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swan-of-sunrise · 1 year

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The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part I)

Summary: Six months after Steve had the super-soldier serum removed and he retired from superhero work to live a quiet life with (Y/N) and their infant daughter, Sam decides to give up the shield and (Y/N) finds herself caught between her best friend and her husband’s less-than-pleased best friend.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi there and welcome to the 5-part series centering around TFATWS! This is one of my favorite MCU shows and when I first watched it, I knew that I wanted to write about what (Y/N) and Steve were up to during that time and I wanted to delve further into Sam and (Y/N)’s friendship. Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoy!

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part I) April 2024 Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Washington D.C. (Previous One-Shot)

“You okay, (Y/L/N)? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“Well, you know that feeling you get when you visit your old high school after you’ve graduated and you realize that everything’s changed? That’s sort of how I feel right now, and it’s a shockingly strange and unpleasant feeling.”

Beside (Y/N), Rhodey chuckled but allowed her to wrap her hand around his crooked arm as they strode through the Air and Space Museum’s hangar towards the large platform at its end. “I see what you mean. A lot of change happened for you right here in D.C., and I know that not all those memories are much fun to re-live…truth be told, I’m a little surprised that you accepted the Smithsonian’s invitation at all.”

“I wanted to be here for Sam,” She shrugged and looked up at the banner emblazoned with the image of her husband’s face. “Because God knows that today won’t be easy for him.”

Rhodes nodded and after giving their surroundings a quick assessment, he looked back at her and lowered his voice. “Did you know he was gonna give up the shield?”

Pursing her lips, (Y/N) twisted her wedding ring around her finger and carefully considered her words before replying, “He called us last week and while he didn’t explicitly say what he’d be doing, we both suspected that he was giving up the shield. Steve understood, of course, I’m just not sure that he really understood, if you know what I mean; he’s always been very progressive and forward-thinking for his age and it’s one of the many, many things I love about him, but sometimes he can be a little naïve to how the modern world really operates.” Her eyes flicked over to the covered display case beside the empty podium and her brow furrowed at the sight. “Something about all this doesn’t feel right, Rhodey.”

“Good, you feel it too,” The colonel straightened one of the many ribbons fastened onto the left breast of his dress uniform and snorted. “I’d be surprised if that shield makes it a full week before someone decides to pull it out for a new Captain America. That being said, I can’t exactly fault the guy for making this call; I’m one of the highest-decorated men in the Air Force, but that still doesn’t stop me from experiencing that pain-in-the-ass imposter syndrome from time to time.” By then, the hangar began to fill with more attendees, journalists and photographers, so Rhodes thoughtfully angled them both so that she was partially hidden from their prying eyes. “So, is that husband of yours having lots of fun on the moon?”

(Y/N) laughed. “He liked that conspiracy theory when he first heard it but now that it’s caught on with more mainstream media outlets, he really can’t get enough of it. Once a space nerd, always a space nerd, I suppose.”

“Steve’s doing good, though, right? He’s not having any difficulty adjusting to civilian life?”

“I initially thought he might, but no.” Reaching into her clutch, she withdrew her cell phone and began scrolling through her photos while she talked. “He hasn’t had a single second thought about giving up the serum and retiring from superhero life; he’s gotten back into his art – mostly charcoal and pencil drawings, but he’s been dabbling a little in watercolor painting – and he’s really enjoying all the time he has with Carina now.”

Rhodes smiled as she showed him a photograph of her de-serumed husband, her daughter and their senior German Shepard playing in the backyard of their quaint New England home; seven-month old Carina was seated on Steve’s narrow shoulders and her tiny hands gripped onto his blonde locks while he held her chubby legs, his laughing face scrunched up as Indy licked the side of his face. “Well, tell him I’m happy for him. If anyone deserves a quiet life, it’s him.”

A cacophony of shutter clicks drew their attention to the side entrance and they watched as Senator Smith entered the hangar alongside several government officials, military personnel and Sam, carefully holding the vibranium shield in his arms and averting his gaze away from the wall of photographers elbowing one another to capture his image. While Sam ascended the platform’s steps, the older senator moved to join them and shook Rhodes’ hand. “It’s good to see you again, Colonel.” He reached for (Y/N)’s hand and gave it a noticeably-gentler shake along with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss, Mrs. (Y/L/N). If there’s anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call my office and ask.”

(Y/N) forced herself to return his smile and to not wipe her hand on the skirt of her dress as she replied, “Thank you, Senator, but I’m just happy to be here supporting Sam and the Smithsonian’s refurbished exhibit.”

Much to her discomfort, the senator led them both towards the front of the crowd and her jaw clenched as the journalists and photographers started to take notice of her presence; the flashes of their cameras and their hushed speculating brought back memories of the time she spent trapped under a restricting studio contract and the dark days following the tragedy in Lagos, but she fought back the unpleasant feelings by focusing on her best friend as he leaned the shield against the podium’s base and adjusted the microphone before beginning his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here with us today to celebrate the grand re-opening of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum’s permanent Captain America exhibit. Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful…and he mastered posing stoically.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes as everyone who’d never once met Steve Rogers chuckled good-humoredly and Rhodes smirked at her reaction. “The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes, ones suited for the times we’re in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning, and this thing…” The hangar echoed with shutter clicks as Sam picked up the red, white and blue shield and stared down at it. “I don’t know if there’s ever been a greater symbol. But it’s more about the man who propped it up, and he’s gone.” The photographers began turning their cameras towards (Y/N) and Rhodes to capture their reactions, but they merely continued to diligently stare ahead and refused to look away from Sam. “So today, we honor Steve’s legacy but also, we look to the future. Thank you, Captain America, but this belongs to you.”

Applause filled the hangar as Sam handed the shield over to a Smithsonian worker wearing white cotton gloves, and (Y/N) swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat as the shield her husband carried into countless battles and the shield she believed her best friend was meant to carry was carefully sealed in a display case. She ignored the ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach and wrapped her arms around Sam in a tight hug when he eventually made his way through the throng of journalists and photographers. “Hey there, Birdbrain.”

“Hey, Booksmart.” Sam’s arms held her close and he gave her a half-smile when he pulled away. “I’m glad you decided to come.” He bumped his fist against Rhodes’. “You too, man.”

Before the colonel could reply, Senator Smith joined their group and reached for Sam’s hand. “Thanks again for coming forward with the shield, Sam. It was the right decision.”

(Y/N) watched the senator walk away with narrowed eyes and Rhodes sighed as he nudged a solemn-looking Sam. “Take a walk?”

The three of them were admitted into the refurbished Captain America exhibit and while they walked amongst the artifacts and displays chronicling Steve’s time as the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan, they talked about their families and what it was like readjusting to normal life after the Battle of Earth and their defeat of Thanos.

“Yeah, I’ve been at home with my sister and my nephews; man, when I left, they were babies and when I come back, they’re little men.” (Y/N) smiled as Sam talked about AJ and Cass; she’d gotten close to Sarah and the Wilson boys during the Snap and paid them several visits throughout the five-year ordeal, knowing that Sam wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for her if their roles were reversed. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Well, you should bring ‘em out to D.C. sometime, I’ll teach ‘em how to fly…you know, I mean, the right way.”

Sam scoffed and Rhodes chuckled as (Y/N) led them into the next room, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to broach the topic that they’d all been conscientiously avoiding. “Crazy to think that nobody’s going to be carrying the shield…”

“Hey, we went for seventy years without anybody carrying it when Steve was on ice, so I think we’ll be all right.”

Rhodes gave him a pointed look. “That was a different time, Sam.” They walked past Steve’s old motorcycle and artifacts belonging to the Howling Commandos in heavy silence, and it wasn’t until they entered the next room that the colonel spoke up. “So, you’re gonna make me ask?” They stopped by a display entitled ‘A Final Mission’ and he gestured towards Steve’s photograph. “Why didn’t you take up the mantle?”

Sighing, Sam tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down at his dress shoes. “When Steve first told me about the shield, the first words I said were ‘it feels like it belongs to someone else.’ That someone else is Steve.”

(Y/N) exchanged a knowing look with Rhodes and they followed Sam into a space filled with screens projecting World War II propaganda posters of Captain America intermixed with old photographs from his time in the field. She knew better than to try and argue with Sam about his decision – it was his decision, after all – but there was a spark of hope igniting within her that perhaps Rhodes could talk some sense into him. “The world’s a crazy place right now. People are…well, nobody’s stable. Allies are now enemies, alliances are all torn apart…the world’s broken. Everybody’s just looking for somebody to fix it.” Sam hummed thoughtfully as they walked into the last room, which displayed a mannequin dressed in Steve’s World War II tactical uniform and the glass case containing the shield; just as it had that fateful day she’d run into Steve visiting his own exhibit, seeing his possessions on display for the world to see felt wrong to her and she had to force herself not to reach out and touch the uniform that protected her husband from harm throughout one of the most devastating wars in their country’s history. “It’s a new day, brother.” He patted Sam’s arm and smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Stay safe out there, Rhodey.” (Y/N) gave the colonel a hug and watched him walk through of the exhibit’s exit. “You know, he’s really started growing on me. He’s still annoying as hell, of course, but he’s slowly but surely becoming tolerable.”

Her best friend smiled humorlessly and nodded towards the shield. “So, now it’s your turn to try and guilt-trip me about giving up the shield?”

“If I wanted to do that, then I would’ve done it last week when you called to tell us what you were planning on doing.” With one last look at the shield, (Y/N) turned her back to it and took hold of one of Sam’s hands. “You are your own person, Sam Wilson. No one can tell you what to feel or how to think, and they sure as hell can’t tell you what to do. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, then Steve and I will be there for you no matter what. You read me, Birdbrain?”

Sam’s features relaxed as he squeezed her hand and gave her a firm nod. “Loud and clear, Booksmart.” They continued to hold hands as they walked out of the exhibit and through the lobby of the Air and Space Museum. “You heading back up to Maine today?”

“Yep. I’ve got a few hours to kill before my flight out of La Guardia, so I’m going to stop by our house in Brooklyn to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Well, if you happen to run into that Bionic Man with the staring problem while you’re there, tell him he needs to step into the twenty-first century and learn how to answer calls and texts.”

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As much as (Y/N) loved the peaceful life they’d been living in Maine, she couldn’t deny that she’d missed the unique atmosphere of Brooklyn. She checked on their house and after locking up, she drove her rental car the short distance from Windsor Terrace to Red Hook and walked through the neighborhood with a smile on her face; she stopped by a small coffee shop and carried her drink tray into the nearby apartment building, keeping her head down as she made her way up to the third floor on the off-chance she’d be recognized and tapping the toe of her Converse sneaker against the furthest door down the hall.

“Who is it?”

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she replied, “The doll who just carried hot chocolate and muffins up three flights of stairs for your geriatric ass.”

The door opened a moment later to reveal Bucky, a curious and almost hesitant expression on his face as his blue eyes scanned the hallway before settling on her. “A little far from home, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by to visit a good friend.” She lifted the drink tray and paper bag and continued in a comically-enticing voice, “I even brought some hot chocolate and chocolate-chip muffins for him…”

Bucky’s lips curved into a reluctant smile as he stepped aside and let her enter his apartment. “Did Romanoff teach you how to identify people’s weaknesses like that, or is it just a God-given talent?”

“Mostly God-given, but I may have picked up a few pointers from her; she also taught me how to throw knives.” (Y/N) set the food and drinks down on the kitchen counter and hummed along to the record spinning on his turntable. “Duke Ellington. He’s right up there with Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller for me, and he’s definitely the best jazz pianist to come out of the 40’s.”

The super-soldier made an impressed noise. “I’m glad that someone else around here has the same appreciation for good music; although, your appreciation might have a little something to do with the fact that you married a geriatric ass.” He grinned as she laughed at his teasing and started pulling their muffins out of the bag. “So, what brings you back to Brooklyn?”

“I attended the Captain America exhibit re-opening in D.C. this morning and since my flight back to Maine isn’t for a couple more hours, I decided to check on our house in Windsor Terrace and stop by to see how you’re doing.” Bucky took a sip of his hot chocolate and scowled while he peeled the wrapper off the muffin, his displeasure practically rolling off of him; he was more than annoyed when she’d called the week before to tell him what Sam decided to do with the shield, and it seemed as though his attitude hadn’t improved much since. “It’s a shame you decided not to go; I would’ve gotten a real kick out of watching the museum guides try and stop you from breaking into display cases and taking your old stuff back.”

The super-soldier didn’t acknowledge her attempt to lighten the mood as he picked his muffin apart with his vibranium hand. “So, what does Steve think of all this? About Sam just throwing away the shield?”

(Y/N) sat down on the chair beside the kitchen counter and nibbled on her own muffin before answering, “He was a little surprised but he trusts Sam to make his own decisions, the same as I do.” Bucky let out a snort of derision and she pursed her lips to keep her annoyance in check. “Why the sudden care in what Steve thinks, anyhow? You’ve barely spoken to him in the past six months and when you have, it’s never been for any longer than a few minutes. He doesn’t say anything out loud because he’s too proud, but he feels like you’re purposefully pushing him away.”

“I…my therapist said that I need to figure things out on my own right now…”

“Bullshit. I’m in therapy too, Bucky, and I’ve learned that nurturing friendships is an important component to healing from trauma; friendships provide support, and there’s no such thing as too much support.” Her heart clenched as he stubbornly stared down at the kitchen counter; moving as slowly as she could, she lifted one of her hands and gently rested it atop his flesh one, taking it as a good sign that he didn’t flinch away from her touch. “Your life hasn’t been easy and it sure as hell won’t get easier any time soon, but you’re not alone anymore. The fact that you let me into your apartment is insurmountable proof that you’re at least trying, and all I’m asking is that you keep on trying.” After a long moment, Bucky nodded and (Y/N) gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “Carina loves that stuffed wolf you sent her.”

A smile slowly tugged at the corner of the super-soldier’s lips as he glanced up at her. “She does?”

“Mm-hmm, she never puts it down.” (Y/N) pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her photos until she found the photograph she’d been searching for; Carina was fast asleep in her crib and her little fist was wrapped around the fluffy tail of a stuffed white wolf. “You should’ve seen the meltdown she had when we took it away to be washed; I’d never cussed out a washing machine or a dryer for taking too long quite like that before.”

Bucky took another sip of his drink and shrugged. “Well, stubbornness does run on both sides of the family.”

(Y/N) glared in mock-outrage while the super-soldier snickered and devoured the rest of his muffin; she took the opportunity to glance around the rest of his apartment, noting the lack of furniture and the makeshift bed on the floor in front of the television. “So, what do you get up to outside of your court-mandated therapy?”

“I’ve, um…I’ve got a friend. His name’s Yori and we get sushi for lunch on Wednesdays. I also…well, I sorta had a date last night; it didn’t go very well, but considering it’s been about eighty years since the last one…?” He sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his eyes before continuing. “I really am trying, doll, it’s just…the only calm I’ve known in the past century was in Wakanda, and it’s hard not to think that it might’ve been some sort of cosmic fluke. Now that I’m free to do whatever I want with my own life, I don’t even know where to begin.”

Although she could sense that there was something else he was holding back from her, (Y/N) nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. “It seems to me like you’re getting off to a good start. You know, if you’re not comfortable talking to Steve or Yori or anyone else about all this, then maybe you should consider talking to Sam?” Predictably, Bucky grumbled under his breath at the mention of Sam’s name and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I really don’t get why you two don’t get along. Sam’s a great friend and while he might not say it out loud, I know that he’s worried about you. At least promise that you’ll think about it?”

“…I suppose, but only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” The super-soldier shook his head and arched a brow at her. “Seriously, how the hell does that punk win any arguments with you when he’s got those (Y/E/C) eyes staring back at him?”

(Y/N) shrugged and gave him an innocent smile. “Must be my own special superpower.”

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“I’m starting to feel like this was all just an elaborate excuse to see me dolled up…”

Across the room, Steve’s azure eyes remained trained on his canvas but crinkled as he attempted to hide his smile. “Hey, I can’t help the ideas that pop into my head whenever you’re around, sunshine. I’m an artist, remember?”

“Mm-hmm, but you might want to work on your professionalism, because I’m pretty sure that artists aren’t supposed to ogle their models while they work,” (Y/N) playfully teased, making sure to keep as still as possible and not change the pose Steve had placed her in nearly three hours before; what she wore wasn’t exactly risqué – a black turtleneck sweater, an auburn high-waisted skirt, opaque black tights and heeled ebony ankle boots – but the outfit paired with her styled hair, expertly-applied makeup and the slightly provocative way she was seated on her office’s desk seemed to be enough to rile her husband up. His attraction to her was rivaled only by his commitment to his art, but it was only a matter of time before one gave way to the other. “If we don’t have anything scheduled for this weekend, I was thinking that we could take a drive down to Essex and hit up the antique shops, maybe grab some lobster rolls for lunch?”

