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finelinevogue · 3 years

Text

he’s so vogue

Description - you are the journalist for the new Harry Styles December Vogue Issue

A/N - how is everyone doing? hope you enjoy! if you have any requests please feel free to ask. love you all and have a lovely rest of the week!

warnings: swearing

[masterlist]

Being a journalist for Vogue was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

After 3 years of studying English Literature at Surrey University, you never thought, only a year after, you'd be working as an apprentice at Vogue UK. If it weren't for your Aunty, who worked in the fashion design section at Vogue HQ, then you'd no doubt still be a broke-ass, single, lonely student. Ok, lonely you still were but your job was so full-on that you didn't have time for a relationship.

Two years into your apprenticeship you were promoted to an official member of the team, and then another two years later you got promoted to team leader in your department of journalism, and editing; The Media - or as you like to call it - "The Celeb Goss". You were beyond happy with your job and found such passion in every article your wrote. Whether it be about a new celebrity romance or the collapse of one, you found a way to story-tell in such a meditated way that everyone loved your pieces.

That's why the Harry Styles had requested you to be the one to interview him.

Of course you'd written about A-list celebrities in the past, producing articles on pregnancy rumours, or engagements, or breakups, but you'd never met them before authoring an article. You'd met plenty of D-list celebrities who thought they were mega famous, but if you mentioned their names people would turn around and ask "who?".

This is why interviewing Harry Styles was a massive thing for you.

Not very often did you get to do work out in the field, especially in these covid infested days, but nevertheless it was your favourite part of the job. Getting to meet the people you were writing about was completely refreshing, allowing you to obtain a clearer outlook on which direction to take on your journal piece.

You were asked to go to Stonehenge, where the photoshoot was being filmed, as your office of interview. Even though you'd lived in the UK all your life, you'd never actually been to Stonehenge. It wasn't really on your bucket-list, but it was a pleasure to get to see it all the same.

Being the prepared interviewer you were, you'd prepared an array of questions that you were set on asking Harry. You'd never met him before, but after much googling and youtubing of him prior to meeting him today you would already be confident in saying he's the most brilliant man to ever exist. You were really nervous that you were going to screw this interview up and make a terrible mess in front of Harry Styles.

"Lisa! What if I accidentally say something I shouldn't?" You ran your stressed hands through your hair.

This whole morning had been frantic. It had started off by you waking up late, no thanks to Lisa, your best-friend and co-worker, pressing snooze on the alarm. You wanted to look professional today so you'd put on your best shirt - only to spill coffee down it ten minutes later. So now, you smelt of coffee and were wearing what was left in your wardrobe - and it wasn't much. The only things left clean were a pair of pink corduroy flares and some, pastel coloured, graphic t-shirt to go with it.

"You won't. Stop being so negative." Lisa rolled her eyes, probably fed up with the amount of winging she'd heard from you this morning - and you'd only been awake an hour.

"My outfit is hardly professional either." You huffed, pouring the rest of your, second, coffee down the drain.

"Well I think you look gorgeous." Lisa stated, whilst putting her breakfast bar wrapper in the bin.

You and Lisa were back and forth about you stressing, and such, for about half an hour before you had to leave. You had a great panic about losing your glasses too. You could see without them up close, but for long distance viewing and reading you were practically blind. You were taking Lisa's car, since she didn't think you were emotionally stable enough to drive. Lisa was the creative director on the set, and thank goodness she was so you could at least ramble to someone.

After a two hour drive up from London, you arrived at Stonehenge and it was freezing. Although the sun was out, it did nothing to keep your body heated. The journey up had been nice because you sat in your nicely heated car, chatting away with Lisa and blasting some Harry Styles out of the speaker. You'd made it through the first album, and the second one up to Canyon Moon before reaching your destination.

Upon arriving you could just about, without glasses, make out about 15 other cars, arranged at the bottom of a hill. There was an array of Audis and BMWs, a few Range Rovers, which you placed your bets on one was Harrys, and a green, vintage, Jaguar which was most likely belonging to the fashion editor or something. There was also a modern barn, perched at the foot of the hill, which was where Harry would be getting changed in to his various different outfits.

It took you a moment to register that Lisa had parked and was already clambering out of the car, making you look a little idiotic still blankly staring at the beautiful scenes in front, and around, of you.

But it was still bloody freezing.

You jogged a little to the boot and whipped out your white cardigan. Originally you'd thought that this would've been enough to keep you warm, but now you were starting to think otherwise.

The atmosphere here was amazing. People were rushing around left, right and centre loading, and unloading, various pieces of equipment and clothes. You caught sight of brightly coloured fabrics being carried to and from various places. There were the camera crew, and presumably director, all chatting amongst themselves. The smell of the very fresh air was so lush that you'd forgotten what it smelt like - especially after years in London.

You grabbed your bag from the boot, which had your notes, recording kit and laptop stuffed inside, before locking the car and following Lisa in to the barn.

It was lovely and warm inside - a completely different climate to than the outside. It was as if it was Bali inside and Antarctica outside. Better Bali than Antarctica though.

"Ok. Let's put our stuff down over here and then go find people we need to meet and such." Lisa instructed, you still too in awe of the place to fully comprehend what was going on.

You followed Lisa and you two ended up dropping off your stuff next to some other bags. You took a liking to the purse next to your stuff. Next to your bag, it made yours seem ancient - like it was worth nothing more than a penny. It was luscious and a beautiful baby blue colour. You softly ran your hands over it, finding satisfaction in how smooth and subtle it was.

"Hope you're not planning on stealing that, love." A manly voice appeared from behind you. You whipped around to see who's bag you'd been messing with, and it was just your luck that it was to be Harry Styles'. Of all the people's it could've been it had to be his.

Perfect.

He looked dashing. He was in black flares and his iconic 'But daddy i love him', t-shirt, along with a huge green anorak. His hair was prettily clipped back with a pink clip, presumably placed there to gave his curls greater volume. In his hand he had a pink toothbrush and you guessed he'd come back over to put it away in his bag - only to find you caressing it instead.

"Oh - no, no. Not at all. I - uh - I just thought it was beautiful." You stammered over your words, choosing them carefully to try and make you look less like an active criminal.

"Mhm." Harry nodded whilst looking you up and down, most likely judging why a peasant like you, in comparison to him, was touching his expensive property. "Well, I love your flares darlin'." Harry looked down at your trousers, his compliment making you blush a little.

"Thank you. That wasn't professional, and neither is my outfit, I know, and I apologise." You added, because you knew that if your boss knew you turned up today the way you did she would give you a right bollocking - and potentially even fire you.

"Never apologise for flares. You look amazing." Gemma perked up, making you feel more self conscious surrounded by all these other beautiful women. Gemma was in a slouchy, knitted, jumper and basic jeans - no doubt all from shops beyond your budget - and yet she looked like a model fit for the runway for Vogue.

"Okay, sorry." You apologised again, to which you, creepily, got the exact same, stern, look from the Styles siblings at the same time.

"My stylist, Harry, introduced me to big pants. He offered whether I wanted to try a pair of flares, and I was like, 'Flares? That's fucking crazy'!" Harry laughed as he told his story, earning a laugh out of you too. "Now they're my favourite item of clothing. Have a whole wardrobe dedicated to them."

"I wish he was joking." Gemma laughed at her brother and his flare obsession.

"Well you do look handsome in them, so I understand why." Your words rolls off your tongue before you could even comprehend what you were saying. Only after you finished your sentence did you completely intake what you'd just said.

"Good start." Lisa giggled to you, before turning to walk over to the coffee station. It was a help-yourself coffee bar and you knew that you were going to bed at least five cups to get over the last five minutes alone. You'd probably drain the station before letting anyone else have any.

"Oh god." You awkwardly mumbled, not daring to see how weirdly Harry would be looking at you, before walking off outside.

You had spent less than 10 minutes here and yet you'd never felt like a bigger clown. Joining the circus had never been so easy.

The outside wind hit you like a powerful leaf blower, and your hair blew around like crazy - most likely compiling into a birds nest on the top of your head.

Today was supposed to be the start of something great. Your hopes were set on a promotion from your written masterpiece, whilst enjoying the company of one of the most handsome, most lovely, most talented men of this century. Those hopes seemed a little too distant now. They seemed to mock you, as if to laugh at how you ever thought you were going to be any more successful. You'd completely, in more ways than one, made a fool of yourself in front of your interviewee, you were so underdressed, you were caught fondling his Gucci purse and you were still bloody cold.

It all felt too unprofessional for a job where professional was practically the driving force of the company.

You leaned against the barn, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You were a master in over-thinking, but unfortunately that wasn't something you could add to your resumé. You let your eyes close and the other senses come alive for a few moments. The sounds of distant sheep and the smell of the cold wind were just two of the senses that allowed you to take a step back for a minute, and breathe.

"Thank you." A voice interrupted you from your attempt of quick meditation. You looked to your left and noticed Harry standing there, still in the same outfit as before.

"I'm sorry?" You asked confused, taking a step away from the barn to considerately pay more attention to him.

"Thank you - for saying I look handsome in flares." He repeated, smirking when he added the second part.

"Oh." Was all you could respond, feeling too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. "I should—" You pointed back to the barn, using it as an excuse to leave before yet screwed up anymore.

"Lisa told me you're the interviewer." Harry added, and it only occurred to you that you'd never actually introduced yourself. "So it's lovely to finally meet you Y/N." He stuck out his hand for your to shake, which you did willingly. His hands were a lot softer than you'd expected.

"Ho... You know my name?" You asked surprised.

"Of course. I also know you're the best writer in Vogue right now." He flattered you, which made you blush. You had a feeling he'd make you do that a lot today.

"Sure." You rolled your eyes as you spoke sarcastically.

"Well I chose you for a reason, didn't I?" He rhetorically asked.

"I mean.. I, well.. I don't know?" You stumbled over your words, making yourself look like a larger fool than you did already. Today was just turning out to be exactly what you didn't want it to be. "Sorry."

"Stop apologising. You do it too often." He told you, nearly making you apologise again but he gave you a jokingly stern look, as if he knew what you were going to say, and so you decided otherwise.

"Harry!" You both turned to see there was a man waving towards you both, but specifically to Harry. "Come get changed!" The same man shouted. Harry lifted his thumbs up, as if to signal he'd be there shortly.

Harry turned back to you and noticed you shiver a little.

"I'll start the interview after I come back from the dressing rooms, yeah?" Harry asked, taking off his, khaki green, trench-coat in the process. He handed it to you before you could oblige against it.

"Wait what?" You confusedly looked down at the coat and back up to Harry.

"Gives me a piece of mind knowing my interviewer isn't going to die of hypothermia before actually interviewing me." He smiled, obviously attempting to crack a joke and you have to admit you did laugh.

"Thank you." You say, before he runs off to where he's being called to.

••••

You'd been sat inside for a little while, waiting for Harry to come back. It gave you time to perfect your questions though.

Thinking up questions to ask Harry had been a challenging task, but one that you'd been fully invested in. You loved creating questions to ask him that were going to get to understand him on a deeper level. He was a very private man, and you completely respected that. If you crossed any boundaries, with the questions you'd ask, you would write them out of the interview. You liked to think you hadn't thought up a question that would make him feel uncomfortable though.

Pissing off Harry would be on another level of shame.

"Coat kept you warm?" Harrys voice disengaged you from your notebook.

"Hm?" You asked then replayed what he'd just asked in your mind. "Oh, yes. Thank you very much." You stood up, from where you'd been perched on the floor, picking up your nearly finished green tea as you did so.

Only when you stood up did it come to your realisation that Harry was now in costume. He was dressed in luxury. Each item looked like it cost more than your rent, and that was saddening. He looked rich and luxurious. To be quite honest, you were finding it rather difficult to take your eyes off him.

"You think the outfit is Vogue enough?" Harry asked, striking a few poses, which made you laugh. It was refreshing to see him act so relaxed and carefree, rather than a stuck-up-prick you knew some celebrities to be.

"Completely. I love it!" You exclaimed, appreciating the twirl he did for you.

He was wearing a kilt-like skirt and he looked beyond beautiful in it. Fuck toxic masculinity. Fuck being a manly man - like what does that even mean? Harry was embracing gender fluidity and experimenting the ways in which there was no definitive line between men and women's clothes anymore, and you thought it was marvellous. Revolutionary, for times as politically and socially troubled as these.

You started removing the coat in attempt to give it back to him, but he refrained you from doing so by holding on to your forearm.

"Keep it. I thought we could go outside to start the interview, so you'll be needing that." Harry told you, and you agreed - however reluctantly that was. You couldn't really complain though, because the coat did kept you warm and, what's better, it smelt divine - just like you'd imagine Harry to smell.

"Okay. Thank you. Do you want to go now?" You asked hesitantly, not knowing whether he was busy for someone else right now.

"Whenever you're ready, love." He answered, making you feel more relaxed. He was going at your pace and was making you feel settled - he was even more of a gentleman than people described him to be.

The two of you had walked around the backside of the barn in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. Well, at least you were. It was a blessing no one was back here. It was just you, Harry and the scenery that surrounded Stonehenge.

You approached a bench and you plopped yourself down on one end, whilst Harry sat on the other. He respected the fact that there was a pandemic going on, and didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way. You still had your mask on, so Harry had taken that as you were very conscious about the virus - which he admired.

You pulled out your glasses, from the depths of one of the coat pockets, and placed them on your face, probably making yourself look even geekier than you already felt. Today was just one of those days you wished you had good eyes...

You opened your spent notebook, musty pages practically falling apart, and turned to the section of questions you needed for that interview. You were so nervous already and you hadn't even asked anything yet, all because of the previous interactions with Harry today. Your shaky hands shuffled through the pages and you cursed under your breath when you struggled to find what you needed.

"Shoot. Come on." You mumbled quietly under your breath, hoping it would make this terrible situation end faster. You mustn't have been as quiet as you thought though.

"Y/N." Harry's name broke through your clouded mind of self-disappointment.

You looked up at him to see him softly smiling at you, blowing all worries away from you away with the wind. "Yes?" You timidly asked, pushing your wind-swept hair out of glasses - where it'd gotten caught.

"You’re alright, love. You don't have to be professional around me, alright? We're just two strangers having a conversation, to get to know each other, okay?" If his words didn't calm you enough, the soothing sound of his husky voice certainly did.

"But that would mean you asking me stuff too?" You replied, confused at his implications of the phrasing 'getting to know each other'.

"Mhm." Harry nodded his head.

"Oh I don't know Mr Styles, i'm not a very interesting person." You answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose from where they'd fallen.

"I refuse to believe that." Harry chuckled, making a quick smile appear on your face. "And please call me Harry. Just Harry." He begged, obviously finding it weird you calling him by his professional title. All you wanted, ever, was for your interviewee's to feel comfortable and safe, so if Harry wanted you to call him Harry then so be it.

"Ok, Harry," you sarcastically said, earning a shake of the head on his behalf, "you can ask me a few questions throughout the day." You told him, but you knew he'd struggle to find even two questions when he realises how bland you are.

"Does that mean you only get to ask me a few as well?" Harry smirked, already knowing the answer to that question. Unlike Harry, you had to write an article about today when you got home and so he knew that you'd have to dig as much dirt as possible from him.

"No, sorry. I don't particularly want to lose my job." You paused to look down at your notes, squinting a little as you did to see better. "Okay. Tell me your experience with corona virus."

"Sorry I didn't quite catch that, love." Harry apologised, leaning in slightly to see if he could hear you a second time around.

"Sorry." You looked down to fiddle with your fingers - a habit you'd undertaken when you're embarrassed. "Um..," you cleared your throat, "would you mind if I took off my mask?"

Your timid voice sent tingle down Harrys spine. He didn't think anyone could ever be this sweet. "Not at all, ‘course you can." He replied, again, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

You hesitantly took off your face mask, feeling like you were in some dramatic movie where they face revealed someone. You kind of liked having the mask on, because, for one, it kept you warm, and for two, you were a little self conscious with how you looked compared to all the other women here today. You shoved the mask in your pocket, with trembling fingers, before looking back down to your notes.

"Woah." You heard Harrys voice being mumbled under the wind. You eyes shot up to his and you noticed him staring right back at you.

"W-what? Is my acne playing up? I knew I should've—" You self-consciously run your hands over the areas you know you got acne. The masks really didn't help when it came to skin care.

"Hey, stop. No. You just... You look beautiful." Harry complimented you, and a roaring blush arose on to your cheeks. You'd never been called beautiful before, and so you were taking the compliment like such a 13-year old.

"Oh, uh, thank you." You awkwardly answered, not really having any other words come to mind in that moment. Harry chuckled under his breath, still keeping eyes on you for some reason.

"Would you mind repeating your last question, I didn't quite catch it?" Harry asked politely.

"Sure. Um, tell me how you've experienced corona virus." You repeated for him, gripping ahold of your pen to start copying what he says and pressing start on your recording device in case you needed it later.

"Well, it's been tedious that's for sure. However, I just want people to be safe and for life to return back to normal, so therefore i've been very MIA for a lot of the time. Keeping to myself mostly. I only went out for hikes or bike rides. All my meetings were online, so it's been very lonely." Harry kept eye contact with your figure the entire time, and if it weren't for you concentrating on writing what he was saying then you'd probably melt away under his gaze.

For such soft eyes he sure was intimidating.

"I presume the loneliness sent you crazy at times." You laughed, because you sure felt that way through lockdown. Curse being single.

"You have no idea." Harry laughed along with you, making you, slowly, feel more at ease.

"Actually, you'd be surprised." You looked at him unsure, before returning down to your notebook.

"Okay then, first question from me," Harrys words made your head shoot up, "How can someone as amazing as yourself be lonely?" He asked and you made a mental tally of how many questions he'd asked.

"Could ask you the very same question, Harry." You slyly replied, avoiding the question by answering with another question. It was a tactic you'd learnt, throughout your years of journalism, when you wanted to dismiss something .

"That's cheating." Harry pointed at you and raised his eyebrows, but you couldn't take your eyes off the big, cheeky, smile perched on his face. You shrugged you're shoulders in defence and returned to your questions. "But you did just call me amazing, so I think i'll let it slide this one time." You blushed, again, when you understood what he meant.

He was amazing though - that was the truth.

"You were in L.A. for the majority of quarantine, am I right to say?" You already knew the answer but your manager had just wanted confirmation.

"Yeah, but L.A. feels like holiday, whereas London feels like home." He answered, which you appreciated. He hasn't got lost in the way that Hollywood could let people. He'd stayed grounded.

"So what did you entertain yourself with during quarantine?" You asked curiously, slightly side-tracking from your pre-written questions - just because you were intrigued (nosey).

"Not much, not to be boring. I ate a lot of bread. I worked out pretty much every day. I wrote quite a bit actually." He used his fingers to pinch his bottom lip, something you'd noticed he did in interviews.

"Does that mean a new album on the way?" Your inner fangirl was screaming at the thought of HS3.

"Can neither confirm nor deny." Harry smirked to himself, like the cheeky bugger he is.

"That's a yes then." You joked, pretending to write it down in your notes.

"You're impossible, you." Harry laughed and shook his head. It made you feel all funny the way you could make him smile like that. You were the source of his happiness for just that moment, and that was enough to make you feel happy for a lifetime - not that he felt the same.

"Next question," you stated, moving swiftly on because you knew you had limited time, "How's your experience with Vogue been so far?"

"Wonderful. Everyone has been so welcoming and that makes it so much easier for me to have fun. It's daunting going at things alone, but i'm getting slowly used to it now." Harry sniffled a little, probably due to the freezing cold weather here.

"Must be strange, not having four best friends around you, all the time, anymore." You stated rather than asked him, sure that he was missing his bandmates. I mean, you were - so he definitely would be.

"Brothers." Harry replied, making you look up at him confused.

"I'm sorry?" You asked, giving him your full attention.

"You said four best friends. Well, actually they're my brothers." His words actually caused a rift in your heart. You could feel it being pulled apart and torn in to two. If you wrote this in to the magazine the fans would have a worldwide passing-away-party.

"Harry." You said softly, slightly tearing up at his words. "God, I swear i'm not normally this emotional." You chest your throat and try to establish your dignity - however there wasn't that much left anymore.

"Oh shut up." Harry looked away obviously trying to hide the fact that he was tearing up too. You laughed at him but didn't draw any more attention to it than you guessed he would've wanted.

"They mean a lot to you then?" You asked, hopefully not treading on any unwanted territories.

"Much more than a lot, yeah." Harry nodded his head, turning it back to face you. He could tell this conversation was now off-the-record because of your closed notebook, your undivided attention towards him and the fact you’d turned off the recording device. He liked being able to look at you, rather than the top of your head. He swore you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

"You still see them often?"

"Not as often as i'd like. Niall did come around the other week to drop off some old guitars he didn't want anymore, and then we ended up playing around with some music for a bit." He admitted, which stitched your heart back together.

"So does that mean a Narry collab?" You teased, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

"Narry? You so are a directioner." He laughed along with you.

"And you just avoided my question, therefore there is a song out there written only by you and Niall." You concluded, which shut him up.

This conversation was going a lot better than expected. Certainly a lot better than earlier. You will be permanently scarred by the way you spoke to him and handled his belongings. It was going to haunt you forever - and yet he'd forget about it by tomorrow. Or maybe he wouldn't, which is why you felt the need to apologise.

"Harry?" You asked, clearly indicating this was still a conversation away from the interview.

"Yes Y/N?" He watched you intently, listening to your every word.

"I, um, just wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I was just really nervous to meet you, and to be honest still am. I didn't mean to touch your stuff without your consent and I certainly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with any of my comments. So, i'm sorry. I can only imagine the awful, yet true, things you must think of me." You rambled really quickly, that you were uncertain whether Harry even caught one word of what you'd says.

