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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

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Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: Teen (to be safe)

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence

I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.

Read the previous chapters here!

The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.

The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.

Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.

Ethan's POV:

A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.

Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.

Wherever he was, he was close to her.

And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.

He just wanted her, his strength, with him.

He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.

Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.

The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.

"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.

"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.

"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.

"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."

"What about you?"

But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.

"It doesn't matter."

A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.

Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.

A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.

End of Ethan's POV

Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.

Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?

Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.

Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.

Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.

————————————

A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.

A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.

Hell, she could not do anything anymore.

The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.

Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.

Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.

Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.

Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.

A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.

————————————

At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.

Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.

Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.

Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.

Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.

At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

————————————

It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.

The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.

Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.

As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.

Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.

Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:

It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.

Why were they not here yet?

But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.

He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.

A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.

The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.

It was... It was a gun.

"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.

"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.

The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.

"K-K-Kill"

"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.

"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."

And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.

Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.

End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.

Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤

With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕

Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010

Ethan x Pooja (fics): @aleynareads @stygianflood @choicesaddict5 @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Found

CW: Creepy whumper, noncon touch (nonsexual), ableist language, some violence at the end

TIMELINE: The summer before Chris begins attending college, shortly before Oliver Branch goes to trial for essentially accepting bribes for a Senate seat.

Tagging Chris’s crew: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

“You look familiar.”

The voice hasn’t changed at all in the past few years, maybe just gone a little deeper. The soft, slight southern drawl is still there, genteel rounded consonants, drawn out vowels.

He still dreams about that voice. It still sends shivers down his spine, not all of them from fear.

“Is that who I think that is?”

Chris feels his heart start to pound under the fabric of his t-shirt, and he dips his head low, as though he hasn't heard, as though he won't be seen.

It's been four years of therapy and building himself a whole new identity and learning to be a person again since the night he was rescued, but even still some traitorous impulse deep inside of Chris thrills at the sound of his Sir.

He’d been scrolling through his phone, waiting for Jake to finish up inside the store. He’s just been out here reading about campus life, researching dorm room checklists, taking a deep breaths as they took step after step after step towards Chris being an independent adult and not a dependent rescue.

He’d come out to soak up a little bit of the warm sunlight, feeling its heat soaking into his hair - strawberry blond at the roots, faded blue around the crown of his head, long enough to graze his shoulders with the deepest ocean teal only at the ends. He has it pulled back, caught just at the nape of his neck with a little clip to keep it out of his eyes.

He wishes, as he listens to the familiar sound of the same fine leather shoes stepping crisply along the pavement, that he’d left his hair loose so he could hide behind it now.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look up. Don’t don’t don’t don’t-

“Look at me, darlin’.”

Chris’s chin raises, his head turns. He’s not sure who makes the choice to do that - it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who controlled the movement.

“There you are.” Sir’s face is just the same, he doesn’t even seem to have gained a new wrinkle, although four years and his slowly imploded political career might have put a bit more gray in the sandy hair. “It is you, isn’t it?”

Chris texts something - he doesn’t even know what, he doesn’t dare look, only glances down long enough to make sure he’s sending his text to the right person before he slides the phone into his pocket. One hand moves to a bracelet he is always wearing on the other wrist, the cool metal hex nuts braided into thick black nylon, spinning them with his fingers in a nervous motion.

He’s just fidgeting. It’s just fidgeting. Normal people fidget when they’re nervous, normal people do this, it’s normal to be nervous-

Nothing that happened to you is normal.

“Ah,” Sir says, in his thick oily voice, and reaches up to graze the backs of his knuckles down Chris’s cheek. Chris only stares at him, wide-eyed, feeling impossibly, horribly small. “Where is that voice I loved so much, darlin’? Did you finally learn how to keep your mouth shut?”

Chris jerks back and away from the touch, eyes narrowing. He wants to bite back, to say something, anything, in a strong voice but the words are stuck in his throat, his defiance is locked away.

It must be visible in his eyes, still, because something in Sir’s expression goes cold and his hand slides around to the back of Chris’s neck, a heavy warmth that presses there, like every time he’s ever used that same grip in the same place to push Chris down to his knees. “Careful,” Sir says, in a voice that exudes gentleness. “Careful what you think, beautiful boy.”

Chris’s stomach twists, lurches, flips with disgust. “Don’t-... don’t, don’t don’t-don’t call me that,” He says, and his voice is smaller than he wants it to be, as weak as he is and not as strong as he wants to be.

“They haven’t fixed you at all,” Sir says, tsking, clicking tongue against the backs of his perfect white teeth. His thumb is rubbing up just where Chris’s hairline starts just behind his ear and he can’t stop shivering, can’t stop shaking at how awful it feels and how good.

“I, I-I didn’t need… need fixed,” Chris manages, airy and trembling under Sir’s touch. His phone vibrates in his back pocket, but he doesn’t dare pick it up to check.

I’m going back I’m going back he’s going to take me back he’s going to take me way I’ll never see Jake again I’ll never see anyone ever again-

Chris’s eyes fill with tears and he has to sniff them back, only to hear Sir’s low, deep chuckle. He’s too close, he’s way too close, and Chris cringes back against the brick wall, letting Sir move into his space and Chris can’t remember any longer how to get him out of it.

“Of course you had to be fixed. Look at you, you’re an awful mess without me. Who let you get your ears pierced? Your new keeper?" Sir's touch moves to his earlobe, rubbing at the sensitive skin and the small black stud there with the rough pad of his thumb, and Chris knows he could - should - run, or fight, but all he can do is go still and stare straight ahead, sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot.

It’s a gorgeous day, and a terrible one.

Everything is wrong.

Two teenage girls shriek laughter as one chases the other towards a small brightly-colored green car. They have long legs, tanned skin and short denim shorts, tank tops that cling to narrow waists.

They’re beautiful and probably don’t know they’re beautiful. They’re living easy lives they don’t know are easy. They’ve probably never had to hide underneath someone’s desk listening to other people live lives they never get to touch, they haven’t had to be so silent and so still, perfect carved statue people.

What they want is not irrelevant.

What they want matters.

He wants to be running with them, wants to collapse into the seat of a car giggling and easy, wants to go back to feeling the sun warm his hair but instead - in this moment - all he feels is frozen.

"I did," Chris whispers, jealous of those girls and all the life they get to live that isn't silent, frozen fear of Sir. "I, I, I don't have a, a keeper now-"

"That's such an awful lie, darlin'." Sir steps closer. “You know how I feel about you lyin’ to me.” Chris wants to vomit all over his shoes, right here right now. The smell of Sir’s cologne is so thick it gets stuck in Chris's throat and steals his air.

Jake’s cologne is light and soft and barely-there, something he only smells when he’s up close or holding one of his shirts. Sir’s wafts through the air around him, steals it, poisons it.

"It isn't." His lips barely move. “It… isn’t a lie… Sir.”

The words drip from his mouth. He thinks of a documentary he watched with Jake that talked about acid rain. Imagines the words that come slow and steady from his mouth wearing bark off of trees, leaving only the pale flesh like human skin underneath.

He imagines himself as a white birch tree, with Sir slowly stripping him bare, discarding the parts of himself he has built with sun and air and Jake and time.

His bracelet isn’t helping. His fingers are frozen touching the metal bits, not spinning them, just stuck. His necklace, the lightweight silicone feather that he uses so often when he is happy, lays heavy and hateful somewhere near his sternum. He can’t think - every track is stalling, the trains have all derailed, the thoughts inside are lost in the fog and the debris. He can’t step away. There’s nowhere to run to.

He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands.

He can’t move.

Not until the game is over.

Not until he loses again.

"Oh, it is. We both know it’s a lie, darlin’. You’re simply too old to be of much use to me, now, but...” Sir breathes out through his nose and Chris flinches as the grip on his earlobe suddenly tightens and Sir pulls, like he’ll tear the stud out entirely, and Chris whines low in his throat at the flash, the spike of pain.

Sir stops immediately, but his oil-slick smile finds its way back to his face.

A child is pushed out of the store behind them sitting in a shopping cart, crying, the little boy’s mother shushing him and telling him they’ll get chicken nuggets on the way home and Chris wonders if the shadowy half-formed mom who lives in his most painfully closed-off memories ever offered to get him a Happy Meal-

“-what you're made for. The question I'm asking is who are you made for now?"

“No one,” Chris whispers, lips barely moving. “I’m… not made… for anyone anymore.”

He hates having to speak like this again. He hates it. They tell him his words aren’t bad, at home, that’s fine to be who he is, to speak how he speaks, they tell him he’s fine and it’s okay, and he’s fine he’s fine he’s fine.

“Mmmn, not true.” Sir reaches up, undoes the clip at the nape of Chris’s neck, his hair falling free in a shining, soft curtain that can’t hide him, not here, not now. “Look at how long your hair is. How awful.”

Chris closes his eyes as Sir’s fingers graze his cheekbone, tuck a bit of the blue behind his ear, trail the shell of his ear and back down the side of his neck. Every touch is a lit match against his skin, every second burns inside and out.

“I like it like this,” Chris says, fucking pathetic attempt at defiance, at standing up for himself, but it’s all he can manage.

“Oh, beautiful boy,” Sir says, affection thick and condescending clogging Chris’s ears and his thoughts, oil that buries him and burns in his lungs. “Who has ever cared one whit what you like?”

“I do,” Jake says from behind Sir, his voice strong and loud and everything Chris’s voice can’t be in the moment. Chris watches Sir’s eyes widen in surprise and feels his own heart leap. “I care a lot, actually, and you’re going to need to step the fuck away from him before I show you exactly how much I care.”

Sir’s hand drops, and Chris takes in a deep breath, gulps in air as quickly as he can, falling back against the store’s exterior behind him with one hand reaching up to grab onto the feather pendant, rubbing quickly at the ridges carved into the deep blue plastic, while his other hand reaches back to feel the rough texture of the brick wall, rubbing the pads of his fingers there, focusing on the sensation.

Breathe in. Tap. Breathe out. Tap. Rub feather. Breathe in. Tap. Breathe Out. Tap.

Breathe. Breathe. Move.

“The keeper, I presume,” Sir says, holding out his hand to shake with a sunny, smooth Made-for-TV smile.

Jake’s eyes rake down to Sir’s hand and back up again, chips of cold blue narrowing as he slowly sets the shopping bags in his hands down. He seems taller than ever, now, in his simple sage-green t-shirt and jeans next to Sir’s fussy pastel polo shirt and slack. They’re two separate lives that Chris has lived under two different names, represented by two men staring each other down in perfect silence.

After a moment’s pause, Sir drops his hand.

“I’m not his keeper,” Jake says, keeping his voice even. “It doesn’t work that way, Governor.”

“Mmmn, not my title any longer,” Sir says, a touch regretfully.

“Yeah, and good goddamn riddance. I hope the charges stick,” Jake says flatly. Chris has no idea what he’s talking about, but something in Sir’s face goes colder, thoughtful. Considering Jake, the way he used to consider Chris, like they are just boys under a microscope, seen on a cellular level by men like Sir, designed for nothing else.

“For his sake, you had best hope they don’t,” Sir says, still smooth as silk, but the coldness lingers, trails around the edges.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Sir only smiles. Chris isn’t sure what the game was, exactly, but he knows that Jake has just lost it. “Nothing, keeper. How much does my boy cost to feed these days, anyway? I see you’ve got quite the haul, there.” He gestures, a languid motion, towards the pile of plastic bags Jake set on the pavement in front of the store.

“He’s not your boy,” Jake says, evenly. His eyes skip to Chris - there’s a question there but Chris can’t remember quite how to answer it. Or how to speak at all. He rubs his fingers over the feather, back and forth, pressing into the lines carved in there as hard as he can. The brick wall is rough, soothing as his fingers dance along it.

Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-

“Don’t tell me you’ve picked that up again,” Sir says. He sounds disgusted. Chris can’t stop himself from glancing up to see the look of derision worn openly on his face. “You were so well trained, too.”

“Trained?” Jake’s voice is a ghost of sound, but something crackles in the whisper.

Chris’s face flushes bright red. He pulls his hand away from the wall and drops the feather, crossing his arms in front of himself, shoulders hunched nearly to his chin. He looks up, finding Jake watching him with a twist of pain showing on his own face.

Chris has disappointed Jake, he thinks, by not being able to be stronger than this.

He closes his eyes against a rush of tears, tries to push them back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-

“You okay?” Jake asks, and there’s a hesitation, a word left unsaid. It occurs to Chris that Jake is trying not to say his name, while badly wanting to.

Chris just shakes his head, lips pressed together. If he tries to speak, he knows he’ll trip on all his words, and Sir will mock him for that, too. Instead he stays quiet, and still, and stares straight ahead. Just like he was trained to. Just like he used to.

Just like he did when Jake first met him.

He’s not okay. He’s not, he’s not okay at all.

Help me.

His lips move to form the words but no sound comes out. Chris opens his eyes again to meet Jake’s, pleading with him. There aren’t any words, he can’t remember how to say them. There’s only the begging he can do without sound.

There’s only the way he can move his lips, all the fear catches the screaming and holds it inside the stillness.

Just like before.

Save me.

“That’s better,” Sir says, softy. “Now, beautiful boy, you just stay there being pretty while-”

“Oh, you can just go fuck yourself on like six rusty knives, you absolute son of a bitch-”

Jake throws the punch before either Chris or Sir can so much as react to the movement, and Chris flinches back with a cry when he sees Jake’s fist connect with Sir’s face, the look of open loathing he wears there as the man crumbles to the sidewalk.

Jake looks up, taking a deep breath. “Chris. Call Nat and tell her to bring the car. We need a fast ride home.”

Chris still can’t remember how to make the words happen out loud. There’s a static inside his head, too much it’s all too much, and he clutches onto the feather necklace at his chest, mouthing, why?

Jake knows the question he’s asking.

Jake gives him a half-cocked smile, closing his hand in a fist.

“Because I’m about to punch this asshole again.”

370 notes · View notes

theowhy · 4 years

Text

[thiam] charisma check

rated T / ~2k / oneshot

summary: When Theo tries and fails to charm someone at Sinema, Liam steps up to the plate.

notes: honestly it was only a matter of time until i gave in and wrote thiam fic. this is... self-indulgent, in the sense that i wanted something like a honey pot mission, with jealous!theo sneaking his way in there. i hope you enjoy it!

you can read on ao3 here ✨

---

“I got this,” Theo says over the music pumping out of Sinema’s speakers.

Liam fidgets with the coke in his hands—just coke, because the bartender didn’t even humor him by asking for an ID when Liam sidled up to the bar—and tries not to look as stiff and awkward as he feels. Theo, on the other hand, fits right in, leaning casually against the bar, the club’s flashing lights spilling over him in ways that are unfairly flattering. Liam takes another steadying sip of his soda.

“Why can’t we just, y’know—” Liam gives a jerky shrug, tilts his head at their target sitting at the other end of the bar. “Pull him into an alley and threaten him?”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “I know this might be a surprise to you,” he says, “but not everything needs to be solved violently.”

“It’s worked for me so far,” Liam mutters.

“Sure, it works. But situations like this go better with a little more… finesse.” Theo’s smirk is slow and smug. “Just watch and learn something, will you?”

Liam scowls. “Go on, already.”

Theo pushes himself off the bar and grabs Liam’s cup without so much as a may I, and takes a gulp.

“Hey!” Liam flushes and drags his eyes away from watching Theo’s throat work. He snatches his cup back.

Theo grins and swaggers his way to the target. Liam hates him.

He tries to watch it unfold without looking too obvious, angling himself away from the other end of the bar and only glancing over every couple minutes or so. The target’s name is Zeke, and is their only lead on a hunt for, apparently, a group of warlocks disguising themselves as a punk band and using their underground shows to hex people. A few sources have pointed to Zeke as the one selling tickets, and Liam figured it’d be easy enough to just demand a pair and infiltrate the next show. Theo disagreed.

Liam watches Theo lean in and talk closely into Zeke’s ear, to be heard better over the noise, no doubt. It still makes Liam’s stomach twist, and he takes another sip from his cup.

Even without eavesdropping on their conversation, he can tell Theo’s turned up the charm. And he’s good at it, Liam knows from far too much personal experience. But despite Theo’s crooked smile and coy head tilt, Zeke isn’t biting. Liam doesn’t need heightened werewolf senses to see that Zeke is bored, the nods and one word answers he’s giving polite but disinterested. Liam snickers, and from the way Theo’s eyebrow twitches, he can hear it.

Zeke looks about five seconds away from shaking his head and leaving Theo in the dust, and as much as Liam would love to see it, he also knows it would mean losing their only lead. So he downs the rest of his coke and walks over to tap Theo on the shoulder.

Theo turns to look at him with an expression of such fabricated politeness Liam nearly laughs.

He says, “Hey, Mason needs to talk to you outside.”

Theo frowns in confusion, and Liam tries to express to him via eyebrow waggles something along the lines of you’re totally bungling this, please stop and take the out I’m giving you.

It takes Theo a few seconds, but these last months of working together have given them an ability to understand one another without so many words. Mason called it creepy telepathy once, but Liam thinks it’s something closer to trust. Whether Theo agrees with that is yet to be seen.

Whatever it is, Theo seems to understand. He heaves an unnecessarily put-upon sigh, then looks back at Zeke and drawls, “I’ll be right back.”

Zeke flashes a totally false smile that makes Liam want to laugh again. He pats Theo’s shoulder as he passes and disappears into the club crowd.

Which leaves Liam alone with Zeke.

Liam suddenly wishes he hadn’t finished his drink, then at least he’d have something to do with his hands. As it is, he shoves them into his pockets, not bothering with suaveness.

“Friend of yours?” Zeke asks, looking at Liam curiously.

Liam holds a breath in his cheeks, thinking. “In a sense,” he settles on.

Zeke snorts, his shoulders relaxing. Liam grins.

“Liam,” he says and sticks a hand out.

Zeke looks at him funny, a smile playing at his lips. He takes the hand. “Zeke. You’re very polite for a random dude at a bar.”

“Not my usual scene, to be honest.”

“That so?” Zeke props an elbow on the bar, leans a cheek against his hand. “Don’t like crowds?”

“Oh, crowds are fine. It’s just the music.” Liam wrinkles his nose, and this, at least, is truthful. “Not my favorite.”

“Let me guess.” Zeke leans in, biting the corner of his lip as he drifts his gaze over Liam. Liam tries not to blush under the scrutiny. “You’re more of a punk rock guy.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Zeke points to the front of Liam’s shirt. “Noisy Habits. I’ve seen them a couple times.”

“No way.” All pretense gone, Liam leans in eagerly, eyes wide. “They haven’t toured near Beacon Hills since I started listening to them, like, a year ago? That’s awesome.”

“I travel a lot.” Zeke’s smile grows, his eyes brightening just slightly under the club lights. “It’s fun checking out local punk scenes. Beacon Hills isn’t bad, either.”

Liam snorts. “That’s generous.”

Zeke laughs, throwing his head back. The amusement is genuine, Liam can tell, and he blinks in surprise. This is all going so much better than he expected.

“Seriously,” Zeke says after he collects himself. He’s moved minutely closer, enough to touch Liam’s elbow with a hand, bracelets and rings glinting. “I know some guys. They’re great.”

This is it, Liam thinks, he can’t blow it now. He swallows, doesn’t pull away from Zeke’s touch. “Yeah?”

Zeke seems to consider something as he keeps his eyes trained on Liam’s face. His tongue darts out over his lips. “Yeah,” he says finally, and his smile has an edge to it that shocks Liam in its familiarity.

