trying to remind me of the promise I made you the last time I visited, before Addy was born.”

“You came here, Mommy?” Addy chirped.

“Yes, when you were in my tummy we both came here.”

“I don’t remember.” Addy admitted.

“That’s okay, honey.” America laughed, giving Addy’s hand a squeeze.

“Is now time for treats?”

“Are you hungry, your Highness?” the kind old woman asked, amused.

Addy wasn’t so hungry, but she was always ready for sugar. She shrugged, not wanting to lie.

Roseabelle’s son took charge, “Why don’t we get a picture for our wall and then we’ll hand out desserts?”

It took some negotiation to fit everyone into the frame, but the photographer managed it quickly enough. Roseabelle took a seat in a chair in the middle, with her son standing behind her and her granddaughter to her side. On her other side, Maxon held Addy on his hip with one arm, his other arm around America.

They said one, two, three, “cheese”, except for Addy who said one, two, three, “cheesecake”. When they were satisfied that they had a good image, one for the history books, Maxon took America’s hand and guided her to one of the empty tables. He pulled her chair out for her, and then asked Roseabelle’s granddaughter for a booster seat for Addy.

When the royal family was seated comfortably, with glasses of cold water in front of them, Roseabelle herself came out to take their order. Maxon wanted some of his favorite chocolate cake, America wanted one strawberry tart (to start with, and maybe more later), and Addy ordered for herself, “Cheesecake please”.

There were a few more pictures taken once the food arrived, which gave Addy time to study her toddler-sized slice of cake. It didn’t look like cheese, but her dad promised there was lots and lots of cream cheese inside, and Addy also loved whipped cream, so she assumed cream and cheese would make the best cake ever on earth. She also had a beautiful, bright red strawberry on top to match her mom’s dessert.

America bit in first, and made a dramatic “mmmmm” sound.

“C’I have a bite, Mommy?” Addy immediately started hustling for extra dessert. America obliged her with a fork full of strawberry tart. Addy mimicked her mom’s “mmmm” sound. Then she turned to her father, who had just taken his own first bite. “C’I have some, Daddy?”

Maxon offered her a fork full of chocolate and she “mmmm”ed again.

“Here, baby.” America helped Addy cut her cheesecake into small, bite-sized pieces and then used a disinfectant wipe to clean Addy’s hands. “Now you can use your fingers instead of a fork, okay?”

Addy preferred her fingers to a fork, because she usually dropped half her food onto the floor when she was using a fork. Aunt Silvia said she needed to practice, so she should use forks most of the time, but secretly her mommy and daddy let her use fingers if her hands were clean, to avoid the mess.

Addy pinched a piece of cake delicately between her thumb and pointer finger. It was cold and squishier than her dad’s cake. She popped it into her mouth, eyes wide as she tasted the creamy, cinnamon-y sweetness on her tongue.

“Good, Birdy?” Maxon asked, chuckling at his daughter’s rapturous expression.

Addy nodded, mouth still full, and held out a piece for him to try. He let her feed him, and “mmmmm”ed appreciatively.

“What do you think, Bird? Should we order some extra slices to take back to the Palace and eat with Astra and Meri this weekend?” America suggested.

Addy nodded again, still in the middle of her life-changing experience.

America smiled across the little round table to Maxon, who smiled back at her affectionately.

“You know, Ames… this is the best I’ve felt in weeks.”

“Me too.”

“You were right as usual, my love. I’m glad we came today.”

“Me too.”

“Feel free to remind me of this the next time I allow fear to cloud my reasoning.”

“Oh, don’t worry Maxon,” America chuckled, “I will.”