"Do you know why I asked for you to interview me Y/N?" Harry asked, which wasn't the first thing you expected him to say after your apology.

"No. I...well Lisa told me it was because I can write well or something." You suggested, not wanting to sound egotistical.

"I mean you do write perfectly, but no." You were intrigued now. "I asked for you because I, and this is not for your magazine, have a secret - but not-so-secret - crush on you." This time it was Harrys turn to blush.

"Harry... you don't have to say that to—"

"I'm not saying it for anything. I sincerely think you are the most delightful, most prettiest, most fucking sweetest person i've ever met." Harry exclaimed, which you were taken aback by. Never, ever, did you think that Harry Styles would proclaim his likeness towards you. Ever.

"Harry don't mess with me, please." You shyly spoke, tilting your head down in disbelief that the Harry Styles was smitten about you.

He shuffled along the bench, stopping a little way from you but close enough to reach out for you. Your heartbeat increased when you noticed his hand move closer towards you. It didn't stop till he reached your face. He took his time, courteously, pushing your hair behind your ear before removing you of your glasses. He held the right-eye frame and slowly pulled the glasses off your face.

Once he'd successfully taken them off he folded them up and placed them alongside your closed notebook.

"Can see those pretty eyes now." He whispered quietly, but loud enough for you to hear.

"Don't lie. They're so dull." You mumbled, lifting your head up slightly. His face was still away from you.

"Not to me they're not." He retaliated, looking deep into your eyes as you did his. "I hate this corona virus."

"Why?" His words were so out of the blue sometimes, it gave you whiplash.

"Because I can't be as near to you as I want to be." Harry told you. And yeah, you hated corona too. It was getting a little laborious now.

"Smooth, Styles." You chuckled. You wondered how many new and weird pick-up lines could be made from covid.

"I know." He winked, which honestly would have made you throw up if it were any other man on the planet. Somehow, though, Harry just made it seem attractive - along with every other thing that man ever did. "After this, would you like to come back to my house for a cuppa tea?" He asked sweetly, like a five year old asking whether you wanted to play together.

"Okay. Lisa was my ride though." You said more to yourself than anything else, debating on how you'd even get to Harrys. Uber? Taxi? Lisa? Walk?

"I'll drive us, it's fine. I have to drop Gem off, but i'd be more than happy to chauffeur you." Harry kindly offered, to which you were internally screaming about. You were literally, and metaphorically, having a field-day with all this Harry content and interview.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden." You question politely, not wanting to overstep any boundaries - especially in these covid infested times.

"Of course. I wouldn't have offered otherwise." He protested, waving his hand at if to say it was no bother. You were already trying to work out, in your head, how much petrol money you were going to owe him.

"Then i'd be honoured to have a brew with you Harry." You giggled at how cringe you were being, even if this was just your normal self speaking.

"Great." Harry genuinely smiled, teeth and all. "My shoot should take a couple of hours, but feel free to continue to write and journal. I'm looking forward to reading this particular article." He winked at you before standing up.

"Wonder why?" You sarcastically asked, knowing full-well it was due to his exposure of his own feelings towards you. Even though you'd never says anything back you were quite in agreement on how you felt about him, like he did you. He would be a narcissist to say he knew you liked him the same, out loud, but he knew. And you knew that he knew.

"Wonder why indeed." He gave you one last smile before he'd disappeared for the rest of the afternoon, leaving you to digest and relive the past half an hour or so.

Being Harry Styles' crush was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

••••

After Harry had finished up his shoot he was quick to come find you again.

You'd watched parts of his shoot and he looked magnificent. There wasn't a good enough word to describe how amazing he looked. Harry, his stylist, was probably the best stylist out there. His fashion choices were unmatched and you wanted him to be yours. You were not rich enough nor fashionable enough, ironic for working in a a fashion company, to hire a stylist, but you would if you could.

You were so proud to see what he was achieving now as the person that he was. Harry was just being Harry, without the devilish control of shitty managements or ridiculous amounts of PR stunts. Harry was more free than ever, and it definitely showed just how much he was enjoying it.

You were certain that this Vogue magazine would break the internet - his fans were good at doing that. This could be a turning point for many people, with their outdated and ignorant views. There was no room for people with racist or homophobic or transphobic or xenophobic - and the list does go on - views anymore.

You were waiting by the front door of the barn, to catch Harry as he walked past. You caught sight of him in a white robe, presumably to get changed back into his everyday clothes. He looked really pretty in the robe - very domestic actually.

Today had been a good day.

Harry asked you to send over the more specific Vogue questions to him via email, so he could devote more time in to answering them in a lot more depth. You thought he meant you'd be sending them to some PA in his team, but you were shocked to understand he'd given you his personal email.

People were walking back to their cars and packing away the filming kit. You saw Lisa and the director talking to one another, no doubt discussing some in-work gossip.

"You ready?" Harrys voice reminded you that you'd been waiting for him. You looked to see he was back in the same clothes as this morning, only this time without his coat.

"Here?" You offered, having him over the coat once again but he declined.

"Looks better on you anyways." He winked at you, before walking through the car park and to his car. You were very surprised when you found out Harry was the one to own the green Jaguar. You assumed all celebrities drove the Range Rover, but no. The vintage car added to Harrys immaculate vibe and just made him that little bit more hot.

Harry properly introduced you to Gemma, who was equally as lovely as Harry. They were both amazing people and they were crazily alike. From the way they looked, down to the way they phrased their words, they were mistakingly twins. Gemma explained how Anne, their mum, didn't know they were doing this photoshoot and that it was going to be a surprise, which you thought was so cute.

Gemma spilt a lot of gossip on Harry, to which he got very embarrassed over. You learnt that Harrys first word was Cat. You learnt that Harry is godfather to multiple children, which you found heartwarming. You learnt Harry used to be a baker - which was something he elaborated on for a good half an hour. Harry was just a fountain of memories and Gemma was the one sharing them all with you.

The drive back to London was relaxed. You sat in the back, listening to Harry and Gemma pointlessly argue whilst an Arctic Monkeys album played in the background. You forgot that people like Harry drove, and listened to music, just like other regular people. You often misplaced celebrities in society, thinking they had everything done for them but in reality that (often) wasn't the case - at least not for Harry.

Gemma was dropped off quickly before Harry drove to his. It was no surprise that the Styles siblings didn't live too far away from each other. Harrys house was beautiful. Bigger than anything you could ever dream of buying. It was a palace compared to your cupboard-sized house. You were unbelievably jealous. He gave you the tour of the house, showing you where the toilets were, and even his panic room if necessary.

You migrated to the kitchen for a bit, talking about anything and everything. Getting to know the minuscule pieces of information that no-one else was trusted with, made you feel special. Harry made you feel special - even if he weren't meaning to.

Every moment held a spark. Every touch set off a firework. Every laugh was an electric burst. He made you feel so alive.

"We can go to the living room after this has boiled." Harry said, pointing towards the streaming kettle. He wanted to show off his fancy tea collection he had, and let you have a try if you wanted to. Harry was boring and chose the basic green tea, but, after much deliberation, you chose the cranberry green tea. It intrigued you and it sounded delicious.

"Why the extensive tea collection?" Not even you, a certified caffeine addict, had this much tea in your house. Coffee was a different story and one in which you didn't want to talk about.

"They help me with my meditation." He took the teabags and placed them in his glass mugs. They had a delicate Gucci stamp on them, and you just imagined that they probably worth the same amount as your daily salary.

"You meditate?" You were slightly surprised that he did.

"I try to yeah." Harry nodded, focusing on pouring in the boiling water into the mugs. "I've got very tight hamstrings and so it helps if I meditate twice a day."

Harry finished making the tea, in the light-filled kitchen, before showing you around to the open-lounge area. Everything was modern and chic. It was exactly how you imagined it, but better. The open, red-brick, wall was a beautiful feature and one that you were a whore for! It reminded you of New York and the memories you'd made there one summer.

The sofa was a beautiful velvet, green, sofa. It was soft and gentle, a lot like Harry when you thought about it. The whole house was an architectural masterpiece and you'd be lying if you said you weren't jealous. You sat on one end and Harry went to go and sit on the other end.

"I don't bite you know?" You joked, self-consciously wondering whether he didn't want to be sat near you.

"I know, I just don't want to step on any of your covid boundaries - which is perfectly fine by the way." He added, apprehensively taking the spot next to you.

"No, not at all." You ushered him to sit next to you, as you took a sip from your steaming hot cup of fruity tea. "If I smell though, do tell me!"

"Yeah, you smell bloody awful!" Harry sarcastically remarked, but laughing afterwards to assure you he was joking. The atmosphere went quiet for a minute, only the sounds of passing cars and deep breaths being heard.

"Y/N can I ask you something?" Harry turned the tone of the conversation. It sounded like he wanted to be more serious than you two were being beforehand.

"Anything." You encouraged him to continue. You placed the cup of tea down on the table, deciding it was too hot to drink right now, and gave him your full attention.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Harry questioned. You didn't think you'd be having a conversation this intense - especially if you had different opinions - on your first day of knowing each other, but here you were.

"I believe you can love someone at first sight. I don't believe you can be in love with someone at first sight. Why?" You were curious as to how his brain had journeyed to this particular topic. You'd never really had this conversation with anyone before, mainly because you were unaware of the true power, and meaning, of love.

"It uh... It doesn't matter." Harry shook his head and you could tell by his body language that he was shutting you out. Maybe you'd made him uncomfortable.

"Sorry I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. Please don't apologise. It's just - I like you a lot more than you may think." Harry shyly told you, which made you all soft inside. He was being vulnerable and that was something you admired in a partner. You didn't just need love, affection and trust in a relationship. No. You needed vulnerability and heartbreak too, and Harry was revealing that part of him to you.

"I like you a lot more than you think too." You repeated, not because you felt bad for him but because you truly did like him a whole lot. Love was a weird yet wonderful thing, and if you were to hazard a guess you'd say you loved Harry.

You couldn't wait to be in love with him.

"Does that mean I get to crown you my girlfriend?" Harry excitedly asked. Harry happy was something that should be made a constant, and you were more than happy to be in control of that.

"At least take me out first." You bargained, wishing for nothing more than to go on a date with Harry. Where you'd go, you had no idea. Everything was closed right now and there was still the chance of becoming sick with corona, but no doubt Harry would think of something not only clever, but special.

Of course you'd love to be Harrys girlfriend. However, you wanted one more, official, opportunity to really get to know him - unprofessionally. You wanted to make sure that you knew, and he knew, that you wanted to be with him because he was the charming Harry you've come to love, not because he was Harry Styles.

"So you're allowing me to take you on a date?" Harry smirked like a little child, your heart fluttering at how excited he was to be able to treat you to dinner.

"Yes, Harry. Yes I am." You answered sweetly, offering him the cutest smile you could.

You can't believe what a turn of events today has been. You've gone from nearly writing yourself on Harrys enemy list to writing yourself on to his 'people he's dated' list. Who knows what the future would offer you. At the start of the day you had wished this whole day to end and for the ground to just swallow you up, now you never wanted it to end. It was too perfect to be true and yet it was.

Harry was the most wonderful human to exist and you were beyond surprised to be the one to catch his attention. You didn't understand why you were so special, but it was nice to feel like this for a change. It was nice to feel wanted.

••••

A few months later and you were officially Harrys girlfriend.

It had been such a crazy few months. Harry religiously took you out on dates every week. Whether it be to grab a hotdog at a local diner, a coffee from a quaint cafe, a walk in Hyde Park or a late-night drive around London - which normally ended up with you falling asleep before you could make it back to yours. On sleepless jet-lagged nights he'll still drive through London's quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way, just as an excuse to spend time with you.

Harry often stayed over at yours. Even though you looked like you lived in a shoebox compared to Harry, he liked it. He liked the subtly and normality of it all. He wanted your life to remain as normal as possible and, apart from the occasional paparazzi incident, it did. You never had anything to complain about. Of course the online bullying created emotional wounds, at the start of your relationship, but it was nothing that Harry couldn't repair with a bit of love.

Lisa has nominated herself to be maid-of-honour when the day comes - if the day comes. Harry has already pinky sworn that you are it for him. The one, as some may say. You were utterly flattered, but you certainly unsure of what the future help for you both.

You loved Harry, you do love Harry and you will forever always love Harry.

It was ridiculous to think that all this stemmed from you working at Vogue. From you studying English Literature in a city away from London. From you dedicating you extra hours gaining work experience and money to be able get in and afford university. So many moments in life have you stopped and said 'i wish i hadn't have done that', but now you were convinced that they were the best things to have happened to you - because they lead you, all, to Harry.

And, being Harry Styles girlfriend was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

869 notes · View notes

dragynkeep · 2 years

Note

How about Team SSSN’s and CFVY’s outfits?

New rule for future asks, you get one team at most now. Just so the posts aren’t too long and I’m not struggling to write a review for a whole group of people at once.

Really, Sun’s outfit can be summed up with “It’s simple, but it works.”

The way it’s designed really does sell Sun’s carefree nature. He’s opened himself up, you can see his body and Sun isn’t ashamed by that. The use of bright and light colours works because, even though he uses five different colours, they’re not all competing for each other or clashing.

The white and black are on most of his outfit, while the yellow is spread throughout. His yellow hair, gold necklace, yellow tail, and bright yellow sneakers distribute the colour throughout and are paired with neutral colours. The white shirt doesn’t distract from his hair or his necklace, the blue jeans aren’t bright and simply contrasts with his tail for better view, the black parts of his sneakers make the yellow pop even more and stand out on his feet.

Add onto that is his pretty dark and neutral skin tone/eye colour. Outside of being an obvious Foil to Blake, his darker skin tone and exposed clothing style helps make the lighter colour in his shirt and hair pop out, while the black eye colour doesn’t detract from him pretty hefty colour scheme. Wish they kept that after Volume 3,,,,

And it’s interesting that he not only wears all of Team RWBY’s colours in a pleasing way, but the different colours of stars. He’s obviously named Sun, so you have the yellow, but you also have red giants, blue supernovas, black dwarf stars, and the white that the sun appears in the sky. I think it’s pretty neat.

Does it really say much about his allusion beyond his name and Faunus traits? Not really, but you can say the same for Blake honestly and I don’t hold it too much against Sun for how simple but good his outfit is.

Why does Scarlet not have a turnabout model?

For what it’s worth, it’s an alright outfit. It’s certainly pirate themed, befitting for his allusion of Peter Pan, and I actually like the red coat hanging on his shoulder rather than being properly worn. It sorta gives off a more rebellious vibe, idk,,,

Problem is that, without his jacket, Scarlet’s outfit is really boring and really lacking in his colour. He’s very monochromatic besides his bright red hair and face tattoo, so when we get him in the Vytal fight without his coat, he has no other red on him and just looks so plain. And not a good plain like with Sun, who still has colour working for him.

It’s not ugly, but it’s not fun. Really boring for a character that’s really boring.

Why does Sage not have a turnabout model???

Really, he has an improvement over Scarlet with his large coat being accented with yellow armour and sage green pants, while the hair and decals on the coat are a more vibrant green. Really good colour palette here with the green and yellow being offset by the neutral black and whites, similar to how Sun’s colour palette works.

And just like Sun, Sage’s dark skin tone works with contrasting the bright white coat and yellow armour, plus his bright yellow eyes. The hair and pants are a bit too close to brightness with his skin, so they don’t quite have that similar effect as his other outfit pieces, but it’s not too bad. Plus, his tattoos are so cool! I wish other characters had tattoos.

Really, does it tell you about his allusion that much? Not really, and like Sun, I don’t really mind as much because I like his design anyway. I do think his allusion is a bit random and doesn’t really fit with his team’s theme anyway.

Why does Neptune have a turnabout model, you can really feel the favourtism-

Honestly, like most of the early RWBY outfits, Neptune’s does take heavily from irl fashion and what Monty saw in other media, namely the KPOP band that Team SSSN are all based on.

And fair enough, this isn’t a bad outift. I like the red jacket coupled with his white shirt and tie, it looks like Neptune’s trying to take himself seriously but also looks a bit nerdish. The thick jacket, leg harnesses, gloves and goggles all help make him seem more protected, and we see that the goggles are useful in his fights.

The goggles being orange and yellow help pop against his bright blue hair, which also match his eyes, and the red is a good choice to contrast blue. An issue is that Neptune really doesn’t wear a whole lot of blue, or at least uses his colour well to get it across while working with other colours. The bright red is great, but it feels like this would’ve worked better on Scarlet, rather than the character themed blue.

It’s just too much and really drags the eye too it, making the red stand out the most while the small amount of hair and eyes fail to counter that. It would’ve helped if his jacket was more of a navy blue, coupled with the silver on the back to give more of an ocean theme to better fit his allusion too.

I caved I’m using the AA art because CRWY hates having consistent turnabout models or even concept art for all their characters ig-

The worst thing about Coco’s design is that I really like it. I do, I think the colour scheme is cohesive and used well, the actual style shows off Coco as a fashion-concious person who wants to look good, while looking somewhat reasonable for a Huntress, and she just looks badass. The little accessories like the beret or rose scarf just add to the design, but there are some things you could remove to declutter it, like the unnecessary necklaces and waist cloth thing.

But you literally cannot divorce her outfit and allusion from the Nazi Coco Chanel. Great outfit, but one of the worst people CRWBY could’ve picked for an allusion, and that will forever be a stain on what is otherwise a great outfit.

Really, this outfit is just so plain and uninspired?

Fox is meant to be the Fox in the Fox and the Hound, but whoever designed him just took no inspiration from that to add to his design and just shoved him in a plain red sleeveless shirt and black pants. V2 had the issue of his red-toned dark skin blending into the shirt terribly, but V3 fixed that, so we at least have something.

The scars and blank white eyes are an interesting choice, blind people really don’t look like that, but it’s all just meh? He’s not in an actively bad outfit by any means, but this is an outfit you would give a nameless background character, not someone who’s one of the main characters in your books.

Velvet has a turnabout model but to be cohesive, I’m using her Amity Arena art with the rest of her team.

This is a really cute outfit. The crop jacket and shorts being brown with spreading the colour around and works well with her gold, like with the black serving to separate parts of her body as well as helping that same gold pop. The brown sleeves with gold shoulder armour makes Velvet seem protected but not bogged down, while the gold then being used largely on her waist and thighs helps to accentuate her legs.

I originally thought she was just wearing shorts with leggings, similar to Blake, but no she’s actually wearing long boots instead. Both serve the same purpose visually, honestly, and I don’t really mind boots that go past the knee. Would it be uncomfortable? Sure, but I can buy a little unrealism so long as the outfit makes up for it.

It really does just sell the rabbit theme of Velvet without being too on the nose. Her legs are her main weapons, and so her outfit brings attention to that area, while the giant rabbit ears stop us from losing track. A really simple colour palette, but one that works really well for Velvet as an individual and as a team, if only for the small negative that she’s a bit too close in colours to Coco. Fox and Yatsu have unique colours, I wish Velvet did too.

Why is Yatsu’s background so dramatic compared to the others?

A note before the actual outfit bit but Yatsu actually has sclera here and on his AA model, but his model in the show has sclera the same colour as his skin. I don’t know if that is just a mistake that they never bothered to fix, but it’s a bit weird that they fixed Fox’s skin tone issue between V2 and 3 while never bothering to do the same for Yatsuhashi.

It’s definitely a green outfit, and is clearly Japanese inspired without running into weird Chinapan territory, so well done. The use of green and brown gives a very earthy feeling, fitting for Yatsu’s more down to earth personality and his namesake coming from a sweet that has quite an earthy taste. Plus, the more desaturated brown and blacks don’t distract from his main colour, while the silver is both a good choice with green and in small amounts so it doesn’t distract either.

Pretty well protected, some difference in asymmetry so you don’t get too bored, without going overboard, and a cohesive colour palette. I won’t say it blows me away, but it’s a pretty solid outfit.

#rwby #rwde #outfit critiques #sun wukong #scarlet david #sage ayana #neptune vasilias #coco adel #fox alistair #velvet scarlatina #yatsuhashi daichi #answered #luke.txt

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angelicyoongie · 4 years

Text

desolate (8)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x human reader

— genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut

— word count: 3.9k

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou @ladymidnightt @cheese123344 @xanny91 @dinorahrodriguez @best-space-boy @dulcaet @moccahobi @keijaycreates @staytrillswag @xsmilebitesx @serendipityoreuphoria @jiminot7 @beyond-the-swag @nananaum1 @mult1wh0re @ditttiii @faithsummers11 @twomilkmen-gocomedy @theonewholovestoread @karissassirak @veryuniquenamegoeshere @yourlipssoirresistible @ayoo-bangtan @murderyoursoul @btsxdoll @see3milyblog @gukiyi @mtgforall @narcissism-iskey @sp3ak-yours3lf @cesthoney @imluckybitches @hd-junglebook @sugarrimajins @multifandomgirl29 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @bangtansleftnut @theresa-nam-nam-me @angeltothecore @ghostkat23 @deathkat657 @awixxx @httpmedxsa @veronawrites @bubbletae7 @serious-addiction @chogiyeol-utopia @nomimits7 @lorielulu7 @1am9root6 @sana-b @diamonddia-mond @jiminiessipabo @myhearttteu @rainbowmagicpixecorn @lidda @rosiethefairy @lovinggalaxies @midnight1199 @trinityautumn @linniewritesficz @fearhoshi @ess-place @juniesoftbot @kingalls00 @toribug2020 @daydreambrliever @moonlight-mochi @sleepyje0n @yoonie-bby @alltimeyoongi @honestlyfuriousharmony

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen (M)

The bright fluorescence lights adorning the outside of the shop are starting to hurt your eyes. You’ve gotten a few weird stares, but you’re finding it hard to make your feet move an inch closer. You can’t seem to make up your mind if you’re doing the right thing or not. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he gets angry with you for treating him like you own him?