It’s a little like the smirks Theo gives him, the ones after Theo says something toeing the edge of flirting. It makes Liam burn beneath his skin every time, especially when Theo’s smirk falls away into laughter, because that’s always what it is in the end—a joke. Never anything more.

This is not a joke. Liam can smell it, the scent of interest wisping from Zeke’s skin. Liam swallows. He wonders, distantly, if he’s ever checked closely enough to see if Theo was really joking.

Zeke glances at his smart watch when a text pops up on it. Liam is sorely tempted to read it, but he’s treading carefully, now. It won’t do to piss Zeke off.

Zeke’s mouth twists. He turns back to Liam. “Well, it’s been fun, Liam.” He draws out the two syllables of his name. “But sadly, I’ve got to go.”

“Really?” Liam tries to sound extra disappointed.

Zeke looks amused and… something else Liam is too flustered to put a word to. He pulls out his wallet, a worn-out leather thing covered in what Liam recognizes are hexes. This is definitely their warlock, and one paranoid of pickpocketing, at that. He opens it up and digs out two slips of paper. Tickets.

He grabs a pen from the bar and writes a string of numbers on one of them. When he’s done, he looks at Liam, a meandering stare from bottom to top.

He tucks the tickets into the waistband of Liam’s jeans. Liam nearly jumps at the brush of fingers against his hip.

“Next Saturday,” Zeke murmurs, leaning in. “Doors are at seven.”

“Cool,” Liam squeaks, grimaces, then clears his throat. “Uh, I mean—” in a deeper voice, “Cool.”

“Cool.” Zeke grins. “Hope to see you there, Liam.”

He squeezes Liam’s elbow again, then steps away. He disappears so seamlessly into the crowd it can only be warlock magic.

Liam releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his heart still hammering in his chest. It… worked. He didn’t totally stick his foot into his mouth and end up in a bar fight. Take that, Theo.

… Wait. Theo.

Liam shakes his head to gather himself, then glances around. He doesn’t have to look far—Theo’s standing at the other side of the bar where Liam was earlier.

His elbows are on the counter, one hand curled into a fist in front of him. His knuckles are white. His eyes aren’t on Liam but out towards the crowd, in the direction Zeke just left. Then he turns to look at Liam.

His eyes are dark.

Liam swallows. It feels like anger, but he can tell it’s not directed at him. Still, he approaches with caution. Theo doesn’t get as punchy as Liam when he’s angry, but he does get bitchier.

When he reaches him, he lifts the hem of his shirt to show Theo the tickets tucked into his waistband. “Got ’em,” he says smugly.

Theo’s dark gaze turns even more murderous. He expected Theo to be annoyed about striking out, but this just seems excessive. He got the job done, didn’t he?

“Great,” Theo says through gritted teeth. His fist curls and uncurls restlessly.

Liam frowns. “Are you really that pissed that someone didn’t fall for your charms?” When Theo doesn’t say or do anything, Liam shakes his head and pulls the tickets out of his pants. “Whatever. Here.” He shoves them into Theo’s chest.

Theo grabs his wrist. Liam jumps, but stays thoroughly locked in place by Theo’s grip. His hand is still spread over Theo’s chest, and the tickets beneath his palm do nothing to stifle the heat that radiates from Theo’s skin. Theo slides his hand from Liam’s wrist up to his elbow, thumb dragging over the bare skin there.

Where Zeke had touched, Liam realizes.

Theo lets go of his arm, but Liam doesn’t have the current sense of mind to pull away. Not that Theo would let him, since his hand moves down to Liam’s hip next, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt.

His thumb presses against Liam’s hip bone. Over the shirt, not touching the skin, but still. Liam almost hisses at the contact. Theo does that slow, hard drag again, like Zeke had left fingerprints on Liam and he’s trying his damnedest to wipe them away.

The slightest, faintest growl rolls in the back of Theo’s throat. Audible only to Liam, and even his supernatural hearing strains to catch it. Theo so rarely slips up at anything. Does he realize what he’s doing right now?

Another hard drag of Theo’s thumb and Liam’s about to ask that aloud, but then Theo blinks, clarity suddenly returning to him.

He snatches his hand away. Liam’s skin tingles where he touched it.

Theo takes the tickets, gives them a cursory glance. He keeps the one with Zeke’s number scrawled on it and holds the other one out. Liam takes it wordlessly, his brain still catching up on what the fuck just happened.

Theo clears his throat and says, “Let’s get out of here.”

Liam nods quickly. “Yeah.”

Theo stalks ahead as they leave, his shoulders stiff, all the ease and confidence he wore earlier lost somewhere in the last few minutes. Liam absently touches where Theo’s fingers just did, his skin feeling hot all over. As it so often does around Theo.

He looks at the boy ahead of him. There’s red in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears. Liam bites against a smile.

At least he’s not the only one.

#thiam #theo raeken #liam dunbar #teen wolf #caiwrites #to you riding shotgun

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sonicgetsrawed · 4 years

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We’re Just Ships Passing in the Night, But I Want You Forever

I’m not sure I’ll get to post a one shot today, so have a sneak peek of the pirate au I’ve been working on! Here is le chapter one! Enjoy!

Varian tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was almost suffocating, the room stuffed to the brim with nobility from the far reaches of the seven kingdoms, all here to see the princess’s coronation. He shouldn’t be here, he didn’t belong here. He understood why he was, his father was the lord of Old Corona, but it didn’t mean he belonged. He was much more comfortable among the fields of his home, it was much more lax, here amongst the nobility he couldn’t be himself, the stuffy suits and formalities were too much, too fake. His back was beginning to ache from standing so straight, his scalp beginning to itch from whatever goop had been used to slick it back into place. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“Stop fidgeting.” Varian dropped his hand to his side, letting out a huff at his father’s words.

“I wouldn’t be fidgeting if it wasn’t so damn stuffy.” He shot back with a roll of his eyes. Quirin shot him a glare. Varian leaned back against the glass of the window, the coolness of it providing him with some relief. “How much longer?”

He turned his face to look out the window when Quirin shushed him. The sea was visible from this height, the castle looming high above the rest of the town. He wanted nothing more than to escape this hell for a chance to experience life at sea. He’d never be allowed, his mother had disappeared at sea, since then Quirin had kept him on a short leash. He sighed, earning another sharp glare from his father. The trumpets blared, Varian casting one last glance out the window. His eyes narrowed as he made out the shape of a ship pulling into the dock. That wasn’t right, docks were closed today for Rapunzel’s coronation. “Dad, do you see that?”

“Enough, Varian.” Quirin snapped, pulling Varian’s arm so he was no longer leaning against the window.

Varian’s eyes narrowed, yanking his arm out of his grasp. “Dad, if you’d just-“ His words cut off, as the building shook, a sound akin to thunder filling the halls. The sounds of panic followed soon after, people running and pushing to get out the doors. Instead of following them, Varian turned back to the window, eyes going wide as a cannonball soared towards him. The glass shattered as he dropped to the ground, cutting into his skin, his ears ringing harshly. Quirin was in front of him in a second, checking him over, his lips were moving but Varian couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He pulled Varian forward placing a kiss on top of his head before drawing his sword and running off into the crowd. Varian stumbled after him, his balance thrown off with the loss of his hearing. “Dad! Wait!”

It was too late, he was lost in the crowd, the chaos only growing around him. He fought against the stampede, heading in the opposite direction of the rest of the people. He had been in the castle more than his fair share, he knew all of the secret passageways inside and out. He finally broke free from the crowd, running to the wall behind the throne and pushing on it. A small pathway opened, he forced his way inside, barely able to fit. It closed as soon as he had cleared the entryway, opening up into a larger hallway that he could stand in. The darkness was unusually welcoming, a strange moment of calm washing over him despite the screams that reached his ears with his returning hearing. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he discarded his heavy jacket and vest, undoing several buttons on his shirt. He was still unbearably hot, the clothes terribly stiff, but it was an improvement. He slipped a hand into his pocket pulling out a small glass vial and giving it a few shakes, the hallway lighting up in an eerie green color. He knew exactly where to go, the treasure room was the safest, but if this was a pirate attack it was better to avoid it completely. If he made his way to the dungeons it would put him on the path back to Old Corona, he could warn the people from there. He just needed this to go off without a hitch.

*********************

Hugo smiled widely, blood coating his sword as he slit the throat of another noble. They collapsed to the ground with a satisfying thump. Hugo stepped around them digging around in their pockets and stripping them of their gold. He quickly pocketed a golden bracelet the man had around his wrist, he’d be keeping it for himself. The mission was too easy. While Donella and the main crew distracted the rest of Corona, him and his much smaller crew would take every last piece of treasure they could find, meeting back up in Equis. He walked around the treasure room, crown on his head as the rest of his crew worked, occasionally disposing of anyone who got too close. He tossed a coin against the far wall, watching as it joined the others in their pile, what he hadn’t expected was a small passageway to open. His smile grew wider. There was bound to be a better treasure lying on the other side. He tossed the crown into the pile, sauntering over to the new opening. “I’ll be back boys, don’t cause too much trouble.”

With some difficulty he forced himself inside, letting out a slight huff when he was finally able to stand again. His smile returned when he spotted a soft green light in the distance. It seemed he had been right in his assumption that the passageway would lead him to a greater treasure. He followed the light like a moth to the flame, sword at the ready incase he ran into any unwanted trouble. It didn’t take him long to find the source of the light, the young man turning to face him as soon as he heard his steps. He opened his mouth, most likely to scream, but Hugo was on him in a second, clamping his hand over his mouth, sword against his throat as he slammed him into the wall. “Scream and I slit your throat.”

It was more of a warning than anything, he fully intended to kill the other then and there, but the light from the vial in his hand glinted off the golden bracelet on his wrist. Hugo tilted his head, how had he not seen that before. It looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it, he had seen his fair share of jewelry in his days. He removed his hand from the other’s mouth, expertly undoing the bracelet. A single sapphire lay in the center of it, perhaps if the lighting had been better he’d have realized how wonderfully it matched his eyes. It wasn’t the stone that caught his eye, instead it was the small Coronan seal embedded in the gold. Oh, this was too good, the boy was a Coronan noble, he knew for a fact that King Trevor was in the market for one. He smiled widely once again, it seemed he had found something greater than any gold.

“Give it back.” Hugo’s eyes snapped up to his captive, his face worked into a scowl, his nose scrunched up in anger. Even in the dim lighting, Hugo could tell he was beautiful, he couldn’t wait to get him into the sunlight and take in all those lovely features.

Hugo quickly pocketed the bracelet. “Sorry, hon, it’s mine now.” He laughed at the other’s offended look. “Oh, you didn’t think I was going to give it back did you?”

His scowl dropped, a smirk replacing it. “No, but a distraction is a distraction.” He gave a little shrug of his shoulders, before smashing the vial against Hugo’s head. It wasn’t particularly painful, but it did catch him off guard enough that he stumbled back, clutching his head. He cursed under his breath as the other took off down the hall. Hugo quickly took off after him, once he was close enough he swiped his sword at his legs. He smirked as the other toppled, hand clutching his right leg. Hugo paid him little mind, it wasn’t a deep cut, just enough to stun him. He dug a hand into his pocket pulling out a handful of sleeping powder. “Stay away from me!”

Hugo laughed, dropping his sword on the ground. “You're funny. Just stay still and I won’t have to hurt you again.”

“Wha-“ He blew the powder into his face, careful not to inhale any. He watched as his eyes rolled back into his head, taking a moment for himself to take in the boy’s features. The lines of his face were sharp, although they still held some baby fat, it was hard to gauge much else, but what he saw was already promising. He was already prepared for the earful he’d get from Nuru, they were supposed to be getting gold only, but Hugo saw a better opportunity and took it. Now he just faced the problem of getting him out of here.

#tangled the series #varian #hugo #varigo #but not yet #varian and the seven kingdoms #pirate au #WIP #varian/hugo

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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Best Friend Pact- Part 3: And Now Parents

Calum attempts to drink the sadness away one night at a party, but his friend, Neveah, doesn’t let him completely. And in their stalled journey off sobriety, they make a secret pact. Black!OC.

CW: Over the course this series there are mentions of pregnancy, birth, death, and death related trauma. Please read, or skip, as necessary.

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi

______________________

Calum's no stranger to the crowded airport, the almost inaudible mumble of announcements for boarding flights. He's no stranger to the fatigue either or cramped in a plane for hours on end. He's all too familiar with the attempts to sleep but never getting proper sleep. As he walks from the terminal to baggage claim, he can already feel the crowd waiting for them. He knows Neveah's waiting just on the other side of the doors. Or at least that's what her last text said before take off. The screams increase and he knows that even with the couple of feet between him and the fans, they are going to be closing in.

He stops for a little bit, posing for a few pictures. But all Calum can think about is her. From the pictures, he can tell her belly's gotten much larger. He wonders what it'll be like to hug her now. He thinks about curling up in bed next to her, to be reunited with his two girls. His chest squeezes at that thought. His girls. He continues on with a couple more pictures, talking just a little with the fans. One voice filters in above the rest, "Excited to go home to Duke?"

Calum finds the fan that mentions it, dark hair and pale skin and nods. "Very excited. Missed him a lot." More threatens to pass over his lips. He misses her too. He misses all the time he could've been curled up next to her baby bump, singing to his little girl. He could say it. There's no more secrecy. Yet, he doesn't let more fall over his lips.

He keeps on through the crowd and makes it to luggage. He keeps his eyes on the crowd, though Neveah specifically said she would be waiting outside. He watches the luggage carousel go around once, then twice, grabbing bags he can identify. He fidgets at the bracelet on his wrist. There are quite a few more bags to get. He knows it's his turn to help with the luggage to this time. But he just needs her. How big is the bump actually? She's 32 weeks currently and according to the chart, the baby's about seventeen inches long and about 4 lbs.

He bets she's tired. Sleeping is hard now, constantly waking to go to the bathroom. Neveah journals when she can't sleep. Or more accurately, she emails him with what she would put in a journal. Just to help him feel less distance. Her last entry, a couple of days ago was a little rough. She was so worried about her mother, after another visit to the doctor's, and her sleep is disturbed constantly. It was a rough day. Though thankfully, things with the baby were fine. He pulls his phone from his pocket.

She answers on the first ring. "Would you be pissed if I came inside? I really have to pee."

Calum exhales his laughter, slipping the phone between his ear and shoulder. Another piece of their luggage is coming around. "No, I wouldn't be. Don't bust your bladder."

"Thank God. Ladybug likes kicking my bladder now and I'm not here for it."

"I'm telling you she's going to be a footballer."

"You just might be right about that. Now to find a bathroom in this place. Call me when you're headed for the car, okay?"

Calum turns now, looking out over the crowd. He's much too far to actually spot her. One of their security takes note of his constant crowd searching before offering to find her. "Corey's going to find you. Can you hover around the front entrance so he can walk you back? I need to see you," he whispers.

All of the security know what she looks like, she's come backstage to a few shows in the past. Calum never passes up the opportunity to show off her latest bump update. Calum knows he's missed a lot. Even with their frequent communication, there's nothing like being there directly in the moment. Most of this pregnancy is all second handed to him. He hates that.

"Yeah," her voice turns into an echo. She's found the bathroom. "I can do that."

"Now, go pee. Make it quick."

She chuckles. "Don't make me laugh! But I'll try." The call ends and Calum releases a deep breath, still trying to spot her in the crowd. It's pointless, so he turns back to the carousel and helps with the last bits of luggage. A few minutes pass, triple checking that all the bags have been grabbed. Calum holds some bags steady as the last one is precariously placed on the top of the pile.

"No, let him suffer since he doesn't want to turn around," she laughs.

Calum spins around on his heel, heart racing in his chest. His hands immediately turn clammy. It's her. Actually Neveah in front of him. Not on a screen, not just her voice. It's really her, hair somehow longer than he remembers. Still just as thick, her voice just the same. The all too telling sting hits the back of his eyes. He blinks rapidly, a smile lifting his cheeks. He has the urge to run up to her, lift her up, but he can't do that. He just smiles for a beat, before his brain finally reconnects and he walks to her, wrapping her up tightly. It's not too awkward, he thinks, to hug her. There's definitely some readjusting. He finds he leans down a bit more. "It's been too long," he states, pulling back a little.

"It hasn't been that long," she counters with a head tilt.

Calum wraps his fingers around hers on one hand, gently resting his other against the side of her stomach. "You're so far along. It's been that long."

"There's still plenty of time left and still a lot left to do."

"You promise me you haven't bought the car seat without me."

"We are car seat-less. My dad and I put the crib together. But the rocking chair still needs assembly. Thankfully there's already a dresser in there."

"What about the bookshelf?"

"Just ordered and got an email today that it shipped."

"I ordered some baby clothes. They should be arriving this week."

"You didn't even consult me. You better not having my little girl looking crazy."

"Ladybug will not be going around lookin' crazy. Her mother would have me killed if I did."

"You damn straight I would." Her laughter falls out in a tuft.

His gaze follows the lines of her face, taking in the puff to her cheeks, the full brows, the bridge of her nose, down to her lips. He lingers there, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. He could kiss her. He wants to kiss her. Just not here. Too many cameras. He knows even in the bustle of the airport, phones are recording, people are waiting. "Is there something in my teeth? I got hungry right before leaving, so I ate something quick," she rushes out.

He shakes his head, the heat making his whole face hot at being caught. "No, there's nothing."

Almost like she can understand what's left unsaid, she stretches up a little kissing his cheek. Calum's smile brightens as she winks at him. She knew, he figures. But he's not shocked. She knows him well. Calum just shakes his head. "I know," she laughs. "I know."

With all the luggage situated, they begin to head towards the vans. The crowd thickens a little, making Calum a little nervous. He pulls her closer and a little behind him, trying to use himself as a way to part the people. The flashes pick up a little, some paps lingering a little too eagerly for something, anything really. She feels his grip tighten around her hand. She squeezes back, a silent I'm okay. The muscle in his jaw twitches a little, noticing some people still pushing in. He shouldn't have asked her to come to him. He should've just waited like they had planned on. It was safer. There wouldn't have been a crowd for her to deal with. There would be no pictures that could be surfacing now as they walk. "Give us a little space, please," Corey states, not even needing to look back.

The walk is tense, keeping her head ducked a little. The crowd does listen though, creating a deep pocket around them. They get outside. Calum helps a little, grabbing his bags along the way. Halfway done with the cart, he gets told to just go home. That they can handle the rest. He doesn't question the gesture and turns to find her, humming to herself, hands nestled on the bump. He takes a moment to watch her. Her back has to be aching. She talks about it a lot. He knows she has about three pairs of shoes she can wear that fit due to the swelling of her feet. Her bladder is not hers anymore, hardly of her is really hers. But somehow even though it's a physical toll, she manages to still look beautiful. Still manages to keep a smile on her face.

Calum grabs his carry on, throwing it over his shoulders and drags the two suitcases behind him. "We ought to get you home," he says softly, watching her tilted head still angled at the sky. "What do you see?"

"Nothing, just thinking."

"About?"

A soft grin rests on her lips before she shakes her head. "Really want to know?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't want?"

"Touche." Neveah takes a waddle closer to him, a shuffle step. "Really want to know? Final chance." He watches her eyes flicker down to his lips before looking back up his eyes. He exhales at the same moment she inhales- they share the same breath. Should he kiss her right here? It wouldn't be difficult, a small tilt of her chin, bending down just ever so slightly and he could brush his lips over hers. So, so, so fucking easy.