“Sounds good to me…” With a final flourish of his paintbrush, Steve leaned away from the canvas to examine his work and gave it an approving nod. “Okay, I’ve gotten about as much done as I can with this lighting, so I’ll have to work on the details some more tomorrow morning.” He set his brush and palette down before crossing the room and helping her sit straight as her muscles ached in protest. “Thank you again for posing for me, baby. Is there anything I could do to repay the favor?”

(Y/N) pretended to think his offer over before giving him a mischievous grin. “There might be one or two things you could do, but I would be remiss to ask them of such a professional artist as you, sweetheart.”

“Screw professionalism.”

She laughed as Steve’s hands cupped her face and his lips captured hers in a heated kiss that she was quick to return; her arms moved to loop around his neck and as she pulled him closer, one of his hands traveled down to rest on the curve of her waist. He moaned when her lips trailed kisses along his jaw and down his neck but just as his fingers began to fiddle with her skirt’s zipper, a loud wail emanated from the baby monitor on the desk. “Poor baby, that new tooth must really be bothering her…” (Y/N) sighed in sympathy and gave Steve a chaste kiss on the lips before hopping down from the desk. “I’ll go grab the teething ring from the freezer.”

“Okay, I’ll go get her.” Steve snatched up the baby monitor and followed her out of her office, stopping at Carina’s nursery and crooning as he entered, “It’s okay, angel, I’m here now…”

After retrieving the teething ring from the freezer, (Y/N) kissed Carina’s tears away and gave her the plastic device to gum, heading into the living room to put an episode of Kitchen Nightmares on; for some strange reason, Gordon Ramsay and his infamous yelling was the only thing that seemed to help calm the seven-month old down. She switched the television on but just as she prepared to change the channel, she realized that Senator Smith was in the middle of giving a press conference on WHiH and a cold chill went down her spine as she listened to his speech.

“Unrest in the wake of recent events has left us vulnerable. Every day, Americans feel it. While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend Earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. We need a real person who embodies America’s greatest values. We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us.”

“That son of a bitch,” (Y/N) breathed, eyes wide in disbelief as she watched the scene unfolding on the television screen before her. “Rhodey was right…”

“(Y/N)? Sunshine, what’s wro-?”

“So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America!”

Covering her open mouth with her hand, a horrified (Y/N) watched as Senator Smith stepped away from the podium and a Caucasian man dressed in a red, white and blue uniform walked out onto the building’s steps. He waved at the crowd of journalists and photographers eager to document the breaking news, and strapped to his left arm was the vibranium shield that Sam had given up. (Y/N) looked over to see Steve standing in the doorway with Carina and her stuffed white wolf in his arms, a mixture of shock, anger and betrayal in his azure eyes as he watched the new Captain America smile and wave for the cameras.

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A/N: I had so much fun working (Y/N) and Steve into this series, and I can’t wait for you guys to read what’s coming next! Updates might be a bit more sporadic than usual but I’m hoping for a chapter every two weeks (still haven’t decided which works best with my schedule and mental health), so make sure to stay tuned for more!

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part II)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book I: “The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

#stumblin' in #steve rogers x reader #post serum steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #post serum steve rogers #sam wilson #falcon #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #james rhodes #war machine #john walker #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe

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giogio1998 · 4 months

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Do you guys have any JLI pet peeves ?

I was scrolling through tumblr and I started thinking about some of mine and I wanted to share them bc I’m bored and complaining is my thing.

So here are my ✨JLI pet peeves✨:

1- Bea and Guy absolutely hating each other.

I understand that their personalities clash and Guy is a massive jerk but I hate that they fight like enemies when they’re supposed to be a part of the same team. It would be so much better if they weren’t fighting all the time and would just tease each other instead. This plot is so overdone by now and I think they would actually get along considering that they have to be a team.

2- How they portray Tora and her relationships in general:

This one is a little complicated to explain. First of all I hate how they portray Tora to be this fragile, naive, overly sensitive girl in almost every story. And this personality results in terrible shipps, I’m sorry BeaTora and GuyTora shippers but I can’t stand the “tora needs constant protection” thing, it’s boring, it’s overdone. I think Tora should be portrayed as a much more confident woman, she isn’t a toddler, she isn’t helpless, the woman is a superhero. Justice for my girl Tora !!!

3- Bea’s outfit:

I hate that outfit with a passion, that outfit is my worst enemy, that outfit causes me physical and emotional pain. First the hair, is it 1984 Beatriz Bonilla da costa ? It certainly isn’t, get a new haircut, bitch. The bandanna. Are you a freaking pirate? Are you crossing the ocean hoping to find treasure? No !! Get rid of that hideous thing. The strapless top, tacky isn’t enough to describe it. The jacket, bitch you’re made of fire there’s no way in hell you’re cold, take that shit off. The low waist pants should be illegal. The belt is uglier than the hair. I hate everything about it and I could make a PowerPoint presentation about it.

4- People’s needs to tell me to make Bea “look Latina”:

This is a pet peeve that I have bc I’m a Brazilian woman who makes JLI art and I get a LOT of non Brazilians on my comments telling me that I should darken Bea’s skin bc she’s Brazilian. First of all, thanks for explaining Brazil to me, if only I had the gringo wisdom but unfortunately all I have is 24 years of living in Brazil. Second of all I hate that in 2023 I have to explain to people that Latino isn’t a race or a skin tone. Latinos come in literally any color and Bea happens to be a white Brazilian girl and that’s completely normal and completely fine. I personally choose to make fanarts of her like that bc I like her original design. I would NEVER tell a person how they should or shouldn’t draw their favorite characters and I would never be stupid enough to make the mean girls comment of “if you’re from Brazil why are you white ?”. Just educate yourselves people, I’m tired of this dumb comments and if you like Bea with darker skin go for it and make your own illustrations, the more the merrier. Seriously. Just know that looking a certain way doesn’t make anybody less or more Latino.

5- The JLI being as old as Batman:

Absolutely not. I hate it bc if they’re younger it means that they suck as a team bc they’re not mature and experienced enough. If they’re older they suck as a team bc they’re awful at their job and that bothers me. I like to think that they’re doing their best but it’s difficult bc they’re just starting not bc they’re a bunch of idiots … I mean they ARE a bunch of idiots but you get it right ?

6- When people take the JLI too seriously:

I like my JLI to be a light and funny team that go through some shenanigans once in a while with just a little bit of drama I don’t need it to be a depressing story where Ted will 💀 and stuff. I mean, I know Ted will 💀 bc that’s his favorite thing to do but anyways …. “Eu não quero saber de depressão e coisa pra baixo”

7- Bea being part of the angry/spicy Latina trope:

Seriously people, it’s 2023 and they’re still doing it. I don’t think I need to explain much but it’s just lazy stereotypes.

I definitely have more pet peeves to talk about but I’m honestly too lazy to write them rn. Let’s talk about it, all of us 6 JLI fans. What are yours JLI pet peeves ?

#fire #dc comics #beatriz da costa #dc #justice league international #jli #ted kord #blue beetle #booster gold #tora olafsdotter #guy gardner

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dukeoftheblackstar · 1 year

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| Beep.

Here I am again in my occasional Tumblr visit because obviously, this is my safe space. To just endlessly scroll through art, musicians, quotes, edits, writings, and roleplay without having to deal with guilt of not reading through chat beeps, comments, and all other things things, is just absolute bliss.

I've not been well. Not at all to even bother posting this on my actual blog and I won't be making the same mistake of deleting a very tenure blog like I did with darkshadesofgreen.

I'm not in a bad - bad place, but I am in constant pain with three impacted wisdom teeth, taking an excruciatingly slow progression to be viable enough to be extracted. My head hurts and I feel like my jaw's hung, loose, and broken all at the same time. I can't deal with the swelling, the scent and taste of blood every fucking movement I make, and even more hours of not being able to sleep because the slightest pressure just annihilate any chance of sweet slumber.

I can't seem to write either because being an adult is just too damn much. The constant need to manage you and your partner's finances, expenses, hours of work and the uncanny weight of work itself. Having to bite my tongue and take it as it is, because the slightest attempt of airing your frustrations and concerns puts you at risk of being micromanaged or be seen negatively by your employer amidst being a fucking performer.

Having to find ways to make ends meet and resources should said ends not meet. Having to do the cleaning, the cooking, and the having to deal with not burning my partner with his indifference towards my OCD tendencies that I am quite aware that I should not obligate him to comply.

I need a distraction and it best be fucking writing or I'm about to lose my mind. I can still do the Duke without any qualms, but I'm either under or overstimulated.

Nobody wants angst anymore and I don't want to spend my months again on having to deal with the drama and the endless smut that honestly bores me to death if it didn't come with a proper build up. It's also quite hard to jump into other RP communities because I don't do them fancy icons or have wicked profile edits and texts when replying. I can't because I don't have the time or energy to do so. I just want to write and do a story without having to faff over fancy edits and the whatnots 'em younger people do (gosh, I'm old).

Not to toot my own horn, but I've always made it a point to keep my replies as exciting as possible. To stir the pot as best as I could and make my partners feel like they're my universe, which they are. But it's disappointing when there's no form of reciprocation. Like for the love of God, work with me please or at least give me something to work with.

I'm probably just stressed out over these goddamn wisdom teeth but I won't be able to get them taken out unless I come up with a huge sum. Which is possible in the coming months but then again, can't really do much unless they're ready to go.

What a drag.

What an absolute drag.

But oh well - oh well.

#ooc #musings of an egg in denial #tbd?#rant?

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daemadness · 2 years

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Felt like making a post since I've gained quite a lot of new followers on this blog (as well as on my main, most people being the same on both), as well as lots of reblogs which is GREAT too since the fandom here is already way too tiny!!! And I'm aware that I haven't been too active on this side of Tumblr in a long time.

I haven't had the queue running since the last spring, simply because I started to run out of blog to reblog from. I feel like I have already had everything in my blog, and I keep finding older blog and reblogging from those has its own problems. At least when I last time added stuff to my queue and drafts, I had to use the old XKit for adding stuff directly from blogs because using the regular system is nerve-racking. On top of all that, reblogging old posts means the HTML code of those posts looks different from recent posts, which is why adding tags, also, got extremely frustrating. I use quick tags and tag bundles exactly for the reason that I don't need to type every single tag there myself, and that I don't need to open every single post individually for adding tags. Well guess what - old posts did not support the quick tags anymore. It just kept saying there was an error, and I had to type everything down myself. Often several times. (And not tagging just is not an option for me!) Plus, Tumblr often likes/liked (not sure if it's already fixed) to refresh the queue/draft page so that it got just pain in the add to click and edit individual posts only to scroll down the drafts/queue every single time, and then do that like. 70 times in a row. Which is far from fun.

Adding stuff to queue just got too overwhelming. Tumblr freezing my browser when opening several tabs of a blog at once. Then quick tags and tag bundles stopped working and posts breaking because the old HTML code doesn't match the current HTML code. And the queue/drafts refreshing itself every single time cos you can't use quick tags.

But I feel like I need to start going through blogs again. I feel like I owe that to my old as well as new followers. Hopefully adding stuff to the queue won't be as enraging as it used to be. At some point even the beta editor changed somehow and I had to use the old one because in the new one you no longer could arrange images so making gifsets or photosets was impossible. And you can't arrange them in the old one either, unless you open it on the app, but where you sometimes still can't arrange them because the desktop code doesn't match the mobile code. And if you can open them on mobile, then you might not be able to open them on the desktop anymore cos Tumblr says it was created on the app. Besides, this web beta editor still doesn't work perfectly. I wonder if it ever will.

The last issue then is of course: the like-reblog ratios. This is not Instagram. If you only like and never reblog anything, you can be sure that I will block you in an instant. ESPECIALLY if you don't have a blog title and use the default icons. Then I will assume you're either a bot, or "spying us for (dä) content" which is not acceptable, at least not in my eyes. Go make your own content and don't steal what others have worked on hard, sometimes for hours. Which leads us back to like-reblog ratio: reblog art, please. And reblog creations. Reblogging IS NOT reposting, and reblogging is very very very much encouraged! (If you're new to Tumblr, it's that arrows symbol that looks like recycling symbol.) So please please please, reblog creations! Our tiny fandom is already tiny enough so when everyone's here just watching and not sharing and interacting (by reblogging! writing stuff in the tags!), I assure you that the Tumblr fandom WILL die out eventually. In fact it used to be way more active before, and it's been horribly inactive over the past 2-3 years. Also I used to post my art, edits, memes and videos here but recently gave up on that because there's just no interaction whatsoever anymore. So I don't see any point in sharing MY content to others if others don't care to look at it. So, I'm creating for myself and also keeping it all to myself, then. Maybe sharing it to some friends + my Instagram followers since IG seems to treat artists a bit better than Tumblr.

Alright, I guess that's enough. I'll try to get back to keeping this blog active, but finding "new" content is so hard nowadays, and I already explained the problems with the older posts. (I also started school a month ago so that will take some of my time, but I'm still spending time on Tumblr as if my life depended on it so it hasn't affected my Tumblr time that much yet.)

#madness rambles #non-dä

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demigodreading · 3 years

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Saving Mini Benson Pt:1

Request: From @youngjusticeimaginesus: Hi, I was wondering If maybe you'd be willing to do a oneshot where Olivia's daughter gets kidnapped by Lewis instead of Olivia?

Summary: That’s right my favorite peoples... This is going to be a two part mini series because there was no way everything that I needed to say could be done in a one-shot! I won’t go into much because I don’t want to give it away but please note THIS PART IS A DOOZY! The next one may be worse but still this arc made me cry in the show and I cried writing this

Characters: Olivia Benson, Fin Tutuola, Amanda Rollins, Nick Amaro, William Lewis, Donald Cragen, Reader

Relationships: Olivia Benson x Daughter! Reader

Warnings: MAJOR Violence, Guns, Cigarette Burns, Episode Spoilers, Alcohol, Smoking Weed, Mentions of Shootings, Death, William Lewis, Mentions of torture... (I Think that covers it but if it doesn’t please let me know)

Word Count: 2320 (Like I said.. there was no way this was gonna be just a oneshot.)

And with that all being said: Let’s jump into it.

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Olivia and her daughter rarely fought but when they did neither one wanted to admit the other one was right. Olivia loved and hated her daughter for being so similar to her. Even now as she watched the miniature version of herself stalk the interview room the exact same way she would send her heart racing. Usually the similarities would result in a smile but not today. Today Olivia’s vision was a deep red as she confronted her daughter.

“Y/N you were caught smoking weed underneath the bleachers during class! So not only did you break one rule you broke two!” Olivia shouted, folding her arms.

“Wow glad that you know how to count,” Y/N mumbled looking out the window.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Look mom I just don’t get what the big deal is? It was one joint. One class!” Y/N retorted, throwing her hands up, “I am a straight A student who has a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”

“Yes, because Barba stuck his neck out on the line for you and put in a glowing recommendation,” Olivia spat, “What you did was careless. You could have ruined everything that was given to you.”

“You know for once in your life could you ever be fucking proud of me! I do everything that I can do to make you proud and yet at the end of the day I am never fucking good enough for you.”

“That’s not…” Olivia went to argue but was interrupted by Cragen opening the door.

“Olivia we got a problem. I need you right now,” He said, then shut the door without waiting for an answer.

“Just go save another poor unfortunate soul mom. Don’t worry about your daughter. I’ll pick up my own pieces like I always do,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her face as she grabbed her coat.

Y/N stormed from the room before Olivia could stop her. She made her way through the precinct eyes trained to the floor as her mother’s voice rang out, “You better head straight home Y/N! We are not done having this conversation and you are grounded!”

Choosing not to say anything, Y/N merely raised her hand in the air flipping her mother off before the doors shut with a loud slam behind her. Tears made dark spots on the concrete as Y/N made her way back to their apartment. Even the noises of the constant car honks and people screaming couldn’t drown out the voices in her head today. Failure. Waste of space. Stupid. No one. Unwanted. Unloved.

It was the repeated song that kept her feet moving forward until she finally placed her key in the lock. She threw her bag by the kitchen island and threw her keys on the counter. She was about to turn on the living room light when a noise caught her attention.

“Hello? Hello?”

As she turned the corner her vision was filled with the sight of a gun pointed right at her temple. A smirk crossed William Lewis’ face as he looked at Y/N, “Ah welcome home Little Benson. I was hoping that it would be your mother who was walking through the door but I guess you will have to do.”

Y/N went to scream but instead Lewis jammed the gun against her throat, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. One small slip of my finger and your mom will be left with a new kind of art all over her walls.”

Y/N let a single tear roll down her face before Lewis’ gun made contact with her skull and the whole world went black.

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Olivia had already tried to call Y/N twice but it kept going straight to voicemail. The last known location had been their apartment so at least she had the sense to head straight home. The guilt in Olivia’s stomach was insurmountable. Watching her daughter explain that she never felt like she lived up to her standards. Olivia had promised herself when she had Y/N she would never end up like her mother. Yet there she was shaming her child for one mistake. Y/N was more than just a good kid, she was excellent. She was smart, beautiful, humorous, kind, and so much more. She was everything Olivia could have ever hoped for. Knowing that her daughter thought she wasn’t proud was the worst pain she could have.