You glance sideways just in time to meet the security guard’s eyes; the uncertain expression on his face making you realize you’ve been standing in the same place like a crazy person long enough for him to do a third lap. The awkwardness prompts you enough to enter the store, although you immediately feel a little lost. You never expected you would end up in a hybrid store, at least not after you thought you had adopted a regular cat.

“Hi, welcome to Hybrids-r-us! Can I help you with anything?” A girl, probably younger than yourself, approaches you with a smile. She’s wearing a black shirt with the store’s logo on, and the nametag fastened on her chest says Soo-young.

“I’m a little lost,” You admit, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets as you give her a sheepish smile back.

“That’s what I’m here for! So what kind of hybrid do you own?” Soo-young asks.

“Oh, I don’t–“ You cut yourself off. You do by no means own Yoongi, but it would be weird to show up at a hybrid store if you weren’t buying things for your own hybrid.

“I mean, he’s a cat hybrid,” You say, and Soo-young’s face lights up despite your little slip.

“What kind of breed is he? I have a Persian one myself! He’s the cutest little thing ever,” She rambles excitedly as she starts leading you down the aisles of various hybrid articles.

“Siberian?” You can’t help the unsure tone of your voice, considering you actually don’t have a clue what type of breed he actually is. But you know your old neighbour’s cat was a Siberian, and since Yoongi reminded you so much of him when you first saw him, you figure his breed can’t be too far off.

“He’s a fluffy one!” Soo-young squeals, stopping in front of a section marked as ‘cat hybrids’. “I would recommend getting him some clothes from these racks, they have bigger cut-outs for fluffier tails,” You listen attentively as she lists of her recommendations, following her gestures to see what products she thinks might work and what she thinks Yoongi might enjoy. You wince inwardly as you think of the crude hole you cut into your sweatpants so that they would fit with Yoongi’s tail. You’re sure it can’t be too comfortable even if the fabric is soft.

“Call for me if you need any help!” Soo-young leaves you to pick out your stuff by yourself, you giving her a quiet thanks as you turn around to face the massive selection of clothes.

Your wallet is lighter than it should be, so you make a bee-line towards the clearance racks, making sure that you pick out clothes from the right ones. You didn’t even think that the clothes would differ based on breeds, and so you’re thankful for Soo-young’s input. You have no idea what Yoongi likes or what his style is considering he’s just been pulling clothes from your closet so far, and so you try to stick to neutral colours. Black and white are classics for a reason after all.

You probably should have asked for Yoongi’s size, but you know where your own clothes are either loose or tight on him, and so you try your best to eyeball it. After you’ve picked out a decent amount of clothes, at least enough to give Yoongi some different outfits to circle through; you follow the direction Soo-young pointed you in earlier to the skin and hair care section.

There’s an overwhelming amount of different products to choose from, but you try to go for those that promise to give silky soft fur and extra shine. You know cats love to groom themselves, so hopefully that applies to their hybrid counterparts as well.

You try not to look at the amount after Soo-young is done ringing up your things for Yoongi. You can already tell it’s too much compared to the little sum that’s supposed to last you another two weeks. But, Yoongi deserves it. You’re not sure how long he’s staying, but he deserves to have his own things and feel at home – for however long that might be.

The bags crinkle obnoxiously loud in the stairwell up to your floor, and you just pray Yoongi won’t take your gesture the wrong way. As you step in front of your door, it flies open before you can even reach for your key. A slender hand reaches out to pull you inside, and you barely manage to squeeze through the opening before Yoongi leans over your shoulder to close the door behind you.

“You’re home late,” Yoongi’s breath tickles against your ear as he locks the door, the ticklish sensation making you clutch the bags tighter in response. His chest brushes against your shoulder as he steps back, but you find the space he’s given you to breathe doesn’t do much when his eyes are locked so intensely onto yours.

“Why?” He prompts, eyebrow quirking at the lack of response.

“Oh uh, I went shopping! After work .. That’s why I’m home late,” You grimace. It had been a spur of the moment thing; otherwise you would’ve let Yoongi know beforehand. You wish you had enough money to get him a phone, but sadly, that just isn’t in your budget at all right now.

Yoongi’s eyes finally slide down to the bags in your hands, head tilting curiously as he sees the logo plastered on the sides.

“It’s for you,” You thrust the bags towards him, a flush creeping up your neck as Yoongi gives you a weird look.

“For me? Why?”

“You need your own clothes, you can’t just keep stealing mine.” Yoongi gives you a half-hearted shrug in response, but his tail does an interested flick despite the nonchalant expression on his face.

You rattle the bags in impatience, and Yoongi swipes them out of your hands with a huff.

“Go wait in the living room,” Yoongi mutters as he breezes past you to go into the bathroom. You’re not entirely sure why he wants to wait there, but you oblige easy – only stopping to remove your coat and shoes.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but Yoongi holding his own personal fashion show definitely wasn’t it. You have to bite down on your lips to hold back the smile threatening to take over your whole face as he ventures back and fourth between the bathroom and the living room, showing off new clothing every time. You can tell he’s trying his best to seem disinterested, but the little quirk of his lips and the more energized spring in his step tells you everything you need to know.

“What about these? Are they too tight?” Yoongi gives you a slow spin, showing off the black pair of jeans you picked out. You feel the smile die on your lips as your eyes follow the curve of Yoongi’s body, your throat going dry as you realize they probably fit him too well. “Maybe a little?” You squeak, desperately trying to subtly clear your throat to make your voice sound normal again. You’re not sure how you’ll survive being at home if he starts wearing those jeans frequently. Yoongi peers down at his legs, taking a few steps back and forth. He lets out a low hum.

“I like them,” He smirks; the look in his eyes perhaps a little too knowing for your liking. Yoongi walks out of the room before you can convince him otherwise, his fluffy tail swishing languidly behind him. You wait for a second to make sure he’s gone before you reach up to fan your face, desperately trying to make the heat in your cheeks go away before he returns.

Thankfully for you though, Yoongi settles on using a new pair of sweatpants you got for him instead. You’re both relaxing on the couch and finishing up your dinners, the TV providing some mindless entertainment in the background.

Yoongi silently collects your plates, the expression on his face seeming a little torn as he brings them out into the kitchen. It takes a few minutes before Yoongi returns, when he does, his ears are turned back, posture tense as he drops down on the couch besides you.

“I need to tell you something,” Yoongi grumbles out before you can ask. His tail is resting in his lap, pale fingers threading through the long fur. The cat hybrid’s jaw is clenched as he stares out into the room, and you feel the mood of the room turn like someone has flipped a switch.

“Okay ..” You murmur hesitantly. Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, like it pains his lungs to just even expel the air.

“I think I need to tell you about my past – why you found me at the shelter,” Yoongi’s dark eyes flicker over to you quickly before he moves his gaze back to the wall. You suck in a quick breath, the topic catching you completely off guard. Your stomach twists uncomfortably as you give him an encouraging nod in response.

“I’m not hiding because I did anything wrong. I just .. needed to get away. The last place I lived wasn’t – it wasn’t good,” He swallows thickly, ears pulling back until they’re flat against his head.

“Actually, it was a hellhole. My owner –” Yoongi’s lips curl in disgust as he spits out the word, “was an abusive ass. He didn’t care about me unless he needed someone to let his anger out on,” You sink further down into the couch as Yoongi’s words knock into you one by one. It’s not like this is something you haven’t encountered before, hell, your job is dealing with cases like Yoongi’s, but it still feels like someone has plunged a knife inside your chest.

“One night he came home drunk. He passed out in the hallway, but I just knew, I knew he would wake up in a few hours and lay all of his fucking issues onto me and I was just so tired,” Yoongi’s voice breaks, his shoulders hunching as he brings his tail closer to his body. You feel sick as you notice Yoongi’s fingers dragging over clear patches of skin between his fur. You’ve seen that a lot in your case files. Punishment for misbehaving. You advert your eyes back to Yoongi’s face, feeling guilty for never having noticed it before.

“So I ran. I had tried it once before, but a stray hybrid is so easily noticed. I knew that if I got caught again and sent back that I wouldn’t ..” Yoongi trails off, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand what he meant to say. I wouldn’t have survived.

“It’s easier to hide as a cat, but I suppose someone saw me loitering around in the same area for too long and decided to call it in. Hybrid shelters normally don’t accept regular animals; but I guess the one you found me at did, at least until they could transfer me to a proper one. It really wasn’t that difficult to convince them I wasn’t a hybrid, you just got to pretend really hard to not understand what they’re saying or doing,” Yoongi shrugs half-heartedly, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I was there for a month before you adopted me, or well, cat me. Hybrid me is still legally owned by that fuckhead,” He hisses, hands shaking as he gathers them in his lap.

“I couldn’t tell anyone in case they sent me back. There was no one I could trust.”

Your eyes are burning with unshed tears. The more you get to know about Yoongi’s story the angrier you feel. You just can’t understand why people would treat hybrids like that – fellow humans like that. Yoongi looks so small and beaten down sitting on the opposite side of the couch of you, and you can’t believe your snarky kitty has been carrying something like this by himself for so long. You can’t help but feel like you’ve somehow failed him – that you could’ve done better.

“There was no one .. until you,” Yoongi utters softly, the mellow voice shutting down your screaming thoughts.

“Yoongi ..” You breathe, your throat so choked up it’s hard to say anything else. The cat hybrid shakes his head as he turns to look at you, a gentle smile forming on his lips as he sees your glossy eyes.

“I just thought you deserved to know why I’m here. No need to get sappy,” He huffs, reaching forward to swipe his thumb across your cheek. You’re surprised to see moisture clinging to his finger as he pulls back, and you hastily run your hands under your eyes to catch any other stray tears. You let out a weak laugh, embarrassed that you didn’t even know you were crying.

“But why the sudden honesty?” You ask. Today was the same as yesterday, and the day before. Well .. almost the same.

“You didn’t feel like you had to tell me because I brought you clothes, right?” You feel horrified. What if Yoongi felt like he owed you something?

Yoongi takes a look at your panic stricken expression and snorts, his long fingers reaching out to grab yours. He gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb running over your knuckles.

“Don’t worry y/n. It was just as I said; I thought you deserved to know. Who knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after that. I just wanted at least one person to be aware of my situation in case ..” He trails off, eyes growing blank as he stares out the window behind your shoulder. He looks tired, you notice. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping as well as you thought he had. Or maybe this has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. Whatever it is, you’re determined to fix it.

“Ah well, now you know!” He seems to snap himself out of whatever thoughts that took over him, the glint you’ve grown so accustomed to returning to his eyes.

“Yeah, now I know,” You give his hand a squeeze in return, but for you, it’s more than just a confirmation. It’s a promise.

You’re not that surprised that you end up with Yoongi’s soft hair between your fingers again. He has a hand curled around your knee, head resting on top of your thighs.

“This might sound weird – but the first time I saw you I really thought I was seeing a ghost,” You mutter. Your fingers halt momentarily, the memory of when you first saw Yoongi at the shelter still so vivid in your mind. Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise at the sudden lack of contact, nudging his head back against your palm until you take the hint and resume your scratching.

“A ghost?” He questions, his voice muffled against the fabric of your sweats.

“Yeah. You reminded me so much of my neighbour’s old cat. You were like a splitting image,” You hum, a smile slipping onto your lips as you remember how cute Fluffball was.

“But of course, now I know you’re two very different cats. He was never as grumpy as you are,” You stifle down a laugh as Yoongi’s tail flickers irritably. He’s too easy to annoy.

“What happened?” He grumbles out.

“He passed away. My neighbour said he had suddenly gotten sick and there wasn’t anything that could be done to help him. I cried for like a week afterwards,” You frown, the little special place you have for Fluffball in your heart aching as you remember how upset you were.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi’s tail curls around your wrist, the long silky fur almost ticklish against your skin. You hear the hesitation in his voice before he continues,

“I often heard that I looked like my mom,” He murmurs.

“Really? What’s she like?” You run your fingers down to the back of his neck, brushing over the shorter hairs at his nape.

“I–I don’t remember. I was taken away when I was really young,” Yoongi says quietly, his tone mournful. You don’t even want to imagine how Yoongi must have felt, so young and alone and probably terrified all by himself.

“I’m sorry,” You echo his words back to him, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench your jaw tightly as you continue to stroke the his hair; the same low hitching purrs rumbling out of his chest once your conversation lulls. You’re going to make sure Yoongi’s owner will have hell to pay for all the things he has done to him, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You lean back in your chair with a sigh, the light from your computer screen almost making your eyes water. Your computer is whirring loudly in protest as it tries to process all the new data and files you’ve entered into it. It’s way past due for an update, but it isn’t like you are going to go and ask your boss for a new one now. Not when the whole company is still in shambles trying to figure out the breach.

The office is almost completely empty, and it only makes your struggling computer sound even more pitiful. You stare mindlessly at the glowing circle that has replaced your cursor, knowing you can’t do anything else until it has worked through everything you asked it to.

“Staying late?” A deep voice startles you out of your thoughts, making you jump as you swivel around on your chair. You’re greeting by the kind face of Mr. Yang, an older man that has worked here even longer than you have. You honestly consider him as some sort of distant uncle.

“You bet,” You wince. “Got a load of new cases today, and this old thing doesn’t seem to want to cooperate,” You jab your thumb over your shoulder to direct his attention to the screen behind you.

He gives you a knowing sigh, dusting off his hat before he places it on his head.

“Well don’t stay too late now, you hear me? This whole hacking business is making me anxious,” He gives your shoulder a friendly pat, his face tight with worry as he notices the pretty much deserted office aside from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here as soon as this finishes logging the new data,” You give him a tired smile, and Mr. Yang takes that as his clue to leave. He tips his hat with a smile of his own as he passes, and you settle back down in your chair, pretty sure you’re in for the long haul. Thankfully you remembered to tell Yoongi that you would probably be coming home late –new case files almost always resulted in you working overtime to catch up.

It doesn’t even take five minutes before your computer screen goes black, the whirring fan stuttering loudly before it promptly shuts off. You curse under your breath, annoyed that it had to act up now, with the office close to empty and the IT department most likely abandoned long ago. You try pressing the power button repeatedly, but to no avail. You’re going to need help if you want it to work again.

You push out of your chair with a huff, opting to leave your stuff behind as you hurry towards the staircase. The likelihood of the IT department being empty is high, but you at least have to check to make sure.

Your footsteps echo loudly as you descend down the two flights of stairs. You always dislike staying at work late, the normally bustling building feeling so eerie when it’s quiet and empty. You shake of the tight feeling in the back of your neck, rolling your shoulders purposefully as you push the door to the IT department open.

There’s no need to feel nervous, there isn’t like anything is suddenly going to pop out of the dark and grab you. Maybe you should stop watching those scary movies that has been marathoning on TV for the past week.

The floor is dark, as you expected. You’re about to turn around when you notice a light further down in the room, the blue hue of it unmistakable. It seems like one worker is staying late after all. You trudge down the middle of the room, passing by the empty desks one by one until you get closer to the source of the light. It’s a computer that’s still on, the screen lighting up the desk in a soft glow. But as you come closer, you realize that this desk seems empty too.

“Maybe they forgot to turn it off,” You mutter, the silence in the large room swallowing up your words. Your eyes travel over the empty desk, a flash of pink rooting you in your spot. You lean in closer, your eyes widening in alarm as you recognize the cat-formed sticky notes.

You don’t understand how they ended up here. No one from the IT department has been near your area lately, and you can’t imagine anyone from your floor bringing it down here either. Moving your gaze ever so slightly makes you suck in a harsh breath. Lying next to your sticky note pad is the unmistakable shape of your favourite pen, the end of it showing off the indents of your teeth from all your nervous biting.

You grip the edge of the desk tightly as you realize that your thing going missing aren’t a coincidence, nor is it just your co-workers simply displacing them. You suddenly realize that you do not want to meet the owner of this desk, your work be damned. This isn’t something you want to deal with now, and especially not alone.

You quickly turn around, legs ready to bolt out of there, but you freeze in your tracks as you see the large shadow blocking your path. You take a hesitant step backwards as the shadow moves closer, your legs knocking into the sides of the desk.

The movement is enough to finally bring the figure into the light from the computer screen, and you feel your heart stop as you recognize the lanky stature and big eyes staring right back at you. It’s the same guy you saw that day in the lunchroom with Jihyo, and the same guy that was loitering outside of your boss’ office.

You can see the surprise flit across his face as he realizes that it’s you, but the blank expression his face quickly settles into makes your stomach lurch uneasily.

It’s only then that it dawns on you what kind of situation you’re really in. You’re here all alone, pressed up against a desk in the dark with no possible escape – at least not unless it’s through the man in front of you.

You’re trapped.

You’re screwed.

- - - -

Hello! Hope you enjoyed the eight chapter of desolate, now we’re just over halfway there! Some backstory was on the menu today .. And uh oh, what's going to happen to y/n now? 👀

Hope you’re all well and my inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon! <3

#hybrid!bts #cat hybrid yoongi #bts au #yoongi #hybrid au #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #min yoongi #fluff #scenting #angst #romance #bts #suga #hybrid bts

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Part 3

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral sex, between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

“Nothing to see here,” you muttered and scooted across the café as quickly as you could, heading for the sanctuary of your office.

Closing the door firmly behind you and heading straight to your fancy CEO swivel chair, you sat down and shakily placed your hands flat on the desk. You took some deep breaths. That stupid big idiot and his BDE! How dare he kiss you like that in front of everyone.

And even worse, leaving you all hot and flustered like some kid who’s never been kissed before! Let’s be honest, that’s what was really getting to you... he hadn’t actually bent you over the counter and fucked you, but by your reaction he might as well have.

How ridiculous, you told yourself sternly, get a grip! You put your forehead on the desk’s cool surface. They’d all been staring at you, and you could feel your face heating up again at the thought of them watching Billy kiss you really quite passionately. And you melting like a complete fool in the process.

After a couple of hours hiding out in your office, you knew you’d have to face the music sooner or later and made your way back down to the café. The regulars, you saw, had gone by now so that was something but by the mischievous looks on your co-workers’ faces, you knew you were in for some serious teasing.

You made your way over to one of the two monster Gaggia coffee machines in the café and started making yourself a cappuccino. “Anyone want one?” you asked over your shoulder. Jake said he’d have one too, but the other two passed. You could just feel their curiosity crackling through the air like electricity. They were of course fully aware of the Ex and that whole daytime soap plot, but were just about losing their shit as they didn’t know anything about this hot dude, who’d walked in to the café and kissed you like he knew you extremely well.

You handed Jake his coffee and helped yourself to a danish cinnamon pastry - yeah, eating the profits again - munching into it and then pointing at your staff members with it. “Okay, guys. Here it is. In its entirety. I went to little cousin’s cocktail party last night as you know, and met the guy who was in here earlier. We left the party, went for a couple of drinks elsewhere, he drove me home, I got out of his car and he drove away. Like, immediately I got out.”

You really didn’t feel the need to mention the kiss he’d stolen before you got out of his car.

Gabrielle’s mouth fell open, “You met him last night???” The implication being that A) how was that possible and B) where did that kiss come from if you hadn’t slept with him? You sighed, taking another bite of pastry. “Yes! And as I’ve just told you,” you looked around to make sure there weren’t any customers in earshot, “he did not stay the night, okay? He didn’t even get out of his car.”

“It’s just that it looked a bit ...” Steve trailed off nervously. “Well...umm... friendly... for someone you’ve only just met,” finished Jake. You nodded. “I’m aware of that. What you saw there was the Billy Russo Show, done purely to embarrass me. He’s a cocky big shit. And trying to get me to go out with him.” “Are you going to?” asked Gabrielle. “Oh, hell yes! Wouldn’t you?” Jake almost got whiplash, he nodded so emphatically, “Yes. Yes, I would.” You all had a good laugh at that.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were only 2 days to go until Friday, and you found yourself panicking. What to wear, what to wear? OK, after mentally reviewing your wardrobe you decided that a shopping trip was in order.

Hanging up your new purchase in the wardrobe, you felt pleased with your choice. Nothing too flashy - you weren’t sure of the venue, so went with smart/casual - a sleek navy number, wraparound style, mid-thigh length and showing only a hint of cleavage. Less is more right?

Teamed with a pair of metallic navy heels, it would be fine. You hoped. What if he was taking you somewhere really low-key? Oh well, you shrugged, if you ended up looking a bit like Cinders at the ball in some local pizzeria, so be it.

Jake and the others were still buzzing about your upcoming date, in fact you’d eventually asked them if they wanted to come along too. They’d at least had the decency to look guilty, but only a little. You were sure that if they found out where you two were headed, they’d follow you. You decided you’d better check for shadowy figures tailing you on Friday night.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

8pm on the dot, the buzzer sounded in your apartment, Billy’s voice announcing that he was downstairs. You were not quite ready, still had a couple of tweaks to make so buzzed him up. He strolled in as you opened the door, leaning in for a kiss to which you turned your head, so it landed on your cheek. “Lipstick!” you trilled, moving back towards the bathroom. “I won’t be long, have a seat. You’re looking good, Russo, by the way.” “Thanks,” you heard his voice from the other room, “and you’re looking absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You’d felt happier when you saw that he was also smart/casual.... what looked like a cashmere burgundy sweater over black jeans, with a leather jacket. He looked edible.

When you emerged back into the living room five minutes later - a veritable vision in navy, you mockingly smirked to yourself - Billy Russo was nowhere in sight. You stopped in your tracks, and then heard a drawer opening in your bedroom. You walked through to it, just in time to see Billy picking up a pair of your lacy silk panties out of your underwear drawer.