Calum nods. "I really want to know." There's a beat, a moment where both of them realize what's about to happen. He's really going to kiss her. Not that he hasn't kissed her forehead and temples before. Not that she hasn't kissed his cheek. But this is different though. This is more intimate. Then the moment leaves replaced by the brush of their lips against each other. It's closed-mouth, her lips soft, his a little chapped. As she goes to pull back from their shared breathe, Calum cups her cheek. "One more time. I didn't catch it all the first," he grins, pulling her back in for another kiss.

Her lips are lifted into a grin; he can feel it against his own. They part. She hums. "I don't think I caught it all that time." A soft and breathy exhale of a laugh ghosts over her face as they kiss one last time.

Calum wraps his hand around the side of her face, bringing his head up and kissing the top of her head. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"You don't have to keep thanking me."

"But I do. This is no easy thing you're doing and I am absolutely blown away by your strength. Besides you always thank the Queen." Laughing into his chest, Neveah imprints the smell of his bodywash into her brain once again.

The second Calum steps through the door of his house, Duke is waiting, tail wagging. The reunion is sweet, involving Duke climbing Calum's chest. Then all three of them curling up in bed for a quick nap. The nap quickly turns into about 4 hours of sleep. He pads into the kitchen, scratching at his hair as he shuffles, eyes still squinting to the lights in the house. The bedroom was dark, shades were drawn, almost as if night had settled into the room itself. "Welcome to the land of the living," she jokes, situated at the bar, a cup of tea in her hand.

"Welcome indeed," he rasps. "I'll get started on putting the rocking chair together."

"That can wait. Get something to eat and sleep. You've been around the world in just a couple of months. Breathe."

"I don't want to spend too much unconscious. Want to spend time with you."

"I'm not very fast anymore. I'm not really going anywhere. And I pee every five seconds. I wouldn't make it far."

Calum watches yet another hour of the wee morning tick by and finally decides sleep isn't going to happen for him anymore. The nap earlier threw him completely off. She sleeps on her side, pillows propped under her stomach and between her knees. He gently rubs his palm over the bump, kissing the back of her neck ever so softly. Sitting up, he pushes out of bed, walks around and kisses her stomach. "Love you, ladybug. Sorry I've been gone so long. I can't wait to meet you. Bet you're gonna have your mum's eyes. She has stunning eyes."

Calum sits on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He's never told her that. It never felt appropriate to say such things until. "I'm sorry to tell you, Ladybug. You're gonna have squishy cheeks too. Daddy might've cursed you with that one. I hope you get Mum's nose. She's got a cute nose." Calum looks up to her face. The urge to trace down the bridge of her nose is strong, trace her cheeks. He won't. She can be a light sleeper sometimes. He doesn't want to wake her.

In the silence, she opens her eyes, reaching her hand out, wiggling her fingers. She notes the width to his eyes now. He didn't mean to wake her. His mouth opens, though she cuts him off before he can speak. "Just give me your hand and keep talking. She likes the sound of your voice."

Calum holds out his hand, letting her place it onto the side of her stomach. He waits for a beat. She nods at him in encouragement. "Mum keeps giving me this look like I should start talking." Something hits his hand. A gasp falls over his lips, breath catching in his throat. "Do that again, sweetheart. Please." Another kick. Tears sting in the back of his eyes. He missed her first real kick. He felt some movement, right before having to leave for promo. But her reaction to him, just the sound of his voice. A laugh falls over his lips, tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh my god."

"You might be right about her and sports. She's quite active. But more at the sound of your voice now."

"You like the sound of my voice, baby?" More movement. "Mum's taking such good care of you, isn't she? You're going to be healthy. I'm so so sorry I've been gone for so long. I know I missed a lot, no doubt."

"You have a lifetime with us. Don't fret," comes her muttered reply. Calum watches, her eyelids fluttering, hand slack around his.

The silence settles around them. She's right. "I'm incredibly happy about that too," he whispers. "A lifetime with you two is all I need."

The last couple of weeks, Calum can see the discomfort of her face. Neveah jokes about feeling like an overstuffed turkey. Calum usually responds the same way, a deadpan look followed by, "Gobble gobble." That is until her giggle sends him into a fit of laughter. Outside of trying to get her to laugh through the discomfort, he does the usual, keeping her off her feet as much as possible, keeping french toast at the ready for the call day or night. He's even started rolling tennis balls on her lower back. That usually does the trick. He hates seeing her in rough shape. But he knows there's only so much he can do.

All of this works until she receives news of her mother landing in the hospital. The news is not a shock, things were starting to look bleak. But it's still a gut punch. She could visit, even considered it. But just the mere thought of seeing her mother like that is too much. So they talk on the phone. Calum sets out another plate of french toast, rubbing gently at her shoulders. Listening to the hum, she gives in response to something. "The great name debate continues," she chuckles.

"We both like Ettie. I want Nayely too. But there's no wearing Calum down on that one." She reaches up, extending a strawberry for Calum. He bends down, biting into the berry. Calum can just hear the buzz of her mother's voice through the phone. "That's a good idea. I'll ask him."

Calum looks down, hearing the pitter of claws tapping on the hardwood floor. Duke wags his tail, staring up at him and then her. Duke's been hanging close to her for the last week. I guess the little guy can also sense the bad news. Calum squats down, patting his head. "You'll get cuddles and pets real soon, love. Mum's eating right now."

"Hand me my son."

His chest rumbles at her request. "Finish eating."

She waves the comment away, phone tucked into her shoulder, wiping her fingers off on the napkin. "I'm done. No, Momma. It's just Duke."

True to the word, all the toast is gone. "You didn't even eat that. You inhaled it practically."

"My specialty," Neveah laughs.

Duke happily settles into her arms as she walks over to the couch. The conversation continues for a few minutes with her mother before her mother has to go. Calum washes the last of the dishes, finishing off just a couple slices of toast for himself. "Your parents are arriving tomorrow morning right?" She calls from the living room.

"Yes." Looking over the counter into the living room, he watches the way she curls up on the couch. She says nothing else, scratching at Duke's stomach. Her due date is two weeks away. Her mother's in the hospital and no one can really determine how much time is left. Her heart is hurting. "Please tell me there's something I can do," he starts. He tries not to choke on his tears.

"I wish I could tell you there was."

He wishes they had gone with the C-section. They had the opportunity to schedule it. Even though neither one of them knew this would be the end of the line, they did consider going for a C-section. It wasn't a sure fire way to make sure that her mother got a chance to meet their child, her grandbaby. It did, however, for a moment seemed like it was a way to get some sort of control over the matter. That's what really hurt the most. The fact remains that no one can control this. It matters not what they want. Time is cruel and unforgiving. Time, they realize, comes for everyone.

Calum sniffles, blinking rapidly. "How about a dip in the pool? You know how your back gets if you sit too long."

She'd rather do nothing. She'd rather sit and sulk. But she can't afford that. Not with their baby girl so close on the horizon. So she nods, her mother would have her ass for not doing some sort of physical activity today. She likes the water exercises. They keep her from too many aches and pains. She's fallen off the bandwagon for sure after the news of her mother. Calum walks over, helping her up off the couch.

"I'm about to be an overstuffed turkey in a bikini," she whispers, hoping to lift the mood.

"You mean the hottest overstuffed turkey in a bikini ever."

She chuckles, fighting a little to get out Calum's sweatpants. The elastic doesn't get tight and she likes the way they fit. He helps tie up the top, the bottoms thankfully slide on easy. She already has a fairly established routine. She wades a little from the stairs and starts with a breaststroke. The water ripples around her, and then Calum as he settles in front of her, chains still wrapped around his neck, gently tapping against his golden chest. "Stop staring at me and do your exercises."

"If I didn't feel like I was going to pop just from a hug, I'd kiss you right now."

The confession, while bold, makes his stomach flutter a little. "Maybe I ought to hug you. Let Ladybug know her time is up."

"She's not golden brown yet. I want to meet her too. But she's not to be rushed. Perfection takes time."

Three days come and go since Joy and David arrive at the house. The extra pair of hands is nice. Until the parental instinct comes in. She's used to Calum babying her. That compares nothing to Joy. She means well, making sure all the pillows are fluffed. Calum watches from the kitchen, puffing his cheeks out and crossing his eyes. Just to get a laugh from her, cut through the awkward situation. It works, a soft giggle escapes her in tufts, hands resting on her stomach. His grin is large, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"You're supposed to be cookin'," his father reprimands with a laugh. "Not makin' faces. You got a hungry woman eating for two over there. Don't be playin' 'bout with my grandbaby."

"If she were hungry enough, she'd eat me. It's alright," he says.

"I would not," she shouts.

"You've threatened it how many times?"

"By some measures, three. But I wouldn't actually do it." The entire house bounces around with laughter.

After breakfast, the day moves by fast. One moment, she's in the pool, Joy going through her exercises when she feels some pressure, a shifting from up high to down low into her pelvis. All the aches and pains happen the last few days cause her to she ignore it. She decides to go to the back for a quick nap, maybe some sleep will help her, settle whatever is happening. Might've done something while exercising.

There's more pressure when she wakes, even the twinge of a cramp. Her heart races. She's about a week from her actual due date. Her brain she knows what's happening, but maybe it's not. Maybe it's not happening. A few minutes pass when another cramp comes. She rides that one out. But when the next one comes, she tries rolling onto her side. That does not change it. It still spasms around the front of her lower uterus around to her back. Not a cramp, and mostly not like a phantom contraction either.

She inhales for three seconds and exhales for four trying to push out all the nerves buzzing. They start in her fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay. She's prepared for this, right? The bag's already packed. They did the hospital tour. So they know where they're going. She opens her mouth to call for Calum, but nothing comes out. Her throat seizes for a moment, tongue thick in her mouth now. God, oh god. She's in labor.

With a glance to the alarm clock, she notes that her nap took way longer than she anticipated. It's been about an hour since she woke. The contractions are about five minutes apart if she had to guess. Time them, her brain finally puts together. She finds her phone on the bedside table, opening the app she downloaded two nights prior on Joy's advice. More breathing, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as she can. The next two contractions last for about a minute and are a little less than five minutes apart.

This is labor if she can recall the information correctly. Just tell Calum, she thinks to herself. Pushing up from the bed, she straightens herself up. She exhales, trying to breathe through the pain like she was taught in class. She makes it down the hallway, carefully stepping, afraid of another contraction. His laughter hits her ears, above the thumping in her veins. "Cal!" Neveah finally calls out, her voice finally returning to her, as if all she needed was to remind herself that he's real to make it through this.

There must be something in her tone, something in the way she calls her name because when she looks up, he's already in front of her. Like she slow blinked him into existence. "Everything okay? What's wrong?" The worry knits his brows together. She has half a mind to tell him to pluck the damn caterpillar off his face. But she reframes, sucks the comment back down her throat as she inhales.

"Babe, talk to me." He doesn't like that look on her face, mouth twisted up, nose scrunched. It all reads pain. God, no, he doesn't want to see her in pain. He watches the way she soothes at her stomach.

"Contractions, I think."

He blinks, words not hitting the top of his head yet. But he knows heard them right. Then all at once, his brain finally catches with his body, striding back into the bedroom. He's grabbing his shoes. "Mum, grab her flats, please!" He shouts, typing up the last shoe. "By the door," he continues, slinging the hospital bag over his shoulder.

She stares at Calum. His whole demeanor is different, she feels it as he takes her hand, firm but with a slight tremor. But Neveah knows, she knows what goes on behind that stoic face. She knows the panic settling into his blood. "I'm not dying," she laughs, sliding into the shoes.

"I know." He's gone, not physically. Just mentally replaced. The soft man she knows hardening to the circumstances. The only thing that matters to Calum is that she and their baby are safe and sound.

Calum and David pack up Calum's car snacks, and the hospital bag. It's a wonder that Luke shows up so fast to pick up Duke. But that matters much less to him. He's glad, but worry, and a surge of excitement settles into Calum's gut. This is really happening. Joy settles into the back seat with her, resting Neveah's head into the crook of her shoulder.

The drive isn't long. At the only major stop light in their route, Calum risks a glance back. She's tucked into his mother's arms. His mom speaks softly to her. The sight eases the tightens in his chest, until he sees another contraction. He notices the distinct hiss she gives when it hits her. Then the squeezing in his chest returns. He can't bear to watch, grasp tightening around the steering wheel.

"She's strong," his dad says. "Stronger than ya think." Calum prays his father is right. Because he needs it. He needs that to be true.

Time loses all meaning in the delivery room. Calum can't tell if it's the same day, the next or two days later. The only thing he focuses on is her, the strange whine as she leans into the birthing ball. Calum sits on the floor next to her, brushing back some of the stray hair, smoothing the cold washcloth over the back of her neck. "You're doing so well, babe."

She laughs. "I thought I was the Queen."

Besides himself, he grins. "You are. And you're a busy Honeybee too."

"I feel like she hasn't moved in ages."

He hears the frustration bleeding into her voice. "Hey, no, no, no, none of that. Just take a deep breath. It's gonna be okay."

Her breathe leaves her in a gasp as she goes to speak again, with a contraction interrupting the thought. She's been stuck at about 7 centimeters for hours now. He's not even sure how long. But he can't think about that. He gets her to breathe through that contraction, watching the way her face exhales too, features lifting and settling in their normal spots, not tense and scrunched together. "Can you put one of my playlists? Please? This silence and machines beeping are driving me insane."

"Anything specific?" Calum unlocks her phone, fingers hovering over the long list of selections.

She hums, whining her way through another contraction. He closes his eyes, trying to suck back the tears. She's hurting, and there's barely a thing he can do to fix that. She finally speaks again. "Something I can dance to, maybe. I–just anything, please."

Calum taps one, paying no attention to the title or the songs. He hears some horns start up and figures it's good enough before making his way back to her. She takes his hands, standing. Calum wipes at her brow, before brushing his fingers over her chin. "Just dance, alright. Just dance."

"Your accent is soothing," Neveah offers as the song shuffles. "Not better than your mom's though."

"That's rude. I've been in the States too long. It just happens naturally."

"Her accent is still better though," she laughs.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

The doctor checks on her, still hovering at about 7 centimeters. "You're moving though. You're close. Just keep going. It's working."

She looks up to Calum, drawing a loop with her finger. "Run the playlist one more time, mister DJ."

Her skin has a slight sheen of sweat. The room's stuffy with all the lights. There's constantly bustle of doctors and nurses. His parents offered to sit out of the room, running updates from their room to her mother's room in the same hospital. It's one of her bad days, one of the days when getting out of the bed makes her too sick. Though now as they try going through the playlist once again, she's tired. She can feel herself wanting to cave, give up. She knew she wouldn't have her mom her to comfort her, but part of her had always wished it were untrue. But time, time thwarts her. Her mother doesn't have a lot of time. Time keeps pushing them one step forward and then pulls them three steps back.

"Babe," Calum tries, noticing the quietness overtaking her. She doesn't respond. "Honey bee?"

Her chest caves. "My mom," she croaks out. "She's so close. But not really."

His eyes search the room, landing on one of the nurses who's been with them since the beginning. "Get my mum, please," his voice cracks a little. "She's in the lobby. Gray jacket and black leggings."

The nurse nods, hastily shuffling out of the room. Calum keeps her in his arms, whispering into her hair. But Neveah is too far gone, too far in the ache of labor and her yearning heart. The door creaks back open.

His mother's voice filling his ears. "Alright, no more tears. You've got a baby to focus on, alright? Calum and I are here, sweetheart. Your mum can't meet this baby still inside you, now can she?"

Neveah pulls from his chest. Joy is right. Like she always is.

While bouncing on the birthing ball, laughing at Calum's ridiculous faces, Neveah notes a sudden release. She hasn't gone on herself. She can at least control that much right now. She can register the pain that overcomes her, but even as it's happening, she wishes she couldn't. She wishes nothing was felt from the chest down. The ball turns into a bed. The pain is transformed into energy to push. Calum takes one hand, her left. Joy settles in on her right, still ushering in her smooth voice words of encouragement. Her doctors and nurses, all female, are lit with a fire, shuffling around the room, counting down for each push.

"I can see the head," her doctor claims. "Stop pushing for me, sweetie. Dad, want a look?"

There's just a peak of the head, some blood but the crown is there. His body floods with pride for a moment. It wanes as the more people flood the room. God, something's going wrong. It has to be for the scrub suits to come out. The bottom half of the bed falls away, replaced by stirrups. Every time Calum blinks something has changed. The light comes down and angled straight up. "You're gonna push for me a couple more times and then it's gotta be over, okay, sweetheart."

"God," she sighs, head falling back.

"You've done all this, Honey Bee. All this. You can give it one last push," Calum encourages.

"We don't even have a middle name!"

"Just trust me. Trust me. One more push. You got this."

She remembers her mom. Hallways away from her. It might be a bad day. But this would make it so much better. She can't get the words out. But she trusts him. She wouldn't have agreed to all of this if she didn't. Pushing up, she ignores the exhaustion and presses as much as she can, redirects the fear, sadness, and pain into that moment.

It's like everything falls out of her. Her doctor mentions the head again and then it just all slips out. Finally, her baby girl rests on her chest. The cry let out is almost deafening, but so worth it. Calum feels his body sag, burying his face into her sweaty shoulder. "She's so small, oh my god," he whispers as he looks back to his little girl.

"I'm totally crying, aren't I?" she asks, her voice soft. 'My face is all sweaty. I can't tell what's a tear and what's sweat."

It's definitely tears he sees falling from her face. He can feel his own falling too. Their baby. If a moment could feel real and surreal at the same time, this is it. This is the moment that feels liminal, holy because of life brought to them, untouchable to the outside world. But still somehow ordinary, somehow still another baby born. But it's his baby. "Aroha," he whispers, the thing of his dreams. The thing he never thought he'd have.

Joy smiles, her eyes watery too. "Ettie Aroha Hood, welcome."

Nevah's not sure when her body finally let itself shut down. Nearly twelve hours in labor, afterbirth, and attempting to breastfeed for the first time, the only thing her body craves is sleep. Calum's all but climbed into the bed next to her. Ettie whines a little from the little crib. Her eyes snap awake at the sound. This is her life now, the smallest sound waking her. The whine doesn't last long and Ettie settles back down instantly as she grasps onto her mother's finger. "Just needed Momma, huh? I get that."

There's a knock on the door, a nurse poking her head in. Calum snaps at the sound of the knock but relaxes at the nurse. "How's Mom feeling?"

"Tired. I feel like I've been hit by a bus."

"Now you know how I felt." Neveah looks from the nurse to her mother, shuffling her way into the room.

"Momma, you should be resting."

"I'll rest soon. I needed to meet my granddaughter first." As her mother settles onto the bed. "She's beautiful. By God. Got her father's cheeks, I see."

Calum shrugs, smiling in his still half asleep state. He called it. He knew it would happen. Her mother picks up Ettie, cooing a little. "I'm your grandma, Ettie. Ain't it a shock. You're going to grow up big and strong; you're going to make old granny proud. Give your parents hell for me. Just not too much."

The room falls silent. Calum reaches over, taking her hand and brushing his thumb over the skin. "I told you it would happen. They would meet."

She nods. It did. That's all she could really ever ask for, out of life. That time spared her this time. "I love you, Ettie. Don't forget that." Her mother places the baby back into the crib. The two women lock eyes. Neveah's heart nearly stops, seeing how the tiredness that's settled there. It's not the kind that sleeps fixes, not the kind that meds help with, not the kind of tiredness that's linked to physical causes. It's an emotional tiredness, a turmoil too far rooted.

"Momma," she breathes.

Her mother, with a trembling hand, holds her cheek. "I love you, baby. I'm always here." Her hand placed directly over her child's heart. She reaches up, pulling the gold chain over her neck. It's an amethyst gem, hanging down from the chain. Her mother curls her fist around it, a sad smile pulling at her lips.