After the third call Olivia finally decided to leave a voicemail, “Y/N I know you are mad but I need you to know something. I am proud of you and will always be proud of you. You are the best daughter and the most amazing human. I was rough on you early. Please let’s talk through this. I’ll be home soon with your favorite Chinese. Just don’t do anything stupid? I love you.”

When she hung up the phone she placed her head in her hands and let out a large sigh. Fin placed a reassuring hand on her back, “Liv, it is going to be okay. She is just being a teenager.”

“No Fin, you should have seen her. It was like I was physically taking her heart out and ripping it in front of her. I should have never said those things. I didn’t mean any of them… I was just upset.”

“She knows, they always know.”

Olivia merely shook her head and began to gather her things to head home. She walked out of the precinct without a goodbye and headed down the street to Y/N’s favorite Chinese place. They knew what she was going to order as soon as she walked in the door asking where Y/N was. Liv pushed off their question and scrolled through her phone as she waited for the food. Y/N’s phone was still off giving Olivia an eerie feeling as she finished the walk to the apartment.

Once inside she noticed Y/N’s bag on the floor and her keys on the counter. There was a sudden rush of cold air that made her notice the window that was open to the fire escape. She shut it quickly and then moved to Y/N’s room. The door was still open with everything the way she had left it that morning. Once her calls were unanswered Olivia opened the window again crawling onto the fire escape. Sometimes Y/N would go to the roof to watch the sun slowly crawl behind the buildings.When she reached the top however she was met with an unsettling emptiness.

Olivia reached for her phone to call the only person who was able to calm her anxiety lately, “Amaro, Y/N isn’t here. I can’t find her. What if something happened to her?”

“She probably just went to a friend’s house to get away,” Amaro replied stirring the contents of his drink, “She will be back in the morning just to relax. Sleep off the anger and come back with a clear head tomorrow.”

Liv pondered this suggestion over and over deciding what she should do. When the silence became too long Amaro interjected again, “Liv, I’m serious. You two had the biggest blow out that I have seen in awhile. Give her time to be mad at you and think. If you smother her she might only push further away from you.” She thanked her partner for the advice and then shoved her phone back in her pocket taking a sweep of the roof once again. Finally she slowly made her way back to the apartment shutting the window with a slam before locking it. Olivia wandered over to the kitchen moving the cereal that covered the top of the fridge to get to her secret cupboard. From the opening she pulled a large bottle of her favorite red wine. She popped the cork and decided to forgo a cup taking a long swig directly from the green glass. A large sigh escaped her lips as she plopped down on the couch going over the events of the day in her head.

As the contents of the bottle slowly drained till there was nothing else Olivia realized her fears were all coming true. She was becoming her mother. A woman she never once wanted to be. Three empty bottles later she finally curled under Y/N’s sheets crying into her pillow until she finally was able to fall asleep.

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The next morning when Y/N did not return and her phone was still shut down all bets were off. Olivia was furious but more importantly she was terrified. Something was horribly wrong. Her morning was spent talking to Y/N’s two best friends and searching their houses for her. When that search was unsuccessful Olivia went to the school hoping Y/N had gone there. However, she had been absent all day and there hadn’t even been a call to excuse her from the day.

When the morning bled into the afternoon Olivia was running around the city to all of Y/N’s usual hangout spots. The search of the library told her that Y/N hadn’t been there in over a week. The local bakery hadn’t seen her in three days. The coffee shop where Y/N always bought Olivia’s coffee when she came to see her at work had seen her two mornings ago but nothing since then. Even the old lady that had Y/N over twice a week to help her with errands and chores around the house hadn’t seen her.

It was dark by the time that Olivia fell into her desk chair at the precinct. With her head in her hands she let the tears fall. A whole day was gone and there was still no sign of her daughter. If she had been kidnapped they were running out of time and losing it quickly. The longer she was out there the longer the person had to get away with whatever they wanted.

The squad huddled around in Cragen’s office looking at Olivia curled over her desk. Rollins was the first one to speak, “I bet you Lewis has something to do with this.”

“And what makes you think that?” Amaro asked, “There are plenty of people who could have a vendetta against Liv.”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Yeah well have you ever considered the idea that maybe Y/N just ran away,” Amaro retorted.

Fin, Cragen, and Amanda all turned towards Amaro, shocked. Cragen was the first one to speak, “I know you haven’t been here long Amaro but this isn’t Y/N. Something is horribly wrong and we are going to figure out what is going on. Fin and Amanda go check out Lewis’ usual hiding spots. I’ll take Liv through her apartment once again to see if we missed anything.”

“And me cap?”

“Amaro… you stay here and set up a tip line,” Cragen responded curtly and then they all disappeared to find where Y/N had disappeared to.

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Y/N woke with a jolt as she felt cold water splash her face. She was met with Lewis staring only a couple inches away from her face. He grinned and grabbed Y/N’s chin as she tried to look away, “Well well there. Looks like someone is finally awake. Feeling thirsty?”

Y/N nodded her head yes waiting to scream as he curled his fingers around the edge of the duct tape. As he was about to pull it away he jammed a gun against Y/N’s throat, “Make any noise and I will shove this gun straight down your throat.”

Finally when he pulled the tape away Y/N spit right in his face, “Just shoot me already if you are going to threaten me with it.”

“And miss out on all of our fun Mini Benson. I think not. There is plenty that I want to do to you before then.”

Y/N began to panic as Lewis lit another cigarette. She remembered the way the others had burned against her chest and sides. She had lost count after twenty perfect circle burns and after the second pistol whip to the face she had passed out a second time, She couldn’t go through all of that again.

“My mom knows I am missing and she will be out looking for me. Just let me go and she will never have to know that you did it. Please,” YN begged.

“What is she going to think about that bruise on your face? Or the marks on your skin? I can’t let you go… plus I know that you both fought before you came home. I bet you that she thinks you just ran away and are leaving her,” Lewis chuckled.

“How.. how did you know that we fought?

“This lovely voicemail your mother left you,” Lewis said, placing your phone against your ear.

Tears began to run down Y/N’s face as she heard the apology her mother had sent her. Damnit! Why did I have to fight with her? We could have avoided all of this. Is the mantra that ran through her head as Lewis slammed the phone against her head and threw it at the wall.

“She isn’t coming for you,” Lewis snickered.

“Please… just let me go. I will do anything.”

Lewis pulled his gun and placed it against Y/N’s scalp, “You are still bargaining with me? Really. We are way past that baby.”

“I am the daughter of an NYPD detective. A decorated well known detective. My mother, her partner, her squad, the entire department will hunt you down. You think that you’ve put people through hell. It will rain back down on you.”

“You know what… let it rain,” Lewis said and then hit Y/N once again making her world go black for a third time.

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allwaswell16 · 3 years

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This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us!

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries.

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16 [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

Sometimes, people are in each other's lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn't even know he's into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There's something more to their friendship but it ain't gonna be smooth sailing.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.” His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421 / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28 / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992 / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28 / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

#fic rec #1dsource #tracksintheam #trackinghome #larry fan fic #let me know if any of the links are messed up #i've checked and double checked but who knows when its tumblr lol

133 notes · View notes

outofsstyles · 3 years

Text

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.

That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing

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whereisten · 3 years

Text

Mr. Hyde

A Hendery fic that’s part of our Halloween Series!

Summary: Hendery is sweet, charming, and kind, but he possesses a dark secret. Unfortunately, Mr. Hyde won’t stay quiet for much longer.

Pairing: Chemical Engineer!Hendery x female reader (college student)

Genre: angst, smut, fluff, violence, murder, horror

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: mental illness mention, blood mention, knife mention, murder described, death of side character, possessiveness, cursing, smut: semi-public sex, protected sex, thigh riding, nipple sucking, slapping, choking, rough sex, car sex mention, daddy kink, size kink, slight degradation, dirty talk.

(A/N: WELLL Halloween is here you guys!! Thank you for the support we have gotten for this series, I hope you enjoy this fic inspired by the iconic Jekyll&Hyde story!❤️🥺)

————

“Oh, hello Hendery..”

“Hello, Mr. Hyde..”

“And how did it go today..with the Mayor?”

“That’s none of your concern, Hyde. Leave it to me.”

The dark voice lets out a haunting chuckle. “Hendery..what would you like me to do?”

“Nothing! I said, it’s none of your concern!” Hendery slams his hand down onto the counter.

“But it’s our lab, isn’t it?”

Hendery cups his face as he breaks down to tears. “Why?! Why won’t you leave me alone?!”

“Oh..Hendery, you can’t get rid of me, no matter what crazy toxins you concoct. I’ll be here, I’ll always be here.”

———

“I don’t see what my difference my presence here makes..” You roll your eyes and step out of your father’s black SUV.

The driver closes the door behind you while your father takes your hand in his and waves to the crowd with the other.

Today, you’ve joined him for a fundraising event in City Hall. The program is designed to bring awareness to a Missing Persons Search Team Fund. Lately, people have been going missing at an alarming rate and your father, the Mayor, is unsure of what to do about it. The police and volunteering citizens had done the best they could to conduct thorough search parties but no one was ever found. These people varied in age and description so there was no way to formulate a possible killer’s profile.

Your father initiated a curfew for everyone to abide by until they found the missing people and the kidnapper..dead or alive.

You were a college student and your institution was about two hours away, but your father didn’t feel safe and insisted on you staying at home while taking classes online. You did as he said, for you knew that this must’ve been difficult for him, considering your own dealings with the death of your mother. She was found murdered in an alleyway a few years ago, prompting a change in your father’s life. He was determined to become a leading figure in society that would bring down the city’s crime rate. And it worked...until now.

“The more people we have on board, the faster we find these people and the better I look, the better OUR family looks.” He whispered into your ear while displaying a wide smile to his “fans.”

You smiled as well and nodded.

And so, you found yourself seated at a round table by yourself as your father spoke with other leaders, sergeants, politicians, and the fund creators.

And what difference did your presence make? Nothing.

You scrolled through your phone and huffed. You saw pictures of your friends back at college. There had been a Halloween party the night before and they all posted pictures of themselves in their costumes looking drunk and happy.

You were jealous to say the least. You just wanted a normal life, but now even Halloween was canceled because of the curfew your father put in place.

You didn’t notice that a slender man with brown hair sat down beside you as you pouted.

“You must be so bored..” His low voice spoke.

You looked up at him and smiled. “Hi..yeah, I am very bored.”

The man in a nice dress shirt and tie laughed and then you realized you may have insulted one of the organizers.

“Oh!” You sat up straight in your chair and put your phone down. “I’m so sorry..I didn’t mean to offend—“

“Oh..of course not, sweetheart. I’m quite bored myself.”

Sweetheart. The way that word left his lips made your heart tremble.

You nodded and stared at his heart-shaped lips, maybe a little too long. “I see..” You looked away. “My name is y/n..the mayor is..”

“Your father..yes, is that the only reason for you being here?” He tilted his head while smirking.

You looked to the side and hesitated. You looked up to him with wide eyes.

“Y-yes, I’m sorry but—“

“Don’t be sorry, my name is Dr. Wong, but you can call me Hendery.”

Your mouth fell open. He looked like he was your age, but he already had a doctoral degree? You were stunned.

“I know..I’m kinda young, but I skipped a few grades.”

Your eyes widened. “Wow! That’s so cool, what do you do?”

Hendery smiled when you looked shocked by his title and complimented him. “I’m the leading chemical engineer at the WCT Lab..”

You gasped, WCT lab was responsible for breakthrough advancements in technology as well as medical advancements. That was what your city was primarily known for. And for this young man to be the leading engineer was amazing. Why was he sitting with you, a college student? Surely, you were only insulting his intelligence.

Hendery was pleased by your surprised look once again, he felt a sense of pride.

“Dr. Wong, I mean, Hendery..that’s amazing! You guys have done some wonderful things at that lab. Well..of course, you already know that.”

You closed your eyes. Oh how dumb you must’ve sounded to him.

But Hendery only adored you even more when you got flustered.

“It’s okay, y/n..It happens all the time. People don’t expect that from me, someone that’s just 21 years old, to be the head of all projects.”

You nodded, then looked to your father who was still speaking with several men and women of importance surrounding him.

“Why aren’t you up there with him?” You turned back to Hendery. “You’re just as important as them.”

Hendery glanced up at your father then back at you. Something about his gaze felt..good. His eyes were intense but made you feel like it was just the two of you in the room. You felt warm as you saw his shirt hug his biceps as he leaned forward.

“My presence doesn’t make a difference either, but it does make me look good.” He gave a wink as his smile widened.

Your face became warm.

“I’ll tell you what..come with me for a moment, I’m going to show you a cool trick.”

He stood up and held his hand out for you to take. You held it and smoothed your dress down as you stood up.

Hendery thought you were beautiful, unlike anyone else. You were like a butterfly with a unique pattern of vibrant colors on its wings. Your touch was delicate like one too.

He took you to the kitchen in the hall. No one was there but the two of you.

You stood by the island in the center.

“What are we doing here?”

“Are you nervous?” Hendery shuffled through the freezer.

“No..” You lied as you looked around for the closest knife to pick up just in case he tried anything.

“The knives are to your right.” He called out, as if hearing your thoughts.

You chuckled and leaned against the counter while feeling embarrassed.

“Okay, so I’ve got some ice..” He placed a few ice cubes onto the countertop and then reached over for the salt dispenser.

“And some salt..”

You nodded, unsure of where he was going with this. “Okay.”

“Now, hold your hand out.” He smiled at you again.

Your brows furrowed but you did as he said.

He placed his hand over yours. Your skin was smooth and warm, his touch was gentle as he slowly traced his fingertips over your knuckles.

He stood so close to you, you could feel his breath on your forehead.

Your eyes grew as a silent moment rested between the two of you, you looked up at him as if no one had ever held your hand before.

He cleared his throat and looked away from your eyes and to your hand. “I’m going to put some salt in your palm, then I’m going to place ice on it, simple right?”

You nodded.

Hendery smiled again and glanced down at your lips.

“Alright..good.”

He poured the salt out then put about three ice cubes into your hand.

“Now, close your hand.”

You do as he says and after a few seconds you wince in pain.

A burning feeling shoots through your hand, you open your palm out and shake the ice to the floor.

“Oh my God, Hendery! What the hell was that?” You look up in pain.

Hendery laughs.

“You see, salt lowers the melting point of ice..hence why you briefly experienced the burning sensation.”

“I could’ve gotten frostbite!”

Hendery only laughed harder. “Y/n...you wouldn’t be so stupid as to let it stay long enough for that...but I am.”

You looked up at him questioningly.

He poured salt out into his own hand and placed ice onto it.

He shut his hand and smiled. You watched him intensely. How could he endure this type of pain for so long?

“Hendery..that’s enough, you should stop now.”

You go to grab his hand, but he turns.

“No, no, I’m fine, I promise.”

“Surely, that must be painful, Hendery!”

“Does it impress you?” He turns when you try to open his hand again. He smirks while he watches you freak out.

“No..no! It doesn’t, it’s freaking me out actually!”

Hendery pouts with his hand still closed. “Oh no..I wanted to impress the pretty girl.”

You shook your head. “Let me see your hand.”

He turns again.

“Hendery!”

“I’ll let you see it, if you let me take you out some time.”

You tilted your head. “Oh my God, that’s why you did this? Hendery..why didn’t you just ask?” You peel his hand open and see red, burnt skin. Several lesions have been created.

Your eyes widened but Hendery only adores your face while you hold his hand.

“So is that a yes?” He pays no attention to the burns on his palm, knowing that they’d go away soon enough if he just drank the right thing for it.

“You’re crazy, but yes, you can take me out.”

————

[Two Days Later]

You and Hendery swapped phone numbers later that night. You agreed to go to the street art fair where you would walk around and learn more about each other.

Hendery waved to you as he walked over to the entrance.

He looked cooler now, in a flannel and jeans while aviator sunglasses covered his eyes.

His hair had a slight wave to it and hung more loosely than it did the first time you met.

“Hey Doc, how’s your hand?”

Hendery held his palm out to you and to your surprise, you saw nothing that would indicate he had burned himself just two days prior. His palm looked normal.

“W-what?”

“All healed up, I told you I’d be fine.”

He smirked then took your hand and led you through the gate.

The fair was calm, you got to talk about your major in college and why you were home this year.

Hendery told you that he got his degree overseas and came back here to help your town. He said that he always felt drawn to it for it needed so much assistance, he felt he was the one to help.

You liked his dedication to his craft, but even more, you liked watching him talk about it. His eyes were shielded from you, but even then you could tell that he was passionate and in love with his work.

“Well..I guess it’s time to go home..gotta get back before curfew.”

You stared up at him. “You’re right. I had a—“

“Y/n! What are you doing here? I thought you were home.”

It was none other than your father. He hustled towards you. Hendery’s smile fell as he watched him walk over.

“I’ll go mad if I spend any more time in the house, dad.” You sighed and crossed your arms.