#laws of inheritance #the thing with feathers #challenge #DemocracyHands

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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Watch Me Burn (P.7)

Title: Watch Me Burn (Part Seven) Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Cas. Fem!Reader x AU!Sam. This fic was inspired by both parts of “Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem & Rihanna. Castiel and the reader are toxic for each other and keep falling back together until the reader moved away. It’s been years and now she is back home, waltzing back into Castiel’s life. She is determined to do better this time, to make them work, but outside forces as well as the scars the two have left on each other weave their way into their reconciliation. Will they be able to overcome the past and new threats to their sustainability? Words: 3,076 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Extreme angst, domestic violence, smut, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, BDSM trust breaking, fluff, language, alcohol abuse, !!! eventual !!! happiness

Chap 6 || Chap 8 || Fanfic masterpost || Masterpost (mobile)

Sam walked in with Dean and you locked eyes only briefly before turning your gaze back to Castiel.

“He’s here. Longer hair,” you said quietly, barely audible above the music. Castiel threw a glance in his general direction and cocked an eyebrow. “I know, I know.”

“He’s coming,” Castiel warned you quietly, before saying at a normal volume to not arise suspicion, “This should be a fun night though for you guys.”

Suddenly, Sam was at your side. He had switched his jacket out for a button up cardigan over his dress shirt, his tie gone. It made him stick out in this bar, but you knew that was his attempt at dressing down.

“What are you ordering?” he asked you, leaning in close. You guessed he was purposely ignoring Castiel; he was good at making people feel invisible.

Castiel was staring at Sam, a piqued expression that only you would be able to recognize. It was not exactly a tight-lipped smile but close to it.

“Uh, I haven’t yet. I was just talking to Cas,” you said, gesturing at him standing opposite the bar.

Turning his attention to Castiel, Sam gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Sam,” he said, holding out his hand. “Worked with Y/N back in Austin.”

Castiel, thankfully, knew to play it cool. He reached out, taking Sam’s hand in turn, giving it a shake. The two of them held on a couple seconds longer than necessary, eyes piercing the other.

“I’ve heard,” was all Castiel said calmly in return.

You did not miss the slight raised brow Sam displayed at Castiel’s comment, no doubt wondering how much Castiel knew. He brushed the comment off quickly though.

“What are you going to order then, Y/N?”

“Probably a double whiskey with diet,” Castiel answered for you, throwing you a small smirk. He picked up the glass and went to work without waiting for you to confirm. It was your go to, that was correct. But you knew he was trying to prove a point to Sam by not even asking you. He knew you better, he wanted Sam to know that.

“Hmm. Whiskey,” Sam said surprised, rising his brows in surprise. “Far different than all the Paloma’s I’ve seen you down. Too many too count.”

Castiel snorted, drawing Sam’s attention. “What? Was she trying to get wasted? Y/N can’t handle her tequila very well.” He placed your whiskey in front of you.

Giving a small nervous laugh at their surreptitious shots at the other, you said, “Yeah, that’s true. But I paced myself.”

“Sometimes,” Sam quipped. You narrowed your eyes slightly at him and he chuckled. “Sorry. Right, you never got drunk. Ever.” He winked at Castiel across the bar. “I’ll take a Tom Collins.” You made a disgusted face and Sam chided you, “Yeah, yeah. I know. You hate gin.”

“Thanks,” Sam told Castiel. “I’ll see you at the table then, Y/N.”

Sam turned and left your side. When you met Castiel’s eyes again, he cocked a brow.

“I have a lot of questions,” he told you before walking off to take someone else’s order. You waited for him to return after a few minutes and cut in quickly.

“I know, I know. He’s pretentious.”

“You could say that again. What is he even wearing?”

You laughed a little and said, “That is him – and Dean, to be honest – trying to be casual. I can assure you.”

“So… not what I would expect from you.”

“There’s probably a reason why it didn’t work out.”

“I can think of a couple reasons, actually,” Castiel responded, throwing a glance over at where your coworkers were sitting.

Snorting, you nodded in agreement, “I know.” You took a drink of your whiskey and raised your glass half heartedly to him. “Here goes nothing. I can’t promise he will behave himself, but I’ll do my damndest to stay away.”

“Don’t think that’s possible with the seating arrangement at the table now. Looks like the only empty seat is next to him,” Castiel said sounding sour.

“Of course,” you muttered, turning around, and seeing what he said was true. You forced yourself to walk towards the table.