"You're tired, aren't you, Momma?"

"I was tired the second I had you. This tired is new to me. But strong and you are stronger. Don't forget that. Now," her mother's voice shakes just like her chin, "I better head back before my pudding cups go missing in your father's stomach. He thinks I don't notice. But, oh, I absolutely do notice. Remember that Calum, we see everything." Her mother's laugh echoes even after her exit.

There are no tears left to cry. Neveah's not even sure her body can produce them right now. Looking back down to the chain and gem, she has an urge to run after her mother. Tell her to wear it until her dying breath. She gave it to her for a reason and she for damn sure better wear it until the end. Maybe this is the end. Maybe she can start praying for an end to the suffering.

She holds it out to Calum. "Can you put this on me, please?" He nods, taking the jewelry carefully. Sure that all her hair is out of the way, he secures the clamps. He stays on the bed with her, pulling her into his chest.

"You know," Calum whispers, "I've always believed people inherently knew when the end was coming. But I think what they fail to realize is that sometimes ends also have beginnings."

"If Ettie turns out like my mother, don't be shocked."

This is their beginning, with Ettie, with caring for a baby. This is all her mother needed to see, a start, the first words of a new chapter after reading the words of her last.

25 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Six, “I’ll Be Seeing You”

Links:

- *NEW* Check out the new character survey I filled out from Becky’s POV here!

- *NEW* Take a look at the new character survey I filled out from Harry’s POV here!

- All chapters can be found here!

- Inspo tag can be found here!

- Spotify playlist *updated often* can be listened to here!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 7.2k words

SNEAKYYYYYYYY PEEK

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two weeks with that teasing around in my head - the fact that I get to work with him every day for five days a week. A dream come true, in every way. I’m rather positive tonight will tide me over until next week when I have my orientation.

I have a good feeling for the first time in a while, so many of them actually.

“God, it’ll be weird going back to being boss and employee again. It was so much easier being just friends,” I remark jokingly, the song flowing from his lips mixing with that of my own.

“Eh,” Harry says, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in his long black peacoat. “Don’ think o’ it that way, Becks, we’re colleagues now, which ‘s even betta.”

Song Inspo: I’ll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday (click to listen and am I the only one thinking of The Notebook now?)

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.” - T.S. Eliot

Confliction knits together in my stomach as I travel the halls on my way to work. Enthusiasm peeks through when I pass the several courtrooms on my way, imagining myself in them sat next to Harry, his co-counsel. No longer are there feelings of disdain and longing when I pass Courtroom #5, or the mailroom I so often hid inside the walls of. Disdain found its way back to me when I entered the door for Administration, my lousy desk calling for me from its corner. I somehow can’t seem to escape that character trait. Nonetheless, a smile stuck to my lips at times throughout the morning as I browsed new work outfits online during downtime.

The morning went by painfully slow as I waited to try and catch Sophie after her many meetings and phone calls. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure how I would survive two more weeks of the humdrum between these four walls with my new future teasing me. Not when something out of a dream had woven its way into my life now, getting to work with Harry as his mentee, and a second chance at all of it. A second chance I wasn’t going to waste this time.

“Hey, Sophie. Good morning, I was wondering if I could speak to you about something?” I ask her, finally finding the right moment as she walks by my desk after a meeting.

“Yes of course, love. I was just going to grab some tea, why don’t you join me?” she murmurs with a smile, waving her arm as a signal to follow her down the hallway to the nearby break room. “Does this have anything to do with the glowing recommendation I gave about you to a certain Mr. Styles yesterday?”

“Maybe,” I laugh softly, holding open the door for her.

“Did you get called back for another interview?!” she asks excitedly, her long maroon pants twirling around her legs when she turns to face me.

“Even better, I got the job!” I answer, matching her excitement easily. She lets out a yelp of joy before wrapping me in a hug.

“I’m so happy for you, love, even though I’ll be sad to see you go,” she hums, the heavy charm bracelet on her wrist brushing against my back.

“Thank you, I am too. It’s pretty bittersweet.”

“Yes, indeed. When will be your last day with us?” she inquires, patting my arm on her way to the electronic kettle she’s had her eyes on.

“The uh twenty-fifth officially, so I have two weeks left to help find a replacement and finish up my work.”

“Ah, that sounds right,” she mumbles as she removes a packet of tea from a box in the drawer, ginger tea.

“I was wondering if there is any chance that I’d be able to take a day off somewhere in there to complete some orientation for the uh, new job. If not, that’s of course okay. I just thought I’d ask, since sometimes I’m sent home early for the day or some days are slow,” I suggest nervously, clasping my hands together to keep myself from fidgeting too much.

“Of course. Hmmm, let me think,” she almost whispers, tapping her long pink fingernails against the counter while swirling the teabag in the steaming water. “I think next Friday would be fine, since those days are rather slow anyways. Does that work for you, love?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to uh, check with Mr. Styles about it to see if it works with him. You know, his cases and the like,” I respond uncertainly, toying with the dainty golden ring Skye got me for Christmas, an amethyst stone set into the middle.

“Is this Mr. Styles the former boss you spoke of?” she inquires, turning to face me with a grin budding on her lips. I’m unsure of what to say and so I nod my head, but I can tell by the look on her face that I’m not hiding my expressions very well either. “What’s that big smile for, huh, Becky?”

“Nothing,” I respond quickly, trying to save myself as I walk around, reaching into the cupboards for a mug.

“You haven’t been wearing that big smile for nothing, and it didn’t get five times brighter when I brought up his name for nothing either.”

Her name falls from my lips in a futile warning, marked by an accidental laugh. My name soon follows even though I try to ignore it as I inspect the tea drawer, packets ranging from peach, mint, ginger, green, wild berry, and even glazed lemon loaf. I indulge myself and finally try the sweet lemon one, smiling at the smell of the teabag.

“I don’t know how to put it into words,” I suffice, picking up the electric kettle, watching how the teabag reacts to the boiling water.

“Feelings are hard to put into words sometimes, aren’t they?” Sophie replies, somehow putting my confliction and doubt so easily into a phrase.

“Yeah, and they’re scary to admit.”

“That they are, love,” she tuts, her spoon clanging against the ceramic inside of the mug as she stirs honey into hers. “They’re even harder to admit when you have them for somebody . . Am I getting close?”

“Very,” I respond, jiggling the teabag in and out of the scalding liquid, feeling the tendrils of steam tickle my face.

“Answer me this, are you feeling better about going back to work for him?”

“Yes, very much so, until I start thinking about it too much,” I reveal softly, growing more comfortable telling her as the seconds pass, wishing it were this easy to tell him.

“If it’s in your plans, perhaps you should tell him what you told me, or start it off that way. He sounded rather fond of you over the phone, you should know. A very kind and attentive man, as well,” she murmurs sweetly, tapping her spoon on the lip of her mug a few times. “Whatever you decide to do, Becky, I wish you luck and I hope you’re happy. Why don’t you go give a ring to tell him about next Friday?”

“Thank you, Sophie, really. It means a lot to me,” I reply slowly, weight clinging to every word.

“Sure thing, love. Now go and make me proud and call him, so you don’t have to wait two weeks to see him.”

I just nod, a smile plastered all over my face as I pick up my tea and bring it with me, feeling her hand on my arm. Few people meander the halls as I join them until I find an empty bench tucked away in a private corner. After setting down the hot mug of tea on a windowsill, I can already feel my fingers trembling pulling my phone from my pocket. Once again, the numbers flow from my fingers effortlessly as I type in his number, but then I stop. I delete them and switch over to Recent Calls, hastily tapping Harry (work) before I lose my bravery. I suppose I should get used to calling this number, anyways, I conclude amongst my thoughts. As I listen to it ring, I debate whether to pick up the tea, but when I glance at the shakes consuming my fingers, I decide against it. They only come to shake harder and faster as I wait, and wait, and wait.

Suddenly the sound changes, but my ears are met with disappointment. “Hi, ya’ve reached tha office of Harry Styles here at Styles and Lawson. ‘m sorry I missed yer call due t’ bein’ out o’ tha office or in court. Please leave yer name and numba, and ‘ll return yer call as soon as I can,” his pre-recorded message trickles into my ears, the same cold one I’ve heard over and over again. I try to remember the last time I heard it, but it must have been years. Wow, years is a long time.

The beep comes out of nowhere and I’m stumbling over my words already, “Hi, Harry. This is Becky. If you could give me a call back when you get a chance, that would be great. I’ll try to answer, but I’m at work . . Talk to you soon, bye.”

Groaning, my fingers soon get caught in my hair anxiously. Taking a deep breath, I try to talk myself down and realize that this happens all of the time. He may be in a meeting, in the middle of a trial, on the phone with a client, out for the day- there are so many possibilities. They don’t soften the blow of wanting to hear his voice and not getting to. No, they can’t take that way or make up for the loss. Exhaling, I stand to my feet and go to reach for my tea, right as my phone begins to buzz in my pocket.

“Skye, if this is you calling in the middle of my shift again, or Robbie,” I mumble behind gritted teeth, blinking hard as I sit back down.

I don’t even glance at the name on my screen before answering it with a dreary ‘hello.’

“My goodness, don’ sound so happy t’ talk t’ me,” Harry rasps from the other side, his voice having a cooling effect on the hot frustration coursing through my body.

“I’m sorry, I-I am. I thought you were somebody else,” I reply, trying not to laugh, but it makes its way out.

“Ah I see, well that person ‘s in fer a bad time with you,” he titters, and I think I can almost picture it. His eyes crinkling, him doing that scrunchy nose thing, the light green speckles in his eyes sparkling, and him playing with his bottom lip. “So what’s up, Becks? I see ya left a message, but I didn’t listen, jus’ called ya back. Shouldn’t ya be workin’?” he teases, his tone changing to a cocktail of firm and teasing towards the end. My favorite sound. All of it, just it all.

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, thinking back to what Sophie said, and trying to focus on only the day off. “I just spoke to my boss and she gave me next Friday off, so I can come and do my orientation that day with you. Would that work for you, Harry?”

“Ah, that’s very nice o’ her. She was very helpful and lovely when I spoke t’ her on tha phone yestaday. Ya, lemme pull up me calendar t’ see what I have goin’ on next Friday,” Harry responds warmly, distraction plaguing his voice quickly.

“Oh she was? She said you were very nice as well, and that she gave me, I quote ‘a glowing recommendation.’ So, what’d you two talk about?”

“None o’ yer business ‘s what. That’s fer me t’ know and fer you t’ not find out,” he quips with a laugh, typing and clicking appearing softly in his background. “Okay, Friday. Let’s see.”

“Harry,” I tease not so seriously, hearing a humored hum from him.

“Becks,” he echoes with an affable scoff. “Oh here, Friday. Ya, that should work fer you t’ c’min t’ do yer orientation. How does nine t’ five sound, bug?” he continues, clicking his tongue habitually, something I remember he does to help him to focus.

There’s that nickname again, Becky. That’s what, how many times he’s used it in the last two days?

Okay, you have a good point, but hush.

“Great! I mean, that sounds great. I’ll plan for nine am then, and will dinner and drinks work afterward too?” I question, feeling like I’m stepping further out on this limb that I’ve been climbing dangerously.

“Ummmmm,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue again absentmindedly. Somehow, even that is cute and it’s just so him, and it makes the missing him ache just a little bit more. “No, ‘m sorry, Becks. ‘m s’posed t’ go out t’ dinna with my sista at half-past five,” he reports solemnly, and that ache hits a little harder now.

“That’s okay,” I chirp, trying to mask the disappointment in my voice. I feel like I do it pretty well, but I’ve never been the best at telling.

“No, we’ll figure out anotha day. We’ve put this off fer too long now- Okay, lemme look su’more,” he mumbles, and now I’m sure he’s playing with his bottom lip. And I’m also sure that this all couldn’t be better. I get to see him in less than two weeks, and now maybe sooner.

Yaaaaaaay!

Yipeeeeeee!

“I see, you’re just too busy for me, because you’re such a popular man,” I sigh dramatically feeling the teasing smile tug at my lips.

“I am not too busy fer you. ‘s jus’ a busy life bein’ a lawyer, so ya betta get ready fer it, Becks. And I dunno ‘bout bein’ popular, I jus’ think ‘s tha bloody New Years thing. All o’ these friends are comin’ outta tha woodwork, wantin’ t’ get drinks or dinna, saying oh ‘s been so long since I saw ya last blah blah. Ugh, ‘s ridiculous,” he drawls with a groan being the period to his sentence, and all I can do is laugh.

“You can say ‘no’, you do know that right?”

“‘Course I know, Becks, but I dunno, tha nostalgia kinda draws me in too. ‘s like oh maybe going to get drinks with Matt from uni would be fun, even tho’ he was a prick, but hey he threw those cool parties,” he explains, a chuckle soon devouring his words and then my ears. Oh, how I’ve missed that sound so dearly. “But no, you and I are gettin’ dinna and drinks. Hey, what’re ya doin’ t’night?”

“T-Tonight tonight? Um, nothing. I work until six, that’s all. Otherwise, you could probably find me sprawled out on the sofa watching FRIENDS or old reruns of Hell’s Kitchen after that,” I stutter, tripping over my words and more so the idea he just pitched, one that knocked me off my feet rather quickly and completely.

“Ooooo tha trashy shows,” he chuckles and I have to resist rolling my eyes.

“Hey, you watch them too!”

“Not Hell’s Kitchen, altho- wait, ya ‘ve watched it a few times, I admit,” he relents, earning a ‘ha!’ from me that pulls a laugh from his lips.

Oh, I could do this all day.

Soon you get to!

Okay, don’t remind me, because I can’t have another reason for these next two weeks to be pure torture.

“Harry watches trashy tv, hmmm,” I coo happily, that magical sound of his filling my ears again, and then my heart. “We should watch more of it together sometime. But yes, tonight would work. What are you thinking?”

“‘m really glad it finally worked out, and ya we will. Um, how ‘bout six-thirty, does that give ya enuff time?” he poses, and hastily my heart thrashes around in my chest with excitement, growing anxious at the thought of seeing him tonight. Thank, God, he said six-thirty so I can stop home and actually make myself look decent. I didn’t even try when I got up this morning.

“Yeah, six-thirty works. Where would you like to have dinner? Um, what about . . . tacos?”

“Tacos?” he chimes in at the same time as me, sending us both into a fit of contagious giggles. “Happy we’re already on tha same page with some stuff.”

“Me too . . So, tacos and we’ll find a pub somewhere for drinks?”

“Ya, I know a good place ‘ll take ya t’,” he rasps, a light coming through in his voice. I’m not sure if it’s my own internalized buzz of emotions, or if perhaps it’s his own showing through. “Shots and e’rythin,” he purs devilishly.

“No, Harry, no shots,” I giggle, unable to contain it for any longer.

“Yes, at least a few. That’s how ya celebrate, not with bloody margaritas, bug. I guess I have loads t’ teach ya ‘bout alcohol, I gotta turn ya onto sumthin’ otha than those bleedin’ wine coolers ya like. Those jus’ give ya gut rot and taste like candy, don’ do anythin’ fer a buzz,” he comments, that other side of him shining through now, more and more with every word he lets go.

“Oh boy, am I in for it with you, or what?” I exhale, happiness sticking to every breath.

“Yes indeed, ya are, Becks. Betta get ready fer some fun t’night,” he drawls, the honey sticking lazily to his deep voice.

“But you’re almost thirty, I thought old people can’t have fun, Harry?”

The groan lined with affable humor tells me what he’s thinking first, and then I hear him sigh, “Ya betta not start this again, ‘m yer boss again, y’know,” he snickers, feigning authority in his soft baritone.

“No, not for a week officially. Not yet. You’re just my friend right now,” I smile, thinking of Sophie when the feelings start to bleed through into my voice, piecing themselves together, although bittersweetly. I know I can’t handle being just friends, but every second more I’m starting to realize that oftentimes, friends has to come first before more. We have some catching up to do, that’s for sure.

“Alrighty then. Well, yer just friend has t’ go t’ a meetin’ now, and ‘s tellin’ ya that ya should prolly get back t’ work now too.”

“Wait, since when do you go to meetings? Are you trying to be a good role model for me or something? Aw, how nice of you!” I exclaim, almost confident of the surprise in my voice being genuine.

“Becks,” Harry laughs, the sound consuming his voice and playing in my ear, but not for long enough. God, that has to be my favorite song. “‘ll see ya t’night, love. Six-thirty,” he hums happily, and for once, I don’t have to wish for what he’s having, because I’m having it too. I feel it, the bubbly hope that could drown me in a moment. I want to let it, and I decide to.

“Bye, Harry. Have a good day, I’m excited to see you.”

“‘m lookin’ forward t’ it too, bug. Bye,” he croons, and I hope he can hear the smile in my voice, because I can see his already. I think his is filled with hope too.

It’s a miracle that I didn’t spill my tea as I walked back into the admin office, although it may have been a different story if I hadn’t taken that few minute breather to recover. I was even more surprised when tears of joy didn’t leave my eyes when I shared the new development with Sophie during my lunch break. Although I previously thought it was impossible, my excitement for later tonight only grew when I told her about it, and we both freaked out about it. I really do think I will miss her, she was perhaps one of the best bosses I’ve ever had.

Waiting at my desk for the time to pass, I still can’t believe that later tonight I get to go and have dinner and drinks with my favorite boss of all time.

Low and behold, searching my closet for something to wear later that night seems next to impossible. Each full hanger that I pass feels like it takes with it a precious minute of my time. After trying on and tossing aside three other outfits, I finally decided on one. Luckily, redoing my morning routine doesn’t take very long, and I soon have minty fresh breath and clean skin again. At the last minute, I decide to ditch the heavy makeup, and leave it minimal. I slide my violet peacoat over the striped maroon sweater and dark jeans, and my brown chelsea boots soon enter the snow.

The smell of tortillas, peppers, and chili powder hits me in the face when the bell tinkles above my head on the door. Voices buzz around the inside of Pedro’s, a local Mexican restaurant I haven’t been to in well, years. That thought comes to me as a shock as I look around, and finally spot the reason for my absence, sitting at the same table in the right corner we’d always claim. I linger there by the door for a few moments, admiring him as he stares at his phone intensely. Unsurprisingly, I find it adorable how he toys with his bottom lip between his two fingers and jiggles his leg resting on the chair’s rung. A warmth grows in my chest at the sight of him, and a combination of excitement and relief builds with every step I take closer to him. I can’t count the number of times I’ve felt it escape me with every step I’ve put between us, and finally now I’m returning to him.

The red and white menu is glossy between my hands, and sticky in some places when I take a seat across from him. I don’t let a word slip and only focus on the menu, despite his green eyes waiting for me silently.

“Yer late, y’know. Not makin’ a very good impression with yer boss, are we?” Harry comments, pulling back the scarlet fabric of his button down to tap his watch.

The menu falls with a feathery sound to the table when I belatedly make eye contact with him. I try to resist the feelings that tug at my lips when I watch the corners of his curl.

“Hush, it’s six thirty-four. The traffic was horrid, and it’s after hours, boss. And, I haven’t even started working for you again yet,” I chuckle, savoring the way the dimples fall into his cheeks effortlessly, not there a second ago. He seems to relent, shoving his phone away in his pocket, his eyes lifting to mine again.

“How was yer day then?”

“It was a typical boring Friday. How was yours?” I reply, resting my hands on top of each other and mindlessly letting my fingers dance atop each other.

“‘Bout tha same. ‘m tryna find a new case, but now I gotta keep you in mind. I gotta rememba ya’ll be workin’ with me in two weeks, so I gotta do stuff like clean my bloody office and be mo’ stringent when pickin’ cases ,” he titters, touching his pointer finger to his head as I try not to lose myself in his mossy green eyes.