His focus shifts from you and to Hendery. “And young man, it’s nice to see you again, but what has my daughter done to warrant your presence?”

You rolled your eyes, your finger rubbed your temple.

Hendery chuckled softly. “Your daughter and I had a wonderful time today, we were just saying goodbye.”

Your father frowned and looked back at you.

“Well...goodbye then.” He stepped towards you.

You turned to leave with your father before you could be embarrassed any more. Your father was always like this since your mother died, overprotective and on guard.

“Y/n…” Hendery’s soft voice called out.

You turned back to look at him. Your face looked gorgeous in the sunset, the sun made your eyes glitter and your lips were shaped perfectly. Of all the art he had seen today, you, in this moment, were the prettiest sight he’d ever seen.

“Yes?”

“I’ll..see you later.”

You smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

When you got to your father’s car, he scolded you on how you shouldn't be interested in speaking with anyone right now, for everyone was a suspect.

“You have to be careful, no one is safe!”

You leaned your head against the window.

“I understand, father, but all of my friends are at college right now, would it really hurt if I go out every now and then?”

“Yes! Yeah it would hurt, why? Because you could go missing or lose your life!”

“Why are you so strict? He’s a nerd, what harm could he possibly do to me. I thought you’d like him, I know mom would’ve--”

You stopped when you realized what you had said. Your mom's death was something that you were both still grappling with. You tried not to speak of her, for it only made both of you more upset.

Your dad sighed, he held back tears. “Y/n..I’m sorry..I’m sorry I’m this way..Sometimes I can’t help it, but..I’m just worried, I-“

“I know, dad..let’s just go home.”

When you got inside he spoke to you again before you headed to your room. “That boy..If you want to see him again..He’ll be at the soup kitchen on Thursday, he’s always helping out there.”

You turned and smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

———-

[Thursday]

You had volunteered at the soup kitchen a few times during high school, it was a rewarding experience, for you got to help out while hearing from members of the community that you wouldn’t usually meet or speak to. They varied in age and overall life experiences, each one had a story to tell.

You stood in the utilities closet of the kitchen alone and put your apron on, but struggled to tie it in the back.

“Damn it..” You whispered, you just couldn’t find the other strap.

Then you felt a presence behind you.

“Do you need help?” You heard a familiar voice say.

But before you could spin around to face him, his fingers tapped along your waist on both sides and grabbed the straps. He stepped closer, leaning down to breathe against the back of your neck.

A chill ran through your body as the apron tightened around your body perfectly.

You finally spun around to face him.

“Hendery.”

He watches his name fall from your lips.

He smirks and licks his lips. “How’d you know?”

You laughed, but his intense and low gaze on your face made you weak.

“Your voice..I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Hendery blushed and laughed.

“Do you like my voice, sweetheart?”

Another chill vibrates through your body and you find yourself pressing your legs together.

You breathe heavily and nod. “I do..and I’d like it if you’d call me at night...when you leave work of course.”

“Understood.” He licks his lips again and turns to leave. You follow behind him and out to the main dining area where you both serve food together.

During your break, you watched him go to each table to talk to all of the families eating. He grinned as they asked him how he’d been doing since the last time they saw him the week before.

He even sat down next to any elderly attendees that needed assistance with eating their food.

Your heart fluttered. He was so kind, caring and handsome on top of it all.

“How long have you two been seeing each other?” A man said. His voice broke you out of the trance Hendery had you in.

“Oh..” You turned to him as you leaned against a wall.

“We aren’t dating.”

The man that spoke to you was none other than Yuta, the head chef and owner of Osaka Moon, the best restaurant in the city. He was in charge of providing food for the soup kitchen every Thursday and did a wonderful job each time from what you had heard. Everyone loved his five star meals.

He smiled softly. “Well..if you continue to look at him like that..it won’t be long til you do.”

“Like what?” Your brows knitted.

Yuta only chuckled and shrugged his shoulders before walking away.

But he was right, you started dating. You found yourself FaceTiming Hendery every night until you fell asleep. You spoke about everything, never running out of topics to talk about and never getting bored. His personality, like Cinderella’s slipper, fit yours incredibly well.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that fit perfectly.

———

[1 Month Later]

One day at the soup kitchen, the two of you found yourselves knocking over cans of fruit in the kitchen closet.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he slid in and out of you for the first time. You just couldn’t hold back anymore. You wanted him badly and a kiss just wasn’t enough.

He covered your mouth with his hand, for your moans were beautiful but grew increasingly louder as he rubbed your clit.

He breathed heavily into your neck. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ruin you later for being so loud.”

You let out a mewl while the wetness between your legs increased at his words.

Your nails scratched his back as he pinned you against a cabinet.

And later that day, he did ruin you in his car before he let you out to go home. He parked just a few blocks away, luckily his windows were tinted so no one could see him bringing you to paradise in the back seat with your hands tied behind your back with his belt.

You laid down together when you finished.

His fingers played in your scalp as your back rested against his chest. He kissed your neck and listened to you breathe.

“How’s school?” He said in between kisses.

You took his other hand in yours and intertwined your fingers. “It’s okay, finals are stressful.”

“Well, you know I’m here to help.” He kisses you again.

You smiled. “Of course, but I know you have your own issues to deal with. How are things at the lab?”

You knew he had been frustrated lately because some of his appeals for certain projects had been denied by the national organizations. You failed to remember the very specific details he told you the night before, but he was overjoyed that you remembered him even mentioning it.

He smiled to himself, tucking your hair behind your ear as you yawned.

“Things are okay, it'll all work out, I’m sure.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hendery chuckled. “Because they all give in to me sooner or later.” His voice sounded a bit different then, it was deeper, rougher.

Deep into the night after Hendery drops you off home, he drives down an empty street.

“When will you tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“About me! About us..”

“She will never know about you because you don’t matter!” Hendery says sternly.

“Fuck you! I’m the reason why you got this far, you fool!”

He grips the steering wheel and winces. “I like her..a lot. I can’t hurt her. I won’t hurt her.’

“And how many times have you said that before? Hmm?”

Hendery blinks slowly and looks to his rear view mirror.

“The clock strikes 8 and the world goes empty, which poor, wandering soul will be our next victim?”

“‘Our?’ You’re on your own..”

“And when the blood is on my hands, don’t forget to look down at yours too..now shut up, and stop here..this girl looks lonely.”

“No..I won’t do that.”

“I wasn’t asking! Pull over!”

“No!” Hendery struggles, but pulls over and stops right beside a girl waiting at a bus stop.

“Hello..need a lift?”

——

[1 Week Later]

You hadn’t seen Hendery since that night, you knew that he was busy with work, but you didn’t think he’d be this busy.

“Hey.” You say once he answers the FaceTime call.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He looks disheveled and has bags under his eyes. His eyes look intense as he props the phone up beside his computer screen and continues to type.

“Are you still at the lab?”

Hendery feels soft when he hears your sweet voice, it calms him down. He stops typing and looks at you, all cuddled up in your blanket on the bed.

“Yeah..” he pouts, “I wish I could be there with you right now..”

“Oh? And what would you do if you were here?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Ahhh you naughty girl, well..just for that, I’d only cuddle you..”

“Henderyyyy don’t be so cruel, what if I need you?”

“Then I’d hug you tightly and make you wait until the morning.” He winked and started typing again.

“What if I call you “daddy?” You whisper into the phone, knowing that it would drive him crazy.

His typing fingers stuttered for a moment but he exhaled and furrowed his brows as he continued his work.

“Baby? I haven’t seen you in so long, play with me..please.” You begged.

“No..not tonight, sweetheart.” He wasn’t even looking at the screen anymore.

“But baby..”

“I said no!” He said angrily. You never heard him like this before. His voice was rough again and different, like it had doubled.

He looked at you then back at his computer screen.

He fidgeted and had trouble breathing for a moment, but you stayed silent.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I should go now, goodnight.”

He hung up before you could say goodnight.

That was the first of many moments that were strange to you. Hendery wasn’t as sweet sometimes. He’d be short with you even at the soup kitchen. When you tugged his shirt to pull him to the back he ignored you and fixed his hair.

He looked tired and you tried to pin it on him acting on the stress he was recently experiencing, but the truth was that it was much more complicated.

Late at night, Hendery would find himself fighting someone else. Someone that had been more intent on doing their own thing.

“Let’s take a walk in the park tonight.”

“No, Mr. Hyde..”

“Really? I think it would help you to relieve some stress.”

“I need to sleep..I feel terrible, I don’t even know what you’re doing anymore..why don’t you stop this? Why don’t you leave me alone so I can function like a normal person?” Hendery holds his head as he lays down on his couch.

“You can rest while I take care of the imbeciles out there, the more we kill, the happier we’ll be.”

“No!!” Hendery shouts. “How many more?! How many more must die at your hand? I will control you! You will not overrule me!”

He grabs a glass of green liquid from the coffee table and brings to his lips. He chugs it down as tears stream down his face, but soon he is thrown to the floor on his knees. He feels fingers in his throat, his eyes roll in the back of his head as veins protrude from his forehead. Then, out comes the liquid that he just struggled to swallow.

He balls his fists up and cries. “NOOOO!! That was the last of it!”

“It’s okay, Hendery, it’s time to go to sleep anyway. You’ll make more tomorrow, but you’ll be just as defenseless against me.”

“No, no, please don’t! Please don’t kill anyone else!”

“And what would you rather me do to gain satisfaction? Torture them until they BEG to be killed?” Mr. Hyde laughs sinisterly as Hendery drifts into unconsciousness.

The next morning, Hendery wakes to find himself covered in blood, he can’t remember how he got to his bed or whose blood is on him, but he sees the knife at the end of the bed covered in blood as well. He breaks down in tears and yells out for mercy as he realizes that he can no longer control Mr. Hyde.

————

[Two Days Later]

You meet up with Hendery for a Starbucks date.

“I’m sorry about the other night..the stress got to me.” Hendery smiles softly when he watches you burn your mouth with hot coffee.

The truth was that you like iced caramel macchiato but you wanted to be more “serious” around Hendery so you only drank black coffee like a “regular” adult.

You hissed as the hot liquid burned your tongue.

“How many times do I have to tell you?..just order what you want.” He giggled and sipped his own coffee.

“Eh, I know, but..isn't it a bit childish?” You asked with wide eyes.

Hendery chuckled and ran his hand down the side of your face. He adored you.

“No..nothing is childish if you enjoy it.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

You sat in silence most of the time as you both worked on your projects separately. Hendery still looked handsome, but strange. You’d glance up at him every now and then and see that his brows were always knitted and his lips moved like he was talking to himself.

He spoke quickly, so you could never make out what he actually said.

The bags around his eyes were red and his cheeks looked more sunken in like he hadn’t been eating well. His shirt was crushed, but when you first met him his shirts were always pressed and tucked in neatly. And his hair had grown out, like he hadn’t bothered to visit a stylist recently.

“Hendery..is everything alright?” You put your hand on his.

He quickly withdrew his hand and held it while glaring at you.

“I’m fine!” He said loudly, the few customers sitting nearby turned to the two of you when they heard his roar.

He realized he was loud and relaxed into his seat. “I’m sorry, again. I-I was just frightened.”

You nod slowly and put your hand back under the table.

Before the two of you departed each other, you gave him a hug and a kiss.

You walked towards your house as Hendery watched.

He felt pain in his heart when he watched you walk away with a defeated look. You were sad because of him, and he hated that. He just wanted to make you happy, he just wanted everything to be under control.

“Y/n..There’s a new art museum opening up on Friday, your father extended curfew just for it..would you like to go with me?”

You turned to him and smiled widely. “Is that a date?”

“Of course..we can spend some time in my car afterwards..if you want. Would that make you happy?” He gave you a wink.

You nodded. “As long as I’m with you, Hendery. I’m happy.”

———

[Two Days Later]

Hendery decides to have dinner with your father at his penthouse. He pretends to prepare a meal for him that was actually provided by Osaka Moon’s Catering company.

He had a maid make everything spotless and made sure to spend a little more time on his hair and outfit. He had to ensure that your father took him seriously, for he would plan to ask him once more for a donation from the city for his lab. They would be able to do more research this way.

He had posited the question once before, but gained a disappointing ‘no,’ as your father focused more on the missing people’s fund, however, Hendery believed it imperative for the lab to gain new resources and make new developments that would positively affect the city’s environment.

So tonight, he hoped that with some food and humor, he could convince the mayor.

“What are your intentions with my daughter? I see you have been seeing each other quite frequently lately..” your father took a bite of his steak and chewed while looking down at his plate.

Hendery smiled. “Your daughter and I have a wonderful relationship, I would say. She is very supportive and kind, the world could be better with more people like her.”

“Well, I certainly agree. Do you feel that you can protect her from this cruel world?” He looks up from his plate and looks sternly on Hendery.

Hendery swallows hard, but nods quickly. “Of course, I’d do anything to protect her.”

Cut the bullshit, get to the question.

A few more minutes pass. The two speak about wonderful changes that have occurred in the past year. Hendery even cracks a few jokes to get a chuckle from your father.

As things whine down and your father prepares to leave, Hendery leans forward and intertwines his fingers on the dining table.

“Mr. Y/l/n, I believe that you are a man of great intelligence, therefore, I believe that you will make the right call by supporting my lab.”

Your father raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms as Hendery continues.

“I believe that you will see the importance of funding our research at the lab. We will be able to make even more groundbreaking developments like we have in the past year. We need the resources should we continue.”

Your father thinks for a moment then shakes his head. “I am so sorry, son, but I cannot issue the funds to your lab at this time.”

Hendery sighs but the mayor continues.

“We are dealing with a huge crisis in our city right now, I have to help our citizens find their loved ones. Furthermore, with the holidays approaching, we must provide food and assistance to families in need. The budget for your lab is not there.”

“Yes, sir, I understand the importance of these things, but I have been asking for your assistance for these past few months now, we simply cannot go any further without it..” Hendery taps his finger against the table while trying to hold back. He swallows the grumbling in his chest.

His eyes stare intensely at the mayor, but the mayor is unfazed.

“I will not provide tax payers money to some boy that wants to do his little experiments..at the end of the day, your work being done is not a matter of life or death.”

Hendery twitches when he hears the mayor’s insult.

“Please..don’t make me do something I’ll regret.” He whispers lowly.

Your father leans forward in his chair.

“Is that a threat, boy?”

Hendery smirks and loosens his tie.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but just because you gave me some food, doesn’t mean I will bend over and let you do what you will.”

Hendery laughs under his breath. “Your daughter did.”

Your father shoots up from the table.

“What did you say?!”

Hendery’s eyes narrow, his mouth grows into a creepy smile as he laughs. “You heard me!”

Your father walks around the table and grabs Hendery up by the collar, but Hendery grabs the steak knife and presses the sharp tip into his neck just deep enough to draw blood.

Your father freezes, his eyes widen in fear.

“Hendery, what in God’s name are you doing?!”

“Hendery isn’t here anymore, you fucking fool. You should’ve just listened to him the first time, now I have to take over because he was too weak!” Hendery’s voice comes out in a deep tone your father had never heard before. Venom practically leaves his tone as he speaks.

Your father stares in confusion as the knife presses in deeper.

“Listen, you worthless piece of shit. We thought you were smart but it turns out you’re just as dumb as any other bimbo in this shitty city. So let’s spell it out for you, give us the money or we will kill your daughter…”

His head snaps to the right. “We won’t kill her!” Hendery’s usual voice cries out.

“Shut up!” He snaps his head back to the left.

“You’re-you’re insane.” Your father stares into his red eyes and pale skin.

He looks strange and scary, like someone that was already dead.

This couldn’t possibly have been the same person he spoke to just a few minutes ago.

“Aren’t we all, mayor?” He chuckles and twists the knife, your father cries out in pain.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll give you the money!” Your father couldn’t lose you like he lost his wife. He wouldn’t mess up this time, he had to give Hendery whatever he wanted if he wanted you to stay alive and well.

Hendery nods. “Good.”

He lets the mayor go and laughs loudly while still wielding the knife in his hand and watching the Mayor run out.

———

[Friday Night]

Hendery wakes up at 9 P.M. He looks down at his hands and sees bruises across his knuckles.

He sits up straight on the bed and rubs his head.

“Shit..what did you do?”

But there’s no answer.

He missed the entire day because of Mr. Hyde. He was taking his life over, it seemed the potion was no longer having an affect on him, for he couldn’t remember where he was on most nights. But even worse, more recently it seemed he’d blackout during the days as well.

He looks at his phone and sees that he has 13 missed calls and several text messages from you.

“Damn it!” He curses and jumps up from the bed. He runs to the shower to see if he can go to the art museum before you left.

He called you several times as he drove to the museum but you didn’t answer, you ignored his calls because you were pissed he didn’t show.

You were busy speaking with Ten, a writer for the city’s newspaper. He was observing an artwork when he came across you staring at your phone with tears in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with a somber expression then broke down even more. He took you outside where you talked about what happened. He then told you a joke to make you laugh and about his job.

“I focus on stories that deal with art and culture, so of course I had to be here.”