Playing it cool, you thanked Sam when he pulled the chair out from beside him to allow you to sit down.

“I ordered a couple of baskets of fries for the table and some deep-fried pickles,” Charlie informed you. “I told everyone that the burger is solid but if they are looking to be adventurous, that tater tot pizza is also good.”

“How much did you eat last time you were here?” Dean asked jokingly.

“Oh, shove it. I’ve been here a couple times with Y/N. It wasn’t all in one shot,” Charlie returned. “Thankfully, they live upstairs and I was able to crash on the couch one time! Don’t judge me, Tara, it was on a Friday!”

Tara held up her hands, “I wasn’t going to. I know you’re responsible.”

“Upstairs?” Sam questioned you.

You nodded, “Yeah. The floor above. It’s convenient.”

“Very,” Tara agreed and then asked, “But, do you not get sleep sometimes?”

“It’s fine most of the week. Fridays and Saturdays are a little wild, but I’m used to it. It’s nothing new. I’ll finally fall asleep in the early morning and can sleep in.”

“I would indulge so much in bar food, I would probably gain fifty pounds,” Charlie joked.

“Same,” your coworker Sahir agreed, raising his glass to which him and Charlie took a quick drink.

“I make sure that doesn’t happen. I meal plan,” you assured her. “It’s one thing I had to set right when I moved in. He was eating like absolute shit. I told him no one really likes quinoa, but his body will thank him.”

“Ew, gross,” Charlie said, her nose scrunching. “I hate quinoa.”

“It’s a power food, Charlie,” Sam told her.

“Don’t care.”

“I gotta agree with Sam and Y/N. Although, still with you, Charlie. I don’t like it but sometimes you gotta suck it up and play chess, not checkers, with your health,” Tara chimed in.

“Exactly!” Sam agreed. He turned his attention to you and asked, “You still on that 5 on, 2 off?”

He was referring to the exercise program you had been on while in Austin. One that he had strongly encouraged to get yourself in shape, something that was extremely personally important to him. You knew you could never be as fit or healthy as him and had tried to please him for a while.

Shrugging, you said, “More like… 3 to 4 on… maybe one of those days being yoga only. To keep flexibility.” Charlie snorted into her drink and you cocked your head. Sahir and Jennifer laughed as well and you demanded, “What?”

“Just… I make everything sexual,” Charlie laughed.

“Jesus, Charlie,” Tara said, but smirking despite herself.

Charlie apologized whilst laughing.

The food was delivered, more drinks, and even more jokes shared. Sam was leaning in close the whole time, his eyes roaming freely and Castiel was most certainly keeping an eye on you across the bar. You tried to stay straight up, not leaning yourself towards Sam while still maintaining a calm demeanor. Sam, outwardly, was not seeming to notice.

Your attention was drawn to the door as you saw Aspen walk in and you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. All you needed tonight was her flaunting herself around Castiel when you were already high strung. You knew it was normal for her to go to the bar for a drink, but you knew it was Castiel she was aiming for.

Sam’s arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing your attention back.

<> <> <>

“Hey, Cas,” Aspen chirped, leaning on the bar.

Castiel greeted her and asked how she had been since he had not seen her since the first night Y/N had come back. He was not surprised considering the air in which she had left in.

Holding out her credit card, Aspen said, “My regular, I think, to start out.”

When she looked back was the moment Sam’s arm slipped around Y/N’s shoulders. He pulled her towards him, close in proximity. Aspen rose her brows in surprise and looked back at Castiel who was placing her drink down in front of her.

“Wow, uh, who’s with Y/N?”

Castiel’s gaze moved over to the table and his jaw tightened when he saw Sam’s arm around her. Y/N was forcing a smile as she spoke to him.

“Coworker,” Castiel answered tightly.

“Oh…” Aspen trailed off, throwing another look over her shoulder. “All of them coworkers?”

“Yes.”

“They close…?”

Castiel pierced her with a stare and said, “I’m assuming you want your tab open?”