“Russo!” you yelled, “put those back, you perv!” He slid the smooth fabric between his long fingers, grinning devilishly at you. “Mmmmm, are you wearin’ something similar right now?” Before you could stop yourself, you bit back, “Who says I’m wearing any at all?” His eyes widened, a big grin appearing on his face. “Oh, really? Wanna prove it?” “No!” you replied, knowing your face was scarlet, “just forget I said that. I’m joking with you.” He shook his head, “Yeah, like I’m goin’ to get that image out of my head anytime soon.”

“Let’s go, Billy,” you said, walking to the front door and pulling on your own leather jacket. “Hey, we’re matching,” he laughed, pointing between your jacket and his, “ain’t that sweet!” “It’s creepy, actually. Matching clothes? Vomit-inducing.” He laughed, “You’re funny.” “No, I’m just not some soppy sappy woman who’s going to fall at your feet, Russo.” He took your hand as you closed and locked your front door, and the two of you headed for the stairs.

“Yeah, I’d kinda got that vibe already,” he grinned at you, “but it doesn’t matter, I know I’m gonna get you in the end.” “Just keep on telling yourself that,” you snarked back.

Looking at the back of his head as he walked down the stairs in front of you, you really wanted to run your fingers through that hair but managed to keep your hands to yourself.

Fastening your seat belt, back in the gleaming Wraith, you watched Billy’s fingers as he fastened his and then placed his hands on the steering wheel. You mentally shook yourself, you were beginning to fantasise about different parts of his body and you’d better snap out of it, you told yourself.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He took you to a really nice Italian restaurant, not too posh, just nice and relaxed with friendly staff and really good food. The conversation from the night in the bar was picked up where it left off, each of you adding more and varied information. You learned that Frank had sadly lost his wife and kids when they innocently got caught up in a savage gang war gun battle. Billy told you that his friend had gone off the rails for a while, but had recently met a lovely lady called Karen and they’d started dating. He was really pleased for him, as he’d been so worried about him for a while. You thought you’d quite like to meet Frank sometime.

You told him something more of your life, thankfully not involving assault and cheating ex-boyfriends this time. He’d been fascinated and truly appreciative of the struggle you’d had to get your business off the ground, saying that he’d been lucky in having a major investor lined up before he’d even left the Marines.

You saw a dark look flit over his face for a moment, but then it cleared and he went on to ask you more questions about your business. You’d both chatted easily together until it was almost midnight, and you’d become “that couple” who were the last ones in the restaurant. You realised that, when he dropped the ‘Billy Big Dick’ nonsense, you really enjoyed his company and felt that you two had clicked even more this evening.

He drove away from the restaurant, and it took you a few minutes to notice that he wasn’t driving the route to your apartment. “Billy,” you sighed, “are we heading to your place by any chance?” That damn smirk was back on his face. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve seen yours, so now you can see mine.” ”Oh, ha bloody ha. I’m not sleeping with you, you know.” A grin appeared on his lips as you glanced across at his profile, illuminated by each passing streetlight. “Just keep on tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he replied mockingly. You laughed out loud, “You cheeky big bastard.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

His apartment was everything you would’ve expected - open plan, with modern, sleek furnishings and decor in dark masculine colours. You settled yourself onto the large sofa, and he headed to the kitchen area; a moment later, you heard wine being poured then his tall figure reappeared, holding the two wine glasses. He handed one to you, and you took a sip - it was very good wine. “So, Billy... I’m guessing your li’l batchelor pad here sees quite a lot of action, and not the type you saw in the Marines, huh?”

That smirk. He sat down next to you, hand going to rest on your shoulder and playing with a strand of your hair. His expression became serious, “No. I don’t bring women back here.”

You scoffed, “Oh come on, Billy... you’re...” then you stopped, looking away from him. “I’m what?” You shook your head. “C’mon, what were you going to say?” “Never mind. Well, if you don’t bring them here, let me guess... you go to their place and disappear before the morning light?” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, breaking eye contact with you. “Okay... that, I can’t deny. How did you guess? And what were you going to say before?”

Oh to hell with it, you thought.

“I was going to say... you’re hot, Billy. So obviously - unless you’ve got a problem down there and need some little blue pills...” his eyebrows rose, his mouth dropping open slightly before he started grinning, “...you won’t be a saint and you’re more than likely a player.”

He leaned in towards you, eyes staring deep into yours, “Firstly, I have no problems with my equipment in any way shape or form,” ....smirk... “it’s in perfect workin’ order. And I’d be more than happy to prove that to you.” His lips met yours in a kiss, quickly growing heated. He pulled away, making eye contact again, “And you’re right, I’m no saint. A player? Yeah, maybe. But I can be a saint for you, if you want me to be.”

“But that wouldn’t be the real Billy Russo, would it?” His eyes were still on you. You carried on, “Look, I’ll level with you. I like you - when you’re not wearing your BDE persona. It’s a total clichè, but I really don’t intend to be just another notch on your no-doubt designer bedframe.”

He smiled at you, “I get it, I really do.” He trailed a finger along your cheekbone, “I wouldn’t be tryin’ to be someone I’m not. I just meant that I like you too, and I feel comfortable dropping the persona with you.” You smiled back. “OK, but Billy?” “Yeah?” “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Laughing, “Oh, yeah?” pulling you against his chest, a hand going to your cheek as he kissed you long and hard. Breaking away, hand on his chest, you whispered, “Yeah...”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was poised above you, looking down at you as if you were something he wanted to devour. Your clothes had joined his on the bedroom floor a little while ago; you were both lying on his very large bed, and yes it was designer-made - you’d asked him.

He gently pushed aside a strand of your hair, before kissing your lips. His mouth then made its way slowly but surely down to your neck and collarbone, and you felt little nips on your skin before his tongue licked your skin slowly. He moved slightly lower and sucked your nipples while his hands were busy massaging your breasts. Your hands moved to his broad shoulders, pulling him down further so you could feel more of his skin against yours.

You heard a chuckle, “So yeah, I guess you really aren’t gonna sleep with me after all, huh?” You shifted out slightly from under his body, “Shut up Billy, and put this to good use,” letting your fingers trail down to his hard length. You slid your fingers around it and gave his tip a firm squeeze. His breath hissed between his lips, and those big hands pulled you back underneath him. “Don’t worry, I was gonna.” You smirked, “I confess I was impressed when I saw what you were packing,” another squeeze, another hiss, his mouth on your neck, “but actions speak louder than words.”

He laughed, “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” Deciding to head for the mother lode, you gave him one last squeeze, firmer than before, sniggering as his hips shot forward. “Same to you,” you said, before sliding your hands into his silky hair at last. Running your fingers right back through it, you sighed out loud and grabbed a handful with each of yours, and tugged. “I see you like my hair,” he smirked.

You leant forward and kissed him, hard. He groaned, kissing you back even harder. Then your hands ran over the muscles of his chest, down the trail of hairs on his lower stomach, before grabbing his cock and wrapping your fingers round it. He growled, “And what ya gonna do with that, sweetheart?” You began stroking him firmly, “This.... until you decide to get off your ass and do something.”

He laughed out loud, and suddenly his hand was between your legs, his thumb on your clit, rubbing hard. His lips at your ear, whispering, “Something like this?” and you felt a long finger plunging into you, swiftly joined by a second one. He began sliding them in and out, curling them, and it had an instant effect on you, your breath hitching. “Billy,” you sighed, your hand stilling momentarily on his length. You heard his low chuckle, and he increased his pace. Okay smartass, you thought, and gave his tip a very firm squeeze. “Aahhh!” you heard, and gave him another one for good measure. “You minx,” he laughed, then picked up pace with his fingers again. Then they were gone from you, and you saw him moving his head downwards, hands moving to your hips, his tongue replacing his fingers. He was lapping at you, his thumb back on your clit, and now you really were in trouble.

You grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails in, beginning to writhe on the bed, and then his fingers were back, sliding in next to his tongue. The combination of thumb, tongue and fingers was like an incendiary bomb going off in your core, and you could feel your climax building by the second. His pace increased and that was it, the explosion happened and you now grabbed his head like a vice, keeping him where he was as the aftershocks of your orgasm washed over you in waves. Very pleasurable waves. Finally, you released his head and you saw his dark eyes meet yours, a satisfied glint in them. “That was only number one, angel,” he grinned, “fasten your seat belt.” “Cocky bastard. And I’m an angel now, am I?” He moved up and back over you, hands sliding up your body.

“For sure,” kissing your neck, nipping the skin lightly with his teeth. “And I’m so lucky, havin’ one in my bed.” He sat up, opening a drawer in his bedside table, scrabbling around until he produced a condom, unwrapping it and holding your gaze as he rolled it on.

His hands moved to your breasts, palming them then circling his thumbs over your nipples as they peaked once again. You grabbed that hair of his again, little gasps making their way between your lips. Your feet were flat on the mattress, knees either side of his thighs and you felt his hand moving down, then the head of his cock was between your legs, edging its way in. Billy thrust right inside you, and there were loud groans from you both as he sunk in. “Mmmm...” he kissed you, tongue diving into your mouth, then he pulled away, gazing at you, “you don’t know just how good you feel around me.” You shifted a bit, rolling your hips to his, “About as good as you feel inside me.”

A low growl, then he was moving on you, fast right from the get-go, his thrusts forcing a moan from you on each stroke. Your legs moved - seemingly of their own accord - around his hips, and this new angle obviously pleased both of you, as the noises the two of you made got even louder. You felt him deep inside you, and every time you squeezed and held him there, he actually whimpered.

“Good puppy!” you managed to gasp out, hearing an answering snort of laughter from him. “I am not...” he gasped back at you between thrusts, “...a fuckin’ puppydog, sweetheart.” “But Billy, you’ve got those big brown eyes ...” your own eyes closed at a particularly forceful thrust, “...and you are fucking me, so...”

His only answer this time was to pull one of your legs higher onto his back, thrusting deep as he did, and then his hand cupped your breast and massaged it hard. That shut you up.

His fingers were at your inflamed core again and then he was rubbing at your clit, making your back arch with sheer pleasure. He was switching between kissing you hungrily and nipping and sucking love bites onto your collarbone. Thank god he wasn’t targeting your neck, you thought, that would look so professional at work. You, meanwhile, were over-indulging in your obsession with his hair, running it back off his forehead with your fingers and tugging on it to your heart’s content.

Finally your over-pleasured body couldn’t take any more, and your climax hit you like a truck. Your nails dug into his muscled shoulders, grabbing him in a death grip and a small scream of “Billy!” exited your open mouth. You felt him give a few sharp thrusts, realising that he was about to come; you heard your name, then a long groan and he released his warm seed into you. He sunk down onto you, kissing you softly but with passion, long fingers laying gently along your jaw and neck as he did so.

“Angel....” he sighed.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

let me down slow (05)

word count; 8368

summary; mitch finally gets to take you out on a date, and you have an important discussion, confessions from both of you.

notes; y’all are going to love this part, their date is just adorable.

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, slight cum play, that’s about it.

You weren’t used to Mitch’s car pulling up in broad daylight, the middle of the day with the worry that someone might see the two of you. Either, you pulling him into the house with a fistful of whatever jumper he was wearing that day, or him taking your hand and pulling you out of your house and toward his car needily before you’d barely even had a chance to close the door.

Today, you wanted to do exactly that, but for entirely different reasons.

You watched as he walked up the driveway, dressed a little more presentable than usual. The messy hair he often wore, and always wore so well, was styled up, freshly washed and fluffier than usual, something you suspected was up to blow-drying, instead of the slightly wavy curls that normally took over on the longer mop at the top of his head, and your fingers itched to run through the softer looking tresses.

The skinny jeans you were used to, but his dirty sneakers had been traded for the cleanest pair of black shoes he owned, a pair you’d seen sitting in his closet, ‘rarely worn but brought out for special occasions’ he’d told you. A dark blue henley on his upper arms that clung to his chest in all the right places and you were absolutely certain he knew exactly what it was that he was doing to you, the outfit no doubt picked with care to be formal but drive you a little insane over the course of the evening.

His jacket was slung over his arm, a lightweight black layer for later in the night, and you watched as he shuffled his arm a little, adjusting the jacket before he was disappearing from your sight, and only a second later, he was knocking at the front door. Hopping down from your windowsill, you snatched up your boots from the floor and took them with you, swiping your bag from the dresser as you passed it, and making your way down the stairs, taking a second to catch your breath before you were swinging the door open to greet him.

“Hi.”

He grinned, eyes scanning down along your body slowly, before he was looking back up to you, his eyes twinkling a little. “You’re wearing the jumper I gave you. On our date.”

“You didn’t tell me what we were doing, so I figured I could go half and half. I’m casual with the jumper, but I figured the skirt dresses it up a bit, and then the boots can be either, so..”

You knew you were spewing out nerve-induced rambling, but you were nervous. It was a date, with a really attractive man who for whatever reasons he had was very much into you, and you felt the same about him, and it was different to the other dates you’d been on.

Going to dinner with someone you vaguely know is fine, because you can exchange small talk and ask questions like ‘what is your favourite colour?’ and ‘what are your plans for the future?’ but this was entirely different. If things didn’t work out with them, it didn’t matter because you weren’t losing much, but if for any reason this date went badly, you were losing Mitch, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that.

“You look beautiful.”

You let out a sigh at his words, giving him a smile, before stepping out of the doorway and letting him inside while you put your shoes on. You’d never really bothered with your outfit to see Mitch in before, because it usually ended up on the floor within a few seconds of being together.

“I brought you something.” Glancing up from where you were doing up the laces on the front of your shoes, he shifted his jacket out of the way, the crinkling of plastic soon being followed by a small bouquet of flowers, your jaw dropping as the brightly colourful bundle was revealed to you. “Kat always used to get at me about not being romantic enough, and I know it seems like a little much for a first date, but I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them, they’re amazing.” You took them from his hands, the stare lingering between the two of you as heat crawled up his cheeks a little, and you leaned in to press a simple kiss to his cheek, before taking the collection through to the kitchen, and you heard him shuffle through to follow you. Silence hung in the air as you filled up a vase, arranging the flowers neatly within and placing it down on the counter, fingers stroking over one of the petals. “I can put them upstairs in my room later.”

He nodded, his face lighting up a little bit, but then that silence was back, and you wiggled your hands a little by your sides, opening and closing them in fists, before he was holding his own out to you, clearing his throat a little as he offered his hand, and you only hesitated for a second before placing your hand into his, fingers wrapping around his palm as he did the same to you.

“This is tense, right? It’s not just me feeling that?”

“It’s incredibly fucking awkward.” He let out a dry laugh, but the rigidity in his body slipped away a little and he shook himself off. “I haven’t had to do the whole first date thing in like five years and it’s just.. strange. It feels weird.”

“If it makes you feel any better, there’s really nothing I can think of that would make me not want to go on a date with you, and there’s nothing that I think would make me not want to know you. We kind of have an advantage.” His brows raised a little at your words, and that same playful energy was coming back between you both, sparking at the air and changing the tension into more of a sparkling chemistry.

“An advantage?”

“Yeah, I mean, think of it this way: you already know I’d be happy doing anything with you, even if we just drive around and get milkshakes, like other nights. Plus, you already know you’re going to get some action at the end of it, and you know I already like you. Those are like, the three big first date worries, and you’re already in the clear.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think of it that way. Can we start over then?”

“I would love that.” You promised, and he grinned, adjusting his hand in you own to lace your fingers together properly, before tugging you closer to him and bumping his nose against your own, teasing you a little as the tips rubbed together slowly, and he let out the breath he was holding in a long sigh. “Hi kitten, you look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to your own in a slow kiss before he was bringing his other hand up to circle around your waist, pulling you up to press you into his chest, and you held onto him tightly, hands smoothing along from his forearms and up to his biceps until you reached his shoulders rubbing slowly as he let out wanton little sounds of satisfaction into your mouth, before he was finally pulling away.

“I figured we could do something casual, I didn’t want us to have to do anything too fancy, that felt like a lot of pressure.”

“I’m not a fancy kind of gal, I don’t own the kind of outfits you wear to restaurants where you have to book two months in advance and wine is only sold by the bottle and costs a month’s bills per glass.” He grinned at your words, tugging you along towards the door as you grabbed your bag, swinging it up onto your shoulder and pausing to lock the house, before letting him guide you down to the car.

“So, what do you think about dinosaur-themed mini-golf and then going to a diner after?”

He started up the car as you buckled yourself in, your head snapping up to look at him with wide eyes and a smile that could light up a room. “Did you just say dinosaur-themed mini-golf?”

“I found this cool little place just out of town. It has miniature waterfalls, a volcano that erupts and these mechanical dinosaurs that look great.” He confirmed, and you pressed your face into your hands to mask your excitement, your whole body all but vibrating with sheer giddy thrill. He reached over to pull one of your hands down and away from your face, holding onto it tightly as he pulled your hand across to sit in his lap, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand as he held onto it tightly. “So, I’m assuming I made a good call, then?”

“The best call! Like, ever! Holy shit, I can’t wait. Can you take pictures with the dinosaurs?”

“There’s even one where you can climb up so it looks like you’re riding a t-rex. I googled it very intensely to make sure it was right.” Your jaw dropped, you hand squeezing around his so tightly you swore he’d drop it, but he just he'd on with his own strength instead.

“This is going to be the best first date in the history of first dates.” He laughed at your words, turning to look at you for only a second, before he was turning up the music, the playlist the two of you had been working on was already playing, and you settled back into the seat, the lyrics already flowing from you as you sang out the words, and he did the same.

Pulling up to ‘dino-golf’, you were already practically bursting at the seams with excitement as you hopped down and out of the car, looking around at the environment. A song that was eerily familiar to the Jurassic Park theme tune was playing out over the speakers of the carpark and you could hear the waterfalls and laughs of the other people on the course, just across the lot and on the other sides of some fences.

The top of the volcano was visible, lighting up with orange as it rumbled lowly, clearly building up to its explosion but not having reached it yet, and Mitch made his way around to the side of the car towards you, pressing his lips to your temple and wrapping an arm around your waist. Guiding you up to the front desk, you swiped a leaflet on your way, tucking it into your bag as you moved through the lobby, and curled into his side a little, cherishing the fact that you were allowed to do so, and an intoxicating rush of excitement shot along your spine at the idea that someone was going to see the two of you together, and that it was okay.

She didn’t even blink twice, taking a payment from Mitch as he handed over his card, before giving you both the clubs from behind the desk, a paper wristband to put on and a small pencil and score sheet, before sending you over to the doors, on the other side of which you could pick out the colour of golf ball you wanted to use. Stepping out of the way of those in the queue behind you both, you balanced your club under your arm as he held the paper strip out to you with a bashful smile, and you peeled the plastic off of it and sealed it onto his skin, allowing him to do the same for you.

Stepping through the main doorways and back outside, your feet hit artificial grass, a member of staff greeting you almost immediately, and offering you a basket of multicoloured golf balls, and you picked out an orange one, matching it to the colour on your jumper, and he followed with pale blue, before you were guided in the direction of the first hole and told to follow the arrows.

You had decided to go first, placing the ball on the marked little ‘x’ at the beginning, the first hole being simple enough and straight ahead, a little green flag sticking out of it, with a dinosaur fact printed on that you could read once you went over. It only took you two hits to get it to its destination, and you were overly proud of yourself, your ego feeling boosted, before watching Mitch swiftly do it in one, a smirk on his face as you stuck your tongue out at him, your boasting cut off.

“Kitten, I literally got a scholarship for sports, I play lacrosse, I have an edge here.”

“You’re just irrationally good at all things involving balls.” Your words had been huffed out, before he was scooping both up from the little basket that had caught them, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in close to him.

“I don’t know, I’d say you’re pretty good with balls too. I mean, you’re certainly good with m-” His words were cut off by a laugh as you clamped a hand over his mouth, staring at him in shock, before breaking out into your own giggles, despite your attempts to hide them, and his next statement was muffled behind your hand as he spoke, the two of you moving on to the next one, and you removed your hand and allowed him to repeat himself. “I said that maybe if you’re lucky later on, I’ll let you win with some other balls.”

“Yeah, well, I always win at that game.”

You scoffed, writing down your scores onto the sheet before lining yourself up for the second shot, and before you could shoot, he was directing your gaze back to his, his mouth meeting yours for a quick but sweet kiss, that soon became deep enough that you dropped your club in order to hold onto him, his own hands dropping what they held so that he could grip your waist tightly, pulling you into him further and further until your bodies were pressed together. “I think I win that one too, because I get to be with you, and nothing tops that.”

“You’re ridiculously cheesy. What happened to the moody Mitch who barely spoke to me unless he had to, and just thought I was his brother's annoying best friend?” You flicked the tip of his nose, grinning when his face scrunched up a little, before you were pulling away to pick up all the equipment you had discarded, before someone caught up behind the pair of you and made you hurry. This was enough pressure as it was, but you couldn't deal with an audience.

Lips brushed your ear as you lined yourself up for the next shot, and you paused, waiting to hear what he had to say and you pressed back into him a little. “He found an awesome chick, and realised that she was so much more than the girl he thought she was.”

Shaking your head fondly, you made your shot, watching as the ball went way beyond its destination, bounding off of the small wall at the other side, and you pouted, watching for where it would roll to. To your great surprise, it inched closer and closer to the hole, and seemingly seemed to slow as it approached, and for a second you thought it would stop just shy of falling in, but it didn’t, and you held your hands up in a loud cheer, turning to the man behind you to see that he was wearing an equally proud smile, holding his free hand up to high-five you upon making the shot.

“I knew you could do it. You’re a pro, already.”

“You’re going to jinx it.” Your words came out in a sing-song tone as you walked over to the other side, watching as he took his own shot, perfectly making it on the first try, and you wondered if he was going to make every shot a hole-in-one.