At the sound of his words, I find it even harder not to. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two weeks with that teasing around in my head - the fact that I get to work with him every day for five days a week. A dream come true, in every way. I’m rather positive tonight will tide me over until next week when I have my orientation.

I have a good feeling for the first time in a while, so many of them actually.

“God, it’ll be weird going back to being boss and employee again. It was so much easier being just friends,” I remark jokingly, the song flowing from his lips mixing with that of my own.

“Eh,” Harry says, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in a thick black Northface coat. “Don’ think o’ it that way, Becks, we’re colleagues now, which ‘s even betta.”

“Sure. ‘Associate and partner’ and ‘mentor and mentee’ don’t really sound that way, but okay. It’s not like you have almost ten years of experience over me, or anything.”

“Well ya, that’s what happens when yer tha new fish in tha pond, it happens t’ us all. Ya jus’ gotta climb tha ladder one step atta time, love,” he replies, the dimple in one of his cheeks finding a permanent residence there.

“Fish can’t climb ladders, silly. And I know, but it’s odd to think that you’re only three years older than me, and have so much experience in law when I’m just starting. I guess that’s why you don’t putz around like me,” I note, drawn in by him randomly sliding a plain silver ring with a black line in the middle, up and down his left middle finger.

“Wait, what was that, ‘m only how many years older than you? I didn’t catch that,” he teases, cupping his hand around the outside of his ear, inching his neck towards me with the funniest look on his face.

The only response I give him is the old stink eye which almost makes a laugh explode from his lips.

“Ya betta watch those ‘old jokes’ y’know. I have power ova you ‘gain, Becks,” he quips, wiggling his eyebrows at me while he does the worst impression of an evil laugh.

I’m waiting for him to start choking on it so then I can finally laugh.

His words try to propel me back to the times when I would take his words seriously, but I don’t dare go there. I can’t do that again after all of our random visits earlier this year, and how much they changed everything, including assuring me that he’ll never be that douchey boss to me again.

“Oh yeah!” I exclaim, something sparking inside of my brain. “You’re almost thirty! Ooooo, my prime joke time is coming up,” I squeal with a devilish laugh, rubbing my hands together as he shakes his head disapprovingly, although with reddening cheeks. My name leaves his lips in a breathy giggle as those dimples peek out from his cheeks, saying hi to me.

“By tha way,” he begins once he recovers and has the bravery to look back at me. “‘m already sick o’ you, so you’ll be working with Myles fer tha week o’ February fourth. I have a case in Glasgow that entire week. Plus, he has an interesting case in Family Court that you should really see, it’ll be interesting.”

“Oh lovely, you’re already tired of me and passing me off to somebody else,” I groan, some dramatics playing in my voice, but not entirely.

I wish I had a drink already so I could twirl my straw in it absently, trying to hide my heart-crushing disappointment. I remember he had said sometimes I may work with Myles or Rose for a case if there was something better elsewhere, but I didn’t think it’d be almost as soon as I started. Talk about anti-climatic, I ponder silently while my eyes stay glued to the menu, even though I’m not reading any words. There are too many whizzing around in my head for that to happen.

“Stop it, you pout,” he teases, his hand ruffling my hair. I look up and do my best pout, puppy dog eyes, bottom lip sticking out and all. “‘m sorry t’ break yer heart, but ‘s fer yer best interest, Becks. ‘ve had tha case set up a while, which happens, and ‘ll already have started on it by tha time ya start, but you’ll still be able t’ help me. Myles’ case ‘s far mo’ interestin’ and you’ll learn loads from him. What, has sumbody missed me?” Harry hums, a hand dancing along my arm until it arrives at the crook of my neck where it touches my tickle spot. I squirm and jerk away from his ticklish touch, whimpering in annoyance. “C’mon, pout, let’s go and order.”

I slide off of the hightop red barstool, following him to the counter begrudgingly and slowly. I mumble a question to him about what we’re getting and he automatically tells me that we’re getting the usual, as if there was another option. We get stuck waiting in a line and when Harry looks over to me, I play the pout extra hard.

“What’re you still poutin’ ‘bout, Becks?”

“You’re passing me to Myles my second week back,” I whimper, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh stop it, you’ll be fine. He likes you and he’s easy t’ get on with.”

“No fair,” I reply, looking away as the disappointment worsens inside of me. I know I’m being selfish, but I just want him all to myself. I figure that’s not too much to ask after everything that’s happened, but apparently it is. “I’m supposed to be your mentee, and I hardly get to work with you my first week there.”

“Oh, baby Becks, you’ll do jus’ fine, love. My case ‘s incredibly boring, and tha travellin’ wouldn’t be any fun. I know you’ll miss me, that’s tha real reason yer sad,” he cracks, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. The sudden wave of his woodsy-vanilla scent conflicts me as does the utterly adorable nickname he used. I want to stay there snuggled against his warm side, but at the same time, I want to pull away to prove my point. By now, I’m not sure how much of my pouting is dramatics or just the plain truth. I have to wait two weeks to work at the firm, just to be passed to Myles within five days. It’s discouraging to think about when my thoughts have been consumed by him in just the last few days, and I haven’t looked forward to something this much in a while.

“Hmmmph,” I respond, sufficing with turning away and not looking at him. I find it difficult to not think about what it would be like travelling with him for a case. My thoughts consist of those like sitting beside each other on a plane, hotel rooms, and sharing a car. Sure, Harry, you say it wouldn’t be any fun, but I’d beg to differ there, sir.

“Hey, don’t be that way with me. Ya still get t’ help me with it fer tha first week, and then ‘m all yers when I get back. Sound good?” he murmurs, rubbing his hand along my shoulder as he presses me to his side again.

“Fine, only because you’re hard to stay mad at,” I respond with a sigh, soon hearing his melodic giggle that helps to weed away the disappointment wreaking havoc inside of me.

“Good, coz ‘s only five days, bug,” he hums gently. The closer I am to him, the more I wish he would kiss the top of my head, like he used to do. Ugh. “Ya think ya can survive without me fer that long?”

“Yeah,” I tell him automatically, but quickly I’m unsure of that. I don’t know how well I’ll do with the tease of getting to work with him for a few days, and then having him leave again after that, if only for a few days. This is all turning out to be full of teases with my visits with him being peppered amongst the next few weeks. “It’s right after your birthday.”

“Ya, happy birthday t’ me on that one,” he exhales, but I hear the smile even if I don’t see it right away. My sudden sadness is forgotten when ideas blossom inside my head of what to get him for his birthday, as he squeezes my shoulder. It’s also hard to ignore the fact that his arm is still around me, and the all consuming fact of never wanting it to leave.

Soon, the line moves and with it, his arm falls from around me when Harry steps up to order for us. I make him take the plastic cups to fill up our drinks after I get my card out first to pay, him shaking his head as he waddles over to the soda machine.

“If you’re going to be all sad about it, then you can pay for drinks, as long as it doesn’t get too expensive,” I tell him, listening to the whoosh of the orange liquid pouring into my cup.

“‘ll pay fer all o’ ‘em, cheap or not,” Harry hums confidently, bumping shoulders with me softly on his way back to our table.

We both slide off our coats to hang over the back of our chairs, and the chatter of other customers fills my ears as we sip at our drinks. My eyes quickly wander to the scarlet button up fastened just high enough to show his silver cross necklace, black floral designs covering the fabric. It pains me to look away from the thick dark brown chest hair blooming below the cross charm, unsure of when it was the last time I saw that.

“So, what have ya been up t’ since June?” he remarks, replacing the clear plastic straw between his cherry lips. I find it difficult to tear my eyes away to ruminate on his question enough to answer it without sounding stupid.

“Um, pretty much just uni and working.”

“Oh ya, bloody hell ‘m dumb, ya jus’ graduated. How was it all? I wanna hear all ‘bout it, Becks - tha good, tha bad, and tha ugly,” he continues, warmth filling his lips as his green eyes stare back at mine. Sometimes the rawness inside of them is too much to handle and they take my breath away, every glint of gold and green in them. I’m not sure if you really know what you’re signing up for there, bud.

“There’s not really much to say you haven’t heard before, or well, experienced yourself during your degree. It sucked at times, the Bar was awful although I feel like the worrying was worse than the exam, and I’m just really glad to be done and to finally have found a job. And, graduation was pretty gratifying,” I recall aloud to him, savoring how he devotes every second of his attention to me and what I’m saying. It’s both lovely and nerve wracking at the same time, especially as a thought pops into my head. I wish he could’ve been there in the stands, watching me walk the line, and hugging me afterwards. I wish . .

“Ya, sounds ‘bout right. ‘m sorry ya didn’t have tha best experience, bug, but hey like ya said, ‘s ova. Onto bigga and betta things, like they say,” he smiles, and I swear it sparks something inside of my heart that has begun to return in the last couple of days. Something I’m finally ready to feel again. “Where’d ya do yer clinicals at and how’d they go this last Fall?”

“You’re right, and I did them at Turner and Jones over on the east side. They went well, but it was hard at times. It was a whole new place, and instead of sitting at a desk every day listening to lectures or doing assignments online, I was in the thick of it every day. I worked with just about all of their six lawyers there, and got to argue my first case with their help. I even won it, which was hard to believe. They were pretty great, and at the time I was sad I wasn’t able to find a job there, but now I’ve found my way back to you.”

The way his lips curl up into his cheeks that round out from the expression feels good and hurts at the same time. It chips away at the wall around my heart that’s slowly been cracking ever since I laid eyes upon him again yesterday morning.

“Bloody hell, ya make me mo’ and mo’ proud o’ you, y’know that? Great job, love . . That’s quite tha trek e’ry day t’ be drivin’ from tha west side ova t’ Turner’s. I bet yer glad t’ be done with that. ‘ve heard good things ‘bout ‘em, and a friend o’ mine even works there. I mean, ‘ve come up against many o’ em in my time in cases, but I respect ‘em,” he muses to me, stealing my idea to twirl the straw around in his ice chips and Coke. I feel the cracking of the barrier inside of my chest as his smile glows brighter in front of my eyes. It’s poised right at me. “Ya, funny how that works, huh? Kinda, ‘circle o’ life’ or sumthin, huh?” I mumble a confirmation, but the rest of my words are whisked away when his name is called from the counter where he escapes to.

“I can’t believe n’body else was hirin’, that’s mad,” he notes, setting down the red plastic tray that hits the table heavily with wrapped food. “I can’t complain tho’, got tha best new associate I could ask fer.” Words escape me and leave a hot smile on my face as I pick up a hard-shelled taco, gratefulness etched into the lines of my lips. Boy, is he dreamy in so many goddamn ways.

“What was your life like uh, recently?”

“Crazy busy, I was filled up tha arse with cases. I was in Scotland fer prolly a few weeks total, up in Edinburgh, Glasgow, then Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, and all ova London,” he answers, crinkling of the paper wrapper accenting his words. A pause follows his reply as he chews a bite of his soft-shelled taco, two more on the tray in front of him. The smells of cheese, queso, freshly fried tortilla chips, and the sweet churros make my taco taste one hundred times better. The nostalgia and absence only makes each bite taste better than the last. “I became an uncle again a few weeks ago, so that’s been pretty exciting. My sister, Gemma, had a li’l boy afta Christmas. Harper’s ova tha moon ‘bout him, his name ‘s Oliver or they call him Ollie.”

“Awwww, Harry, that’s so awesome! Babies are so much fun! How old is Harper now? I don’t think I’ve met her before, but I’ve heard loads. You should have your sister stop by the firm one day, I’d love to meet them!”

“Ya, ‘course. ‘m sure they’d love t’ meet ya too, all three o’ ‘em. Speakin’ of, Harper will be four soon. It blows me mind,” he giggles, eyes drowning in the steaming container of queso he plunges a chip into with fingernails coated in pink polish.

“What else, Mr. Lawyer?” I inquire simply, realizing my fault when he looks at me with confusion screwing up his features, chewing the cheesy chip noisily. “What else have you been up to besides work? Like, did you have a fun summer?”

“Ya, I reckon. I took my mum onn’a holiday down south, that was loads o’ fun. I had some good days at tha beach with Rory, who you’ll meet soon, he’s anotha one o’ me colleagues. He came t’ work at tha firm afta you had left, but ‘ve known him since uni. He’s prolly one o’ me best friends, that bloody idiot, but he’s loads o’ fun,” he responds, reaching for another chip and I take his lead, holding back a moan at the long forgotten taste of Pedro’s homemade queso. The enjoyment spills out of me when I spot the weary look stealing the happiness from Harry’s features as he zones out staring at the table.

“What’s wrong, was it not the best summer ever?” I ask jokingly although softly, and as soon as the words fly from my mouth, I think I regret them for a few reasons.

He hums an amused sound, tapping his finger against the side of his half eaten taco before his rosey pink lips part, “It was good, but it wasn’t tha best, by any means. I uh, dated this girl fer a bit, but it didn’t go anywhere. I mean, she was nice and pretty, but it was a mistake o’ sorts. I thought it’d make me happy datin’ her, but it didn’t,” he recalls sadly.

At the first words about her, my eyes fall and I can look at him no longer, instead drawing shapes in the queso with my chip. I want to eat it, but a tight queasiness knits together in my stomach, and I wait for it to pass. I wait for him to stop talking about her, and for me to stop caring as the confliction runs deep within my bones. I can’t decide if I’m grateful or seething to hear the words that spill from his mouth. They bring me back to the summer from hell and also answers so many questions I’ve had.

Girl, don’t even go there.

Stay positive!

Angel’s right, did you not hear how he said it wasn’t right for him? About how it was a mistake? Not to mention, that he wasn’t happy?

Okay, you have some good points.

No shit, Sherlock.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, bringing the chips to my lips.

“Oh, ‘s fine, Becks. It was months ago, and ‘m ova it. Guess ‘m jus’ glad I realized early on it wasn’t workin’ fer me.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say softly, warm cheese and soft peppers tickling my tongue as many other words wish to do the rest. His revelation tries to sink underneath my skin, but I try to brush it away instead, not sure of what to do with it. I’m feeling both sides of the emotional spectrum at the mere mention of his relationship with her. I don’t know how to feel about it, and I don’t want to have to decide.

“How ‘bout you, did ya meet anybody ova tha summer or I guess, tha fall?” Harry queries lightheartedly, and the surprise of it all pulls my eyes to his. The hints of anger left over from his confession melt away at the care I find in his eyes. Another feeling trickles in when for a second, I think I see an anxiousness hiding in the shallows.

“God, no. Working, clinicals, and the Bar were more than enough for me. Skye’s the only person I really need,” I respond immediately, surprised at his question, although mutual. My word vomit seems to be biting me in the ass already, and quickly I wish I hadn’t phrased it that way. No, not when I want him to be my person. “What I mean is she’s my bestest friend besides Robbie, but nah, I don’t have much luck with guys.”

I blink hard with hot cheeks as I finish my first taco and hastily grab another one, hunger and embarrassment fueling my actions. The shell is crunchy and anything but soggy between my lips, and the spicy signature sour cream is warm against my tongue as the cheese melts with every bite.

“Sounds like we both got shit luck with love, huh?” Harry sighs, shaking his head as he grabs another taco.

“Yep, it’s the worst,” I agree aloud after taking a sip of my soda, which turns out to be more noisy than I thought it would be.

Thank God it’s empty so I can go and fill it up and escape this awkward fest, but at the same time there are so many words threatening to spill from my lips. They all basically revolve around the fact that I don’t care if I have shit luck with love, as long as my luck finally turns around for him, belatedly.

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Nox-verse Drabble: the Reporter

(couldn’t resist making this, even though it’s ahead of where my Nox collection is timeline-wise. I know some people find Dino incredibly annoying, but I got attached to him in the game, so I thought- why not?)

....

Dino waited in the room royal security had picked out for the interview and didn’t fidget. Really. He didn’t constantly readjust his tie, check his watch’s wristband, or glance at his notepad of pre-chosen questions just to make sure he had memorized them.

Okay maybe he was fidgeting. But really, he didn’t think he could be blamed. The infamously private, public-eye avoiding Second Prince of Lucis had finally agreed to an exclusive interview for the first time since his existence had been revealed in possibly the world’s second most hectic press conference —the most hectic going to the Chancellor of Niflheim’s sudden resignation and vocal support of Emperor Aldercapt’s son Quintus—. News conglomerates all over the world had been clamoring to get an interview —any interview, let alone an exclusive— with the reticent prince since learning of his existence and he’d finally agreed to one interview. With Meteor Publishing. But only on certain conditions.

One of which being that Dino had to be the reporter. Not any of their Insomnia stationed reporters, not any of their world-traveling rising stars that had successfully and winsomely interviewed a hundred public icons without ruffling so much as a single feather. Not any of the people who actually lived and breathed this job rather than used it as simple income while he tinkered with naturally imbued stones to make jewelry for passing Hunters or tourists who liked a bit of local bling. No. According to his boss —his boss who had personally debriefed him—, Prince Nox had requested him specifically. Dino Ghiranze. The twenty four year old rookie gossip reporter with a jewelry hobby.

Once Dino had gotten over the minor heart attack of that revelation, he had frantically prepared for his interview with the Second Prince of the kingdom —and tried not to lose his mind from the thought of “why me?” on endless loop in his head—.

His head snapped up as the door finally opened and Prince Nox slipped in with a single guard on his heels —the prince’s Galahdian Shield, Axis Arra-Amicitia, who had also caused a massive stir when his existence came out—. Dino pasted on his most winning smile as he greeted the eighteen year old, who dipped his head in response and actually deigned to shake his hand. Underneath the part of him running through all the rote pleasantries —it’s an honor to meet you, thank you for agreeing to this interview—, the part of Dino that was a natural at hounding out hidden details was observing the prince.

And getting increasingly alarmed.

Of course he knew that the prince had lived outside royal protection until he was about fourteen or fifteen, that a lot of things could have happened in that time before His Majesty’s agents had tracked him down and brought him to the Citadel and safety but… Dino didn’t think he was looking at a kid with an occasionally rough childhood out in the backwoods of Lucis. He’d seen a lot of people pass through Galdin Quay, learned to pick out a lot of tells that put people into neat, gossip-riddled boxes and Dino wasn’t seeing the tells of a backwoods kid shoved into royalty.

Dino was looking at a soldier. No. Not even that. Dino was looking at a survivor.

Utterly silent footsteps placed as languidly and carefully as a Gralean ballet dancer, long sleeves in the middle of summer that couldn’t quite hide the tips of scars showing on the backs of his hands and peaking out from under the banged up emerald bracelet on one wrist. Blue eyes had taken in everything about the room even before fully setting foot in it —everything about Dino in a way that made him feel oddly small—, checking for threats, exits, and possible weapons with a speed that meant it was instinctive. The handshake was brisk and loose, ready to jolt away at a moment’s notice, and Dino was more than a little certain that the prince’s Shield was plotting out all the most brutally efficient but painful ways to kill him if Dino proved a threat.

Well. That was interesting to know. Even more interesting if all the rumors about the former Chancellor being the prince’s uncle were true. But that wasn’t what Dino was here to ask about, and Dino was in no mood to get thrown out —or murdered— for deviating from the approved questions.