“Oh, that’s very nice. The pieces in there are really interesting..well, at least from what I saw before I started crying like an idiot.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“Don’t say that..you’re not an idiot. I’m sure he has a reason..you just need to talk about it.”

You nod. “But Ten, it’s not just that. He’s been...different lately. I can’t speak with him very often because he gets upset..this was supposed to be our first date together in a long time. It was supposed to be a “first” for us.”

Ten nodded as he watched you sniffle. “Have you thought about leaving him?”

You shook your head. “I really like him...I just think we need more time, maybe we just have to work on communication.”

Ten gave you a smile. “I agree, if you think he’s worth it, then you’ll both find a way to work it out. Now, it’s 9:30..would you like me to drop you home before you lose a slipper, Princess?”

You felt your face become warm as you smiled.

Ten walked you home as the two of you continued to talk about painters and the artistic styles you enjoyed.

You never noticed Hendery watching the two of you from across the street.

He felt his heart race, an animalistic side was creeping out as he watched you laugh and smile with another man. Sure, he didn’t show up for your date, but did that mean that you should move on so quickly?

Hendery grows angry, he sticks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and watches Ten give you a hug at your doorstep.

“I should just text her back and apologize.”

“And what will that do? She’ll just ignore you then go on a date with this guy tomorrow.”

“Thats nonsense, she wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Oh, Hendery, he wants her, she wants him, it’s clear to see. But you won’t believe it until she trips and conveniently falls on his dick, will you?”

Hendery shakes his head. “Shut up!”

“Why don’t we just get rid of him so you don’t have to worry about that happening?”

“No! No more murders.”

“But Hendery, what about the elderly man from this morning? Or the middle aged homeless person from the afternoon? Or how about the young girl from the bus stop?”

“Stop it, Hyde!”

“Hendery...it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

“No! No!! Don’t do this again!”

But Hyde takes over once more, following Ten as he walks back to the museum.

———

[The Next Day]

You wake up late in the afternoon and turn the TV on for the news. Your dad already left for work so it’s just you in the house.

“Breaking News, it was discovered this morning, a writer from The Chronicles has gone missing. He goes by the name Ten and his vehicle was found with the key in its ignition and the front door open. Ten was last seen at the opening for the new art museum on 45th street.. If you have any information on Ten’s whereabouts, please contact the police at 555-5127.”

Your mouth fell open. The friendly gentleman that you met the night before had gone missing. You instantly felt guilty as you realized that he dropped you home and put his life in danger for it.

Then, your doorbell rang.

You looked through the peephole and saw Hendery.

You bit your bottom lip and sighed. You had been avoiding him since he ditched you, but you should’ve known he would visit you sooner or later when he knew your dad wasn’t home.

You opened the door.

“Hi.” You said with tight lips.

Hendery looked at you with pleading eyes that almost broke your hard exterior. His hair was wavy and hung in his forehead. His eyes looked tired and his face looked drained, but he still looked handsome to you.

“Baby..I’m so sorry, can I come in?”

You widened the door. “Yeah..I guess..”

Hendery brought in a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a large gift bag in the other hand.

You sat down on the couch and turned off the TV.

“Okay, baby, listen, I’ve been at the lab a lot lately, I haven’t had enough sleep and I..I decided to take a nap like an idiot. I overslept and missed our date, I’m so so sorry, please baby, I didn’t do it on purpose.” He says in one breath as he drops the bag down and gets on his knees in front of you.

Your eyes widen. “Okay! Okay, you don’t have to do that..”

“Do you forgive me?” Hendery’s eyes are round and watery.

You caress the side of his face with your hand while he looks up at you like you’re the messiah. “Hendery..we should talk, maybe you should take a break from the lab..you look tired.”

Hendery melts in your hand as he closes his eyes. “Sweetheart..I love your touch..”

“You’re stressing yourself out, maybe it’s time for a vacation.” You continue.

He places his hand over yours and brings it to his lips. He kisses it softly.

“I’m fine, baby. I promise.” His voice is gravelly and makes you weak.

You sigh. “Sit beside me…”

Hendery smirks, he’s able to change the topic so effortlessly once he hypnotizes you with his eyes and touch. “Why?”

You lick your lips. “Are you really teasing me right now? After what you did last night?”

Hendery chuckles and gets up onto the couch beside you. You take his face in between your hands and kiss him deeply. You both grow hot and kiss each other with more passion as you struggle to breathe steadily, your tongue brushing over his and his teeth nipping onto your bottom lip.

He pulls away abruptly. “Wait..there’s something I have to show you.”

You watch him reach into the gift bag and pull out a large box. He hands it to you and grins. “Open it, sweetheart.”

“What’s this?” You lift the sides carefully and open the top. You then see that it’s a beautiful dress, but not just any dress. As you hold it above your head to let it fall loose from the box, you see that it’s the black Gucci dress that you told him you loved. It was long sleeve but slit down the center with a plunging neckline.

You gasped. “For me?”

Hendery nodded when he saw your face light up.

“Oh my god! Hendery!” You turned to him with your mouth still agape.

He nodded. “You’re gonna look great in it, baby, but there’s something else..” he reaches into the bag and pulls out a small ring box.

“Hendery..”

He opens the box and shows you a dazzling emerald cut sapphire colored ring.

Your eyes widen even more. “Oh—oh my god!”

You fling your arms around him and hug him tightly.

He laughs as you freak out over your gifts and holds you to his chest. The two of you fall onto the couch and continue to make out.

“I love it, baby, thank you.” You say before kissing his neck.

He feels a chill run through his body as you lay on top of him. “It’s a promise ring, I promise to protect you and love you for as long as I live.”

You felt your legs weaken by his words.

“Hendery..I love you..” you kiss his collarbone.

Neither of you felt that it was early, for there was an undeniable connection that you had to each other. You couldn’t imagine yourselves with anyone else.

You sucked his skin in between your teeth and listened to him moan, the purplish marks you gave him standing bright and clear as the sunny day outside.

You then pulled the band of his sweatpants down to reveal his hard member and licked the tip leaking with pre cum already.

You forgot about everything as the two of you made love. You only felt him, his love, his embrace, his caring nature. You loved it all and yearned for him to be with you forever.

———

[New Year’s Eve]

Things had calmed down a bit since that day. Hendery started looking and feeling better as his lab received more than enough money to continue research and development projects.

You also noticed that the rate of people going missing each week had gone down significantly, as if the culprit was taking a break for the holidays.

You felt happier now that Hendery and your father were both happier. Things felt right when you had Hendery by your side for Thanksgiving dinner and for the entire day of Christmas. And now, you could ring in the new year together. You hoped that your future would remain as bright as these past few days had been.

Hendery bought you so many gifts for Christmas, you had to leave some of them in his place. But you didn’t mind it, as it gave you an excuse to stay over some nights. Surprisingly, your dad was okay with that.

Your dad lifted curfew for the holidays, meaning you and Hendery could go to the movies or ice skating whenever you had the chance. You also got to make out by the giant Christmas tree by city hall and snap a few pictures together.

And when the nights were cold, Hendery wrapped you in his arms and kept you warm. He’d whisper sweet words into your ear and wait for you to drift into sleep.

He was taking double the amount of his “medication” to hold Mr. Hyde back. He was able to create more of it with your father’s generous donation that allowed him to buy the chemicals necessary. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that a part of him missed Mr. Hyde, for he felt more..confident with him around.

Nonetheless, Hendery spun you around on the ballroom floor as you danced.

The city was having a countdown special at a mansion owned by Johnny, the owner of the popular greenhouse conservatory on the outskirts.

His place was beautiful and you found yourself in awe at all of the art on the walls.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” You looked impressed by his dancing skills.

Hendery blushed. “I didn’t know I could either, but I may have watched a YouTube video or two to prepare for this..” he gave you a wink.

“Ohh..I see.” You laughed out as Hendery watched your beautiful smile. You looked stunning in the dress he bought you. Your neck and cleavage looked wonderful and oh so tempting. Your makeup was also done well, even though he thought you were gorgeous without it.

Hendery looked dapper in his suit and smoothed back hair. His hand on your waist and the way he looked into your eyes as you danced close made you tremble.

Hendery couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting down to your chest. He breathed heavily and the beast inside him dared to crawl out at any moment.

He was struggling to hold him back, but your silky, revealing dress has their thoughts running wild. He’s growing impatient. Sooner or later, Mr. Hyde will take over if Hendery doesn’t hold him back.

Hendery clears his throat and lets go of your hand. “Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom..”

A look of concern crosses your face but you nod and watch him scurry to the bathroom.

In the meantime, you watch your father speak to the elites a few feet away. You take a sip of your drink and look to the other direction.

A lady walks over to you suddenly.

“Hello! You must be the mayor’s beautiful daughter! How are you?” The woman asked enthusiastically.

You gave a smile that your dad would’ve been proud of and shook her hand.

“Yes! I am his daughter and thank you so much, I’m flattered.” You chuckled.

She nods. “You look amazing, but I couldn’t help but notice the ring on your finger.”

She points to the ring on your hand that is holding the glass.

“Oh.. what about it?”

“It’s just...I could’ve sworn I saw it on TV or something..” she puts a finger to her chin.

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Ahh! Yes! That’s where I saw it, on the news I think, it was missing from a jewelry store! I think it’s worth about 50 grand!”

“What are you talking about?” Hendery pops up behind her.

He walks beside you and takes your hand in his. “Are you really trying to harass the Mayor’s daughter by accusing her of stealing a ring?”

The woman shook her head. “I am so sorry, you guys have a good night.” She walks away.

You turn to Hendery. “What was that?”

Hendery’s face relaxes when he looks back at you.

“I don’t know, but let’s dance.”

You dance for a few more minutes. Hendery starts to sweat and pull your body closer to his, he licks his lips as he watches your eyes fall low.

“Baby, I’m so sorry but I can’t take it anymore.” He takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom upstairs where things are a little quieter.

You stumble into the bathroom while kissing. Hendery fidgets his hand behind him and eventually finds the lock. He also flips the light switch.

He wraps an arm around you, picking you up and placing you to sit on the counter.

You continue to kiss him but Hendery is impatient.

He lifts his mouth from yours and yanks down the fabric of your dress to reveal your hard nipples.

“Fuck..this is what I’ve been dying to see all night.” He latches his mouth onto your nipple, sucking hard as you hold your body up with your hands behind your back.

Your head falls back as his tongue lays flat against the hard nub then circles around it.

“Ahh..Hendery, that feels so good.”

He looks up at you through dark eyes then bites you.

You yelp and look down.

“It’s ‘daddy’ to you.” His voice is grumbly and deep.

You nod. “Daddy, give me more please.” You look up, dewy-eyed.

Hendery sucks and pumps harder. His touch is aggressive, but you don’t want him to stop. Just as long as he was touching you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, I could just watch you all night.” He whispers into your chest then flicks his tongue over your breast again.

He pulls the other side down now, your breast popping out like it was begging to be released from its restrictive cloth covering.

You sat there on the counter, choking back moans and tightening your legs together as he continued to suck your breasts dry.

“Daddy..please..I need you..need you in me.”

Hendery squeezes your breast harder as you squeal.

“Stand up.” He demands while walking back to a stool in the bathroom and taking his jacket off.

He sits down onto it and pats his thigh. “Show me how you’ll ride my cock.”

You walk over to him and part your legs before sitting down and facing him.

He glared at you sternly, no trace of love rests in his gaze as he watches you like a hungry animal.

“No underwear.” He clicks his tongue when he feels your bare pussy resting on his clothed thigh.

You shake your head.

“What a whore you are, I can’t wait to do whatever I want with you.”

You bite your lip and start to move back and forth, you feel your clit begin to gain satisfaction.

You press down harder and hold onto his shoulder while grinding onto his thigh.

Your chest feels weak. You feel so good as friction comforts that one spot.

“Does it feel good?” He whispers with a straight face.

“Y-yes, daddy, so good.”

“Then stand up.”

Your face contorts in confusion.

“Be a good girl and stand up.”

You reluctantly leave his thigh and stand up.

He grabs your hip with one hand and looks up at you through his lashes. He reaches under your dress with his other hand and delivers a short, sharp slap to your dripping folds.

“Ah!” You cry out, but you don’t dare move.

He runs his hand over it now, caressing it to soothe the pain.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Mmmm so wet, sweetheart.” He licks his lips and delivers another blow.

You would’ve fallen forward had he not been holding you with his other hand.

“You’ve been tempting me all night with this slutty dress, did you think you would escape punishment?” He growls.

And slap after slap you felt your skin getting warm, but your wetness never failing to coat his fingers.

“Please..fuck me.” You exhale after he slaps you.

“Get on your knees.”

You get on your knees and move to a position where you can suck his cock, but he shakes his head.

“No no no..on all fours.”

The cold tile aggravates your knees but you ignore it and focus more on the aching in between your legs.

Hendery gets on the floor behind you and flips up the bottom half of your dress so it bunches up by your waist.

He places his hands onto your breasts while grinding his bulge against your ass.

“Fuck..daddy, please.”

He watches you fidget below him, your essence coating his dress pants as you lay there and take him just like that.

Your pussy quivers each time his bulge just barely presses onto it.

You breathe heavily and moan.

“Do you think you can take me, sweetheart?” You hear him zip his pants down. A sense of relief floods your body.

“Yes.”

“Without taking my fingers first?”

“Yes, daddy.”

You can feel his tip hit your thigh. You move backwards and closer to him, just to feel him closer to you, anything to feel him.

“No, no stay still.”

He slides a condom on and watches your ass perk up in the air in anticipation. Your beautiful folds drip before him.

You gasp as he runs his tip in between them to coat it with your slick.

He smirks and grabs your waist while burying into hard and deep.

Your body falls onto the tile, you cry out loudly from the pain of him suddenly stretching you out but he wraps an arm under you and picks you up.

“I said, stay still!” He grumbles out again but his tone is harsher, darker.

Your arms shake as you hold your body up and attempt to adjust to his length.

He was both wide and long, tears escaped your eyes as he slid into your tight opening.

“So..fucking tight..especially for a whore like you.”

You bite your lips to hold back an embarrassingly loud moan.

He slides in and out quicker and pulls your head back by grabbing your hair. “Why are you crying? Is it too big for you?”

He thrusts hard, making your ass cheeks shake against his hips and your mouth fall open. He was never this rough with you, you wondered why he sounded different.

He was also bigger than usual, you thought.

“Mmmm..n-no.”

He thrusts hard again, nestling himself deep within your walls and pushing against your insides.

He then pulls out completely before giving your ass a harsh slap. You fall onto the floor and cry out.

“No, what?!”

“No, daddy!”

He flips you over onto your back just so he can see your teary face and lips swollen from you biting them.

He licks his lips and goes back to sucking your breasts like he did before, only this time, his cock is passing against your silky walls.

You feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch.

Curse words leave your mouth as you are brought closer and closer to the edge.

He placed his hands on either side of your head and fucks into you from above while watching your breasts move with each thrust. His nails dig into your knees as he pushes them further apart, watching his long cock glide into your small opening like magic. The way you open up for him drives him crazy.

You’re so wet, he slips in and out with ease.

“Should I let you cum?”

“Yes, daddy, please.” You licked your lips and watched the handsome man above you. He had loosened a few buttons but his hair, now free and wavy, dangled over your face.

He takes your hard nipples in between his fingers and pinches them. You arch your back and moan.

This all felt so wrong but so right. Him fucking you hard and into the new year on the bathroom floor while your father was just down stairs a few feet away.

You came instantly, your body trembling as it clenched around him. Your eyes shut tightly, Hendery watched your jaw clenched and grabbed your chin.

“I didn’t tell you to cum, now I’ll have to go harder.” He growled out.

He fucked you hard, your back rubbing against the tile as he didn’t let up on his unforgiving thrusts.

“Too-too much, daddy.” You cried out as tears escaped your eyes again.

“That’s too fucking bad, you came without permission, so now you’re gonna take it,” he thrusted particularly hard with an emphasis on “take it.”

You moaned loudly and squirmed under him, but he held you still, his fingertips digging into your waist. You panted and cried as a burning feeling shot through your skin..

Hendery fucked you like some kind of animal with a crazy sex drive, placing your legs onto his shoulders and ripping some fabric from your expensive dress.

“Hendery! What the-“

“Shhh!! I want to see my cock fill you up, sweetheart. Want to see my little whore take all of me in.”

A smile creeped across his face.

You got up on your elbows and saw that his girthy penis really was poking through your stomach slightly.

“Fuck..so fucking good, daddy.”

Your hips started to hurt from your legs being open and spread out for so long, but Hendery didn’t care, you were all his tonight, and he was going to make sure you remembered that.

“Who were you walking home with after you left the art museum?”

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Why would he bring up something from a few months ago?

“The guy..I saw him take you home..what’s his name?”

He rubs your clit, making you disoriented.

“I don't know Hendery, I went home by myself that night.”

“Oh, don’t fucking lie to me, whore.” He places his hand around your throat and squeezes it.