The two of you moved on, and around the tenth hole of the course, he caved to your asks to help, the insists that you should do it alone to feel proud were dropped the second you pouted and bent over a little further than necessary, you skirt riding up at the back, and he was more than happy to stand behind you and help you adjust your aim and stance if it meant that nobody else would be seeing anything that he deemed for his eyes only. Not that it gave much assistance to your skill, you were still all over the place with the pressure of your swings and the angles you hit at, but you had fun, and that was all that mattered.

It was also incredibly enthralling to watch Mitch each time, once you had notice the way his fingers flexed instinctually around the metal pipe, or the way his eyes narrowed a little bit when he prepared to shoot, the way he nibbled on his lip in concentration and how the veins in his arms that drove you wild were flashed to you when he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows halfway around. He was like a walking work of art, and he didn’t even know it.

He didn’t make every shot the first time, but he never exceeded needing more than four, even on the rounds that were taking you over ten hits to achieve each time, and he rewarded you with mumbled praises each time you got it, the open affections being something you knew you could find yourself getting used to. You liked not having to hide with him now, you liked that when you noticed another girl’s gaze lingered on him that you could lean in and press a kiss to his lips that he would reciprocate without question, or that when he did something that made your heart flutter a little bit, you could take his hand in you own and he would hold onto you tightly.

All you had wanted for so long was to have someone to give your love to, who would give it back and more, and now you felt like you’d finally found that. You watched the volcano erupt on the hour, water pouring from it and made to look orange by brought lights that shone underneath and out from the base, and you took a picture in front of it, the sky behind you lit up with shades of orange and the drops of water that had fired into the air raining down around you. You took pictures with all of the animations, and with Mitch, and a fair few of him while he wasn’t looking, a collection you could save for yourself, the small and genuine smiles he got each time you cheered him on for getting the shot, or when he was watching you make your own, not realising there was a camera on him while his eyes were on the ball.

A wave of sadness flashed over you at the idea that you couldn't post the images anywhere, you couldn’t profess your adoration for him to the people who really mattered, to your friends and family, without fear of it getting back to Stiles before you were ready to tell him, but at least you had them, the memories of the two of you to be saved forever to your phone, until the day came for you to either delete them, or share them with the world. You really did hope it was the latter choice that would come into play.

It was near the end of the course that you found the giant t-rex that you could take pictures atop of, and he chuckled at the gasp of excitement you let out, your hand finding his upper arm as you squeezed excitedly, and the next few holes seemed to simultaneously drag on while flying by, and you knew you’d completely bombed on all three of them, but you couldn’t help it, and your scores weren’t going to be winning any prizes anyway. Upon reaching the base of it, you peered around the back, finding a set of steps that you could climb up to reach the top, before turning around to look at the man before you, and he waved his phone at you, already out and on the camera app as he prepared to snap the picture of you.

“Get on up there, I’ll get a good shot.” You turned to look back at it, humming under your breath as you stared up at the giant statue,

“You think we can get someone else to take it, baby? I want us both on it.” When you didn’t get a reply from him, you turned around to find him staring at you intently, and your brows shot up in silent question. “You don’t have to take a picture with me up there, I just thought it would be fun i-”

“You called me ‘baby’.”

You paused, looking at him for a second to face him more fully, before clearing your throat and trying to ignore the blush rising on your cheeks at the pet name you’d barely even processed having said, the word just slipping out with the sentence.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever given me a nickname.” He pressed in close to you, cupping your cheeks and pressing an eager and passionate kiss to you lips that had you melting into him as he laughed breathlessly into your mouth at the way you repeated it to him, the exchange intimate and private and utterly perfect given the timing, before he was resting his forehead against your own and taking quick puffs of breath. “I absolutely want to take a picture on that fuckin’ dinosaur with you, let me just go and give someone my phone.”

He was dashing away from you a second later, jogging down towards a couple on the next course, and you made your way up the steps to the little platform out of photo-sight behind it. There was a ledge to sit on, definitely only designed for one person, but you’d make it work, you were determined too, and after a few moments, he was appearing at the top of the steps beside you, eyes locking on the small seat.

“Huh.”

“We can make it work.” He nodded, navigating himself around you until he was sitting on it, before guiding you down into his lap, the two of you positioning until you were squeezed onto the chair, but fit comfortably, looking down at the woman standing with the phone at the base, taking a few steps back to get it all fitted in for you, before she was shooting you a thumbs up. The man with her, whom you assumed to be her husband from the playful way they bickered over the angle, held up his fingers in a count down for you both, and you smiled widely, holding your hands up in the air above you as the picture was taken.

She took a few more, before others were waiting for their chance to get a picture, and so you stepped down from it, thanking the two of them when they handed the device back, and they headed back over to their own section of the course to continue their game, and you did the same, but not before looking through all of the shots and choosing the ones that were your favourites, each of you sharing the photos from your device with each other, until you had copies of every shot from throughout the evening.

Once you reached the end, you were adding up your scores, finding that Mitch had less than a quarter of what you did, the staff member at the end informing you that he may actually have broken a record and that he would be put on the leaderboard if he asked at front desk, and you were absolutely determined to make sure he did.

It turned out he had, and was now being placed as third on the Top Ten board they had out, giving you a mock glare as he filled out a little form with his score, and his name on, and some details for next time while she printed him off a certificate from the machine. You looked around the waiting room, finding a photobooth tucked into the back with Jurassic themed greenscreen backgrounds, fishing into your purse for extra change as you stood near it pushing the coins into the machine and selecting your background choice, but not starting up yet.

He came walking back over, face a little red as he gripped his certificate and had a badge in his hand that said ‘I am a dino-golf legend’ on, and you cracked up at the sight of it. He rolled his eyes, opening your bag where it hung at your side hiding the piece of paper and the plastic award inside.

“You are the absolute worst.” He grouched, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, laughing lightly, and he continued to frown at you, but wrapped his own around you in return, tipping his head to the side when you leaned in to kiss at his cheek, and you felt the pull of the skin indicating he was smiling, even if he did pretend to be mad. “I did get a voucher though, we get free entry next time.”

“Next time?”

“If you want to come again, that is.” He showed you the waxed piece of paper, before adding that to those in your bag and sealing it up, accepting the kiss you gave him as you nodded.

“I would love that. But, before we leave this time, we have to take photobooth pictures. It has backgrounds.”

“Backgrounds, huh? Can’t miss that.” He crowded you into the box, and arm over your shoulders as you pressed into his sides, and you clicked go on the machine, the countdown beginning as you posed. It was exactly as romantically cliché as you’d hoped. You posed for the first two, before feeling his nose nudging at your cheek in the third, and his hand on your jaw turning your head to the side for a kiss at the camera click went off.

The sounds of cogs turning and photo developing sounded out, but with the curtain pulled and a moment of privacy to yourselves, you allowed yourself to press back into him a little deeper, your tongue dipping out to play with his before he even had to ask, the lingering taste of mint on his tongue, and you were more than happy to indulge in it, letting yourself get lost, until you heard the click of the photos dropping down to be collected, and you forced yourself to pull back from him.

Pushing back the curtain and climbing out, you grabbed the set of four, holding it up to show him as he followed behind you, the two of you making your way back towards the car as you observed the pictures you’d taken.

“Look at that, now we’ve made out in a Triassic jungle. Don’t you feel accomplished?”

“You’re such a little weirdo, I love it.” He muttered, nuzzling at your temple before holding open the car door for you and letting you hop up and inside. You pushed the picture card into a piece of the framework on the dash, watching it hold steady, and brushing your fingers over the plain bit outside of each frame, loving the way it sat there, making it all feel a little more personalised. “Can I keep them?”

“Yeah, you can keep them in your car, or your wallet, or whatever.” You waved at them, strapping yourself in and watching as he sat up enough to pull his wallet from his pocket, before selecting them. Tearing the paper in half, he tucked the final two into his wallet, leaving the first two goofy ones up in the place you’d left them, showing it to you with a grin.

“How about both?”

“I can’t believe you’ve got a picture of us in your wallet, that’s deep.” You teased, and he thumbed at them adoringly before putting it away and digging out his keys instead, starting up the car.

“So, you hungry?”

When Mitch had said diner, he really meant it. It wasn’t the city kind of diner that was more like a restaurant, the ones that pretended to be but actually had an elite menu with four courses and everything you’d expect from someone fancy, but this was a diner.

It had a small menu that mostly consisted of greasy and fast to cook foods, a range of breakfast meals that could be served at any time of the day, and it still had a sixties theme lingering about it despite the efforts to redo it, the history was still shining clear underneath. It was perfect, everything from the checkered floor to the leather booths, you were loving it, settling down happily to pour over the menu and decide what you wanted to eat.

“The burgers here are amazing. I always stop here for food when I’m on my way too or from college.”

“You stop here? It’s only, like, an hour out of town.”

“Best food for miles, though, and it’s just kind of a tradition now. Maybe in fall, we’ll be driving together, and I can share it with you.” He reached out across the table, taking your hand in his and pulling it across the table towards him, your other hand coming up to hold onto his as well, and you laced your fingers together, menus temporarily forgotten.

“Have you ever shared your tradition with anyone else?”

The question hung heavily between you both, and the movement of his thumb over the back of your hand paused for a second as he looked at you, swallowing thickly and ducking his eyes for only a second. “I’ve never brought anyone here before. Everything I do with you is totally brand new, I promise.” You let out a relieved breath, nodding for a second, and he stood up, leaning over the table to press a kiss to your lips before sinking back down into his seat, and taking his menu in both hands. “You’re not a replacement, or a substitute for her. I like you for you, and I wasn’t looking to get feelings for someone else while I came home but I did, and I like that you and me happened while I was being myself, so I don’t have to pretend with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, even if he didn’t look up at you as he said those words but you knew he was hanging on your response, and you stretched your feet out under the table, nudging your foot was his and tangling your legs together. “Just so you know, you’re not a replacement for what I felt for your brother.”

“Felt, or feel?”

The question felt like a punch to the gut, and he looked at you for only a second, a thousand different emotions flashing through his eyes before he cleared his throat a little, looking down at his menu and leaving the silence hanging thickly in the air between you both. You were still staring at him, lost and confused and looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you were still a little frozen from the question, feeling like there was stone weighing you down from the inside out.

The waitress came over to take your orders, and you had no idea what you wanted, Mitch listing off what you assumed or be his usual with ease, and he looked at you, your eyes directing down to your menu to avoid his, before you barely managed to choke out what you wanted, giving the woman a polite smile before she was moving away to get your drinks, and you finally looked back up at him.

“Mitch, I really like you. Like, more than I‘ve ever liked anyone other than Stiles. It’s different now, with you. You make me feel different, you make me feel everything I never thought I’d get back. The way I feel about you is nothing like the way I feel about him. It’s exciting, and new, and you want me back, an-” Your voice cracked as you spoke, and he stood up from his side, rounding the booth and cupping your face in his.

“Kitten, please don’t cry. I’m not mad at you, I’m really not.” He shushed you quietly as tears welled up in your eyes, and he kissed at your cheeks delicately, letting you calm your racing heart. “Don’t cry on our first date, I don’t want that to be what we look back on.”

“I’m sorry, Mitch.”

“Don’t be sorry, he was your first love, and that’s always hard to forget. I may not be in love with Katrina anymore but she’ll always hold a place in my heart, and I suspect my little brother will hold that for you, too.” He tipped your chin up, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips, and breaking away when two glasses were placed down on the table before you both, and he pulled your soda over to you, prompting you to take a sip.

“I have such an amazing time with you, every single time.”

“I know, sweetheart. I feel the same.” He tucked some hair behind your ears, letting you curl into his side as his arm wrapped around you, and he let you press your face into his neck, soothing yourself with the warmth of his skin and the smell of his cologne, the familiar and unique way it made you feel when he held onto you. “Just tell me I have a chance, okay? I don’t think I could handle competing to make you fall in love with me, if you’re already in love with him.”

You let out a breathless laugh, nodding slowly and pulling away to hold onto his face, pressing your forehead to his as the unshed tears began to clear from your eyes. “You have a really good chance, Mitch. Like, a sure thing. You have the game rigged.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.” His eyes lit up at the use of the pet name once again, and he leaned down, connecting your mouths in a kiss deeper than any you had shared before, expressing everything that you weren’t saying but confirming everything that you had.

When the food arrived, the mood had cleared, and the two of you ate happily together. He remained on your side of the booth, the two meals becoming shared as he tempted you to try some of his and stole some of yours, your plates pushed up together and your meals shared, until the plates were empty and you were both stuffed, slouched in the booth with your hands held and mumbled words shared.

When he went to the bathroom, you jumped at the chance to pay the bill, wanting to share the costs together and treat him just as much as he liked to treat you. When the table was clear of plates and waitress handing you a receipt when he came back out, he shook his head, but was biting the inside of his cheek to contain his smile, and he took both of your hands in his, pulling you up to your feet and thanking you server as he pulled you out of the door, the bell jingling overhead.

“How am I supposed to treat you and win you over if you buy dinner?”

“That would be called buying me, which makes it prostitution, and I’ll put out for you anyway.” He poked at your sides, growling in your ears a little as he pulled you back into his chest by the waist, and he nipped at your ear lightly. “Besides, you won me over the day you looked after me during my period, even though you didn’t get anything for it.”

“I got to spend the whole day with you, didn’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him away a little but connecting your hands before he got too far, the two of you stumbling along as the night began to set in, the sunset painting a pretty picture across the horizon. He dragged you in close until your bodies were pressed together, just the two of you wrapped up in one another beside the car, the world slipping away for just a moment. “Do you want to go for a walk along the edge of the preserve?”

“I would way rather take you home, while we still have a few hours to ourselves, and take our time as I have my way with you.” Your jaw dropped as his lips brushed your own with every word, but he pulled back, shrugging his shoulders casually. “But, if you want to go for a walk, we can do that, I guess.”

“You’re right, let’s go home.”

“No, no, no.” He sighed, trying to pull you away from the car, a shit-eating grin on his face, and you dug your heels into the ground to hold yourself still. “You wanted to go for a walk, so let’s do it.”

“If you take me home right now, I’ll blow you when we get there.”

“Sold. In the car, kitten.” He was singing a different tune from the second you’d said the words, slapping at your ass cheekily as he encouraged you up into the vehicle, before getting in himself. The drive was fairly short all things considered, but it still felt like it dragged on for an eternity, the lingering touches you shared and the longing glances being something that only teased the pair of you further and further.

Stumbling into the house consisted of messy and wet kisses, tongues tangling visibly and moans pouring out into the air as you tripped up the stairs in a bid to reach his room while pawing at one another desperately. Making your way along the halls, you fell through the door, your hands tugging that dark blue henley up and over his head, his arms raising to allow you too.

He was pulling at your skirt, yanking it down your legs as you messed with his belt, yanking it from the loops and dropping it to the floor as he stopped the movements of his mouth along your neck, snapping away to peer down at the panties you had one, a loud sound bubbling up from his throat. “Black lace panties, does the bra match?”

“Why don’t you find out?” You lifted your arms up, and he peeled the jumper off of your body, the matching top half being revealed to him as he threw away the rest of your clothes, and you stood before him, in nothing but lingerie and heeled boots. “So, you like?”

“I’ve never seen you wear these before. You’ve been hiding them from me.”

“They’re special, it’s my super pretty date underwear. You earned it today.” You smoothed your hands up his chest, his eyes blown wide with lust and practically black, before taking a handful of his hair and pulling his mouth back down to clash with your own. While he was distracted with your mouth, you were able to pop the button on his jeans, slipping your hand underneath to palm at him through his boxers, his hard cock pressing into your hand and throbbing with each rub.

His own hands were cupping your cheeks, hips rolling into your hand as your other clung to his waist, and he nipped at your lower lip when the burn for oxygen became too much. Kissing along his neck, he tipped his head back, letting you suck and nip along his throat, before your tongue was dragging between the defined lines of his muscles to lick down across his chest and stomach, before settling on your knees.

Brushing his fingers through your hair, he beamed down at you, watching as you tugged his jeans and his boxers to sit around his ankles, his cock springing up and pointing out towards your face. Dragging the tip of your tongue along him, from the base to the tip, before lapping at the slit that was leaking precum out onto his skin.

“Fuck, you look so good on your knees for me. Even better when you let me fuck your pretty mouth. Open up for me.”

You did as told, your jaw dropping open and he slipped his cock between your lips, groaning out as the wet heat of your mouth surrounded him entirely. He pushed in until you were gagging, before he set a slow and steady pace once your lips sealed around him. His fingers were pulling at your hair as he continually tried to smooth back the strands so that he could see your face. He loved the way your lips would stretch around his cock, he loved the way you looked when your eyes watered and spit drooled from your mouth with every thrust he delivered to you.

He liked to take care of you, but Mitch was truly filthy in his own ways. Gripping at his thighs, your nails were digging into his flesh as you forced yourself further down, pressing past your gag reflex as far as you could go, and his legs trembled under your hands, his eyes wide as you pulled back to drag in deep and gasping breaths, and you licked along his shaft, before taking the tip back between your lips once again. Focusing your attention there, you swiped your tongue along the underside, loving the noises you knew how to drag from him, and the reactions you knew how to get out of him.

“Tell me what you want, tell me how you want me.”

He groaned out at the prompt, his mouth dropping open and beginning to spill his thoughts without a filter as you went back to bobbing along his shaft slowly. “I want to fuck you slow and deep tonight, not our usual quick and frantic hookups. I need you to know how much you mean to me tonight, and I need to know you feel the same, so I want to fuck you until you’re begging me for more, begging me to make you cum. I want to watch you unravel, I want you to remember that I’m the one who drives you wild, I’m the one who knows how to take care of you.”

You stilled, looking up at him through your lashes, the words you wanted to speak so badly to him were right there, but you didn’t want this to be how you said it at first, you didn’t want to tell him what you wanted to say until you didn’t have to hide it.

You didn’t want to say it until you knew you were completely and utterly his. Instead, you rose back up, letting him kick off the rest of his own clothes as you slipped off your boots and made your way over to the bed, dragging him with you by both of his hands.

“Show me how much you want me.”

He slipped a hand up behind you, unhooking the latch on your bra and peeling it away down your arms. He cupped your tits in place of the fabric, thumbs dragging over your already pebbled nipples and the sparks shot along your body, your back arching up into him, but he pushed you back with a wicked grin, letting you fall back onto the bed and bounce with the mattress.

“Just gonna’ throw me around like that?” You teased, but lifted your hips, anyway, when he made to peel your panties from your legs, and he threw them away over his shoulder, crawling up the bed toward you as you moved away from him and he wrapped a hand around your ankle, pulling you back down towards him to trap you underneath himself.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”

“Touché.” He nodded at your submission, before he was dipping down and taking a nipple between his teeth to tug on it, pulling it away from your chest and scraping his teeth across it before he let go, and you could feel yourself becoming undone with every touch he gave to you. Lining himself up, his hips rocked into you slowly, thrusting up slowly until he was fully sheathed within your tight heat, and you looped your arms under his own to grip tightly to his body.

His chest was pressed to yours, and he set a slow rhythm, fingers clenched in the bedding beside your head as he began to drag in and out of you slowly, and you rolled your hips up to meet him. The usual rapid and bruising collisions of your bodies was changed tonight, it was emotional and passionate and you let out a sob of pure need at the feel of it, overwhelming as he showed you what it meant to be loved.

Your nails were tearing streaks down his back, your throat raw from crying out his name each time he hit against your sweet spot perfectly, every time his skin dragged over yours in a way so erotic you felt yourself flooding around him. He was working his mouth over your body, no patch of skin left untouched by his mouth, covered with kisses or trails of his tongue, as he made sure to worship you in the way he had promised to do. You had never felt this way before, not even with the way he held you when you weren’t fucking, or the way he held you were, but this was a connection on a whole new level.

Locking your hips around his waist, you flipped him over, sinking back down onto him as he gripped at your hips and let you rock your body down onto him. Sitting up to meet you, his mouth found yours, and your movements slowed until you were simply circling in his lap, his hips twitching up the occasional urge to meet your own, but other than that you were both still. The only movements shared were the grasping of wandering hands and the swirling of your tongues between lazily dancing lips.

“You are my world right now, do you know that?”

“Jesus Christ, how does your soft talk affect me more than your dirty talk?” He cursed out as you clenched around him, laying back in the pillows and dragging you with him so that he could fuck up into you with as much power as he could. You cried out, your eyes rolling back in your head and colours exploding around you as everything in your life seemed to fall into place as an orgasm more meaningful and memorable than any you’d had before came crashing over you, leaving you a trembling and quivering mess in his arms. “Fuck! You’re so tight!”

“Don’t stop! Please, just don’t stop.”

You were gasping for breath, riding back onto his cock as the stimulation overwhelmed you but the orgasm building up within you for a second time was undeniably stronger, and you could no longer form words, screams leaving you in desperate begs as you hurtled over the edge, and pulled out of you quickly, cum splattering across your stomach and tits, painting your skin with his arousal as he bit down on his lower lip to muffle the noises that he was making.

Your body collapsed down on top of his, uncaring of the cum splattered across your body as you dropped down onto him, and it seemed he didn’t care either, because he wrapped his arms around you and rolled you over so that his body was sprawled out atop your own. You were both fighting for breath, sweaty and dirty and perfectly content as you curled up in his arms. Tears came to your eyes as you snuggled into him, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, sniffling a little as he brushed a hand over the back of your head, twisting his head to kiss your temple.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m just so happy here, with you, right now.” You didn’t bother to lie, and he pulled back long enough to press a collection of longing kisses to your lips.

“You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been this happy, and you did that.” He pushed himself up from the bed, and waddled away for a moment to the bathroom, before returning with a clean chest and a washcloth, wiping over your skin and pressing kisses to each clean patch. Once he was done, he disposed of the cloth and his old clothes into the wash basket, folding yours as he placed them on his desk and kicking his bedroom door shut, lest anyone in his family come home early and see you both.