The interview was relatively short but interesting. Once he was settled in the chair —arms loose and relaxed, ready to push himself out of the chair or pull out a weapon at any time—, Prince Nox proved to be friendly in a quiet, reserved sort of way. He even chuckled at a few of Dino’s jokes and ways he phrased the questions. The teenager was not at all like Dino had expected, all soft words and a muted, easy sort of confidence that reminded Dino of a predator at rest rather than skittish and overwhelmed —this wasn’t a teenager afraid of being fussed over and unaccustomed to royalty, this was a survivor who avoided the spotlight because it was easier to stay alive and free that way, but under controlled circumstances wasn’t afraid to talk to people like they were equals—.

Dino noted the seeming fidgeting habit the prince had of running his forefinger along the skin underneath his battered emerald bracelet —Dino had to resist asking if he’d be interested in a new piece, because while it looked nicely made it had obviously been through a lot of abuse over the years— but didn’t comment. It wasn’t on the approved list and hey, everybody had their habits and calming rituals.

After the interview had concluded, the little hand recorder had been turned off, and they were both standing up to leave, Dino couldn’t resist voicing the one question that had been bothering him for weeks now, “Your Highness,” he started hesitantly. Paused. Adjusted his cufflinks before blurting, “Can I ask ya one more question? Off the record?”

Prince Nox tilted his head, something almost amused in his gaze, like he already knew what Dino was going to say before he said it —Lucis Caelums weren’t mind readers were they?—, “Go ahead.”

“Why did ya request me? My boss said I was one of your conditions to the interview. I’m flattered, obviously, but … I’m just a rookie who likes to write gossip pieces. Why pick me to run the interview?”

For the first time in his presence, Prince Nox’s lips curled upward into a smile, “Easy. You scratched my back, so now I’ve scratched yours.”

What.

Sensing the next question Dino was barely holding back —he’d only had permission to ask one after all—, Prince Nox raised one arm and rolled back the sleeve a little, just enough for Dino to finally get a good look at the battered emerald bracelet on the teenager’s wrist. It wasn’t the most complicated piece, elegant but sturdy, like it was designed with Hunters and travelers in mind who were more interested in the natural passive magic boosts certain raw gems gave rather than the bling of them. The thick bronze wires were scratched and dented, and two of the emeralds were chipped, but it was still holding together. More than that, the design was familiar.

Too familiar.

No. Way.

Dino looked up from the bracelet, aware but not caring that he was gaping. Prince Nox was definitely grinning, a small, foxy sort of thing that radiated smug satisfaction, “I don’t know when you’re planning to go full time on the jeweler thing, or if you’re planning that at all, so I can’t exactly give a public endorsement. But I figured people would take you more seriously in your current job if you were known as the reporter who successfully landed an exclusive interview with the enigmatic second prince.”

Dino felt like he needed to sit down. Maybe with a tall glass of water —or wine, wine would be good—. Instead he sputtered, “That’s-! That’s really one of my-?”

Prince Nox flicked his sleeve back down with a nod, that smug smile still tugging on his lips, “I got it on a … whim while traveling through the Quay. Back before … all this. It’s been through a lot of nasty situations with me. Helped me pull through a lot of nasty situations too. I figured a reputation boost was the least I could do.” He tilted his head as if considering something, then casually added, “Of course, if you ever do decide to try being a jeweler full-time -which you could, you do good work-, give me a ring, yeah? I’ll give you an endorsement, maybe even a loan if you really need it. Come to your grand opening wherever you choose to open shop … buy a new piece to go with this one.”

Dino could feel his mind shutting down and going static. Someone took him by the elbow and gently led him away, and Prince Nox was definitely taking amusement in his shock as he waved the hand that wore the bracelet —his bracelet, he sold those personally, when had he met and sold one of his pieces to Prince Nox Lucis Caelum—, but the prince’s tone was genuine as he called after Dino, “Give it some thought!”

The next thing Dino knew, he was back in his hotel room, staring at the wall and clutching a glass of cheap wine, still trying to process … everything. Then, between one blink and the next, Dino started laughing just a bit hysterically. All those years of dreaming and hoping and not really thinking he could —since he was eighteen, Astrals he’d been Prince Nox’s age when he started dreaming of making his family hobby a job— and-. And a royal endorsement offer just landed in his lap.

Because somewhere, sometime, in among who knew how many Hunters and drifters and lost souls he’d talked to in Galdin Quay, one of them had been Prince Nox Lucis Caelum. He’d sold one of his emerald pieces —how could he not remember that, good emeralds were so hard to get when you weren’t a big name jeweler— to the unknown eldest son of the king and had done a good enough job on the piece to help said prince out of who knew what scrapes and deadly situations over the years —Dino could guess, he hunted gossip and rumors for a reason, heard the stories of countless refugees that acted just like the prince—. Done a good enough job that the teenager had remembered him and decided to pay back a favor Dino hadn’t even known he’d been owed —hadn’t been owed, because once he sold a piece that was it, he had his money and they had their product, if it helped them out then that was just good craftsmanship—.

Forgetting all about the article that had started all this —the article that was due in two days—, Dino scrambled for his cellphone. Wait until he called Coctura about this. She would lose her mind.

And maybe help him pick out a nice spot on the beach to open that jewelry shop he’d always wanted, because there was no way that —once he was certain it was actually real and not some dream or joke— he wasn’t taking this chance by the horns and running with it.

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waywardaardvark79 · 5 years

Text

Come Hell or High Water Part 5: Only When You’re Ready

Summary: Blackwick, Montana was going to be a fresh start for you and your five year old daughter. You moved in across the street from Officer Dean Winchester, and quickly found that you were able to help him. Will Dean be able to help you when your past comes back to haunt you?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: non graphic talk of past abuse, hurt Dean,

A week and a half later

"You're gonna do great. Everyone is gonna love you, trust me." Dean said to Aj. Her first day of kindergarten was in two days, and you didn't know who was more nervous, you or her. Dean had found himself giving you both pep talks as the day approached.

"Will you go with me?" she asked.

Dean smiled softly at her, "I'll take you inside." he said.

"But you won't stay?" she asked tears welling up in her eyes.

Dean's heart broke at the sight. He quickly figured out that he wasn't able to refuse anything she asked. "They won't let me stay, princess." he gently explained. Aj's bottom lip started to quiver, "But I'll be there when you get out, and maybe we can go get ice cream." he said, trying to cheer her up.

"You promise?" she asked.

"Promise." he said.

You walked out of your office and stretched your arms over your head, your shirt riding up with the motion. The opening of your door had pulled Dean's attention in your direction, the faded, jagged scar peeking out from the top of your pants held it there. Aj noticed him staring and whispered , "That's momma's boo boo, but don't worry, it doesn't hurt anymore. It just looks funny." she said.

Dean looked down at her with a sad smile, "Does she have any other ones?" he asked.

Aj nodded, "One time she had a whole bunch, but they went away. Her belly ones look funny like that one though." she said.

Dean quickly put the pieces together, "But don't say anything, it makes her sad." she whispered.

"You don't have any do you?" he asked with bated breath, praying that she said no.

"No, just this one." she said pointing to her knee where she had slipped outside earlier in the week.

Dean slowly exhaled the breath he was holding, "You know that if anyone ever tried to hurt you or your mom you could tell me, or Sam." he said.

She nodded her head, "Cause your cops, and you would take them to jail." she said.

Before Dean could say anything else you walked over, "What are you two whispering about?" you asked.

"Ah, nothing, just club business." Dean lied.

"I'm still not allowed into this elusive club?" you asked, perching yourself on the arm of the couch.

Aj had invented a club a few days earlier, her, Dean, and Rocky the only members. "I mean, Sam even has a pending membership." you argued.

"Sam bought me this." Aj said as she held up the little, stuffed German Shepherd.

"Maybe we should think about letting her in. Your mom is pretty cool." said Dean.

Aj looked up at him, and then quickly jumped off the couch and headed up stairs. "What was that about?" you asked.

Dean held out his wrist and you noticed the purple beaded bracelet, "Only official club members get em'. We made them this morning. Think you may be on your way in." he said.

You smiled brightly at the rugged man sitting before you, proudly showing off his purple bracelet, "One can only hope." you said.

Aj returned a few moments later, and slipped a purple bracelet on your wrist. "Now everybody will know we're all together." she said.

"What about Rocky?" you asked. The dog raised his head at the mention of his name, and you noticed the bracelet hanging from the loop of his collar, and you laughed.

"Rocky got his before me." said Dean.

The phone you used for work started ringing, and you pulled it from your pocket, quickly slipping into your customer service voice and answered it, "Hi, this is Y/N with Teladoc. I'll be your nurse today. How may I help you?" you asked. You listened, able to hear someone breathing on the other end of the line, but they didn't say anything. "How may I help you?" you asked again. Suddenly the line went dead, and you pulled the phone from your ear and hung up. "Guess they didn't need help." you shrugged, ignoring the bad feeling that you had. "I better get back to it." you said as you started to head into your office, the pit in your stomach growing with each step.

The end of the day came, and you didn't have any more hang up calls. You told yourself that you were overreacting. Maybe they didn't have good signal and the call dropped. Someone did call in saying they had trouble getting through not long after. You pushed away your fear, finished up the last bit of your work, and walked out of your office, telling yourself that you weren't going to dwell on it anymore.

Sam was sitting on your couch, telling Aj how much he loved his bracelet when you walked in. "Hey Y/N." he greeted.

"You're here early." you said as you sat next to Dean on the couch.

"I was just filling in for somebody today. They ended up coming in after all." he said.

"Give me just a minute, and I'll get his meds together." you said, starting to stand up.

"Well, I was wondering, if it wouldn't be too much trouble if Dean could hang out a little longer?" he asked.

"Sammy, got himself a date." Dean said.

You raised one eyebrow at him, "A date, huh?" you asked.

"It's not a date, per say. I'm just going to dinner with a friend." Sam said

"Would this friend happen to be Eileen?" you asked, trying to keep your smile at bay.

Sam quickly turned to Dean, "Seriously?" he asked.

"Oh come on, Sammy. We all know you like her. Y/N doesn't even know who she is and she knows." Dean said.

"Because someone has a big mouth." Sam said as he glared at Dean.

"You talk about her ALOT." said Aj, stressing the word a lot.

You and Dean broke out into a fit of laughter, "She ain't wrong." you said.

"Guys, Eileen said the funniest thing today. Guys, Eileen told me this really interesting story today." mocked Dean.

You gently smacked his shoulder. "You go have fun Sam. She sounds like a lovely person. We will be fine here. Don't worry." you said.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

You nodded , and walked into the kitchen with him. "Everything ok?" you asked.

Sam looked down at his feet, "Could you maybe, help me pick out something to wear? I'm a little nervous. This is kinda my first date since Jess." Sam quietly said.

You knew that Jess was Sam's girlfriend that had died in a tragic accident a few years ago. You patted him on the shoulder, "Sure thing, Sam. Just bring a few choices over and I'll help you get ready." you said.

Sam thanked you, and told you he would be back over after his shower. You escorted him to the front door and told him you would see him soon. "What was that?" Dean asked when Sam left.

"He's nervous, and wanted me to help him decide what to wear." you said as you crossed the room and sat next to him. "Give him a break. No teasing." you said.

"Yes, ma'am." said Dean.

Sam came back over just as the three of you were finishing dinner. You pointed him to the downstairs bathroom, and told him to try on what he brought so you could see it on. "You look like a seventh grader at his first dance." said Dean as Sam came out of the bathroom.

"Hush." you scolded as you swatted his shoulder.

"Easy Nurse Ratched, I'm beat up enough." he said.

"Sam, you look great." you said. You watched as he nervously fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt.

"Yeah, you look real pretty, Sam." Aj said.

"He does, doesn't he." teased Dean.

Sam ignored him and turned to you, "I shouldn't be too late." he said.

"You know I got that appointment in the morning. It would probably just be easier if I stayed here." said Dean.

"Oh, a sleepover!" Aj shrieked. "Can he stay, momma?" Aj pleaded.

Dean stuck out his bottom lip, "I'll be good." he said.

You rolled your eyes, "Fine." you said. You turned to Sam, "Get out of here. Have a good time." you said as you started to pull him towards the door.

"Are you sure it's ok?" he asked. You opened the front door and ushered him out, "It's fine." you said, again.

"Just try not to kill him." Sam joked.

"No promises." you said, as you closed and locked the door.

"Alright ladies, let's get this party started." said Dean.

"Oh no, no party. We have an early appointment tomorrow, and someone is sticking to their school bedtime." you said.

"But moooom, school hasn't started." Aj whined.

"You need to get used to going to sleep earlier." you said, before turning to Dean, "And you got a big day tomorrow too, so early bedtime for you too." you finished. You argued with the two of them for a few minutes, before finally agreeing that they could watch one movie and then it was off to bed.

The credits to the movie started to roll, and you looked over at Aj, who was fast asleep, tucked into Dean's side. "Let me get her in bed, and I'll bring you some more pillows and a blanket." you said as you eased her into your arms, Rocky trailing behind you.

You got her tucked into bed, Rocky taking his place at her feet, and you walked into your bedroom to grab some pillows and a blanket for Dean. You walked into the living room to see him trying to get comfortable on the couch. You dropped the pillows and blanket on the coffee table, "Come on, you can't sleep here." you said.

"Sick of me already?" he asked.

"A little." you deadpanned.

Dean clutched his hand to his chest in mock hurt. "I'm taking you upstairs." you said.

Dean wiggled his eyebrows at you, "Oh, really?" he asked.

You shook your head at him and held out your hand to help pull him into a seated position. "You wanna try the crutches?" you asked. Dean nodded, and you ran to grab them from your office.

The two of you went at a slow and steady pace, both of you breathing heavy when you finally reached the second floor. You pushed open your bedroom door and quickly turned down the covers before Dean plopped down on the side of the bed. He collapsed backward, drawing in a deep breath, "I'm gonna need a minute." he said.

"I'll go get your meds." you said.

When you came back Dean was in the same spot. "Here, sit up." you said as you placed his meds on the nightstand, and held your hand out to help him. Once he was upright you handed him his meds, and water to wash them down with. "You wanna sleep in your shirt?" you asked.

"If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask." he teased.

"I've gotten you naked plenty of times." you retorted.

"Wanna join me this time?" Dean asked with a wink, still breathing a little heavy.

"I think the stairs was a good enough work out for you tonight. I wouldn't want to break you." you said.

"Oh sweetheart, I don't break that easy." he said.

You eyed him up and down, "Well sweetheart, I beg to differ." you said, as you sat his bottle of water next to the bed. "Shirt on or off?" you asked again.

"Off." he said.

You grabbed the bottom of his shirt and carefully worked it over his head. "Scoot back a little." you said. Dean eased himself back a little more, and you grabbed his legs and lifted them in bed while he turned. You fluffed the pillow behind his head, and pulled the covers up over him. "There ya go. Night Dean." you said as you started to turn to go backstairs, but Dean grabbed your hand.

"Hey, Y/N, I just....thank you." he genuinely said.

You gave his hand a little squeeze, "You're welcome." you said, and he released your hand.

You made it to the door of your bedroom when he called out for you, "Hey, Y/N. I think I might have a fever." he said.

You rushed back to his side, and placed your palm on his forehead. "No fever. Is something hurting. The wound on your thigh is almost healed. It can't be that." you rambled out as you looked him over.

"You sure you checked right? I really feel like I have a fever." he said.

You put your hands on your hips, "Of course I checked right. Unless you want me to go grab a thermometer? You don't have a fever." you argued.

"See, cause I could swear you were supposed to check with your lips. I mean, I'm not medically trained, but I'm pretty sure." he said.

The realization of what he was doing hit you, and you narrowed your eyes at him before slowly bending down and gently pressing your lips to his forehead. "No, fever." you whispered.

"My cheek feels kinda warm. Maybe you should check there." he said.

You pressed your lips to his cheek, lingering a little longer this time, "Cool as a cucumber." you said, pulling back a little, your faces now only inches apart.

"Hmm....well, I know one more place you could check." he said, running his tongue over his full bottom lip afterward.

"Is that so?" you asked, moving close enough to feel his breath.

"Mmhmm." he hummed, you felt his hand slide up your back, and come to a rest on the back of your neck. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, Dean offering you an out that you didn't take, before he gently pulled you forward and your lips met his.

The kiss started soft and sweet, the two of you really taking your time with each other, not wanting to move too fast. Before too long you felt his tongue run across your bottom lip, and you parted your mouth for him to deepen the kiss. You felt his fingers twist in your hair, and you moaned into his mouth. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you against his chest, and you threw one leg over his body to straddle him.

You automatically rolled your hips a little, and felt him groan low in his chest, his hold on you tightening. You slowly started to pepper kisses along the side of his face and down his neck, before working your way back up, pulling his earlobe into your mouth and giving it a teasing bite. You felt him exhale a long, shaky breath, and pressed your lips to his once more. Just as things were staring to get heated, you felt his hand slide under your shirt, his thumb running along the edge of the jagged scar that peaked out of your jeans, and you froze.

Dean felt your whole body tense, and he wanted to kick himself. You quickly pulled back, "Dean....I, uh...I." you rambled out.

"Too fast. I'm sorry." he said.

You squeezed your eyes shut, and shook your head, still sitting on top of him. You willed your tears not to come, squeezing your eyes shut even harder. "We don't have to." Dean quietly said. Your breath hitched in your throat. You wanted to, God, did you want to, but you didn't want him to see you, not after everything HE did. If Dean saw you would have to explain everything, and what if he thought less of you. Dean didn't say anything as he watched you have an internal battle with yourself. "Y/N, would you please look at me?" he gently asked. You shook your head no. "We don't have to. It's fine." he said, his voice full of sincerity.

You cracked open your eyes to see Dean staring at you with such concern. Your mind kicked into overdrive, a millions thoughts racing around at once. He probably thought something was wrong with you, thought you were damaged, felt pity for you. You pushed the thoughts away, determined to show him that he was wrong.

You quickly worked your way down his body until you were settled between his legs. You hooked your fingers into the top of his sweats and started to work them down when his hand on your wrist stopped you. You couldn't place the look on his face, and your mind immediately started screaming that he didn't want you. Who could want you? "No, sweetheart." he softly said.

You felt the tears burning your eyes as you gave everything you had to keep them from falling. He didn't want you. You tried to blink them away, and started to try to get up to get away from him, but he still had ahold of your wrist. "C'mere." he said. You quickly averted your eyes and hung your head, completely embarrassed of your behavior. You felt his finger underneath your chin, and he slowly lifted it until you were looking at him. "Get up here." he said.

You slowly eased your way up, and he pulled you down to him, your head laying on his chest. You felt his arm wrap around you and squeeze you to him. "Not until you're ready. I want to wait until you're completely ready." he whispered.

You wrapped your arm around his waist and managed to choke out, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." he said, but you didn't reply. "You know I would never hurt you, right?" he asked.

You simply nodded your head, the conversation starting to get too close to a subject you didn't want to talk about. "I know." you finally whispered.

You felt Dean kiss the top of your head, "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'm here. Everything is going to be ok." he said. You felt yourself start to drift off to sleep in his arms and you prayed that he was right.

The next morning you were awakened by Aj standing at the side of your bed softly calling out for you. You opened your eyes and sleepily asked, "What's wrong, honey? Are you ok?"

“Dean opened his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, "Mornin', Princess." he said to Aj.

She looked back and forth between the two of you. "Why did Dean sleep in your bed?" she asked.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a minute, "Because it was more comfortable for him. He can't really fit on the couch." you explained, hoping that would end the conversation.

"Why isn't he wearing a shirt?" she asked.

You felt Dean tense next to you, "I, uh, I got hot." he said.

She looked at the two of you suspiciously, "Momma, is Dean your boyfriend?" she asked.

Dean turned to you, and watched you panic, "H...How do you know what a boyfriend is?" you asked, avoiding answering the question.