You clench uncontrollably as your clit feels amazing with his thumb on it.

Hendery cums as you tighten around him unexpectedly. You release as well, his hand tightens even more around your throat. You see stars and shake. Your body feels weak, but Hendery doesn’t pull out or let your throat go.

He leans downward and kisses your lips.

He looks wild and different, his eyes are more intense with a red glow around them that you hadn’t seen before. He has purple and green veins bursting out from his forehead and neck also.

He chokes you while staring into your eyes and as you come down from your high, you notice that something is wrong.

He pulls his limp member out but lets it lay on your stomach.

“Tell me his fucking name!”

Your eyes grow. “Who are you talking about?!” You manage to utter out while slowly losing breath.

He lays a sloppy kiss onto your lips again then pulls away. “Do you want to know what Ten’s last words were?”

You grasped his shoulders. “Hendery, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh, but it is, sweetheart..you should’ve seen the look of terror on his face when I held the knife above his head.”

Your mouth fell open, greeting Hendery’s as he laid another kiss. You struggled to push him off of you, so you bit his lip and crawled away from him.

Hendery kneeled on the ground and held his lip. A low chuckle escapes and it’s one that is horrifying.

“But baby, we were having so much fun, why did you do that?”

“Because you’re not funny! I’m leaving!” You stumble to your feet and fix your dress over your breasts.

You rush to the door but Hendery blocks it. You cower in fear. He doesn’t look like himself at all, he looks like some kind of monster with a wild look.

“Hendery? What’s wrong with you?”

“Hendery’s not here anymore.” The deep voice laughs out.

“Let me go.” You begin to tremble.

“Hendery had his fun, I think I deserve to have fun too.”

You were so confused as this monster takes Hendery over, but you quickly devise a plan.

You grab the soap dispenser behind you and quickly hit him in the head. He snarls out in pain but you have just enough time to push past him and out of the door.

You rush down the stairs and call out for help, but then you notice that the fireworks are going off. People are laughing and sharing drinks on the rooftop together.

You turn to head back up the stairs and to the rooftop to get help, but Hendery is already making his way down with an angry look on his face.

No one is in the mansion but you..and him.

You run out of the mansion as fast as you can, hoping that you can find anyone that could help you.

You felt pain in your hips from being stretched out but you ignored it. You were terrified as you heard him bolting after you with superhuman speed.

“Help!! Help me!!” You cried out but the streets were empty, everyone was celebrating the new year as beautiful and loud fireworks lit up the sky.

You continue to run and breathe heavily, you finally create a safe distance between yourself and him so you lean against the back of a wall and wait for him to pass.

He slows down when he no longer sees you..

“Sweetheart..it’s just me and you, now. Don’t worry about him!” Hendery’s normal voice calls out.

You tremble and cry in fear, but cover your mouth as he gets closer.

“What are you talking about? I’m still here, where is the little whore?” A darker voice says.

“She’s smart, we won’t find her.” The first voice says.

You’re confused, it’s as if two people are talking to each other, but it’s just Hendery.

“I can smell her..” the darker voice says.

“No!! No!! Leave her alone!” Hendery fights himself in the street alone, he goes crazy while yelling and throwing himself around.

“But she’s mine!”

“Mr. Hyde..please just leave me alone..” Hendery falls to his knees and sobs in the middle of the street.

“I live inside you forever, Hendery, with Satan himself by my side.”

“No!!”

And then you only hear silence.

You peak out to see if he has left but to your surprise. He’s right there beside you, his crazy eyes glaring as he smiles.

“Found ya!”

You scream and run away and into the yard of a random house, you stumble into the shed and look around for anything you can use to protect yourself.

A bat.

You take the bat and walk around the yard.

You see Hendery walking around the house. You take in a sharp breath then run up to him fast and swing as hard as you can.

His body falls to floor limply.

You drop the bat and cover your mouth, screaming once more as you look on the body of your strange lover.

———-

[1 Month Later]

You’re starting the spring semester at college, physically. You and your father both agreed that after what happened, it would be best for you to spend some time away.

You told your father about what had happened that night the next day. He told you that Hendery had threatened him and you both came to the conclusion that Hendery was suffering from some sort of psychological disorder. One that would allow him to kidnap and murder people.

Some missing people were found in the lab’s crematory room, but evidence showed that most victims were cremated. This amount of cremation filled the air with harmful toxins, the very same toxins that Hendery’s lab was responsible for getting rid of.

It was ironic, but now your father was happy that the killer was identified.

People no longer went missing.

All cases were closed.

Except for one, however.

Hendery’s body was never found.

536 notes · View notes

athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

Text

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed.

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee.

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them.

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out.

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends.

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge.

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12.

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie.

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove.

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked.

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.”

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed.

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter.

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug.

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back.

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited.

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee.

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically.

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter.

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy.

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.”

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store.

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it.

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists.

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts. There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.”

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up.

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs.

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed.

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.”

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.”

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door.

~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years.

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars.

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast.

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked.

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?”

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.”

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.”

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.”

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.”

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?”

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.”

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.”

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said.

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister.

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters.

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.”

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately.

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop.

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door.

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk.

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?”

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces.

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door.

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?”

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started.

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.”

“Wicked.” Maven calls back.

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley.

~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi.

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN.

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.”

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked.

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage.

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks.

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands.

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe.

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.”

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly.

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured.

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack.

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio.

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.”

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.”

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.”

“Sure.” Levi replied.

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote.

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked.

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.”

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?”

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded.

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.”

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.”

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly.

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio.

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back.

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.”

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.”

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.”

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?”

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased.

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled.

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”

~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect.

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today.

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states.

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago.

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?”

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her.

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again.

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off.

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad.

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something?

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open.

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly.

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point.

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak?

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way.

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side.

“Oh hey Maven-”

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door.

“Maven wait-”

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered.

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed.

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?”

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.”

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere.

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter.

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped.

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake.

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.

~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player.

However, none of these things were easing her mind.

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake.

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this.

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray.

~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.

“It’s Maven.” He said.

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked.

All four boys leaned in to read the screen.

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS.

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta fic #jake fic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #peaceful army

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morimakesfanart · 3 years

Text

Sindria's Prophet #14

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[AO3]

~POV Mori~

I woke up when it was still dark out. Only the faintest light came in my windows.

I hadn't done anything yesterday. Just laid down and rested for the first time in a long time. The doctor's were convinced I needed one more day of rest, but I knew I was already better. When was the last time I had just let my body rest like that when I wasn't sick? I couldn't remember. This peace was nice.

The quiet of sunrise was only broken by the faint sound of bird calls in the distance. I sat up and closed my eyes. I focused everything on my other senses. I couldn't hear the ocean easily from here. I had wanted to use the sounds of the waves to meditate, but I would just have to do without.

It had been a few days since I last checked in with myself and really focused inward. I could still feel them, all of the Black Rukh that had merged with me back in Balbadd. They were much calmer than before. And they felt like a part of me now, like I might be incomplete if they were suddenly gone. I knew each one from the dreams too. Their lives were mine and each also now knew my life as their own.

Going through all of their lives on the ship would have been painful even without being sick. These were angry souls and they did not welcome the inner peace I was offering easily, but a person's Rukh doesn't lie. After reading this world's truth through my memories they all calmed.

All of us lived lives of loss and poverty and trauma. That must have been another part of why we were able to fully merge in such a short time.

As Black Rukh they couldn't return to the Great Flow where the rest of their loved ones were, but they at least had each other within me.

It was a very strange feeling.

And along with their lives and Rukh, their magoi was also now mine. What had felt like a small pool now felt like a large lake. I had a lot more magoi at my disposal now that they were fully integrated with me.

The Great Bell range and I grounded myself in the present.

Only then did it occur to me that I was probably sick, and suffering from the influx of Rukh separately at the same time. It had been both all along. Whatever illness I had was worsened by my situation with the Rukh. I hadn't lost my magoi manipulation during it, but it was probably learning it ahead of time that had saved me. There's no way such a large amount of Rukh entering me wouldn't have made my body unstable.

Would the doctors understand if I explained it to them? I should ask Sinbad before saying something unnecessary.

The dim light from my windows called to me. I got out of my bed, put on my glasses, and sat on the sill of one them at the encouragement of the waves.

Like this, I could look down and see the Palace court yard. On the other side of the court yard were the Silver Scorpio (martial arts training), and Black Libra (libraries & schools) Towers, behind them to the left was the Red Cancer Tower (military) and fully to the left was the Purple Leo Tower where Sinbad lived. Since I was on a high floor I could easily see all of the towers of the Palace from my windows -all except the White Capricorn Tower where Ja'far does most of his work since that building was on the other side of this one.

It was so strange. Looking at all this made it real that I was really here. How many times had I reread or rewatched scenes wondering what it would feel like to be here?

I rested my head on the window frame as I watched the growing light from the sunrise.

The guards changed.

The sun was fully risen. Ja'far would be waking up Sinbad soon if he hadn't already.

Two people walked out of the Purple Leo Tower -a guard and a woman. She wasn't wearing a uniform. In fact she was wearing less than the citizens I saw the other day.

"Oh, right."

Sinbad has a call girl see to him after Ja'far wakes him up.

I had the 3rd fan book for the anime which contains a day-in-the-life for a bunch of the main characters. It was only in Japanese, but I had learned enough (and could look up what I didn't know) to at least read his schedule.

The direct translation was for a "temporary woman" which from what I've found is the Japanese term for a fem sex worker. I've seen some translations for Magi's extra material refer to them as "call girls" so that was the term I chose to use.

The franchise used the word "harem" in a bunch of places, but purposely didn't use it here. That combined with an omake of Sinbad having a nightmare about being married and having a harem made it clear that Sinbad did not have a harem; he had the whole red-light district of his country to choose from.

Hold on... That book wasn't supposed to reach my house until after I had Isekaied so how did I know it's contents? There were barely any scans or photos of pages online-

*Knock knock*

My thoughts

were cut off when breakfast arrived -with more medicine of course.

---

~POV Sinbad~

Nearly a week had passed since King Sinbad had arrived home. There was a lot to catch up on. As much as he wanted to finally relax after everything that happened in Balbadd he didn't really have the time for it. Even after catching up he would still have to prepare for his trip to the Kou Empire. And Ja'far wasn't letting him forget either responsibility.

None of this stopped him from having his slow mornings. He at least gave himself that little slice of heaven.

This was business as usual -at least it was supposed to be- but Sinbad couldn't shake a growing feeling that he couldn't name. It was making him unsettled. The waves didn't give him any answers and drinking hadn't made it go away. It felt similar to missing important.

He wasn't missing any paperwork. There had been an issue with one of their supply ships going missing, and another being delayed, but he had already decided how to proceed. He was definitely interested in the progress the Black Libra Tower was making with testing Mori's theories, but the experiments would take time and they had already scheduled a meeting for an update. The new guests were still settling in. Alibaba was a mess and Aladdin was only marginally better the last time he had visited, but Morgiana was fine and already training with Masrur regularly. According to the doctors reports, Mori would be better in another day or so, and the reports he got from the maids said she was resting every day after giving that partial scroll.

Maybe this was impatience. Aside from his paperwork, everything interesting was either done or waiting for the next step.

Sinbad often walked his country in the evening, but there was no reason he couldn't check on things now. He didn't have time to go for a walk at that moment, but he could spare the magoi needed to use Zepar and fly around the country using the bird he had possessed with the Djinn's power. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done this while working on paperwork.

The bird was sitting on a railing in the city center when Sinbad took over. From this spot he could make some quick rounds in the city and then maybe make a stop in the Black Libra Tower to get a sneak peak at what they had found out so far.

The same old gossip filled most of the streets. Some price complaints, who just had a child, how work was going...

"You're serious? A prophet?”

"My husband saw the scrolls she made from her visions with his own two eyes."

Now that was new gossip.

Sinbad had the bird land near by the two women.

"Oh? What was in them?"

"He said it was like reading secrets of the world."

"Really???"

"Mhmm." She nodded. "Not everyone believes it though so they are all working to test her writing."

"Didn't you just say she was brought in by our King? Do they really think he'd be fooled by some false prophet?"

"I said the same thing! And you know what my husband said? He said that they need to find proof even if they believe the Prophet because otherwise we won't be able to prove it to our allied countries."

"I guess that makes sense..."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh! I think I might know what she looks like!”

"What? How? You only learned about her just now."

"When King Sinbad came home, there was a girl on some magical flying cloth, remember? That has to have been the Prophet!"

"I think you're right!"

To two moved on to some other gossip and King had the bird fly towards the Palace. Listening to talk about his Beautiful Prophet reminded him of his mission to peek at what was happening in the Black Libra Tower. Being able to bypass the stairs and the gates made the journey much faster.

The Sun was already in the western side of the sky. Shadows were cast onto the court yard from the Black Libra Tower. The stone of the Green Sagittarius Tower was nearly blinding white from the direct light. Color flashed in the corner of his eye as the bird flew past the upper levels of the guest tower. Before his thoughts had fully registered the familiar shade of nearly black indigo, Sinbad was guiding the bird to investigate. He landed on the railing of one of the windows and looked at the young woman resting against that same window's frame.

Mori looked just as surprised to see a bird land right in front of her as he was to be there. Sinbad had purposely been avoiding using Zepar to spy on Mori since she somehow knew that he had eavesdropped on her before. It had been days since he last saw her, so when she was suddenly an option-

"Heh hehe"

Mori's chuckle and smile took his full attention. He didn't know what had made her laugh, but he hoped she'd do it again.

"Sir, are you aware you are a bird?” After the words passed her lips she was struck by a giggle fit.

Sinbad had no idea what she was thinking or why she had said that to a bird, but he was hearing her voice for the first time in nearly a week so he'd worry about figuring it out later.

When Mori finished laughing at her own joke she leaned her head to the side and watched him. Her hair shifted and another lock spilled over her shoulder. The sight brought attention to the low neckline of the dress she was wearing. If Sinbad was there in person he would have brushed her hair out of the way just to have an excuse to touch her.

"Did you miss me that much?" Her voice was soft and a bit playful. "You didn't have to use Zepar to visit me."

Mori knew it was him! Sinbad jolted and his head hit the back of his chair in his office. How could she tell? Only magicians could see magoi and Rukh to see the spell active on the bird.

"Sin, is something wrong?-” Ja'far had just entered the room to give his afternoon report.

King Sinbad raised a hand for him to be quiet and tapped Zepar's ring to explain the situation. He didn't want to talk and miss something Mori said or did.

The General's expression turned serious and nodded as he went quiet.

When Mori didn't get a response from the bird she added, "Are you surprised that I knew it was you?" Her smile was warm as the sun. "I have read your Fate many times, so I will always recognize you, my King."

Normally, the idea that someone could see through Zepar's magic would concern him, but this didn't. It strengthened his belief that Fate had guided Mori to him.

And the affectionate way she said "my King" at the end made him smile. The waves had moved like this a few times like the last time he had seen her in person, and when he learned she could also feel the waves. The Great Flow of the Rukh was guiding them to the Fate he could see, the one where she lived the rest of her life by his side.

Ja'far sighed. "Just let me know when I can give you my report."

Mori whipped her head towards the door to her room. "They're here early."

There were the sounds of people walking in the hallway, but no voices to denounce who, or their destination. All the same, Mori got up and walked to the door. She opened it before the doctors had a chance to knock.

"How did you...?" One of the doctors asked.

"I recognized the sound of your footsteps," was her answer.

"I see.... And how are you feeling today?"

Mori walked into her room, and spared a glance at the bird still watching her from the window. "I feel fine. Just like yesterday." She turned back towards the door and sat on the edge of her bed. "So can I finally leave this room?"

The doctors were understanding but they still were going to do a full check up first.

Even without the waves it was obvious that Mori was going to be marked as full health. Sinbad would prefer to go see her immediately and give her a tour of the Palace personally, but he was still a King with responsibilities. "Ja'far, Mori has just been declared healthy. What do you think of everyone having dinner together to get everyone better aquatinted?"

"I didn't hear anything about-” Ja'far started and then cut himself when he realized. "Were you just using Zepar to spy on her??"

"Of course not." Sinbad said with all of the confidence of the King he was. "I flew directly to her and she recognized me instantly. I wasn't spying at all."

"She recognized you??" Of course he'd be shocked.

King Sinbad laughed. "She did. Though she was surprised to see me."

"I bet she was surprised to suddenly see a bird in her room. What made you think to use Zepar instead of visiting her in person? You're already getting regular reports on her condition." Ja'far always acted as a buzz kill.

It didn't stop Sinbad from laughing at the situation before finally asking for that report he postponed earlier -conveniently avoiding answering Ja'far's question.

The magician in Mori's room was talking. "Would you be interested in visiting the Black Libra Tower with us? We can show you how the experiments are going. And if possible, would you be willing to answer some questions?"

That was an understandable request, but it could wear her out.