Crawling up the bed beside you, he collapsed down into the pillows, letting out a low groan of satisfaction and relief, and snuggling down into his own pillows as the two of you lay in companionable silence together, regaining your clarity as the sex-drunk haze cleared up a little.

“Will you stay?”

“What about your dad, or Stiles?” You whispered, and he rolled onto his side, brushing some sweaty hair out of your face and pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll lock the door, won’t let anyone in. Give you some of my clothes to wear, sneak you out in the morning.” You remained still, nibbling on your lip as you contemplated it, before sighing and nodding, a gentle smile offered to him.

“Fine, but only if you let me wear those really soft-looking black sweatpants with the crocodile on the pocket.” Your bargain was well received, because he nodded, waving in the direction of the drawer, before pulling you back into his arms.

“You got it.”

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp x reader smut #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp/reader smut #mitch rapp smut #mitch rapp american assassin #mitch month #mitchtober #mitch-tober #LMDS #let me down slow #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien/reader smut #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien american assassin

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW? (for @ptersparkers writing challenge)

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: Rafe falls for you at the beach. He’s nothing like they say he is, and he just so happens to turn a new leaf with you.

word count: 2k

additional: this is pure fluff with soft!rafe. doesn’t entirely ignore the addiction and other issues, but doesn’t exactly address them, either.

masterlist | tag list

written for an anon

Rafe Cameron walks up to you at the beach, on a sunny day, with hair styled with a little too much gel, a pair of sunglasses on top of it, a curious smile on his lips, and a reputation that precedes him.

He greets you with a simple ‘hello,’ and your mind gives you a brief summary of all the things you know about him.

Being two years older than you, he was at your high school for half of your time there. Most of your friends drooled over his fancy car, polo shirts that screamed American money, and how his tongue was allegedly made of silk. He’s renowned for being a notorious party boy, a massive flirt, and someone who hasn’t faced any legal charges yet because of who his daddy is.

Personally, you’ve never had any particular opinions on him, but considering he’s now standing mere three feet from you and waiting for a response, the situation is calling for it.

You decide to smile. ‘Hi.’

‘I’m sorry if this seems a little weird,’ he admits, ‘but I saw you from where I was standing with my friends and I had to come say hi.’

This makes you chuckle, because his cheeks and his nose turn red, and he stumbles over his words. It’s nothing like the suave Rafe Cameron you’ve heard so much about.

‘Well, that’s certainly a way to get a girl’s attention.’ You give him a warm smile and extend your hand, which he takes. ‘Y/N.’

‘You have a really pretty name, Y/N.’ He repeats your name once more, as if testing the way it rolls in his mouth. ‘I’m Rafe.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m guessing my reputation precedes me.’

‘You’d guess correctly.’

Rafe makes a grimace and sighs, shaking his head slightly. ‘And here I was thinking I’d make a great first impression.’

You laugh because there's something so easy and unexpectedly relaxing about the boy in front of you. With his hands in his pockets, a crooked smile to his lips and a sheer layer of redness covering his face, he is nothing like you’d expect.

So you shrug, leaning against the wooden fence with you arms crossed on your chest. ‘It’s not a bad first impression. I don’t really care about what I’ve heard.’

An eyebrow shoots up. ‘You don’t?’

‘I’m not naive enough to think everything people say is the truth. I like seeing things for myself and then judging them.’

‘That’s a smart way to do things.’ He sounds impressed enough to bring an even bigger smile out of you.

The conversation continues, somehow turning from small talk and introductions into a discussion about the importance of other people's opinions on one's own. It’s a pleasant surprise when you find Rafe as engaged as yourself, with a little wrinkle between his brows whenever he takes a pause to think, or the same crooked but curious grin when you tell him something he finds interesting.

‘Don’t your friends miss you?’ you ask, nudging your head in the direction of the two boys he pointed at earlier.

Rafe glances over, before turning back to you. ‘Is that your way of telling me to leave?’

‘Kind of,’ you admit with an apologetic smile. ‘It’s getting late and I only planned on coming here for a few minutes, not almost an hour.’

‘Has it been that long already?’

‘You know how it goes, time flies when you're having fun.’

He nods.

You don’t know if he’s aware of how the opposite of subtle he is, but you’re as far from oblivious as he is from unnoticeable. His eyes glaze over you more than once, with the same curiosity that is in his smile when you speak. It’s a look you’ve seen on many boys’ faces. A mixture of attraction and interest, with a little bit of wonder and perplexity. is she worth my time? the look is asking. is she someone i am interested in?

If this were all, you wouldn’t have looked at him twice, let alone held a conversation this long. The difference between the look you’re so familiar with and the one on Rafe’s face is that as the conversation goes on, whenever the corner of his mouth quips, the look becomes a little less wonder and a little more certainty.

It’s this particular thing that lands him a ten-digit number in his contacts, and a promise of a continuation of the conversation. He walks with you until the end of the beach, which is where you leave for the town and he goes back to his friends. He leaves as he came – hands in the pockets of his shorts and a face with a red tinge to it. There is nothing smooth or Casanova-like to him, and it is that very fact that makes you realise that finally, after four years of hearing about him, you finally have an opinion on Rafe Cameron.

And it is this: nothing you’ve ever heard about him is true.

★

The relationship between Rafe and you develops at a steady rate. True to his word, he calls you less than twenty-four hours after your conversation, and it’s one of the very few times you’re glad someone calls instead of texts. He has a nice, soothing voice, and he doesn’t drag out the conversation. It’s more of a confirmation that the promise he gave you was not empty.

He asks you out after a few days of scarce conversation. He isn’t much of a texter, you notice, and he tells you it’s because conversations over message cannot even compare to those held in real life. You are almost certain that if you the two of you were closer, he’d call.

It’s not a date. The two of you talk about everything, realising you’ve got some mutual friends. Just like the first time, talking to him is effortless. It makes your brain unwind in a was that is comfortable and soothing – you assume this has something to do with the softness in his eyes when he looks at you.

Despite your expectations, the curious twitch in his smile doesn’t go away, weeks into hanging out. He’s lived a life different than yours and sometimes, it feels like he’s hearing of struggles of the middle of the chain for the first time. You’re not poor like the people from the Cut, but you’re not Figure Eight–rich, either.

With time, Rafe starts walking closer, looking at you with the same gaze full of admiration, taking the eyelashes off your face instead of telling you it’s there. It’s the simplest touches, never crossing the line of just friends, even if threading on it.

When he tries taking you to an expensive restaurant, you stay the night at his place and order takeout instead. His hair stops being gelled around you and you stop putting a lot of effort in the way you look when you come over. Hanging out turns into hanging out, as if there’s something more to it.

Rafe kisses you on a Tuesday night. You’ve been waiting three months for this, ever since you caught his eye at the beach that sunny day. He’s gentle and reserved, giving you nothing more than a chaste peck.

It progresses from there. One month down the line, you’re official, and nobody is surprised – even the people you’ve heard talk about him before as if he weren’t the one to be tied down. With you, he has been nothing but gentle and patient, taking things at whatever pace both of you felt comfortable with.

There are times when you wonder what people think of you, all the same ones who had so many opinions about him that were little other than lies. Of course, you’re not a fool – you know there had to be some truth in them, too. You see it for yourself when Rafe shakes his head at parties to Topper and Kelce and you see them doing lines in the kitchen ten minutes later.

Whatever Rafe was like before you met him, it doesn’t matter. In the time you’ve been with him, Rafe has started to feel more comfortable on a wider scale. His shoulders tense less when he's around his father, he is kinder to his sister, he doesn’t support his friends doing things that could bring harm to them or to others.

It doesn’t matter what people say. You know your truth.

★

Rafe Cameron likes the beach, even when it’s autumn. He likes to wear tight turtleneck sweaters, usually in dark earth colours, and he likes to wear black skinny jeans, surprisingly. He likes the grey weather, when it’s cloudy and a little chilly, and the breeze pushes away the dry heat of the sun. He likes being cosy, playing rock songs and playing cards.

This is the opinion you have on Rafe five months into knowing him. You look at the boy in front of you, shuffling playing cards while lying on his side, propped up on his elbow – you can’t picture this being the same person you spent so long only hearing about.

He catches you looking and darts a card at you. ‘You better be thinking about how you’re going to treat me once I’ve won.’

‘It’s not fair,' you say. ‘You’ve been playing the game for far longer than I have.’

‘That’s life. It isn’t fair.’

Rafe smiles and deals the cards. It’s yet another round you lose in a row, but it’s not just because of the lack of experience.

He takes the cards and puts them away, lowering the volume on the speaker. ‘What’s bothering you?’

You sit on the blanket with your legs crossed and his fingers playing with the bottom hem of your jeans. It’s cosy, with wind whistling as the background to the song currently playing.

‘It’s not bothering me,’ you say, ‘but I guess I’m wondering how someone like Rafe Cameron, the Casanova and Charlie Sheen of Outer Banks becomes the boy who wears turtleneck sweaters and skinny jeans.’

Rafe laughs with ease evident on his face. He tugs on your jeans playfully, grinning wide. ‘Is that what you’re thinking about right now?’

‘You asked.’

He turns on his back and props himself on his elbows, switching his gaze between the moving sea and you, sitting next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

One of his hands goes back to your ankle. He traces the skin underneath the jean fabric with his thumb, while his eyes give you the same glint they’ve had in them since the moment you met.

‘I thought you didn’t care what others thought of me.’

‘I still don’t, but it’s not something that’s easy to forget,’ you confess.

Rafe gives you one of the modest smiles, shy and tentative. It wrinkles the skin around his eyes and gives him the slightest dimple and lines around his jaw, but it’s all so soft you barely notice.

It’s the smile you feel like belongs to you only. You wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

‘That day at the beach,’ he begins. ‘I saw you standing there, and something in me said that I needed to talk to you.’

You laugh, because you think he’s joking, but his smile remains earnest and he waits until you stop. The hand that was on his ankle moves to your wrist, his touch just as gentle and soft.

‘Please don’t say it was love at first sight,’ you say, because you haven’t even said the words to one another.

Rafe shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was just...’ He scratches the bridge of his nose, sighing lightly. ‘You know when you get that feeling in your chest like everything is possible?’

You nod.

‘It was that.’

‘Rafe Cameron, you’re a hopeless romantic,’ you tell him. There’s a smile on your face, and you think about how he hasn’t actually answered your question, but you let him place a kiss on your lips nonetheless.

He rests his forehead against yours. His fingers are right below your ear now, soft and gentle, like always. His breath is hot against your lips, and you think maybe that saying those three words isn’t going to happen far from this moment.

He kisses you again, just like that first time, only now you feel him smile into it.

‘Not hopeless.’

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul @kiarawilliams127 @butgilinsky

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #ppwritingchallenge #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #f: obx #c: rafe #my fic #requested

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Me and You Together, 2/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: thank u so so much if you left a lil love or a reblog on the first chapter of this!!!! it honestly means the world and i do see and appreciate it all so thank u SO much! hope u all enjoy the next chapter!

last chapter: December- A'whora and Tayce finally kissed after months of build-up after A'whora was jealous of the attention Tayce recieved on a night out.

this chapter: September- On a damp, bright Saturday in September, six flatmates move into their student flat and meet for the first time.

***

september- i can’t remember when we met

It’s a damp, bright day when Tayce arrives in the city for the first time.

She’s been here before- once when she was eight and again for the open day- but today it’s as if she’s seeing everything through fresh eyes. The sunshine on the puddles on the pavement gives everything a sparkle and a kind of magic, and the blue sky that pokes out from the jagged edges and roofs of stone buildings fills her with a sense of excitement and optimism.

They’ve been on the road since nine in the morning and awake since seven, and Tayce should be tired, shattered even, but she feels energised and alive as she peers out the passenger window and drinks in every last little detail of the place she’s going to be calling home for the next few years: the cobbled roads that make her Mum worry about the car’s suspension, the way the streets and roads seem to snake, dip and overlap over each other in a series of bridges and tunnels that make it almost impossible to navigate, every single little cafe and boutique and restaurant and office and kebab shop. The signs for places she’s never heard of and the buses on their way there.

Nothing can dull her excitement when they pull up on the narrow, hilled street where her block of flats are hiding, not even her Dad almost having a nervous breakdown at the wheel about the lack of parking. They decide to throw caution to the wind and park on the double yellow lines outside, her parents hurriedly helping her with her heavy, stuffed suitcase and the bin bag with all her bedding in it and walking with her as she not so much trundles but drags her things through the gates into the courtyard. Tayce takes in her surroundings with darting eyes, too much to drink in at once. There’s a high stone wall in the far left-hand corner and what looks to be the laundry room on the ground floor of the building beside it. A few scrubs of plants lined with bricks are dotted around the courtyard, where a few students are already sitting smoking. The rest of the buildings that hem them in are tall with little windows dotted all over them, and each side is painted a different colour: white, powder blue, or coral red. It’s an interesting combination but Tayce supposes she doesn’t have to look all too long or all too hard at the outside of the building if she’s going to be living inside it.

There’s some little tables set up outside with uni staff manning them, so Tayce leaves her parents with her things while she goes over to pick up her keys. It’s not a long process- she gives her name and she gets handed two keys (which she’s told are her room key and her flat key) with a keyring on them, a messy scribble that reads block 4, flat 10, room 2 with a four-digit code for the front door of the block. A welcome pack gets thrust into her other hand, and she’s sent on her way with an “enjoy freshers!”.

It doesn’t take the three of them long to find block four, but they’re instantly dismayed to find out that flat ten is on the top floor and there’s no elevator. Tayce’s Dad is left to carry her suitcase up each flight of stairs while her Mum takes the bin bag and casts a judgemental eye over each floor of the echoey stairwell, clearly nervous about leaving her oldest child in the care of five strangers who could all very well be psychopaths.

“Mum,” Tayce cocks an eyebrow at her, reaching out to loop her arm through hers as they reach the top floor and the door of her flat. “I’ll be fine, okay? I’m a smart, sensible, responsible, gorgeous young lady. You did a great job raising me, I’ll be fucking golden, okay?”

“Hey! Watch your language, missus,” her Mum warns her, and Tayce stops herself from rolling her eyes and arguing about the fact that she’s about to begin her actual journey towards adulthood in favour of giving her Mum’s arm a squeeze of apology. “Of course you’ll be fine, I know you’ll be fine. You’re still my baby, though, I’m allowed to worry.”

“I know,” Tayce smiles sheepishly, looking down at her phone at the message she’s got from her sister. Opening it, she ends up snorting with laughter and beckoning her Dad over to look. “You should probably be more worried about what these three are getting up to with Gran, though.”

“Shit in the kettle,” her Mum exhales exasperatedly as she looks at the photo on the screen- Tayce’s sister mid-scream in the garden, as her two brothers and her Gran appear to be in the middle of a silly-string fight. Tayce is doubled over as her Mum turns to her Dad, insisting that she knew they should’ve taken them all on the journey up. Tayce is inclined to agree- she knows there wouldn’t have been space for all of them as well as her huge suitcase, but her family are close and she’s used to doing everything together. As much as she’s excited for uni, it’s going to be weird living somewhere other than her big crazy, busy house in Newport, with constant noise and bustle and the walls almost bursting at the seams with love.

If she thinks about it too much though she’ll end up getting emotional, so she pulls her keys out of the pocket of her jacket and flips her hair over her shoulder, because it’ll make things easier for her parents if they think she’s as confident and self-assured as she seems. “Besides, I’m sure the girls I’ll be living with will all have their heads screwed on alright.”

As she turns the key in the lock and opens the door, she’s met with a loud blast of music from the hallway that almost physically knocks her back a bit. Tayce turns to her Mum and Dad, smiling tightly as if to urge them not to let the loud music discredit the point she’s made.

“Hello?” Tayce yells into the hallway, tentatively approaching the first room where the door’s open and that the music is blaring out of. When there’s no answer she peers through the doorframe, a little nervous. Inside there’s a single bed, a cupboard, a set of drawers, a desk, and a bedside table all in the same pale wood-effect colour. There’s also a sink, a mirror, and a window. It’s all a very basic set of furniture, but the girl inside the room is livening the surroundings up a bit. Her hair falls in bouncy brown curls that rest on her shoulders, with a purple ribbon that snakes through them and is tied in a bow at her parting. She’s pale with dark eyebrows but the little absent-minded smile on her face goes some way to assuage Tayce’s nerves, and she’s humming along with her music as she unpacks her clothes from the suitcase she’s heaved onto the bed.

(It occurs to Tayce, as a result of the fact that Madonna is playing and that the girl’s wearing a red flannel shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted Mom jeans, that at least she won’t be the only lesbian in the flat.)

It’s the relief that prompts Tayce to yell out a “hey!”, which in turn makes the girl in the room yelp and snap her head around to face her, her mouth set in a slack-jawed expression of surprise which quickly melts into one of relief.

“Fuck me sideways, I just about shat myself there!” she laughs loudly, immediately turning down her music. “Oh my God, hi babes! I’ve got a flatmate, finally! We gettin’ pished or what?”

Tayce bursts out laughing, darts her eyes to her Mum and Dad’s slightly horrified expressions from further down the hall. “Bit early for that, nah?”

“It’s never too early in Scotland!” the girl cackles, approaching Tayce and immediately giving her a hug. “Hey flatmate, I’m Lawrence! Do you want a drink?”

Tayce keeps trying not to laugh but fails when Lawrence looks out into the hall and sees Tayce’s Mum and Dad, her face immediately falling in embarrassment.

“Oh. Hi, Mr and Mrs Flatmate! I’m Lawrence!”

Tayce snorts at the way her Dad gives her a resigned wave and how her Mum’s face is the picture of grimaced concern.

“I’m Tayce. That’s my Mum and Dad,” she introduces. Then, slightly embarrassed about the fact she’s got her parents with her, follows it up with, “But they’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

She hears a muttered “charming” from her Dad.

“What room’ve you got?”

“Uh…” Tayce checks her keyring, reminding herself. “Two.”

“That’s next to me!” Lawrence says enthusiastically, banging on the wall at her side as if to make her point. “Here, I’ll let you go get unpacked and say goodbye to the fam and we’ll chat after that, awright? I’ll see you after.”

“See you in a bit,” Tayce replies, trundling her suitcase down the hall as her parents follow her. As she unlocks the door to her room, she turns to them and smiles encouragingly. “See? She seems nice!”

Her Mum’s raised eyebrows prompt her not to push things.

Tayce’s room is identical to Lawrence’s- the furniture’s all in the same positions and all in the same style. A little further down the corridor past the other bedrooms is the kitchen and living-room area, which her Mum runs her fingers over to check it’s been cleaned properly. When it’s been established she’s satisfied with it the three of them return to Tayce’s room, empty apart from her belongings. The blank canvas fills her with a little tingle of excitement at the possibility of getting to decorate it all to make it properly hers, chill and cosy just like her room at home. When she thinks about home again, though, it makes her want to burst out crying and never stop, so she turns around to her parents and takes a little breath, fixing a smile onto her face.

“Well! I guess you two can leave me to get up to all sorts of mischief now. Drink beer upside-down from a tube or…whatever happens here.”

Her Mum tearfully laughs and it becomes even harder to stop herself getting upset. She asks Tayce if she wants she and her Dad to stay to help her get unpacked or if she wants to go for some food anywhere, but Tayce’s Dad, stoic as ever, says what Tayce wants to but won’t in case she hurts her Mum’s feelings- that Tayce will want to talk to her flatmate, and she won’t want her parents hanging around for too long.

So they hug goodbye tightly with tears in their eyes and snuffly noses, Tayce promising to phone every week (but she’ll probably get so homesick that it’ll be more frequent than that). She feels guilty as all hell waving her parents off down the stairs, as if she’s leaving some well-loved pet behind at a rehoming centre, but she tries to push down her emotions in favour of the small rush of excitement that’s beginning to bubble up through the upset- she’s here, it’s uni, it’s freshers, this big event that’s been built up so much in her mind.

She hopes it lives up to the hype.

It’s when she closes the front door that she hears a movement behind her, a series of small thuds against the floor.

“Right! You wanting a drink now?”

Lawrence sits in Tayce’s room while she unpacks and they talk like old friends. There’s not really any awkwardness with Lawrence; she’s outgoing and energetic and knows how to hold a conversation. Because of this, Tayce would’ve guessed she’d be studying something to do with film and TV, but it turns out she’s studying textiles and she gets excited when Tayce tells her she’s studying fine art because they’ll both have lectures at the art college. Lawrence is seventeen which shakes nineteen-year-old Tayce to her core, and they have a huge discussion about how the hell they’re both starting uni at the same time when there’s such a disparity in age between them. It turns out that the answer is Tayce taking a year out to decide what she wanted to do with her life after sixth form, and a Scottish school system that lets kids start school at the age of four. Lawrence doesn’t seem worried that her inability to get into clubs will hinder her freshers’ week, as she’s got a friend who’s in second year and is letting her borrow her ID for the week (Lawrence’s post-9pm alias for the next seven days is named Rosé McCorkell).

“How come you didn’t just take a year out and wait til you were eighteen?” Tayce asks, taking a sip of peach schnapps from one of the plastic tumblers Lawrence has offered her.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Lawrence shrugs, and Tayce raises her eyebrows in a fair enough. “I wanted to leave home- not in a bad way, but I was just bored. You’d be too if you lived there.”

Lawrence is from Helensburgh, a town Tayce has never heard of but apparently has a Waitrose and that’s about it. This indicates to Tayce that Helensburgh is a town full of Tories. No wonder Lawrence was in such a rush to get away.