Aj sighed dramatically, "I'm not a baby. I know what a boyfriend is." she said.

You sat up, and she started to head for your door, "Cause it'd be ok with me, if he was." she said as she walked out.

"No more tv for you." you said under your breath as you got up.

You looked over to Dean who was trying his best not to smile. "What?" you asked.

He pointed towards the door, "I got the kid's approval." he said with a smirk

. "One step at a time." you said to him.

"One step at a time." he said with a soft smile.

You went to your closet to grab your clothes for the day, "One step at a time." repeating over and over in your head.

#supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean #cop dean #sam winchester

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starlling-writes · 4 years

Text

Bewitching Monsters - Cursed Book

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: minor swearing, tentacle sex Pairing: f/tentacle BeMo Masterlist ☆ Writing Masterlist

**Alt Pronouns are used in this chapter. Please refer to the following guide.

Lybras asked me to help vir to sort a large shipment of books. A mansion out west was declared abandoned, so the local court went about repossessing everything on the land. Despite only have being sent a fraction of the collection so far, ve had a small archive’s worth of new books.

“Glad I brought caffeine and snacks,” I chortled when I saw all the stacks.

“Handle only what you feel to,” ve dismissed. “I already expect to spend weeks on this.”

“So you get to keep all these books?”

Ve glanced up from vis notes to glare a warning at me. “Depends on what we find. But yes; most will be staying here.” Typical dragon hoarding a trove. Ve gestured to a stack and said, “Start there. Be careful though. Some of the books are spelled.”

“Spelled?” There were a number of reasons to spell a book. If it were to keep unwanted readers at bay, though, the trouble would be the level of security they had. I was reluctant to find that answer. “How so?”

“They didn’t elaborate,” ve grumbled. Figures. Why would the court make our job easier?

For hours it was just mundane filing. It was easy yet numbing to fall into a rhythm. Which was why I jumped and yelped when Lybras suddenly yelled. I looked over and saw vis hand encompassed in flames. White, magical flames.

I cursed and ran to vis side. I cast the counter spell but instead of putting it out, it made the fire jump to me. Cursing, I fell on my ass as I panicked. This wasn’t basic magical fire. Trick fire then? Maybe. I didn’t have too much time to think about it as it was quickly spreading up my sleeves—I really liked this sweater too. I squeezed my eyes shut focused. It wasn’t a standard spell so my usual counter spells wouldn’t work. It leapt to me when I tried dispelling it, so it had to have some type of reflection element in it. Dammit! Who the hell cast such a complicated fire spell on a book?

Suddenly the fire was gone. Well, technically it was no longer eating away at my sweater and now attacking a poor potted plant Lybras was holding a safe distance away.

“The hell?”

“The fire jumps to the last living thing to touch the book. Your foot hit it when you came to my aid.”

“It burns the last—how the fuck did they even manage to send it here?” I grumbled as I picked at my burnt sleeves. I guess I should be glad my skin wasn’t burned.

“I’ll add it to the dues.”

I crossed my arms and looked around, scrutinizing the remaining books. “I’m going to hunt down more of the spelled tomes. The fewer outfits that end up ruined, the better.”

Ve grumbled, not caring either way. I took off one of my rings and a chord bracelet so I could craft a makeshift pendulum. A quick enchantment later and I could easily sort out the mundane from the magical.

I claimed three of the reading tables and labeled them Magical Untested, Magical Benign, and Magical Dangerous respectively. With a simple cantrip, I floated the fiery book onto the danger table. One hour and thousands of books later, I had found all the spelled books. There were more than I expected, but I was ready for the task.

I drew up some talismans to test for any other bio-reactive books. One turned the paper to stone, another into a leaf, and a third set he paper on fire via lightning. Two books ate the talismans—though one was actually a young mimic. Lybras contacted the Humility Society while I persuaded the little devil into making a bed out of scrap paper and napping.

As for the harmless books, there were a lot that were simply password protected—from what I could gauge. A blank book would fill with lies if you gave it a drop of your blood. One would play out vivid daydreams when you opened it. It was tempting to test it thoroughly. However, getting hot and bothered would be so inappropriate right now.

Thankfully, most of the books ended up being nonthreatening.

But then there were the mysterious last two books.

They had a magical presence, but I couldn’t get any other reads from them. The talismans didn’t react; reveal cantrips were ineffective. I dared to touch the covers and spines, but still no reaction. The only thing left to do was open them.

I cautiously opened the first book. The pages were near black with how much was scrawled on them. After a minute of staring at a number of pages, I was certain I didn’t know this language. If it even was a language. I’d have to invest in a charm to translate writings soon.

“Hey Lybras,” I said as I walked over and showed vir the pages. “Can you read this?”

Ve scrutinized it for a moment. “No. Just mark as undetermined.” Ve flipped the page.

That was when things got weird.

The book… bit us. The writing began to glow as the pages fluttered and the book tossed itself out of my hands. We stared stupefied at it, waiting for what would happen next—because all of that had to have done something.

“Maybe something good will happen?” I hedged, trying to stay positive. Ve was unamused. The book stilled, and I was about to make another remark when black tendrils bubbled out of it.

We weren’t given a chance to run before it ensnared us. We both swore and struggled but to no avail. No place was safe from their touch. A glance at Lybras and I saw them covering vir from tail to horns. I almost envied vis larger size and greater body area for these lewd cirri to trail across. When I tried to shift positions, they constricted tighter around me. Little prickles bit into my skin. Did these things have teeth? If they did, they weren’t strong enough to break my skin since they only left oily ooze in their wake and no blood.

They weren’t constricting us to death, just groping and restraining. It wasn’t unpleasant, actually. I even started to think it was similar to being tied up by Mosaiko.

With that thought, my feelings towards the moment shifted.

This was still not ideal. I didn’t know what these tendrils intended to do and I wasn’t thrilled that Lybras was here to witness me… not hating them. We had a nice, professional relationship and this wasn’t my first pick on how to shift it to a personal level.

A tendril snaked around to the back of my neck and attached itself like a leech. Then I heard a voice—an amalgamation of voices—echo in my head.

Desire for desire. Will you accept?

“Did… did you hear that too?”

“Yes,” Lybras answered.

As least I wasn’t hallucinating. But what did it mean?

Desire of knowledge for desire of carnality, it responded. It was discomforting that it seemed to be able to read my mind. Will you accept?

“I don’t know if we should really trust this book.” I was skeptical that agreeing with it would be worth it. “For all we know, it’s gonna eat us.”

“I don’t think it’s anything that severe.”

“Elaborate book voice!” I demanded. “Will accepting your offer kill us?”

There are no desires for death. To fulfill the desires—nothing more nothing less. Knowledge for carnality, will you accept?

“We won’t get a straight answer,” ve sighed. “We’ll have to accept or refuse.”

I hated vague spells. My curiosity was running wild but I was still skeptical of all this. I fidgeted. The tendrils bit into me more, and that just made a little devil urge me to agree. I wouldn’t die; and knowledge and carnality didn’t sound so bad.

I conceded. “Well I’m up it if you are.”

Lybras took more time to make up vis mind. “I agree.”

Nothing happened.

“You have to say it,” ve said.

“Of course—the vague spell needs a specific answer.” I rolled my eyes then threw a glare at the book before saying, “I agree.”

In a flash like lightning, my vision danced and mind felt floaty. I felt like I had taken a few shots of vodka. My mind twisted and reformed. My memories and thoughts flipped pass like pages blowing in the wind. Even the skeletons.

My focus jolted back to the archive. Lybras was shuddering and short of breath and… erect. I knew I shouldn’t stare but damn. Ve was impressive. And I was intrigued to see vis unique anatomy—around the base of vis shaft was a clear set of labia.

One of the tendrils wrapped itself around the head of vis member and swallowed it within. The dark, oozing tendril split into two; one stayed wrapped around Lybras’s dick, while the other quivered and reshaped into an exact replica of it.

What? I had second to think before it slithered its way to me. Oh damn. I knew where this was going—where it was going. At this point I had no more reservations. The moment I saw that slick tendril aiming for me I wanted it inside me. I didn’t fight as the tendrils already wrapping me spread my legs; didn’t struggle as a couple tore my panties away.

Instead, my eyes fluttered shut and head fell back as it started prodding into me. Slipping fully in, it felt like it was adjusting to fit me without really stretching me. Shame. Still, it felt wonderful as it thrusted in and out. No wonder there were so many dragon hybrids.

I wiggled my hips, trying to adjust so it would hit a better spot, but instead riled the tendrils up into biting me again. If they were trying to persuade me to stop moving, they were failing. Now I squirmed solely so they’d dig in more.

My mind was a cloudy mess. I sank further and further into the pleasure. So this is what it meant by carnality. I didn’t even care to wonder what the knowledge part had been. The fact we were supposed to be cataloging books was long gone. I even forgot Lybras was there—maybe watching, maybe lost in vis own pleasures.

The tendrils vanished and I dropped to my hands and knees. After taking a few second to calm myself, it registered that, right before everything stopped, Lybras had said ve rescinded vis consent.

We both stole a glance at each other then looked away. Silence rang between us for a good moment.

“You should make a couple memory wipe potions,” Lybras spoke up. “It’d be best we both forgot tonight.”

“Agreed.”

— — —

BeMo Masterlist ☆ Writing Masterlist

Story: Previous — Next

#monster love #exophilia #writeblr #exophilia fiction #tentacle monster #cursed book #cursed item #writing #bewitching monsters

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sparklyaxolotlstudent · 5 years

Text

Saying Gabriel Agreste is the second most hated characters of the show would be an understatement (The first is Lie-la), but for many reasons, I firmly headcanon that he is a shipper on deck for Adrienette.

His son’s best friend (And maybe only) tries to throw a birthday party for him? Forbid this friendship.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng steals a very precious book (for several reasons)? Allow Adrien to return to school, no string attached, and even reply a question to said girl.

The daughter of the mayor of Paris, who is his son’s childhood friend, makes an impeccable audition as Ladybug for Clara Nightingale’s video? Marinette is a better choice anyway.

Audrey Frigging Bourgeois is coming to one of his fashion shows? Screw her, the VIP seating is for the parents of Marinette.

And of course he saw all those paparazzi photos of Adrien with his little girlfriend at the cinema, hiding in a fountain, etcetera.

And of course Gabriel “Neglectful yet overprotective” Agreste wouldn’t let his boy out of his sight on the trip to London (Nathalie and the bodyguard were nowhere to be seen, so it stand to reason that they traveled alone). So… how did Adrien got his Good Friend™ medicine? Easy Peasy! His father actually helped him!

The Agreste Family Fabulous Hunt for Laxatives.

Gabriel didn’t like leaving Paris. What if another opportunity presented itself? It wasn’t like he could release an akuma in London. And for what? Ladybug and Chat Noir wouldn’t be there, and they could suspect him again for being in London.

He had even given the weekend off to Nathalie and Adrien’s bodyguard, -What was his name again? Gustav? Giuseppe? Gaylord? It was something with “G” he was sure… Gorilla? – To spend the weekend with Adrien.

After the train incident- so there *is* a guardian in Paris after all! – the trip on the train was rather peaceful. Adrien had ignored that Tsurugi girl with his headphones the whole trip, although the girl didn’t seem bothered and had spend the whole time on her phone too.

The wedding was beautiful –not as beautiful as his wedding, but nothing could compare to Emilie – but he couldn’t help but notice Adrien had been fidgeting and restless the whole affair. It was odd, as Adrien usually loved weddings... although he called marriages “the ultimate form of friendship”… weird boy.

“Father?” Adrien called him from the other side of the limo they had rented. “Can we stop for a bit at a pharmacy? I need something” So that was why he was restless.

“Is something wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, yes don’t worry. A friend asked me to get some medicine”

“… in London?”

“Yes, I guess you can’t get this medicine in Paris? I don’t know… She was very insistent that only *I* could give it to her”

“Her? Who?”

“My Good Friend™ Marinette… the girl that designed the hat I wore that time?”

Of course Gabriel knew who Marinette was. She was the –awesome – designer girl from his class. The girl who even Audrey Burgeouis has nothing but good things to say… his son secret little girlfriend! Of course he had suspected before that Adrien was interested in her –they were a perfect match – and seeing his fans document their little date was interesting. If only his son would come clean about that relationship already! Gabriel was already sketching some wedding dresses, both western and Chinese… maybe Marinette would prefer a blend of cultures?

That Marinette surely reminded Gabriel of when he was young and stupidly in love with Emilie. He couldn’t help but reminiscence when he had done the same to a date with Emilie. He had been so excited to his first official date with Emilie that he had accidentally worn his silky pajamas to the theater. Luckily he wasn’t famous yet.

If Adrien had no reservations about buying medicine for his girlfriend, it meant they were very comfortable around each other already.

“What medicine did your gir… Good Friend™ ask for?”

Adrien smiled wide, happy that his father was taking his quest as seriously as himself. He took the prescription out of his pocket and showed it to his dad. He read it and raised an eyebrow. Gabriel recognized the name of the medicine. It was a laxative. Not only that, but the particular brand the doctor had requested was French. It would be hard to find it in London. Was Marinette pranking Adrien?

He again reminisced of pranks he and Emilie had played on each other.

“Well, if this is what your ‘Good Friend™’ wants… You know, we could get her something nice too from this trip”

Gabriel had to hide the excitement on his voice. Of course he would prefer giving his son’s girlfriend an Agreste original, but now that they were on a trip, he might get Adrien to give her something more romantic than… constipation pills. Man, if she was comfortable enough asking him that, prank or not, is as if they were already married.

“That’s not what she asked. She needs the medicine”

Not the response he was expecting but okay.

“Very well… maybe we can get her some Chocolate laxatives? We can even get a pretty box for them” OUTPRANK HER YOU FOOL!

“No father, she asked me for those. Only *I* can give it to her!” Adrien looked oddly proud of that statement. Gabriel was equally oddly proud of his son. Maybe it was a little game he and his girlfriend had. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Fine, let’s go get her medicine”

Gabriel and his son then went on an epic hunt on their weekend in London searching for some Parisian medicine. Gabriel couldn’t’ help himself but point Adrien some cute dresses –Marinette would look nice in red! It would compliment her blue hair and eyes- but his son said that that was not what she had asked for. He went lower a lower. A diamond necklace, some earrings, a bracelet, all kinds of jewelry – except a ring, it would be too much-, candy, chocolates, a hamster shaped purse… all he could point to, but Adrien insisted that Marinette had asked for Medicine specifically. They finally got the medicine on their last day, and as weird as it had been, he had enjoyed spending the time hunting for that thing with his son. He owed that to his future daughter-in-law (he couldn’t help but snicker at the thought) and decided that, even if his son didn’t want to give anything to her, he would take matters in his own hands. He found the PERFECT gift for an aspiring young designer and using the hotel services, send it to Marinette’s address (Nathalie found it really fast) in Adrien’s name. He asked them to gift wrap it, and wrote a note, which he asked the staff to write in a computer and add to the gift. He was not going to let his idiot son ruin his relationship by not bringing his secret girlfriend an appropriate gift.

Marinette arrived at her home, still embarrassed about the whole Girl Squad discovering Adrien had actually got her the constipation pills for Grandpa Chan… of course they didn’t believe her they were for her Grandpa.

“How was school today?” Her mother asked after greeting her. Marinette went red and mumbled a reply. Luckily for her, she knew her daughter too well and recognized that particular shade as embarrassed, but the good kind of embarrassment. Her daughter was weird, was the point.

“Oh, and a package arrived for you today, your father left it in your room”

Marinette was intrigued. A package? She wasn’t expecting anything. She went to her room and found the box immediately. It was decorated in a pretty flowery paper with a bow with logos that Marinette recognized as the hotel Adrien had stayed (Because of course she knew exactly where Adrien was in London) and a single little note added to it. “To Marinette From Adrien”

Marinette’s heart rushed, while Tikki tried to calm her down. She practically ran to the box and obliterated the paper, throwing it over a very indignated Tikki.

It was a extremely pretty Sketchpad (expensive too) with an aluminum case that matched the cover, filled with all kind of pencils and other tools. It had a flowery “M” engraved in both. Marinette was beaming, practically hovering over the floor.

“Hey, this fell from your gift” Tikki picked up a small envelope and gave it to Marinette. Marinette eagerly opened it and started to read it.

“Dear Good Friend™ Marinette. I saw this sketchpad and immediately reminded me of you. You are so talented! Please don’t mention this gift, I bought it in secret and my Father might get angry I got out without his permission to get it. P.S. Hope you’re feeling better about your constipation.”

“Wow, Adrien is so thoughtful!” Tikki said with a small chuckle. “Marinette?”

Marinette was unresponsive. She was silently wondering if she could convince her parents to change names and go live in Timbuktu.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml fanfic #gabriel agreste #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml spoiler #ml backwarder

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thepetulantpen · 5 years

Text

Modern AU/Kindness

(Hey I know this event is literally over but I finally finished day 6 of @mollymauklivesfest so I’m posting it now. Better late than never?)

Molly’s general rule of thumb is to leave the world a little better than how he found it.

And a little more chaotic.

Typically, he’s found, in order to achieve both of those things, one will eventually be on the run from the cops.

Which he is now.

As he nearly gets run over for the third time that night, diving across traffic and into an alley where he leaps onto a dumpster and scales an apartment complex, he takes a rare moment of reflection to think about how he ended up in this position.

It either started with the kids who tried to rob him or the racist elven lady, depending on how much faith you put in Molly’s moral code.

...

When a bony hand reaches into his purse, Molly stops and fidgets with his phone for a bit to give the kid a better chance. He may not be the most observant person, but even he saw the three dirty, skinny children sneaking up behind him.

He’s not exactly made of money- he reads fortunes, for gods’ sake- but he can spare something to give to people even less fortunate than him. Whatever they can swipe, they’ve earned.

When Molly dies in Crossy Road, he moves on and the kids scatter, back to whatever alley they crawled out of. He wishes he could help more, but they’re just three of many in this city.

It probably won’t keep him up at night, but it does distract him long enough to not look where he’s going, long enough to trip over an older elven lady. Old enough to look old, which means she must be ancient.

“Sorry-“

Molly cuts himself off at the look on her face, needlessly shocked and disgusted. He knows what that means.

There’s no major freak out, which is nicer than previous encounters of similar types, but she does mutter “demon” as she crosses the street in a hurry. She’s dramatically rubbing at the front of her shirt, as if Molly might’ve gotten a bit of his Infernal on her.

He’s gotten it before, gotten it far worse. It probably won’t keep him up at night.

That might’ve been the end of it, if Molly wasn’t Molly.

The shiny pearls around her neck and the gold bracelets on her wrist give him an idea.

And that is what’ll keep him up at night.

...

Caleb wakes at 3:34 am to the sound of his phone buzzing violently against his nightstand. He grabs for it blindly, wondering which of his dumb friends could be calling at this time of night.

The screen lights up too bright in the dark, washing over his face and making his eyes squint to adjust. ‘Robin Hood’, Molly’s chosen nickname on Caleb’s phone, is calling, which would’ve earned Caleb money if he’d bet on it. These sorts of calls are Molly around 80% of the time.

He lets it ring for a few seconds, pretending to debate taking the call. He promises to himself that if this isn’t an emergency, he’ll kill Molly, but it’s an empty promise, one he never keeps when Molly calls him high or horny or just bored.

He answers the call.

“This had better be good, Mollymauk.”

There’s a huff, some shuffling, and the sounds of a busy street on the other end of the call before Molly finally speaks, out of breath.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an emergency, actually,” he grunts and Caleb hears something slamming against metal, “Are you still friends with that guy in Nicodranas?”