Aspen switched gears, nodding. “Yep. I’ll be here awhile. Maureen agreed to drive me home… if need be.”

“How kind of her,” Castiel chuckled lightly, purposely ignoring her insinuation.

<> <> <>

“Remember when Larson fell down those stairs outside The Outlook?” Sam asked you, his fingers pressing into your shoulder.

“Unfortunately,” you answered, smiling, trying to keep yourself from jerking away from his embrace.

“You tried so hard to get him to stop drinking. I mean, we all did. But it did fuck all to stop it.”

“Was he injured?” Dean asked, raising his brows.

Sam laughed, “Surprisingly, no! I don’t know how he just tucked and rolled, like his body was reacting defensively even in his state. The man could barely order a new drink. And that’s when the bartender was like, ‘nope, no more’. And cut the whole group off because they were afraid someone else would order him a drink and give it to him. Ruined our whole night. Well, momentarily.”

You stiffened then. That night was the first night the two of you had hooked up. That was the sole reason he had brought it up.

“The night continued after that for the rest of us after we got his drunk ass to bed.”

You noticed Castiel approaching the table. Thinking he was going to table touch, you asked Charlie quickly, “You want a refill?”

“Duh,” she said and then noticed Castiel. “Oh, hey! Perfect! Can I get a refill?”

Castiel gave a curt laugh and said, “When I get back. I’m on break. Y/N? Wanna come outside with me?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said quickly. You saw Sam watching you out of the corner of your eye as you pushed your chair back, his arm leaving you, and grabbed your jacket. “Don’t you need your coat? It’s chilly.”

“I’ll grab it on the way out,” Castiel responded as you came up to him. His arm slipped around you, guiding you away from the table. His hand was tight on your waist, protective.

Castiel did not take you outside. Instead, he led you to the back room and you followed his lead, a weight pulling down inside. You knew he was not pleased with how he was acting. As soon as he closed the door behind the two of you and locked it, he turned to face you. Getting in your face, he did not miss a beat.

“He’s been laying his hands on you all night.”

Throwing your hands out in defeat, you said, “I’ve tried skirting away, Cas. I can’t do that too much without making a scene though.”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

Your mouth fell open.

<> <> <>

“Charlie,” Maureen greeted approaching the table, two shots in hand as Tara, Sahir, and Jennifer went out for a smoke.

Charlie straightened up, a smile on her face. “Oh, hello! Maureen, right?”

Maureen nodded and said, “Just spotted you across the bar and thought I would pop by to say hi. We did have a good few rounds last time!”

Smirking, Charlie said, “I kind of remember.” This caused Maureen to laugh, as well as the other people at the table.

“I just thought I would bring this over for you. Rum, right?”

“Oh, yeah. You got that for me?” Charlie asked surprised.

Maureen nodded, “You bought me one last time and I did not reciprocate. I hold pretty strong convictions about that. Speaking of which, I saw Y/N and Cas leaving out the back. He’s not off work yet, is he? He still owes me a shot since someone spilled mine at last call last time I was here, and I won’t be able to cash in without him.”

Charlie shook her head, “No, he went on his break and asked Y/N to go with him.”

Maureen snorted, “I wouldn’t be surprised to see them come back flush.”

Sam’s jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“They always had their ways in the past.”

Charlie let out a laugh, “Oh, do tell.”

“Just leaving to go… relieve themselves.”

“Maybe we should not pry into our coworker’s business,” Sam advised Charlie sharply.

Charlie stumbled a little at his change in demeanor, “Oh… right.”

Maureen smirked at Sam and said, “It’s not quiet business in this bar. Castiel has owned this bar for years… him and Y/N are old news. Them being back together scared a lot of people. It was a nightmare half the time to be honest. But… they seem to have grown up. Sigh of relief there.”

Sam straightened up at this comment. “How do you mean?”

“Just drunken fights, a couple cop calls. Break up, break off. They were young and stupid. Can’t say I wasn’t the same myself.”