Her parents seem like they’re the cool kind of parents. They dropped her off at the flat at two in the afternoon with her suitcase and a Sainsbury’s bag full of alcohol for the week (hence the reason she has so much for someone who can’t legally buy it). Her Dad doesn’t really agree with what she’s decided to study, because apparently she got the grades for something like Law or Medicine and he wanted her to do something where she was guaranteed stability and a career. In response to this Lawrence apparently sent off five different applications to five different art schools in one of the most silent, passive-aggressive fuck you-s in history.

Tayce can relate to this. She tells Lawrence what it was like to have finally decided on something to do at uni, only to be met with “are you really sure?” and “do you think that’s wise?” and “but what will you do with that?”. They moan about how it’s so frustrating to have to justify wanting to study something when really the only desire comes from just finding it interesting, or fun, or being passionate about it.

They’re about to launch into a conversation about what each of their experiences at school had been like (stemming from a story Lawrence told her about telling her guidance counsellor to get fucked when he suggested she should train to be a teacher) when there’s a commotion out in the hall, which in turn makes the two of them run to the doorframe in excitement. They find two new flatmates laughing and grappling with their suitcases which appear to have become stuck in the small hallway: one with straight, flowing dark hair that hangs over her shoulders, dark makeup, leopard print sweatpants and an excitable smile on her face, and the other with a chaotic blonde bun that looks as if they’ve slept in it, a black bralet underneath a denim jacket, and a little Kate Moss-esque gap in their teeth when they smile.

“Here! You wantin’ a hand with those?” Lawrence yells, and the two newbies give a shriek of delight, abandoning their suitcases and climbing over them to hug their two new flatmates.

They talk at about a mile a minute as they introduce themselves and pile into Tayce’s bedroom, uninvited but by no means unwelcome. Leopard-print sweatpants’ name is Tia and bun-head’s name is Bimini. In a spooky twist of fate it turns out that their seats happened to be opposite each other on the train up, and they got talking and realised they were both going to be at the same uni, in the same accomodation, and in the same flat. They’ve been excited and a little drunk ever since, Bimini tells them, the trolley on the train acting as a mobile bar for the pair of them to order endless amounts of prosecco and toast to their new friendship.

Lawrence and Tayce decide to let the pair drop their things in each of their rooms, while they relocate to the kitchen which is much bigger. Lawrence sets all her alcohol out on the rickety dining table while Tayce thuds herself down on one of the purple sofas, looking out of the adjacent window and taking in the views out onto the buildings and streets below. She’ll go exploring tomorrow, get her bearings a bit. Tonight is for getting silly with her new flatmates and sussing them all out. She’s lucky, though, that they all seem nice enough so far.

“They seem nice, don’t they? The other two,” Tayce turns to Lawrence and verbalises what she’s thinking, and Lawrence nods in agreement as she crosses over to the sofa and takes her cup to refill it.

“Yeah. I think we’ve got lucky, to be honest, My friend in second year- that one whose ID I’m borrowing- she’s told me total horror stories about weirdo flatmates.”

“We’ve still got two to arrive, there’s still time,” Tayce considers with a snort, and Lawrence shrugs in agreement.

Bimini emerges first, wedging the fire extinguisher against the kitchen door to prop it open so that any of the other new flatmates arriving will instantly know where they are. Lawrence shoves a tumbler into their hand like some sort of bartender and they all squash onto the sofas as they chat to their new flatmate. Bimini is another one who’s glad to get out of their hometown, and has come to uni to study journalism.

“I’ve already got the fucked sleeping pattern and constant hangover, so I’m halfway there,” they say almost proudly, their accent making Tayce laugh in spite of herself.

Tia joins them all as Bimini’s halfway through a rant about how hard it was to try and sort accommodation for uni, which the other girls agree with.

“They seemed to think I could commute from Helensburgh to here every day,” Lawrence rolls her eyes, and Bimini laughs in agreement.

“Well I had a fuckin’ nightmare as well. They tried putting me in a twelve-person flat at first-”

“That’s not a flat, that’s a fuckin’ small village!”

“Right! So then they kept trying to shoehorn me into an all-boys flat, because fuck, I don’t know…they heard the words ‘non-binary’ and thought ‘man’ I guess?”

“Jesus,” Tayce wrinkles her nose up. She can’t think of anything worse than having to share with a bunch of guys. No wonder Bimini didn’t want to.

Bimini laughs ruefully as they finish their story. “In the end I rang them up and said look, what do you want…do you want me to scan you a picture of my fuckin’ genitals? Why are you so obsessed, love, just give me the fuckin’ flat I want before I pass out!”

“I never thought how annoying that must be. You know, the whole all-girl flats and all-boy flats,” Tia muses, Tayce nodding in agreement. Bimini waves a dismissive hand.

“Aw, don’t get me wrong, I’m sort of glad they exist. I mean I already know I’m gonna like living here with you lot way more than a bunch of rugby lads who barely understand the concept of women, never mind me,” Bimini smiles, and the fact they’re already feeling positive about the flat makes Tayce’s heart warm. She feels the same- she’s getting good vibes from her flatmates already, and they’re doing wonders to offset the rumbling feeling of homesickness she’s pushed to the back of her mind.

Talk turns to Tia, who’s travelled all the way up from Essex. She’s studying computer science and is, in her own words, excited to turn up to her lectures and remind everyone that women exist. She’s another girl who’s come to uni straight from school, and from the sounds of it Tia couldn’t wait to leave. Essex girls- or at least the ones in Tia’s year- seemed to live up to the stereotype, and the fact that Tia didn’t walk around constantly caked in fake tan, lash extensions and heavy makeup made her a walking target for catty comments, poorly-concealed laughter and the occasional shove in the corridor.

Tayce laments with the others about how mean people could be in school. She didn’t have things too bad, she considers. Tayce was well-liked and popular for the right reasons. She always made sure to be kind to everyone (because her Gran would’ve killed her if she wasn’t) and if she had any nasty comments to make she kept them strictly between her and her best friend Cara, who she knew wouldn’t spread things around.

(She’s also the only person at school she came out to. She imagines her high school life would’ve been a lot different if she’d brought that into the mix.)

They’ve moved on to discussing what they think uni life will be like (Bimini is particularly looking forward to getting to make pancakes for breakfast every day) when Tayce notices Lawrence’s gaze lock onto something behind Tayce’s head. Her face grows shocked and awed, and a massive smile starts to spread across it. As Tayce turns around she sees another girl standing at the doorway into the kitchen with a similar expression on her face.

Tia, who’s sitting beside Lawrence, shoots the girl a smile and a wave. “Hey-”

“Aw, fuck off! Not you! Not you!”

Tayce flinches as Lawrence leaps up from the sofa, running across the room to wrap the girl in a massive hug. Their height difference makes the hug look funny, as the new girl is tall. Tayce always thought she was tall, but this girl almost defies the laws of physics. In fact, everything about the girl seems to work in extremes- her blonde hair is so thick and full of volume that her curls seem to stick out at all angles, barely tamed by a pink scrunchie keeping half of it in order on the top of her head. Her makeup is bold and perfect, two sweeps of eyeliner framing her big eyes and pink eyeshadow dusted over her lids. Two huge heart-shaped purple earrings hang from her ears embossed with the word “bitch”, which skews Tayce’s first impression somewhat. But the girl is also in a full pink tie-dye Barbie tracksuit, so she can’t be all that mean.

Lawrence finally releases her from the hug, and the girl’s laughing breathlessly as she continues to talk. “What are you actually doing here?”

The girl splutters a laugh, shakes Lawrence by the shoulders. “Bitch! I live here! I’m moving in!”

Lawrence gives a screech of excitement again, throwing her arms around the girl and swaying her from side to side. Tayce shares a look of bewildered amusement between Bimini and Tia, none of them any the wiser as to what’s going on.

When Lawrence releases the girl again, she addresses the others this time. “Well, folks, it looks like we finally got a shatmate!”

“Fuck up!” the girl shoves her side, then dashes over to the sofas. “Hey! Nice to meet you all, I’m Ellie!”

The others all get up to hug her excitedly and introduce themselves, happy that they’re all one step closer to having a full flat, and Ellie budges up in between Lawrence and Tia on the sofa opposite Tayce as she chats about herself and learns about the others. It turns out that she and Lawrence are old friends in the most bizarre coincidence ever.

“Every Easter my family would go down to the Haven holiday park in Northumberland,” Ellie tells them the story, looking at Lawrence with a rueful smile on her face. “And we’d always get the same caravan. Well, my family got talking to the family in the caravan next door, and they had a daughter the same age as me and my brother. Turns out it was this cunt, wasn’t it!”

Lawrence laughs, smacking Ellie on the arm. “We ended up going down at the same time every year! This was from when we were six right up until we were like, sixteen. And me and her and her brothers would cause absolute abject riots together. We’d spend all day in the arcade doing the dance mats-”

“And we’d always thrash you because you were so shit!” Ellie squeals, the others laughing as Lawrence gives Ellie another thump. “I still remember when you kicked the poor guy in the Bradley Bear costume in the balls because I was so scared of him that I was crying!”

“Jesus Christ, we’re really kicking off with the embarrassing stories already,” Lawrence rolls her eyes, but from the little twinkle in them Tayce can tell she’s not really too bothered.

Ellie’s another seventeen year old (Tayce makes some joke about Scotland’s school system sending infants to university) but she seems to have ordered a fake ID off some website and it looks legit enough, Tayce inspecting it as she passes it around proudly. She’s from a place called Broughty Ferry (“but it’s easier to just say Dundee”) which has a beach and a funfair and a caravan park.

“It’s the posh part of Dundee, which is a bit of a juxtaposition in all honesty,” she explains, earning a blurt of a laugh from Bimini.

Ellie’s the first in her family to go to university, and she’s studying costume design which makes Lawrence and Tayce excited about having someone else to walk over to the college of art with in the mornings. It turns out she’s got two brothers, one of which is her twin, and she and Tayce bond over how weird it’ll be to not be living with their siblings for the first time in their lives.

Tayce doesn’t know when the minutes turn to hours but they do, the sky outside gradually growing a little darker before she even realises it. In all honesty, she feels she’s got lucky with her flatmates; they all seem to be a good laugh and kind and normal enough. It’s odd, though, that there’s still the five of them. Tayce checks her phone and she sees that it’s gone seven.

“Do we think the other girl’s going to come tomorrow?” she wonders out loud, as Tia tops up Ellie’s glass with the litre bottle of vodka she’s brought with her.

“Maybe? Bit weird not coming for the first night of freshers,” Ellie wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

“Well maybe she’s got a long haul flight or something,” Tia shrugs.

“I hope she’s not posh.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and turns to her friend. “Lawrence, you think anyone that’s from anywhere south of Paisley is posh.”

Tayce snorts at Ellie’s delivery and Lawrence’s affronted reaction, despite the fact she couldn’t put Paisley on a map if you paid her. Just then, Bimini emerges from the hall, having been to their room to grab some cigarettes so they can smoke out the window.

“We talking about the last flatmate? There’s someone moving around in the room next to mine.”

Tayce’s eyes widen a little as she looks at the others. “Have they just arrived?”

“Nah, door was shut so they’ve probably been there a while, we just ain’t noticed. Too busy getting bevved.”

“How come they’ve not come through?” Lawrence asks, her eyes narrowing. Ellie gives her a dig in the ribs with her elbow, her drink sloshing out of her glass a little.

“Because you screeching every word you speak doesn’t exactly scream ‘calm, welcoming environment’?”

“Did you knock on the door?” Tayce asks Bimini, who pulls a face.

“Well, it was kinda awkward. Think they might’ve been crying. I could hear a lot of sniffing. Still, maybe they just got a runny nose. Or they were doing a key.”

The girls all splutter at Bimini’s turn of phrase, but something heavy and uncomfortable lodges itself in Tayce’s heart at the thought of one of her new flatmates in their room on their own, alone and upset. That could very well have been Tayce if she hadn’t had Lawrence’s infectiously funny energy to pull her out of her potential slump. She decides to slide off the sofa, decisive if a little nervous.

“I’ll go see if I can talk to them.”

“Should we come with you?” Ellie asks earnestly, earning her a snort from Tia.

“Babe, the last thing she wants if she’s upset is all of us barging into her room half-drunk and hyper!”

As the others laugh, Tayce watches an ashamed little blush colour Ellie’s face. She shrugs and addresses her new flatmates as she heads towards the doorframe. “I’ll be five minutes tops. Then we can all get ready to go out.”

Tayce leaves and her plan makes the others give a little cheer of anticipation. She’s admittedly a little nervous, though. She doesn’t want to disturb her new flatmate if they just want to be left on their own, nor does she want to annoy them or give the impression of being too nosy. The only thing that keeps her approaching the room beside hers, however, is the knowledge that if it had been her in their position, she’d have wanted the same.

The door to the girl’s room is slightly ajar, but Tayce still knocks before she pushes it open a little. She doesn’t hear a “go away” or a “piss off”, so she takes that as a cue to go inside. As the room is gradually revealed to her, Tayce realises that Bimini was right when they said she must have been there for a while- the room is more or less fully decorated. There’s a string of pink fairy lights which gives the room a soft, warm glow, and photos are stuck to most available surfaces. A rose gold Macbook sits on the desk beside a little money plant in a dark green pot, and there’s stationary all perfectly laid out too. Everything is tidy and neatly in its place, and on top of the bed with its palm leaf printed duvet cover and pillows a girl is sitting curled up into a ball, hugging a well-worn cuddly toy cat to her chest which is immediately discarded under her pillow when she realises Tayce’s eyes are on her.

“Hey,” Tayce begins softly, acutely aware she’s intruded on an emotional moment. “Do you mind if I come in?”

The girl swipes two perfectly applied acrylics under her lashes, snuffles and gives a forced smile. “No, of course! No. It’s fine, come in.”

Tayce smiles tightly as she crosses the room, perches on the edge of the girl’s bed awkwardly. “I’m Tayce, by the way.”

The girl takes a little breath and composes herself. Her makeup is still perfect save from the small black smudges at her lower lash line and the way a little bit of her foundation has rubbed off on her nose. Her smile grows a little more genuine as she introduces herself to Tayce in her Northern accent. “I’m Aurora. Sorry, this is so embarrassing!”

“Oh, babe, don’t worry,” Tayce reassures her, shaking her head. “Honestly I was almost like that leaving my parents as well. Only reason I wasn’t was because I had the others to take my mind off things.”

“Still, not exactly a cracking first impression I’m making. Hiding in my room like a freak,” Aurora rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs a bit so they’re not hugged at her chest. She gives a little sigh. “Just…it was hard leaving my sister. We’re really close and I’ve not been away from her like this before. Longest was probably a week on year six camp and I cried like a baby every night then as well. Good to know not much has changed.”

Tayce smiles gently at her joke. “It’s alright, I don’t think I’ve matured much since I was in year six either.”

Aurora lets out a genuine giggle and tucks her long, blonde hair behind her ears. Knowing she’s helped her feel a little better reassures Tayce that coming to see her was the right thing to do.

“Probably a good thing that you decorated your room first anyway. I still haven’t made my bed, that’s a job for drunk me coming in tonight,” Tayce continues, heartened as Aurora laughs again. “You’re gonna hear me stumbling around with a sheet over my head like a Scooby-Doo ghost.”

“I’d offer to help but my goal for the night is to get so drunk that I forget about missing my family entirely, or that I even have a family. Or that I’m even a sentient human being.”

“Oh, that’s the goal right there. First night of freshers, gotta go big or go home,” Tayce winks, and the pair of them share a smile.

“So wait, are you next door to me then?” Aurora asks, tilting her head with intrigue.

“I’m on that side, Bimini’s on your other side,” Tayce points at each wall in turn, and Aurora nods. Tayce bounces a little on the bed as she slaps her lap decisively. “Speaking of, d’you want to come meet everyone?”

Tayce can see the uncertainty and hesitation on Aurora’s face. She clearly notices Tayce watching her, because she meets her eyes and gives a bashful sort of smile. “God, honestly, I promise I’m not normally this shy. I’m just scared that everyone thinks I’m a total weird bitch for hiding in my room.”

“They don’t at all!” Tayce protests, smiling kindly at Aurora as she insists. “They’re all lovely, honestly. Bimini is so fun already, Tia is really nice and so’s Ellie, and it’s impossible to be sad when Lawrence is around, she’s hilarious. C’mon, I’ll go with you.”

“God, I’ve probably ruined all my makeup,” Aurora moans, sliding off her bed and crossing the room to look at her reflection in the mirror. She turns around to face Tayce as she speaks again. “Do I look like total shit? You have to be honest with me, we’re flatmates.”

Tayce laughs at Aurora’s joke, and she looks properly at her flatmate. She’s got these big brown eyes and long lashes and Tayce is already a little jealous of both of them. Her lips are full and her nose is small and her skin is clear and glowing.

She’s really pretty.

“You look lush,” Tayce smiles supportively, putting a hand on the doorhandle and making to open it. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll even be your government assigned emotional support flatmate tonight, if you want.”

“Tonight? I think I’ll need one every night,” Aurora laughs bashfully, tucking her hair behind her ears again. “This was really kind of you, y’know. Thanks, Tayce.”

Tayce opens the door and holds it open for her, glad she’s drawn her new flatmate out of her shell and excited for the first night of freshers to properly begin.

“No worries. Let’s go get drunk.”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ortega #me and you together #taywhora #uk2 #lesbian au #university au #british au #college au #freshers au #roommate au #tayce #a'whora #friends with benefits to lovers #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #tia kofi

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning: it’s filler. I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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onemilliongoldstars · 4 years

Text

better to be fake - chapter two

Since she started at St Anne’s private prep school, Lexa has prided herself on her ability to fly below the radar, even if she sometimes is forced to waitress her classmates’ socialite events. That all changes the moment she comes to the attention of Clarke Griffin, the princess of the upper east side, as wealthy as she is beautiful and used to getting her own way.

Determined to shake off the hold of her over bearing mother, Clarke presents Lexa with a proposal that she can’t turn down: pretend to date her and she will make sure Lexa never has to waitress again.

–

please note the tags and warnings on ao3.

read on ao3.

clexa high society au.

2/13

She feels out of place from the moment she steps out of the elevator and into the Griffin home.

It's the maid that greets her at the door and leads her through into the living room to wait while she hurries away to fetch Clarke. Lexa stands, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans and inspects the wide, open space with interest. There's a broad archway that leads into a dining room at the far end of the long room, but the living room itself is probably big enough to fit most of her apartment in. It's decorated in light creams, yellows and reds and it feels cleaner than any room Lexa has ever been in before. There are several slim, comfortable couches and a glass coffee table with magazines arranged artfully across the surface. The whole apartment is quiet. In her own home there is a constant buzz of noise, the traffic from the street outside or music from the bar at the end of the block or their neighbours passing the door and it's almost unnerving to be so surrounded by silence.

Her gaze is caught by the fireplace, all dark stone and marble and she wanders slowly towards it, taking a moment to inspect the childhood photos on the mantelpiece before her attention is drawn down to a large vase of flowers in the empty space where flames would flicker in winter. They're bright and beautiful and she lets herself reach out and run a thumb over the petal of a lily.

Thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs draw her attention and she darts away from the flowers guiltily, looking up in time to see Clarke, breathless and beaming in the doorway.

She feels immediately underdressed, but it's not a new feeling. Clarke's text had told her this was just a family brunch, nothing formal and so she'd pulled on her best jeans and a light blue shirt, a thin sweater thrown over the top to ward off the autumn chill. Clarke, however, is wearing a light dress and a pair of dark heels, her hair thrown into some complicated twist of braids that is artfully arranged to look casual. There are even fresh flowers woven between her golden strands and Lexa can't help but stare.

"What?" Clarke falters in the doorway, looking down at herself. "Is something wrong? Do I look bad?"

"No, you look..." she fumbles to find the right word, "wonderful. I just thought you said this was casual."

"It is." Clarke quirks her eyebrow, quizzically and Lexa looks pointedly down at her own outfit. "Oh don't be silly," Clarke rolls her eyes, stepping fully into the room to grab her by the hand and tug her away into the corridor again. "You look perfect."

“Your kind of perfect?” She asks wryly as she is led up the curving staircase, surrounded by more cut flowers and large landscapes. “Or the good kind?”

At the top of the staircase Clarke turns and Lexa has to come to an abrupt halt to stop from running into her. “My kind is the good kind.” She tells her and Clarke sounds so certain, so firm and resolute that Lexa’s eyes widen even as the girl turns around and continues on through the long corridors.

She follows her silently, but she takes in the many doors that sit off the corridor. She counts five before Clarke pushes one open and she can’t help but wonder what could possibly be behind them, Clarke lives with only her mother, who is barely ever home and yet their apartment is like a labyrinth.

Clarke pauses in the doorway, turning to look at her and she sees, to her surprise, a glimmer of nervousness in her eyes. “This is my room,” she tells her, quietly and Lexa nods once.

Her stare is curious when Clarke steps aside and lets her inside, roving around the room to take in everything that fills it. It isn’t a small space by any means, but it’s so filled with stuff that it feels… not small, but cosy.

The large double bed is covered in a light blue coverlet and an array of cushions and one of the bedside tables is piled high with books. Some of them- the ones at the bottom- are school books, but the rest are books on mythology and art and paperbacks with creased spines and curled pages. The bed is covered with bits of paper and a few clothes and as she steps further in she notices that the high mirror is surrounded by pictures of people that Lexa recognises from school, selfies with Octavia and Raven, their faces creased with laughter; pictures of Clarke on Bellamy’s back, her tongue out; laughing snapshots of she and her friends on vacation; even pencil sketches of friends and families.

The click of the door shutting behind her draws her eyes away and she turns to see Clarke watching her carefully, lingering near the door.

"Do you like it?" She sounds oddly vulnerable and open, and Lexa tries to put her at ease, nodding with a small smile, hand reaching out to trail across the soft coverlet as she speaks.