Caleb sits up in bed and rubs his eyes. He really doesn’t need this, at 3:36 in the morning.

“Friends is a strong word.”

Caleb can practically hear the eye roll on the other end of the line, but he ignores it because Molly has no right to be annoyed with him, when he’s calling at 3:37 in the morning.

“Associate, acquaintance, whatever. Will he still help you cross the border?”

“Molly, what-“ Caleb sighs and shakes his head. He’d been fine when they talked last week. “What could you have possibly done in the last few days that makes this necessary? No, no, don’t tell me, I want plausible deniability. Just, how soon do you need to leave?”

“Well-“ Molly starts but is cut off by the blare of police sirens and his own footsteps against the pavement. When the noise fades a bit, he asks, “Does that answer your question?”

Caleb groans, standing to grab his coat and books. It’s going to be another long fucking night.

“Unfortunately, yes. Can you hold out till morning?”

He can imagine Molly grinning on the other end, feels the sharp energy of it through the receiver.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my skills?”

...

After about the third rich person party he’d robbed, Molly starts to think he’s getting in a little too deep.

But he’s got a bag full of jewelry and other useless expensive trinkets and he’s driving to yet another pawn shop, so he’s committed for now.

Emerging with a wad of cash is pretty satisfying and spending it on a car full of non perishable meals and blankets eliminates all doubt and conflicting feelings from his mind.

This whole scheme has gotten pretty ridiculous and is starting to take way too much planning- he’s had to research parties and fake identities and pawn shops. It shouldn’t have been this elaborate when the premise seemed so easy: steal from the rich, give to the poor. But bullshitting your way into parties without a plan is risky, and selling hoards of jewelry to the local pawn shop every week is a sure way to get investigated and arrested.

It’s a lot of work, more work and planning than Molly typically participates in, but it’s worth it. The people who attend these kind of parties are the perfect sort of uptight that provides endless entertainment, and pretending to be rich (or even royalty, on one occasion) is not only fun but empowering. Nobody dares question guests at these parties, he could tell them he got banished from a pirate island and they’d nod politely while sipping champagne.

Some people would say it’s exhausting pretending to be someone else, but not Molly. For him, it’s exhilarating to weave lie after increasingly ridiculous lie- and it’s not hard either. Rich Molly is just Molly but worse and more shiny.

He will say that the best part isn’t the parties or the lies. It’s now, as he rolls up to one of the dark alleys in the worst part of town and finds the sad little camps of boxes and torn blankets.

The kids don’t approach him, watching warily as he sets down his offerings of food and other supplies from Dollar Tree. It’s the most he could get with the money he made, plus his efforts in bargain hunting and buying in bulk. They’ll eat and be warm for months, hopefully.

This camp is just one in a series of stops he’ll make today, grim reminders of the desolate conditions the poor of Zadash live in. He’s determined to keep up this act until every one of the kids in this city has gotten their share of its wealth. Or until he’s arrested.

One of the bigger kids comes out first, opening up cans of fruit for the little kids and passing out blankets. He waves to Molly, a small gesture of thanks before he turns his attention to his charges.

Molly waves but doesn’t stop long, heading back to his car before he gets wrapped up in a conversation. He has more work to do, if he’s going to make this city better.

...

Caleb rubs at his eyes again, trying to make them focus on the map through the haze of his exhaustion and shakiness of Molly’s shitty driving.

They almost go airborne on a bump in the road and Caleb scrambles to keep hold of his books.

“Scheisse, Molly. Easy on the gas pedal, I need to make sure we’re going the right way.”

Molly nods absently, eyes darting in between the windshield and rear view mirror, watching fervently for any sign of authorities. Caleb’s contact in Nicodranas has outlined the fastest, most discreet route over the border, but these things can change so fast that there’s never any true guarantees of safety. At least he has Caleb here to navigate and steer him out of trouble. If anyone can bail Molly out of a jail cell, it’ll be Caleb.

“Left here.”

Moly turns the wheel too hard, taking the turn as sharp as he can. Caleb is holding onto the armrests for dear life and staring at Molly in disbelief. It’s a wonder to Caleb that they haven’t died yet, with Molly being as impulsive in driving as he is in life. He should’ve called Fjord and made him give them a ride.

“You’re just going to attract more attention if you drive so fast,” Caleb pauses as he watches the meter lower a little closer to the speed limit, he’s got to find a way to distract Molly from the high speed chase he’s envisioning, “Finish telling your story, I’m dying to know how your flawless plans could’ve been outsmarted.”

...

Picking pockets is not a terribly difficult art. Some can do it masterfully, some are abysmal at it, but most can do a decent job and grab a few things without trying their luck.

Molly falls into the last category, but he’s too stubborn for his own good. He just has to get that last bracelet.

The woman he’s robbing, a respectable, no nonsense businessperson, looks down at Molly when his hands slip. He manages to not only screw up his extraction of the bracelet, but also drop the rest of her jewelry to the ground with a loud series of clinks.

Molly only has time for an abashed smile before he’s leaving a tiefling shaped cloud of dust behind him and utilizing his other talent: running.

There’s an broken window, a two story climb, and a crash through some overly manicured hedges, then he’s hitting the pavement and diving down the nearest alley as sirens wail in the distance.

He stops to heave in a few breaths, preparing for a chase, and that turns out to be a mistake as the guards for the party are smarter and faster than he thought. There’s shouting and uniforms so he makes a quick decision, jumping up—

“I can’t believe you. We had to leave the country because you suddenly became a bigger kleptomaniac than Nott?”

“Technically,” Molly smiles at Beau across the table from him, “you didn’t have to leave. This is just your excuse for a vacation.”

Beau crosses her arms and returns the shit-eating grin. “But I couldn’t leave my best friend to fend for himself in his run from the police.”

Molly is going to fire back, maybe bring up the time they had to evacuate a town because of something Beau did (they can never go back to Trostenwald) but Jester walks in carrying a tray of cookies and he’s sufficiently distracted.

“Look what my mama had the cooks bake!”

Jester giggles as Beau and Molly immediately pounce on the plate, competing to build the biggest cookie pile. She grabs a cookie from Beau’s pile and sits down with them, smiling with crumbs in her teeth.

“Since we’re sort of trapped here until the police forget about Molly-“

“Trapped is such a strong word.”

“-then we’ll have to plan a bunch of beach days to fill time. We’ll get to drag Caleb out there and we could invite Nott’s family, I’m sure Yeza would love to see the ocean!”

Jester’s words become indistinct as Molly zones out, happy to enjoy this moment with friends despite the circumstances that landed him here.

It’s a happy ending really, and some good karma from the world at last. He did something good by doing something bad and now he gets to hang out at the beach with his friends- his family.

Gods, he can’t wait to goad Caleb into buying swim trunks in the most atrocious pattern possible.

#molly lives fest #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #beauregard #mollymauklivesfest #one day i will start uploading on time #but not today #enjoy this... 4 day late fic?#it was fun to participate again this year even tho i was late all week #love me some fun with molly

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wordtotherose · 5 years

Text

100 Ways To Say I Love You - Halfway Point Masterpost

Here’s your easy to use masterpost for all 50 fanfics so far in the series. More under the cut!

1. Pull Over, Let Me Drive For A While

Magnus and Alec are driving in the car. Fluffiness ensues. - By Essiee

2. It Reminded Me Of You

Alec's eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue and it's something Magnus loves. - By Essiee

3. No, No, It’s My Treat

Alec takes Magnus on a coffee date. - By Guardian_Rose

4. Come Here. Let Me Fix It

Alec's bow is broken in a hunt and Magnus is there to help. - By Essiee

5. I’ll Walk You Home

Alec doesn't like the thought of leaving his boyfriend to walk home on his own. - By Guardian_Rose

6. Have A Good Day At Work

Alec leaves a note for Magnus - By Guardian_Rose

7. I Dreamt Of You Last Night

Alec dreams of Magnus and they are sappy romantics. - By Guardian_Rose

8. Take My Seat

Alec goes to visit Magnus's loft after training. - By Guardian_Rose

9. I Saved A Piece For You

Isabelle makes a cake and Alec decides it is time for Magnus to be introduced to his sister's cooking. - By Guardian_Rose

10. I’m Sorry For Your Loss

Magnus wakes up to find Alec and his mother arguing in the loft's living room. He gets protective. - By Guardian_Rose

11. You Can Have Half

Alec gets drunk and misses Magnus so he just lets himself into the Warlock's loft. - By Guardian_Rose

12. Take My Jacket, It’s Cold Outside

Magnus and Alec fight after a disastrous dinner date. - By Guardian_Rose

13. Sorry I’m Late

Magnus gets caught up in his thoughts while doing his makeup and ends up late for his date with Alec. - By Essiee

14. Can I Have This Dance

Magnus and Alec go dancing and share a quiet moment together. - By Essiee

15. I Made Your Favourite

Magnus picks Alec and Isabelle from the Institute to portal them to the loft for a movie night with the rest of the shadowhunters/downworlders. Fluff ensues.

Mentions of a previous fic but all you need to know is that they had a fight and have made up. - By Guardian_Rose

16. It’s Okay, I Couldn’t Sleep Anyway

Magnus is lost in his thoughts instead of sleeping when he gets a phone call from Alec. - By Essiee

17. Watch Your Step

It's far too early for Alec to be awake and Magnus knows it. - By Guardian_Rose

18. Here, Drink This. You’ll Feel Better

Alec is injured in a battle and Magnus gets quite protective before feeling guilty over not keeping his boyfriend completely safe from harm.

Happy ending with pancakes! - By Guardian_Rose

19. Can I Hold Your Hand

Alec waits while Magnus and Catarina argue in the living room. At 3am.

It's not the way Alec was hoping his day would start if he was being honest. - By Guardian_Rose

20. You Can Borrow Mine

Magnus gets a little (I swear, only a little) jealous when someone starts flirting with Alec at one of his parties.

Also including cute drunk Simon and secretly sappy Raphael. - By Guardian_Rose

21. You Might Like This

Alec gives Magnus a present. - By Guardian_Rose

22. It’s Not Heavy, I’m Stronger Than I Look

Alec doesn't know what to get Magnus and Isabelle has to persuade him to believe in his choices. After all, for Magnus anything from Alec is special. - By Guardian_Rose

23. I’ll Wait

Alec goes over to Magnus's loft for a movie date only to find a young werewolf generally being a nuisance. - By Guardian_Rose

24. Just Because

Alec needs Jace to cover for his absence whilst he goes with Magnus to adopt another cat. - By Guardian_Rose

25. Look Both Ways

“Uh, hello.” Alec mumbled, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice; he hadn’t spoken for quite a while as there had been no need. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello, who is this?”

Whoever was on the other side giggled, Alec raised an eyebrow as he heard shuffling before someone answered.

“Hi Alec!”

“Max? Whose phone are you using?” Alec asked, concerned but not overly worried as if something was wrong then Max wouldn't be giggling. - By Guardian_Rose

26. I’m Sorry. I Didn’t Mean To

Alec was clearly exhausted and Magnus was worried that he hadn't been sleeping enough and he was also worried about why.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Alec murmured but didn't make any move to untangle himself from the warlock.

“Do you need to tell anyone where you’re going?” Magnus leaned back, putting a small amount of distance between him and his boyfriend in order to meet his eyes. - By Guardian_Rose

27. Try Some

He was surprised when he saw Magnus looking at Alec with something akin to awe and unadulterated affection. He flushed hotly but made himself maintain eye contact, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

“So?” He queried when Magnus didn't say anything. - By Guardian_Rose

28. Drive Safely

Magnus liked Jace, he truly did. He was a Herondale through and through, reminding him of his old friend Will Herondale on more than one occasion but in a way he had the same undying loyalty and resolve that the other Lightwood siblings possessed in abundance. Okay, so sometimes he grated on Magnus’s nerves more than the others and yes, Magnus was known to be what could be considered rude to the Nephilim but deep down he felt the same affection and mutual respect that he held for the other Shadowhunter’s of the group. - By Guardian_Rose

29. Well, What Do You Want To Do

He heard more than saw Magnus move to kneel in front of him, felt his gaze, heard his breathing and the rustle of his clothes. The warlock put a hand over Alec’s to stop him fidgeting. He could see the matching bracelet on the tan wrist and felt the tears push even harder to fall. Then they were and Alec didn't know what to do.

“Alec.” - By Guardian_Rose

30. One More Chapter

4 times Magnus has to interrupt Alec reading and one time he doesn’t.

Magnus learnt fairly early on in the relationship that Alec liked reading. He discovered this when the younger man would ransack his shelves and curl up on one end of the couch giving Magnus plenty of time to work; both of them simply enjoying each other’s company and presence. - By Guardian_Rose

31. Don’t Worry About Me

Magnus and Alec are getting drinks when Alec is hit on by a random stranger. - By Guardian_Rose

32. It Looks Good On You

Magnus had never seen Alec drunk before but it was worth waiting for. He's even more adorable when tipsy and talking about odd socks. - By Guardian_Rose

33. Close Your Eyes And Hold Out Your Hands

For this prompt:

I love stories about Magnus being able to use a Seraph blade because his father is a fallen angel. This way Alec finds out about Magnus's father and Magnus is afraid he will judge him for it. Maybe Jace sees it, too. There are barely any fics in which Jace is actually nice to Magnus :P - By Guardian_Rose

34. That’s Okay, I Bought Two

Direct continuation from 31 of this series but can be read seperately.

From the prompt:

Confused hungover Alec in the morning be looking at his hand like... "Mags... Mags, wake up, did you propose when I was so drunk I don't even remember?" And they decide that it will be a promise ring because hell, they actually both seem way too enthusiastic about the idea but they really probably shouldn't be so serious after less than a year or so. - By Guardian_Rose

35. After You

Magnus kept going for a few steps without noticing before having to backtrack; he moved to stand in front of Alec and the shadowhunter wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, dropping his head onto his shoulder. Raphael, however, stopped immediately and grabbed Simon’s hand, a soft expression on his face that Alec hadn't expected. Magnus hummed curiously at the picture before them.

“What else happened? You’re hiding something, Si.” - By Guardian_Rose

36. We’ll Figure It Out

Magnus and Alec have an argument the night before Alec leaves for Idris.

---- “Hi.” Alec’s voice came through at last, he sounded as sleep-deprived as Magnus felt. It made him feel a little better but then even worse when he realised how relieved he was that his boyfriend couldn't sleep either.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” Was not what he should have said. Magnus was not off to a good start. - By Guardian_Rose

37. Can I Kiss You?

Magnus is worried beyond belief when Alec hangs up without an explanation and Alec has to apologise as best he can when he realises. - By Guardian_Rose

38. I Like Your Laugh

“Alexander, you’ve been washing that mug for almost five minutes. What’s wrong?” Magnus asked quietly, wrapping his arms around Alec’s middle from behind and resting his chin on Alec’s shoulder.

“Do you think they like me?”

“Who, darling?”

“Ragnor and Catarina." - By Guardian_Rose

39. Don’t Cry

It took all of his conscious energy and will to keep his eyes open, to not let himself drift off into sleep because if he did, the chances of him waking up were beyond slim. Magnus would be there soon. He would. Jace would be able to track him using their bond now that Alec had been thrown back onto land. - By Guardian_Rose

40. I Made This For You

“I made this for you.”

Magnus stepped away from Alec’s desk and lay down lengthways on the Head of the Institute’s couch, working on keeping his proud smirk from slipping into one of those soft, affectionate smiles that Alec would point out and tease him about, not that Magnus nor Alec minded. - By Guardian_Rose

41. Go Back To Sleep

“Does it hurt that much?” Magnus asked, not waiting for an answer before sparking up his healing magic and sending wave after wave of warmth and care to soothe Alec’s headache.

“I wanted to pause the show so you didn’t miss any.” Alec said instead of answering. - By Guardian_Rose

42. Is This Okay?

“You know, most of the time I love that you have an uncanny knowledge of what I’m thinking. But right now isn’t one of them, darling. If you can hold on, I can make one with one hand.”

“Ah right, if Jace or Izzy laughs at you then I will glare over your shoulder.”

“Teamwork at its finest. Aren’t we a power couple, Alexander.”

(Magnus' POV of 39. Don't Cry, as requested by RandomPerson) - By Guardian_Rose

43. I Picked These For You

“They’re beautiful, Alexander. Though now I’m worried I’ve missed a special occasion.” Magnus lifted his gaze to meet Alec’s, who was relieved to see the bright smile that lit up his boyfriend’s face; the one that always had a hint of surprise from receiving a gift. It was one of Alec’s favourites.

“There isn’t an occasion, I just thought that they were beautiful, like you." - By Guardian_Rose

44. I’ll Drive You To The Hospital

“There’s been another surge.”

Alec looked up from his desk as Magnus practically fell back against the now closed office door.

“I’m fine, Alexander. It wasn’t here.” Magnus smiled reassuringly at him and Alec let out a sigh of relief as the warlock linked their fingers together. “It was at the hospital." - By Guardian_Rose

45. What Do You Want To Watch

Something's preying on Magnus' mind and Alec hasn't a clue what it is, not that that's going to stop him from trying to keep them both afloat. - By Guardian_Rose

46. You Can Go First

There was ichor and blood dripping onto his kitchen floor. Their kitchen floor. Right now, very clearly belonging to both of them as Alec dropped his bow onto the kitchen table. A splitting headache was starting up behind his eyes and he really wished that tonight had been movie night and not patrol night. Sadly, his luck was faltering as of late. - By Guardian_Rose

47. Did You Get My Letter?

It had been eight days since Magnus had received a letter, through means that Alec was not entirely sure about, and left that evening through a portal with only a promise to be back before their anniversary weekend. A month away. Alec wasn’t entirely sure he was coping with it. Izzy was very sure he wasn’t and Jace had blinked at him for a silent minute when he’d finally admitted that he was taking this whole thing a little harder than he’d realised. - By Guardian_Rose

48. I’ll Do It For You

Magnus knows that he should stay where he is, that the work he's doing is extremely important and that it could change not just his friends' lives but also his own in monumental ways. But surely he could take a break to check in on whatever was happening at the Institute? For a few minutes? - By Guardian_Rose

49. Call Me When You Get Home

Magnus was already awake but had yet to show any signs of trying to leave, he was tracing over the runes on Alec’s back. His fingers warm and sure, but not asking for anything more. He didn’t seem to know that Alec was also awake. When would he next get to see Magnus? Next get to hear his laugh, kiss him until he couldn’t stop smiling like he had the night before, next get a full night’s rest beside him? - By Guardian_Rose

50. I Think You’re Beautiful

“What’s up is that I’ve called all three of you Lightwoods numerous times, I’ve searched the whole Institute, I checked my apartment and it took calling Raphael to ask if he knew if Simon was with you to finally find out that you left on patrol hours ago! And now, it’s you picking up my boyfriend’s phone not him, so excuse me for wanting to know what’s going on.”

There was a moment of silence wherein Magnus listened to nothing but his own harsh breathing. Jace had moved far enough away so that the club couldn’t even be heard. Magnus dug his fingers into the edge of the desk to stop from doing something stupid like hanging up before he knew where they were when a sudden low whistle made him jump slightly.

“That was impressive, Magnus, didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Then you don’t know me very well.” He snapped. “Where are you? Is Alec okay?”

***

It's Magnus and Alec's anniversary at last, the long awaited day of Magnus' return. But it isn't the happy reunion either of them had longed for. - By Guardian_Rose

#malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #alexander lightwood #guardianrose #fanfiction #my writing #fanfic #ao3 #writing #masterpost #100 ways to say i love you #100 ways #100 ways ily

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