Charlie was the one now becoming uncomfortable for her friend. “Oh, well… I mean, the past is the past.”

“The past does inform the future,” Sam quipped, and Dean nodded in agreement.

<> <> <>

You snapped, “I told you what happened between us and where he stands in my company. He’s not just some… schmuck! He’s a junior partner!”

Shaking his head, Castiel said, “Junior partner or not…” He trailed off, beginning to walk forward, forcing you to go backwards. “He needs to know where you stand with me! You apparently need to be reminded too.”

Castiel turned you around in a swift movement and pushed you chest first into the wall, pinning an arm behind your back. You gasped his name, trying to look back at him but he kept you firmly in place.

“I am just reminding you who you belong to,” he growled into your ear.

Your breath shuddered, feeling his hands grasp the hem of your dress, yanking it up to your hips. Slipping his fingers into your underwear, he stroked your lips.

“I pay attention to you, Y/N. I treat you right,” Castiel breathed as he played with your sex. “I dote on you, angel. Don’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered.

You keened as he worked you up, fingers slipping inside to caress you. You pressed back against him, begging for more. His grip tightened on your wrist, holding you more firmly in place and you stilled your movement, following his direction. You stood there, letting him rile you up, biting your lip.

“Look at you… so needy,” he said breathlessly. You could hear the want in his voice, feel his fingers move more freely, coated in your arousal. He leaned forward to be closer to your face. “Are you needy, angel?”

“Yes, sir. Only for you,” you told him obediently, giving him pleading eyes.

Castiel kissed your temple and praised, “I know, baby.”

Pulling away, his fingers left you to pull your underwear down and you kicked them off in tandem. His cock slid in easily in your wet folds. He sighed in content, his hands gripping your waist as he fully seated inside you.

“That’s my girl,” he purred.

His fingers dug in as he drove into you, taking you against the wall. You stayed sturdy, holding on. He drove up sharply into you again and you bit down on your cheeks.

Kissing up your neck, Castiel demanded, “You gonna do better for me? Let them know who you belong to?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Angel, don’t make me have to work harder for this,” he warned, his breath hot on your neck.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mhm, you’re not saying that with too much conviction. You’re too quiet,” He squeezed your nipple hard, causing you to keen loudly before burying your face into the wall, fingers digging in beside you. “We can do better than that, can’t we?”

His fingers closed in around your jawline, pulling your head to the side, you following his movement obediently. He wanted your mouth exposed, your noises to be heard.

You nodded quickly, saying louder, “Yes, sir!”

Castiel drove deep and quick, bouncing you against the wall. “I know you can do better. You’re so beautiful. I love hearing you scream for me.”

“I belong to you!” you declared, knowing damn well anyone walking outside the room could hear the two of you. He was jeopardizing his place of work for this. What rumors would fly of people being railed in rooms in the bar. “Fuck me, please! Let me cum!”

Castiel laughed, nipping at your ear. “Angel, you can’t help yourself, can you?”

His speed increased, his hand falling from your face to come to your nub, circling fervently. He praised you, laying sloppy kisses along the side of your head. You whimpered as you came undone beneath his hand, your legs shaking with your orgasm. Castiel held you upright, allowing him access to finish himself.

Panting, you settled against the wall, basking in the coolness of it against your hot skin. Castiel pulled away eventually, leaving you exposed behind. The cool air was welcome, and you continued resting to regain your grounding.

When you had the strength, you reached for a roll of paper towels to clean yourself up. And then pulled your underwear back up, straightening out your clothes.

Turning to face him, you found him looking well put together again, beside his hair. He was trying to tame it, running his hands through it.

He eyed you and informed you, “I’m not losing my temper with him because I know how much you love your job and how important it is to you.”

You took this in, nodding. He was telling you this for a reason. In the past, he would not have hesitated to make a scene without care for consequence.

Coming closer, he cupped your face, pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. “Now that we’ve got that out of our system… we ready to go back out there?”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas @stixnstripesworld

#castiel x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #sam winchester x reader #my shit

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