"Yeah, it's beautiful." Fingers brush against the fur of a small stuffed rabbit, sat against the pillows looking slightly ragged and limp and she turns, cocking an eyebrow teasingly at the blonde. "Friend of yours?"

Clarke's slight flush is almost endearing and she hurries forward, grabbing the rabbit and hugging it to her chest even as she smiles. "Hey, lay off Peter."

"Peter?" Lexa echoes, laughter in her voice and Clarke rolls her eyes, dropping the rabbit back onto the bed and following it with a slight humph, kicking up her heeled shoes onto the bed, ignoring the clothes she is crushing beneath her body.

"Quit it, my dad read me Peter Rabbit when I was a kid and I got hooked. I used to make the nanny read it to me every day, twice."

"Twice?" She almost chokes on the word, shaking her head as she wanders closer towards the head of the bed. "Wow, you weren't kidding around."

"I never kid about rabbits, Lexa." She's so serious, so deadpan that for a second Lexa is stumped, hesitating where she stands, but Clarke's mask cracks and she giggles, patting the space beside her invitingly. "Joke. Sit down, you don't always have to stand on ceremony."

"You sure about that?" She sits regardless, perching on the edge of the bed and leaning down to tug off her boots before propping her feet up on the bed, reclining back against the multitude of cushions and turning so that she can look at Clarke.

"What do you mean?" Clarke shifts, turning so that she can lean on her elbow and look at Lexa through eyes that are so blue they remind Lexa of the pictures of tropical seas she's seen in National Geographic.

"Well your apartment is kind of like a museum," She stares at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the intricate plasterwork and hoping that Clarke doesn't take offence.

Beside her the girl sighs and nods, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Not here though," Lexa can't resist turning again to look at her, watching the way that blue eyes flicker away before venturing up to meet hers again from under long eyelashes. Clarke is unimaginably different here, lying against her bed and murmuring childhood stories to Lexa. She is open and innocent and incredibly vulnerable, as far from the high heeled girl who strides down the corridors of St Anne's as it's possible to be, and Lexa struggles for a moment to find what to say. "This room is different, more alive than the rest of the house."

"Thanks," Clarke's smile is small but genuine and a twinkle flashes in her eye, a return to the confidence that Lexa knows when she asks, teasingly. "And what's your room like?" She wiggles her eyebrows and Lexa guffaws so loudly that it makes Clarke snort inelegantly.

"Easy there," she returns, playfully, "it's our first date. I normally wait until at least date two to take a girl to my room."

"Well I guess I'll just have to pray for a second date then," Clarke's smile is slight and coy, tweaking at the corners of her lips teasingly and Lexa is momentarily entranced, eyes fixed to the plump and roll of her pink lips before a knock on the door cracks through the room like a whip.

They both turn, startled and flushing, to see the maid sticking her head around the door. She eyes them both suspiciously, before finally settling her gaze on Clarke and saying, haughtily, "Miss Clarke, your mother is here and brunch will be served soon."

"Thank you Martha," Clarke swings her feet off the bed, standing easily and striding over to mirror to fluff at her hair.

"Should we go?" Lexa pulls on her boots again, trepidation creeping up from her stomach. Clarke shakes her head, leaning in close to the mirror to check her makeup.

"No, let her wait. I'm forever waiting for her."

It doesn't seem like the healthiest of relationships, but Lexa lets it pass anyway, shrugging and shaking her head as she settles back to sit on the bed again. Her gaze is caught by a picture on Clarke's bedside table, beside a glass of water and a small, retro style radio; caught in a frame, the image that stares out at her is bright and colourful and Lexa is momentarily captured by it. Clarke is obviously young, maybe nine or ten, and sat on a bench beside a man who has the same eyes as her. They are both laughing, caught in a candid because Clarke is pointing at her father and he has ice cream from the cone in his hands smeared against the tip of his nose. Clarke looks younger, hair braided down her back simply, in shorts and a pink shirt and there is a carefree joy in her eyes that Lexa has never seen before.

"Is this your dad?"

Clarke freezes, halfway through applying her lip gloss and slowly screws the cap back on before she paces round to her side of the bed, peering down at the picture though it is clear that she knows what Lexa is talking about.

"Yeah, that's him." Her voice is soft and quiet and when Lexa turns to look back at her she is running the ear of the rabbit between her thumb and fingers, a subconscious, comforting habit.

"What happened to him?" She speaks lowly, afraid to break the quiet between them.

"He died." She sounds curt and matter of fact and the rabbit falls back onto the bed as she stands a little straighter, staring down at Lexa with regal expectancy. "Ready? We have to scar my mother, remember?"

"Of course.”

At her bedroom door Clarke turns, holding out an expectant hand, and when their fingers twine together Lexa feels a flush run through her at the sight of Clarke's thumb curled possessively atop her own.

Abby Griffin looks Lexa up and down when she walks down the stairs beside her daughter. She stands imperiously, in heels so high that she towers over them both when they reach the bottom. Her skirt suit is all sharp edges, a dark blue that is almost feminine, but not quite, and long brown hair is curled gently to fall over her shoulders, softening the whole look just slightly.

She smiles - a small, thin affair that seems as forced as it is fake - and looks to Clarke.

"Hello, darling," there's a very faint twang in her voice, an accent that Lexa thinks could be from New England.

"Mother," Clarke leans forward and places a Hollywood style kiss against her mother's cheek, backing away quickly to stand beside Lexa again. She is slightly taller in her heels and when her hand comes to rest on the small of Lexa's back she almost does a double take, blinking when she is nudged forwards. "This is Lexa, my girlfriend."

Abby's brows quirk, just briefly and she enquires, lightly, "Girlfriend?"

"Yes," Clarke squares her shoulders, head held high, clearly ready for battle but Abby just eyes them both for a moment before smiling wanly and holding out a hand in Lexa's direction.

"I see. It’s nice to meet you, Lexa." There's an amused glint in her eyes and her manicured nails press against Lexa's skin when her hand clasps around Lexa's; it doesn't hurt but Lexa is startled by the feeling and her eyes dart up to meet Abby's.

"You too, Mrs Griffin."

"Please, Abby." She steps back, looking to the side and holding out a hand invitingly to someone. "This is Marcus Kane, my partner."

"Her boyfriend," Clarke inputs, bluntly as a man emerges from the closet, smiling at them openly and taking the hand that Abby has outstretched.

Abby shoots her an irritated glance and Lexa watches from the corner of her eye as Clarke crosses her arms with a slight huff. Marcus doesn't seem bothered however and for a moment Lexa wonders if he is simply an idiot who didn't pick up on Clarke's blatant dislike for him, but she catches sight of his amused eyes as he speaks. "Good to see you too, Clarke."

They stand there quietly, waiting for a moment, before Abby gestures towards the rest of the apartment with a polite smile. "Shall we? I've been informed that brunch will be served momentarily."

Marcus and Abby precede them and she feels the breath rush out of her body when they turn away. A hand clasps hers and when she turns Clarke's face is set with determination.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" She mutters, quietly as Clarke begins to lead her through the apartment.

Clarke's eyes flicker to hers and she raises an eyebrow, "When do I ever?"

----

Her mother seems to have brought her A-game today.

Clarke stirs her spoon around the combination of yogurt and berries in her crystal bowl, pushing the morsels of food back and forth until the yogurt is pink and the berries are nothing more than a crushed mess. She watches resentfully from the other side of Lexa as her mother spoons fruit into her own bowl, piercing pieces of pineapple and peach with a silver fork as Lexa picks at her parfait anxiously.

"And you're going to college, Lexa?" Abby asks, smoothly and Clarke notices Lexa swallow nervously, hands reaching out for her glass of water.

"Yes, I'm actually hoping to go to Yale." Clarke tries not to seem too surprised, schooling her expression quickly though Abby's eyes dart to her rapidly. "I've applied for early admittance, hopefully into one of the scholarship programmes."

"Wonderful," Her mother gushes and Lexa shifts uncomfortably on the chair beside her, shrugging awkwardly. "And what will you study?"

"I'm hoping to major in poli science." Lexa replies, fingers running around the rim of her glass.

"Very good," Abby seems impressed, nodding and her eyes flicker over to Clarke. "Any way that you could persuade my daughter to sort out her admissions forms? I've been asking her for weeks."

"You've had an answer," Clarke snaps, abruptly, dropping her spoon so that it rattles against the bowl loudly.

"Not one that I'll accept, dear." Abby answers mildly, smiling wanly at her but there's a fierce glint in her eyes that Clarke recognises well.

"I'm sure that Clarke will make the decision that's right for her soon enough," Lexa puts in, after a moment of tense silence. "It normally takes a while to choose, I was just lucky that I knew what I wanted from freshman year."

"Are you going to change the world, Lexa?" Marcus asks and though he's clearly well meaning, there's a patronising edge to his voice that makes Clarke bristle.

When she opens her mouth to bite back, however, Lexa cuts through her. "I'm pretty sure that everybody who goes to college wants to change the world."

"Very true.”

"Who are your parents, Lexa?" Abby cuts the fruit in her bowl into smaller pieces. "Are you new to the area? I don't think we've ever seen you at any of the society gatherings?"

"No," Lexa hesitates, "you wouldn't have. I live in Brooklyn with my mom, she works as a secretary for a small, local building firm and I waitress part time."

Abby blinks at her, clearly startled and for a moment the silence returns, blanketing them like fresh snow before her mother finally unfreezes and says, voice stilted. "I see."

Clarke can't help but smile when she cuts a glance at Lexa and sees while her eyes downcast a satisfied smirk is lingering at the edges of her lips.

----

At the door, her mother turns to Lexa with a raised eyebrow and says, amusement lacing through her voice. "Well then Lexa, I expect we won't be seeing you again?"

"Oh, why not?" Lexa frowns, perplexed as she takes her coat from Martha, wrapping it over her arm.

"Well," Abby glances at Clarke, smiling slightly, "Clarke has made her point now."

"My point?" Her voice raises high as she echoes her mother's words, furious and outraged. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Language," Abby reprimands Clarke offhandedly, "Please, darling, you and I both know that Lexa is not really your girlfriend. You just brought her here to upset me, no offence meant Lexa."

Clarke gapes, flabbergasted by her mother's calm acknowledgement and she fumbles for her words, stuttering to try to find a way to salvage the situation when a hand slides around Clarke's waist and pulls her abruptly closer, until she is pressed against Lexa's side, flush with her body.

"Excuse me Mrs Griffin, but I happen to like your daughter very much," Lexa's eyes flicker to hers for a moment, creased with irritation. "I don't appreciate your implication that we are anything but real. We've been together for a few weeks now."

"Really, dear if you expect me to believe that-"

Her mother's voice falls flat when Lexa spins her around to press their lips together, hands tightening around her waist. Clarke gasps in surprise into the touch, before her hands snake up around Lexa's neck, touch hesitant and uncertain, the soft press to her mouth taking her breath away as a tongue brushes against her lips teasingly for a moment, before they break away, and she is immensely glad for Lexa's arm around her waist, holding her up.

Abby blinks at them, looking between them with growing alarm, and Clarke smiles in satisfaction before stepping away from Lexa, their hands still intertwined as she tugs gently. "Come on, Lex, let me show you out."

They retreat to the elevator together and it's only when the door slides shut on the frozen figure of her mother that Clarke lets out a snort of laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh god, that was genius Lexa." Leaning up onto her toes, shoes long abandoned- much to her mother’s chagrin- she presses a kiss to Lexa's cheek and the girl smiles, clearly pleased with herself. "That was brilliant, did you see her face? She's was so mad!"

"Your mother is a piece of work," Lexa raises an eyebrow as the elevator doors slide open for them and they step out into the foyer.

"Tell me about it." She slides her hand into Lexa's, pulling her to a stop before she can head for the door, lowering her voice so that the doorman can't hear. "So, do you mind doing this for a little while longer?"

"Did it seem like I minded?" Lexa smirks at her and Clarke rolls her eyes, slapping lightly at her arm.

"I can compensate you for your time, if you’re passing up on shifts or anything. And for travelling into the city.” She reassures her and Lexa stiffens, frowning.

"No, no it's fine." She laughs awkwardly, the sound forced and stilted. "I think your earlier payment covered at least two dates, anyway."

"Okay," She draws the word out uncertainly, watching Lexa with confused eyes before shrugging, "Well listen, my mom will ask around at school so as far as anyone knows we're together, okay?"

"Sounds good," Lexa pulls on her coat, digging her hands deeply into the pockets, "I should go, I have a shift that starts at one."

"Okay, I'll see you on Monday then?" At Lexa's nod she smiles and presses another kiss to her cheek, hands curling around her arm and squeezing again before she steps back, waving once as Lexa makes her way towards the door.

It's only in the elevator that she checks her phone and realises that it's not even midday yet.

----

The hairs on the back of her neck are prickling. Beneath her clammy fingers the spines of her books feel strange and slick and Lexa huddles into her locker, hoping to avoid the eyes that she can feel fixed on her. She’s not used to attention from her classmates, has happily flown under the radar for as long as she’s been going to this school, but now her uniform feels suddenly itchy and starched and she’s distinctly aware that she didn’t put on any eyeliner today.

People’s gazes have been following her all day. The moment she stepped through the wrought iron gates, only a few minutes before the bell, she felt eyes on her. In algebra Matthew Conrad had stared at her through most of the class and she’d caught Cathy Redbred actually craning her neck from the first row to gape at her during second period philosophy class. Her cheeks are pink from the attention and she bundles her books into her arms in an effort to appear invisible.

She only barely makes it to history in time, even with the clearer corridors and she’s halfway to her seat when an all too familiar voice calls out her name.

“Lexa!”

It pulls her to a stop as surely as a tether and she stumbles to a halt, lifting her head from her books to blink at Clarke owlishly. She’s managed to avoid the blonde all day, up until now, and she’s frustrated to see that Clarke looks as beautiful as ever: all sparkling eyes and ringleted hair, accompanied by the effortless confidence of someone who knows that they can have whatever they want.

Clarke is patting the space beside her, which has been suddenly and conveniently cleared. Lexa takes a moment to look at her old spot near the back of the class, but it’s now occupied by Clarke’s old desk mate and Lexa has too many eyes on her throughout the day to start picking a fight. Besides, Clarke’s desk is next to the window, so Lexa sinks reluctantly into the space.

“Hey,” Clarke leans her head against her elbow, watching Lexa as she unloads her things neatly across the desk. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“It’s barely midday,” Lexa desperately avoids her gaze, even though Clarke’s eyes on her feel distinctly different to the whispered glances that have been following her all day.

“You didn’t text me over the weekend, kind of thought you might be mad.”

Clarke doesn’t mince her words at least and Lexa’s distinctly grateful for that even as she carefully straightens her pencils.

“Not mad, just busy sorry.”

“Busy?” Lexa’s eyes are finally drawn to Clarke’s and she startles to see the blonde’s eyes fixed on her still, her voice carefully light.

“I was working,” Now that she has met Clarke’s eyes she can’t quite bring herself to look away.

“Oh, cool.” Clarke hesitates for a moment and Lexa uses the respite to drag her eyes away. She takes her pen and writes the date in the margin of her notebook. “Are you working tonight?”

She feels as if she knows what’s coming, but Lexa shakes her head quietly.

“Well…” Clarke sounds strangely nervous, “Do you want to get together tonight?”

“I have to study,” Lexa glances at her from beneath her eyelashes. It feels terribly tentative between them, as if at any moment they could shatter apart and she isn’t quite sure whether she wants it to or not.

“That’s okay,” Clarke brightens, “So do I, want to have a study date?”

Lexa fumbles over her words, distracted by the light of Clarke’s happy smile and the softness in her eyes. “I um… I guess.”

“Come on babe,” Clarke’s hand settles over hers on the desk and Lexa’s breath stutters from her throat. “I miss you.”

“I, um…” The door swings open to reveal Mr Walding and as the class falls into an expectant, respectful hush, Lexa is only able to nod. Clarke’s fingers tighten around hers briefly, before she pulls her hand away to start writing.

---

She shouldn’t really be surprised that a study date at Clarke’s penthouse apartment consists of luxurious cushions laid out over her bed, bowls of snacks peppered across the room and two tall glasses of iced tea, the condensation gathering to drip down the outside of the glass. Clarke is already studying, laid out across the bed on her stomach, with a pillow shoved beneath her and an open book, upon which sits her phone, when the housekeeper shows Lexa in.

Clarke perks up when the door swings open, beaming at Lexa as she hitches herself further up on the bed.

“Hi! You came!”

“You asked me to,” Lexa smiles weakly, hesitating in the doorway as her eyes swing from the desk- upon which are piles of books, basically unused- and the bed. “Sorry, lacrosse took longer than usual.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke lounges across the bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes and patting the bed. “I didn’t even know you played until you mentioned practice.”

Taking her cue, Lexa pads over and toes off her shoes at the bottom of the bed, gathering a few books into her hands and setting onto the mattress uncertainly as she says. “It looks good on college applications.”

“So you don’t like it?” Clarke twirls her pen in her hands, watching her with blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“No,” Lexa glances down at her binders, blushing a little, “I like it. It’s fun and I’m good, plus it’s nice to feel involved in something at school.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me the great Lexa Woods actually has something she enjoys?” Lexa opens her mouth to protest but when she sees Clarke’s teasing eyes and half smile, she snaps her mouth shut, gathering her hands in her lap and replying primly.

“I like things.”

“Really, like what?” Clarke rolls her eyes, “Studying?”

“Clearly more than you,” Lexa glances pointedly down to the phone placed between her pages and Clarke’s cheeks colour delightfully in response.

“I- I was looking something up.” At Lexa’s grin she relaxes just slightly, tugging on her arm to encourage her further onto the bed. “Maybe you should teach me how to study.”

“Clarke you’re not an idiot, it’s clear that you know how to study.” Lexa arches an eyebrow, settling back into the cushioned bedhead and Clarke wriggles up to join her,

“You don’t know that, I might be in great need of a tutor.”

“You get excellent grades,” Lexa opens her books in her lap, glancing down at the page of algebra questions with distaste before uncapping her pen.

“Oh god, you’re doing the algebra homework. I was hoping to pretend that wasn’t happening.” Clarke groans loudly, resting her head so carelessly against Lexa’s shoulder that Lexa hopes she doesn’t feel how she tenses up.

“The earlier we get it done the better,” Lexa fidgets with her pencil, staring at the questions intently and trying to ignore the hot tickles of Clarke’s breath against her neck.

“You know,” Clarke is still unnecessarily close to her, and her voice is suddenly low and slightly husky. “When you proposed a study date I didn’t think there would actually be any studying.” Her lips brush against Lexa’s neck and Lexa freezes beneath her, her eyes widening and her heart rabbiting in her chest.

“I don’t… that’s not why I came here.” She speaks in a rush, her cheeks hot and embarrassment curling in her stomach. “I just thought we could study together.”

Clarke pulls back to look at her and Lexa tries not to squirm under her intense gaze. Her eyes travel across Lexa’s face slowly and thoughtfully, trying to read how serious she is and what she sees must satisfy her because she finally nods.

“Okay Lex, we can study.” To Lexa’s relief she pulls away until their arms only brush when they both go to write. Clarke adds a few numbers to her sheet and then glances at Lexa from below her lashes, “but if anyone asks we made out violently.”

Lexa can’t help the grin that pulls at her lips, “Violently?”

“Mmhm,” Clarke spins her pencil again. “I fell off the bed.”

---

The housekeeper calls upstairs once Abby arrives home, but at the sight of Clarke’s pursed lips and determinedly uninterested expression, Lexa stays quiet and goes back to explaining equations to the blonde leaning against her side. When Abby appears a few minutes later, giving the door a cursory knock before pushing it open to come to a stop in the doorway, Clarke leans closer to her.

“Oh, Lexa, I didn’t know you were here.” Abby’s mask of politeness slams immediately into place, but Lexa can’t help the thrill of satisfaction she feels at the sight of shock that precedes it.

“We’re studying mom,” Clarke supplies, chin tilting up stubbornly, “What do you want?”

Abby arches an eyebrow, “Only to pop by and remind you that we have to be at the Blake’s for six thirty tonight. You should probably start to get ready.”

“You’re going out?” Lexa’s eyes dart to Clarke and she begins to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Clarke’s hand against her arm stops her and Lexa is surprised to find that her gaze is soft, “I want you to stay,” expression hardening, she turns back to her mother. “Can’t you make my excuses at the Blake’s? We go there every week, they won’t mind if I miss one.”

Abby’s lips press into a thin line, “No Clarke, that’s rude.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me Clarke,” Abby sneaks an anxious look at Lexa, who reaches out to take Clarke’s hand and squeeze it gently, drawing her attention back down.

“It’s okay,” Lexa tells her earnestly, “I need to get home and start on dinner anyway.” Clarke’s face falls and Lexa sees Abby’s lips draw up into a slight victorious smile from the corner of her eyes. She feels irritation curl in her belly, the only real explanation for why she leans forward and catches Clarke’s lips in a soft, tender kiss.

The blonde surrenders immediately into her embrace, fingers tightening around hers and Lexa allows herself the briefest of moments to enjoy the innocence of warm lips moving against her own, the intimate brush of cheeks and floral scent of Clarke’s perfume before finally breaking away.

She’s aware that Abby is watching them, but doesn’t tear her eyes away from Clarke as she speaks. “Have fun tonight, I’ll talk to you later.”

She slides her feet into her school shoes as Clarke seems to find her breath again, her cheeks dusted with a dusky rose.

“Text me when you get home?” Clarke calls after her as she starts out of the room and Lexa nods over her shoulder, slipping awkwardly past Abby in the door.

“See you again Mrs Griffin.”

“I’m sure I will Lexa.”

---

#high society au #hsau #clexa #clexa fic #clarke griffin #commander lexa

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