The Prophet was facing away from the windows so Sinbad couldn't see her expression. "I'd really like that actually." But he could hear the excitement growing in her voice.

"Let me get changed real quick." Mori disappeared behind her folding wall and emerged in the outfit he met her in.

Sinbad did not drop control of the bird, but he also didn't follow Mori out of her room. Instead he waited in the window sill until he saw her enter the courtyard and then had the bird fly to the Black Libra Tower.

---

As soon as he finished whatever last minute things Ja'far was about to add to his pile, Sinbad would go to the Black Libra Tower and surprise his Beautiful Prophet in person.

~POV Mori~

In the manga and in the anime the only areas shown of the Black Libra Tower were Yamuraiha's office/lab and one of the libraries. I was more than curious about the rest of the facilities.

The first room seemed to be a reception area and had a map of the tower. I only got to glance at the separations between the libraries, offices and class rooms before a tall and lanky magician walked up to us.

"Is this her??” Her short ponytail bounced as she looked between me and my guides.

Isa, the magician who had been taking care of me the past few days, introduced me. "This is Lady Mori, the Prophet!” He acted like he was showing off the coolest toy on the playground.

The tall woman got right up in my face. "I knew she had to be the Prophet! The Rukh don't normally move this way around people."

Before I got to respond she started rambling comments and questions that covered everything in maroon and peacock blue getting sponged across a cream canvas. I stepped back and Isa cut her off. "Lady Mori will be answering everyone's questions in time. We were just on our way to see Yamuraiha so I can show her how everything has been coming along. You are welcome to join us."

She definitely joined us. As did many others who spotted us or were called over by others in our procession.

We walked through a few library areas, and up a few flights of stairs. As we passed various rooms and areas I was told what or who would be inside, but I wouldn't remember any of the specifics until I had a chance to use the space and explore on my own. What did stick was that most of the classrooms were next to the libraries and the labs were near the offices.

Yamuraiha must have heard our group from down the hall because her head popped out from one of the rooms ahead of us. "What is going on out here??” Then she made eye contact with me. "It's you!!"

That made me smile. I fought back responding 'it's me!' like I would with my friends. "I'm Mori. I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance to meet you, Yamuraiha!” I stopped walking when I got 3 yards/meters away.

She immediately pulled her staff against her chest with both hands. Her shoulders tensed but she had an enthusiastic smile. "The pleasure is all mine!"

Yamuraiha was amazing, smart, and endearing. I really wanted to be friends with her.

I out stretched my hand to shake hers. "I'm really excited to work with you, and learn more about magic even though I'm not a magician."

"The feeling is mutual!” She took my hand more than matching my excitement. And when she released it said, "Since you're here, would you like to see what we've been working on from the scrolls you gave us?"

"Yes please!”

---

The lab she lead us to was a little down the hall. All of my scrolls were spread out on one table and a bunch of notes and different materials were on an other.

Yamuraiha pulled out parchment that had a complicated magic circle written on it. "We can't do much yet, and it still takes a catalyst and many magicians at once to control the amount of magoi safely but our alchemy magic has made a breakthrough from your writing."

She asked a few of the magicians that came with me to join her. They pointed their staffs and wands at the magic cycle. A large crystal in the room started glowing, and the Rukh lit up the space from within the circle. Specks were pulled out of the pile of ingredients nearby -dirt, scraps paper, a small potted plant- and gathered at the center of the circle. The light got too bright for me to look straight at it and when it faded there was a small dark grey cube in the middle of the circle. It looked like a die with no markings.

Yam explained. "After reading about 'atoms' and 'bonds' in your scrolls it was like finding the missing piece. It will still be a long time before we can perfect the process, and we still can't make anything bigger than this yet, but soon we will be able to make anything we want!"

((In the future I intend to: reference more old memes, describe more of my experience with synesthesia, and explain more basic history and science. SO you all have been warned lol))

I had to respond; I couldn't just continue staring in awe. When I tried to answer I ended up gasping since had forgotten to breathe. I chuckled at my own shock as well as the situation. I looked up at them. "You're all amazing to be able to develop this already from the little I wrote!" I looked back at the stone. "I knew I wrote the keys to Yunan's signature alchemy magic in those scrolls, but to think you've already gotten this far with it -its amazing."

With this -when developed farther- we could make certain materials without having to worry about the pollution, and break things down easily so we won't have to worry about garbage piling up everywhere.

"Did you say Yunan? The Magi, Yunan?" Yamuraiha looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yes." It was my turn to explain. "Yunan is able to use alchemy magic like this on a grand scale. In the Fates I read he will have reason to visit Sindria in about 2 years. He creates a cabin and food in the middle of the Palace court yard so he has somewhere comfortable to stay."

The bird in the window ruffled it's feathers.

"Yunan explains the basic concept of how that magic works when asked, and since I know the science of the physical world I know the details to what he was talking about." My smile widened. "I hope my notes were easy to understand. Please let me know if you have any questions."

#magi prophet fanfic #magi fanfiction #magi fanfic #sinbad magi #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbadxoc

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

Text

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.53

Word Count: 2,590

Characters: Derek Hale, Chris Argent, Lydia Martin, Kira Yukimura, Malia Tate, Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar, Stiles Stilinski (mentioned), Reader, OC Characters

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, some fluff, small mentions of sex and kinks (eww i can’t believe i just wrote that eww)

A/N: ----

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“Yeah, Stiles, okay. I’ll go by Argent’s apartment tomorrow and I'll go pick them up, okay?” you ended the call from Stiles, before going to dry your hair.

“What did Stiles need?” Derek asked.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Oh, the chains they were using to hold back Malia and Liam broke so they need some new chains and stuff,” you explained.

“Oh? Well, maybe you can get a pair of cuffs for us?” he smirked slightly as you rolled your eyes.

“You broke the last pair,” you reminded.

“Technically, you did,” he retorted, pressing his lips against your neck as you scoffed.

You turned to face him, putting your arms around his neck, before you heard a loud knocking on the front door.

Derek frowned, checking the time.

“It’s 2 in the morning,” he replied.

You tensed up, walking towards the door cautiously before opening it, seeing Lydia and Kira standing in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing here at this time?” you asked, pulling them in before you closed the door.

“Look at this list,” Lydia opened up her laptop, showing a white screen with numbers and symbols over it.

She continued to scroll, showing you a list with names and numbers.

Sean Walcott 250

David Walcott 250

Michael Walcott 250

Christina Walcott 250

Lydia Martin 20

Scott Mccall 25

Demarco Montana 250

Derek Hale 15

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) 15

Carrie Hudson 500

Kayleen Bettcher 250

Kira Yukimura 6

Elias Town 250

You frowned slightly, turning to Lydia.

“I-It’s a deadpool. These are the targets. I sort of used my powers to find the deadpool and it asked for a code. The password was Alison and it opened up a third of the deadpool,” she explained.

Your face dropped slightly as Derek put his hand on your shoulder.

“W…” you were speechless, trying to process your words.

“You’re trying to crack the rest?” Derek asked.

Lydia nodded.

“Keep us updated on what’s happening,” Derek said.

You could feel your heart beating in the back of your head as you continued to stand there, frozen. You felt a knot in your stomach as you tried to take a breath. You could see a look of concern on Kira’s face as she looked at you.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Kira asked.

You bit your lip, nodding your head softly.

“I need to work on finding the other names on the deadpool,” Lydia explained.

“Mhm,” you replied.

You could see the concern on both of their faces as Derek spoke, before leading them out of the loft.

“(Y/N),” he put his hands on your shoulders, looking down at you.

“I need you to just take a breath-” Derek started.

“I’m fine,” you lied, shaking your head.

“(Y/N)...” he started.

You closed your eyes softly, before wrapping your arms around Derek.

“We'll get through this,” Derek muttered.

Your heart continued to ache, mostly out of fear. Before it was only the Argent’s circle who was aware of you being a witch and aware of your powers, and now you didn't know who else would know, or what else would happen.

Your eyes watered at the thought of them trying to hurt Derek out of anger.

“I don’t care where you have to go, whether it’s just a small grocery run o-or whatever, you can not be alone,” you clenched your jaw.

“Same goes for you, (Y/N/N),” he pressed his lips against your forehead, while you closed your eyes, leaning on his chest.

---

“Scott and Stiles explained everything to Stilinski,” the two of you sat in the car, on your way to Argent’s old apartment.

“Yeah,” you nodded, bouncing your leg as you looked out the window.

“I can feel you holding back,” he sighed.

“We just had a lot to deal with Kate and you losing your powers like this… this is a whole thing,” you shook your head.

He put his hand on your leg, caressing it gently.

“And we’ll get through it, just like we always do,” he reminded.

You sighed softly, nodding your head before the two of you pulled into the parking lot of the apartment, making your way up.

You noticed the lights on in the apartment while you looked under the door, tensing up.

“Something's inside,” you whispered to Derek.

He stayed quiet, frowning before pressing his ear against the door.

“I only hear one heartbeat,” he replied.

“Stay behind me,” you walked into the apartment cautiously, unlocking the door as you tip-toed to Chris’ office.

“(Y/N),” your mouth dropped open as you stared in shock, seeing Chris in front of you.

“Y-You’re back,” you stuttered.

“I told you I wasn’t going to run away from you,” he shrugged.

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he hugged you back.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” you said softly.

There was a soft smile on his face as he stroked your head softly, wiping away the tears you didn't know you have.

“How was France?” you asked.

“Well, I wasn't in France for that long…”

---

“This school really has no security, like at all. Even after everything that happened,” you walked into Beacon Hills High with Derek following behind you.

“I don’t think they care that much about security. But hey, it makes it easier for us,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, here’s the-” you paused in front of the boy’s locker room.

“Yeah, I know,” the two of you waited outside for a second to make sure it was empty.

You walked into the locker room, following Derek.

“Lots and lots of memories,” he sighed, smiling softly as he picked up Liam’s lacrosse stick.

“Yeah? Like what? Losing control in the showers?” you said in a mocking voice.

“Well, that's one thing. But, do you remember in your last week of school, we snuck into here when it was empty, and we-” you interrupted him, making a noise.

“Of course I remember that. That was… it was amazing,” you smiled at the memory, before following him farther into the locker room, hiding behind a wall.

He stroked your hand softly before you heard the door get pushed open, Scott running past you while you threw him Liam’s stick, picking up another one.

“Here,” you handed Derek the stick.

“Are you sure you have enough strength to snap it?” you asked Derek.

He nodded.

You watched as Liam stormed to his locker, looking for his stick before yelling out, frustrated.

“Where’s my stick?!” he yelled.

He walked around the locker room, while Derek walked out from behind the wall, holding the stick.

“This yours?” Derek said to Liam.

You listened as he snapped the lacrosse stick, hearing Liam gasp.

His eyes glew yellow as he let out a low growl, digging his nails into his claws.

He charged at Derek, before Derek quickly grabbed his neck, pushing him against the wall.

You saw Liam yelling out, struggling against Derek’s hold before Scott came out, yelling Liam’s name.

“You’re right. He is angry,” Derek replied.

You walked in front of the two of them.

“This one’s yours,” Scott handed him his lacrosse stick as Derek let go of him.

“Go to class, Liam,” Scott said.

Liam looked at Scott, before nodding, grabbing his bag, and walking out of the room.

You smiled softly, crossing your arms as you looked at Scott.

“What the hell are you two smiling about?” Scott said, slightly frustrated.

“You’re gonna be so good at this,” you replied softly.

“A-Are you joking? I have no idea what I’m doing. I really need help,” Scott started.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. His anger? It’s going to make him stronger,” Derek replied.

“And dangerous,” Scott added.

“You’ve handled dangerous before,” you replied.

Scott sighed, sitting on the bench as he put his hands on his head.

“I was supposed to focus on school this semester,” he started.

You sat down next to him, putting your hand around his shoulder while Derek sat on the other side of him.

“Now Kate’s back, I-I have a beta, and this deadpool,” you could feel him getting more and more nervous as you held his hand.

“Well, we know the deadpool has all of our names on it, so that needs to be our top priority. Lydia’s working on it, right?” Derek asked.

Scott nodded his head softly, still looking down.

“All these problems are temporary. We will figure this all out. You’ll still get time to focus on school. You’re very smart when you want to be, Scotty. Besides, community college isn't that bad,” you smirked softly as he scoffed.

“You’re forgetting you got into an Ivy League and Stanford,” Scott sighed.

You saw Derek frown slightly, before you put your focus back on Scott.

“It doesn't matter if you go to some big shot school. You’re gonna do amazing wherever you go, with whatever you do. You’re gonna be a great vet,” he smiled softly before hearing the bell ring.

“I’ll see you guys,” he waved as he ran out of the locker room quickly.

“Hey, why didn't you tell me you got into Stanford? Or an Ivy League?” Derek asked, pulling on your arm gently.

“I-I don’t know, I guess I thought it wasn't as important because I wasn’t going to leave Beacon Hills,” you explained.

“Why weren’t you going to leave Beacon Hills?” Derek asked.

“I didn't want to leave Beacon Hills.”

“Why not? (Y/N), all this pain and suffering, losing so many people that you care about… why would you want to stay here?”

“I didn't want to leave you,” you saw his face drop slightly.

“I don't ever want to be someone who’s holding you back,” he stroked your cheek softly as you bit your lip.

“You don’t hold me back, Derek. I chose to stay here and I don’t regret my choice,” you shook your head.

You held his hand, stroking it softly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too.”

---

You watched as Derek got into his car, driving off as you made your way to the art room, trying to find Lydia.

“Anything yet?” you asked her as you walked in.

“Nothing,” she clenched her jaw, shaking her head.

“Well, don’t stress it. Just breathe,” you tried to encourage her as she rolled her eyes.

“Malia. I don’t need you breathing on my neck!” Lydia yelled out, frustrated.

“Well, you see, I kind of don’t want to die, so I need you to crack this list,” Malia replied.

You hid the smirk on your face before you pulled Malia away, sitting down next to her on the table.

“How do you like school?” you asked.

“It’s pointless,” she muttered.

“How much of this stuff am I actually going to use in life?” she asked.

“The only class I can fully say I use in life is Forensics, maybe some Biology and Chemistry, but nothing much,” you shook your head.

“Then what’s the point of math?” she rolled her eyes.

“Old people like watching us suffer,” you shrugged.

She shrugged, before picking up the book next to her, beginning to read through it.

You saw Stiles and Scott running through the hallway, holding Liam up as you frowned.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit…” you got up, running after them.

---

“Lydia needs Meredith, but apparently she showed up at the station, so Lydia and Malia are on their way there,” you looked at the messages on your phone before putting it aside, waiting in front of the school with Derek.

“And Meredith is another banshee?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, she had a thing for Isaac,” you smiled at the memory.

Derek chuckled softly, before leaning against his car.

“What’s taking Chris so long?” you muttered to yourself, looking at your phone to check the time.

“I’m here,” he walked in front of the two of you as you stood up.

“Well, let’s go then, shall we?”

---

You stood outside the vault, waiting for Derek and Chris to finish while you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling a slight breeze. The school was still full, there was a lacrosse scrimmage, and no one would be stupid enough to attack at the moment.

You noticed something moving from the corner of your eye as you turned your head, looking towards the trees.

You squinted your eyes, looking back to the steps of the vault.

You’re being paranoid

You shook your head before hearing another noise, hearing a twig snap.

You shot your head up once again, making your way to the woods as you clenched your fist.

You looked back to the vault entrance before sighing.

“Augendae tenebris,” your eyes were purple as you made your way through the woods, looking around.

There was no there, and no sign of anyone there.

“Dumbass,” you muttered to yourself.

You felt something hit the back of your head as you groaned, falling to the ground.

You winced, putting one hand on the back of your head as you tried to make out everything in front of you.

Your vision was blurry as more and more panic filled your chest.

“Clypeus,” you felt a blunt force hit your stomach, pushing your back as you groaned softly, trying to push yourself up.

“You little hypocrite,” you heard an unfamiliar gruff voice from in front of you.

You blinked hard, trying to make out who was talking to you as you saw a man standing over you.

“You little bitch!” he yelled.

He blew some dust, which you realized to be Hawthorne as you coughed, trying to gasp for air and regain your balance.

“Your little mommy isn't here to protect you anymore. You’re dead you little bitch,” you could feel a sharp blade sticking on your throat as you tried to keep your movement still, feeling some tears rush to your eyes.

“I-I don’t know who you are-” you started.

“Well then, let me remind you,” you pulled you up harshly, while your back hit the tree trunk behind you.

“You and your mommy killed my wife! All because she was supernatural! She never hurt anyone!” he yelled at you.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” you yelled back.

“I’ve wanted my revenge for years. Then I see your name on this deadpool. God really does exist, doesn't he,” you could hear his small chuckle as a tear fell down your cheek.

“Dis,” you pushed him to the ground, holding him down as yelled out.

“Somnum,” his eyes fluttered shut as you took a step back, your breathing shaky as you bit your lip, holding back your cries.

More and more tears rushed to your eyes as you tried to control your breathing, taking bigger breaths.

“(Y/N)!” you heard Derek yell, as he ran to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“W-What happened? I-Is he dead?” Derek’s eyes went wide as you shook your head.

“N-No… he’s just asleep,” your voice broke as he pulled you into his arms tightly. You closed your eyes, holding in your cries as you leaned your head against his chest.

“I-It’s… it’s not just assassins it's hunters too,” you said softly.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you tightly before whispering.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You nodded your head softly, walking with him to the car before driving off.

72 notes · View notes

candythemew · 3 years

Note

🔥 SkekLach (can be AOR Lach, Manga Lach, or JM Lee’s Lach)

OH BOY GET READY FOR AN ESSAY!!

(Also old post I’m getting back to, but for context this was for TDC Hot Takes. She asked for my favorite version of SkekLach.)

Whenever I see SkekLach, it is such a joy regardless of iteration. I don’t know what it is exactly but I absolutely adore her. Although this wasn’t always the case! Originally I was indifferent to her and found her to be physically repulsive. I literally couldn’t look at her for extended periods of time. But through re-watching the series she’s really grown on me! ...But I think you all know about that by now! (Search her up on google and you’ll find SO much of my art.) ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ Each iteration has it’s own strengths and weaknesses, but I adore all of them. If you want to spare yourself a fangirlish analysis, I like AoR!Lach the best, but Manga!Lach is extremely cool. Although everyone shares traits, it’s more like comparing apples and oranges rather than [ X ] is better than [ Y ] . There is some overlap and bleeding between characters, but ultimately these are all vastly different timelines with different circumstances and characters. I’ll be dissecting each of them under the cut! ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

As said above, There are three versions of The Collector. In order, the first one to be created was the Legendsverse/Manga SkekLach the Collector. Followed by the J.M. Lee/ Novel SkekLach, and finally AoR SkekLach. Who we see in age of resistance, and is the Collector of the main canon’s timeline. When I write for her, I tend to do a bit of blending with her various other versions. But even in the show, she’s a lot more keen and intelligent than she lets on to be. You just have to look for it! A lot of her character traits are subtle. I only really grew an appreciation for her after my first re-watch of the series! ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ Another thing to notice when it comes to the Collector is that unlike other alternate versions of canon characters, most main characters are relatively unchanged. SkekLach however has the most diversity in her character differences and alts.

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ Manga!Lach has a much more muscular build. Even for his old age. He is adorned in ornate armor rife with symbolism and battle scars marring his flesh. These quirks to his character design reflect both his intelligence, and physical prowess in combat. His armor is stylized to look like faces. Both intimidating and fearful expressions decorating him in a display of intimidation. Fun Fact: in the manga, SkekLach was the second tallest Skeksis. With the Ritual Master being the true tallest of course. SkekLach was also a bit of a beastmaster. He had a loyal pack of Arduff always by his side ready to snatch up any unfortunate gelfling (or skeksis!) who got in his way. As well as a group of small, crawlie like creatures called Spy-eyes. He would have these creatures attatch themselves to a victim, and they would be allowed to see and hear anything said victim did. Anything they knew, The Collector would know too. He used these creatures to ensure Lahr’s co-operation in his plan for securing his place as Emperor SkekSo’s favorite and to foil The Chamberlain and Garthim Master’s plans against him. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that he’s also a tactical mastermind?

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

𝔍.𝔐. 𝔏𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔄𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔰

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

Novel SkekLach is much more toned down, calm and (no pun intended) collected. Although he shares some qualities with both his manga and AoR counterparts, he’s kind of his own thing. He’s portrayed as more skinny and lanky. With a beak more similar in shape to SkekOk’s and wearing what appears to be a crown on his head. This Lach is much more directly involved with politics and wants to see his job through. Or at the very least just to get things over with. Oddly enough, unlike his previous version, he performs the Gelfling censuses. This trait would be later carried onto his canon successor. He was often blunt and to the point like AoR Lach, but didn’t really have the same punch that she has. In the novels he also has an animal companion. Much like Manga!Lach. A Royal Blue Phegnese. An avian mount creature that we never get to see, but we do get a loose description of. This was his preferred mount of choice. He was also good friends with SkekOk. They would often write to each other and even got drunk together. This is likely what inspired their close bond in AoR.

◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔨 ℭ𝔯𝔶𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔩: 𝔄𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 ◬☾——– ≪ °✾° ≫ ——–☽◬

And finally, our girl, AoR SkekLach! Everyone pretty much knows what she looks like by now. Incredibly diseased with oozing pustules that cause her constant pain every second of every day. Short snouted with dulled down tusks that were once razor sharp, and even sharper goldenrod eyes. (A glimpse back to the glory days perhaps?) Also since her introduction, she is the shortest skeksis in the series. Taking SkekOk the Scroll-keeper's orginal title of shortest by being about a head and a half shorter than him. Although she’s a female Skeksis, she’s not traditionally feminine. An interesting aesthetic choice for a female presenting Skeksis! Most of her colors being toned down blues and greens, Although she does have lots of bows that adorn her robes. Predominantly on her sleeves and shoulders. and in close up shots you can see that her puppet model has very distinct and pretty eyelashes. She’s very dirty as she doesn’t care much for her hygiene anymore. She doesn’t make an effort to change things as she has already tried multiple times to improve her condition, and has failed every time. The way she acts and presents can help us know that she's been through a lot. You can especially see this in the way she talks to others as well as herself. Adopting a mindset of: “Things either always stay the same or get worse.” This causes her to stay demotivated. To the point of not doing much of anything. She idolizes the glory days of her youth and desperatley wishes to go back to them, but she's a bit more self aware than her peers. Even she mocks her them for thinking that they can truly return to their former splendor. Although speculation on my part; it’s more than likely that in her prime she was similar to her manga counterpart. As she’s deceptively observant and oftentimes makes snide remarks in the background. Although she doesn’t care for showing it off. Being apolitical in the court, she sees no point in it. …Aside from the occasional drama or rumor she hears from either the Ornamentalist or Scroll-Keeper. As she's part of their little circle. Although speculation, she might even have some battle scars under her robes. As she’s talented when it comes to battle. Evidence to support this is when SkekVar the General asks for her assistance. Specifically when the Emperor ordered him to deal with the Gelfling. He picks her out of all of them. When she denies, he asks again reassuring her with an encouraging, “Come now! It’ll be fun!” While she replies with a disbelieving, “Ugh, I DOUBT that…” …And SkekVar was right. SHE DID HAVE FUN!

…And she got acid spit in her face which must have hurt 1,000 times more than it would for someone else as she’s very sensitive in her face due to her pustules. But hey! She got to kill a spitter and her mood changes pretty drastically for the positive going from that. Although she won't be able to enjoy it for too long since she dies 2 episodes later. Also when she drinks essence with the rest of the court during the scene where Skeksil watches the rest of them to make sure the Grunaks did their job, if you listen in the background she just straight up yells "I'M GONNA FIGHT A LANDSTRIDER!!" She wants to punch a horse. Good for her! So basically I just talked about all three of them at length for no reason but I hope you liked my ted talk. I have no idea where I was going with this, but yeah. I really really like SkekLach.

#the dark crystal #The dark crystal: age of resistance #SkekLach #SkekLach the Collector #Skeksis #Longpost #hot take #TDC #AoR

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kurohoely · 3 years

Text

always (daichi x y/n)

part 3

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn(?) idk how genre works, sfw, daichi!timeskip

cw: sexual harassment wc: 2.2k

a/n: it pains me this part so much :') but i realli like how i wrote this part hehe i hope you do too!! enjoy :D likes and reblogs are highly appreciated :))

part one , part two, part three

Not once you had the heart to block his number, even after you blocked him from all of your social media. You hoped that by leaving this one door open, he will find a way to come back to you, or at least reach out to you again. Your legs were exerting heat, pumping your muscles to make you walk faster so that you can reach your home as soon as possible. With the constant gasping for air, vibrating through your body, you didn’t realize the faint vibration of your phone, lighting up with a notification from daichi <3. Grabbing your keys from your bag, unlocking the door while kicking your sandals off from your feet. You opened your sliding door, letting the spring breeze fill up your atmosphere. What a nice way to cool down your body. You dug your hands into your bag, fumbling to find your phone. Unconsciously, you unlocked your phone without seeing the notifications that popped up, skimming through your apps, and seeing whatever apps had the number badge on them. The last app you scrolled to was your messages. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the number one on the top corner of the icon. You pressed it, heart pounding, excreting cold sweats from your fingers. There, you saw his message.

“It was nice seeing you at our shop. If you’re free tomorrow, can we catch dinner together?”

Einstein is right, time and space are gravity because you can feel your insides starting to churned then float away, as your time stopped and your spatial awareness came to halt as well. It was as if the universe let this moment freeze for you, to take in whatever you are seeing and experiencing right now. You should’ve listened to what your mind and friends said back then, block him everywhere. Don’t leave a hole for him to come into your life again. You know this is going to hurt either way but you want to be done with it once and for all. You both need proper closure, and not some petty teenager’s love quarrel.

“You too. I’m free tomorrow”

“Great, see you at our shop at 8?”

Daichi replied instantly like he was waiting on his phone for your reply. You don’t want to show too much enthusiasm, especially when things are going to end anyway, so you thumbs-upped his last text, letting him know you agree to his suggestion. You wanted to cringe so badly that Daichi kept referring to the coffee shop as our shop but you couldn’t. In fact, you found it very sweet and a bit romantic. You plopped down onto your bed, creating scripts in your head to all the possible scenarios that could happen between the both of you tomorrow, not forgetting to include her. Be strong y/n, you got this. You have to. You gotta move on.

7:30. You slipped the black silk dress that you wore on your first date with Daichi, just so you can rewrite the memories of this dress, removing bits and pieces of him in your life. You tied your hair into a low ponytail and started making your way to the shop. Upon reaching the shop, you were greeted by Daichi’s figure. It made your heart flutter seeing him dressed up so nicely as well. It gave you proof that it wasn’t a one-sided effort to make the date look like a proper one. A date, huh…

You both sat down at a secluded spot so you can have a more private conversation. Things were too uncertain, both of you prepared for the polar opposite of each other’s expectations. Daichi wanted to start over while you wanted to end everything once and for all. You both placed your order, starting off with some small awkward small talk, trying to lighten up the air. While waiting for the food to come, Daichi mustered up all his courage and started the conversation that you both came for.

“Y/n, I know this is going to sound stupid and crazy coming from me, but I couldn’t help it. I want to know, hell, I need to know. It’s been six months since we broke up but have you ever thought of getting back together?”

You gasped at his audacity to ask you that while he was in a relationship. It never crossed your mind how Daichi could stoop any lower but he just proved you wrong right in your face. You straighten your back, eyes looking straight into his eyes, trying to find any guilt within them. None. You could feel his sincerity. What the hell is going on?

“Daichi, if you want me back just because you have no one, I don't want it. What you want is someone that listens to you - a dumb bitch that listens - as to how you said it. I’ve heard enough for today Daichi. I don’t think I could take anything more than this. Focus on your girl. You can be mean towards me but to the very least I don't want you to be a cheater for her. I came here to get some type of closure with you. Seems like I got it now”

Your tongue worked faster than your brain could even process it. Not enough time to even register and consider how Daichi - or at least you - would feel if someone would throw the exact words to you. Before you knew it, your eyes started to pool. You dashed out from the shop before the tears came pouring down in front of Daichi. You left before you could hurt yourself even more. You know you hurt Daichi but it hurts you more than you anticipated. For once, why couldn’t you follow what your heart really wants, what it has yearned for so long, all this time?

You walked through the main street of your house, the same old usual route. The street was pretty bright, given the new street lamps just got placed along the road but being a woman in this god-forsaken world, you can never be too prepared. You placed your thumb on the circle button of the app the whole time. If you suddenly released it and if you didn’t touch the circle within a few seconds, it will automatically call your emergency contacts. Such a smart thing, you thought to yourself but what you failed to notice was a drunk man starting to close his distance, moving towards you.

You were greeted by the sudden jerk on your shoulder. A drunk man putting his hands around your shoulder, started to massage your arms, feeling your flesh through your jacket. You froze and pushed his hands off, bowing to him and saying sorry that you’re in a hurry. He grabbed your wrist with a force that you know will leave blue marks. You were so scared that he would swing his bottle at you if you tried to fight longer. In all of the days, you were always careful. Your frustration with Daichi made you drop your guard slightly and someone took the chance. You repeatedly asked the drunk man to let you go, lying that your husband is around and going to pick up you soon. He inches his face in closer, opening his mouth as if wanting to slobber you whole. You felt disgusted by the strong pungent smell of alcohol and just wished Daichi was here. Wishing you had at least someone to walk you home. Why the world was so cruel to you lately. Why can't you ever feel safe and peacefully enjoy this week?

“Y/N!”

Daichi shoved the man aside, took your hand, and started to run. You followed his steps as best as you could. After Daichi deemed it was safe enough, he stopped. Huff and puffs, hands still interlocked with each other.

“Are you okay!? Thank God I made it in time. Oh my God. I shouldn’t have let you walk alone in the night. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Before you could even answer, tears gushed down your cheeks. You wailed and sobbed your heart out. You placed your head into Daichi’s chest, clasping his shirt to find any form of comfort. Maybe this was something that needed to happen for you to be fully open and vulnerable with Daichi. He hugged you tightly, hushing sweet nothings into your ears. It's not that you were crying about what just happened, it's more like the mere thought of Daichi in that situation makes you cry your heart out. Even when your life was threatened, you still managed to remember Daichi. But is this the right choice? Daichi rubs your shoulders gently.

“Come on, let's get you back home”

He opened your apartment’s door, guiding you to sit down on the couch. He went into your bedroom and wrapped a blanket over your body. He placed the takeouts on the kitchen counter, making his way to make some tea to calm you down. You sit down on the couch, hugging your knees. Daichi plopped down, folded one of his legs, and faced his body to you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face, so grabbed your mug and hugged your fingers around it.

“How come you were there?”

“I chased you after you left. I think we have some misunderstanding so I wanted to go to your house and talk again. I’m so glad that I followed you, even though it was a bit late... I’m sorry”

You finally look at Daichi. Concerned, fear, disappointment painted clearly across his face. Before you could open your mouth, he continued.

“Y/n, I'm not sure why you kept saying ‘her’ and ‘my girl’ repeatedly so I tried to trace back to the first meeting. I saw you in the lobby and by that time, I was with my twin cousin. She just got this job recently and she asked me to come for lunch and show me around. I swear she's family and nothing more.”

How is it that Daichi never fails to see through you, even if it took him a bit of time? You covered your face with your mug. Heat started rising up your cheeks and up to your ears. It's getting really hot and it’s not coming from the blanket. So much for wanting to act like a grown-up and not having some petty love quarrel. You almost ended your only chance of getting back together by some childish assumptions. Oh, how you wish the earth could swallow you whole and never let you out. Daichi tucked your hair back to your ears, gently pulling your hands into his, placing them in between his.

“Hey, was that the reason you left the shop? I’m hurt y/n”

A sprinkle of sarcasm was woven into his words. You know it but you can't help that as if a whole block of weight slipped through your shoulders as you sighed into relief. He squeezed your hands firmer, signaling things are going to get even more serious.

“Y/n, I want you. I still love you. I never stopped loving you. When you left, I couldn't feel anything. I eat and sleep just because I have to. It kept me alive. Remember when we met at our shop? That was the first time I started running again, picking up my routine back. I want our relationship to work. I want us to work.”

“Daichi, I’m scared to start again. I hate that I keep contradicting myself. I don't want anything with you but when I got caught by that man, all I could think was you”

“I know y/n. I’m sorry that you have to go through that but I want to give us another chance if you let me. I know I ended it badly but I feel like I rushed to a decision that I didn't even want. If there's still some love left inside you, please let me in again. Please let me make us work.”

You squeezed Daichi’s hands, finding some strength that you could borrow from him. You pushed his arms and placed them over your shoulders, placing your head against his chest, snuggling soundly in his embrace. You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, mixed with his musky perfume. The scent of home.

“Okay, Daichi. I want us to start again. I still love you. I will always love you”

He kissed your hairline, pulling your body flushed into his. His hug tightened quickly as if you’re going to go away if he held any looser. You chuckled as you pat his arms, reassuring him that you won't leave him. You straightened up your body and kissed his cheeks. Pink tint painted across Daichi's nose and cheeks.

“Do you wanna stay here for the night? It's already late and it's the weekend tomorrow anyways, if you don't have any work that is”

“I would love to”

Daichi stood up and took your hand, tugging your body towards your bedroom. He laid you down first before he placed himself beside you, draping his arms around your waist, foreheads touching each other. You both looked into each other eyes, finally seeing the love that was long hidden by other emotions.

“Good night Daichi”

You snuggled into his chest, listening to his heartbeat as if it was your lullaby for tonight. He stared at you before he moved his lips to kiss the crown of your head, whispering the words that you longed for.

“Good night sweetheart. I love you. Forever and always”

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

18 notes · View notes

cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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