#or a tall person in gracious enough to help me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lavenoon · 9 months

Text

Conjunction (~9.9K)

More menace4menace, based on @naffeclipse's Bloodstain Fool with the og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

Plays after the first doodle comic, and after Falling Into Orbit, but before Asterisms

—

“Got your target?”

Sighs sound different without any breath involved, you’re learning.

You’ve been following Eclipse for a small distance already, waiting for him to say something, to no avail. It’s not that you’re quiet about it, so you don’t think it’s a matter of not having spotted you yet - and his reaction to your question proves it.

Eclipse turns.

You grin.

Half lidded golden eyes glow even brighter with the sun starting to set behind the urban horizon. Not a true sunset yet, but darkness is starting to settle between the high rises. The lighting is gorgeous, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on Eclipse.

And that, in turn, reminds you of your impulsive compliment just the other day. Is it worse that you still mean it?

At least you don’t have to think about it for too long, thanks to his sparkling personality.

“Why are you following me? Can’t you take a hint?”

Ah. That’s why he ignored you for half a block.

You try not to let it get to you. It’s not the easiest task, waving off the rejection from the only person you somewhat know and who knows about you in this time, but you’ve had a bit too much practice putting on an act anyhow. You shrug, grin just barely strained.

“We have a saying for hints, a wave with a fencepost.”

The tired expression morphs into a scowl, one you’re a bit more familiar with. Now he’s confused - and that’s enough to soothe your wounded ego. Enough to make your grin genuine again, and then worse.

Eclipse’s glower evolves in parallel.

“Are you going to elaborate or not.”

Well, you can be gracious.

“You could throw the whole fence at me and I’d duck to look at a ladybug.”

It’s likely that the only reason you notice his hand twitch is because it’s just barely below your eye level. Tall bastard. The movement draws your gaze, but when nothing else happens, you tilt your head back up.

He’s no longer looking at you, eyes still narrowed as he stares off into the distance. His voice is quieter, too.

“A fence is about the only thing you could dodge.”

There’s a deja vu when he shifts and just walks away, except this time you do have other options. You still follow him.

“I answered your question, so? Did you catch them? Why target, anyway?”

As much as you want to keep an eye on his expression, unfortunately you’re too uncoordinated by nature and tripping on the uneven sidewalk is too much of a risk if you aren’t looking. Still, you spare him another prying glance he probably doesn’t see before focusing downwards.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought him back. So?”

“Him?”

Eclipse actually slows, his optics already on you when you look up to check. Not hostile, for once, but still confused. You shrug with a lighthearted smile.

“Or her. Either’s good. But I’d like my satisfaction, please.”

Just to emphasize, you make a grabbing motion with your hand, palm up. And trip over a loose tile in the pavement. At least you don’t fall - but the inelegant floundering isn’t quite helpful in your endeavor of figuring out Eclipse’s job.

He’s no longer looking at you when you regain your balance.

“You’re awfully sure there will be satisfaction involved.”

“Your mysterious deflections are only making it worse for you, you know?”

Again, a sigh. Either the low rumble of static is just part of an animatronic’s sigh, or he’s starting to get grumbly again. Given his disposition, your bet is on the latter. Thin ice, then.

Watch you stomp on it to find out just how thin. Maybe that’s why they call it ice breakers.

You skip a step, keeping even with him, and grin. Eclipse sends you a burning glare, as if in warning. But all too quickly he averts his eyes again, and then you have to speed up to keep pace. He’s not getting rid of you that easily.

And your stubbornness wins out after another few steps, and another fleeting glare.

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

You hum.

“Oh right, that’s a thing.”

This time, it’s Eclipse’s feet stuttering - but you don’t look up to see how your reply insulted him this time. It’s certainly less regulated nowadays than what you’re used to, and somehow, you can imagine him in that kind of field perfectly. Grumpy loner with ominous favors who also hunts whomever the finger of the law is pointed at.

Maybe that explains the suggestion of a gun, too.

Silence stretches for just a bit too long, so you end up glancing back up at his face despite the risk of tripping. He’s facing away from you, so that tells you nothing. Are you imagining the tension in his shoulders, or is he waiting for something?

Looking up comes with other nice surprises too - there’s a few clouds starting to smother the orange of the sunset. Oh, you hope it’ll rain tonight. Falling asleep might be a little easier that way. Your sleep schedule has suffered enough.

You focus back on the path in front of you, preventing any other tripping accidents.

Given that you haven’t been sent away or glared at again, you decide to say something else. It might not be anything particularly smart, but that’s his problem.

“I’m assuming it’s not like the movies. Worn Wanted posters, ‘Dead or Alive’, that you can dramatically rip from pin boards or something.”

Eclipse looks back down to glare at you, just as the street lamps buzz on. More golden light all around, even more so with his pupils shrunken to pinpricks.

“What movies are you talking about?”

Bastard has no right looking this pretty.

“Westerns, mostly.”

That actually stops him in his tracks. In an attempt to remain aloof you continue walking, except - you have no idea where you’re going. You halt just a few steps later, turning back with the best innocent smile you can muster.

You’re kind of glad his eyes are such an easy tell for his emotions - they’re narrow, but golden, and his pinprick pupils have once again expanded. He just looks tired, maybe annoyed.

“It’s a miracle you even survived the week.”

The snort escapes you before you can stop it. A miracle, after he so pointedly got involved?

“Well, only thanks to you. Food and a roof over my head are some basic requirements that helped a lot.”

You wink, just to keep the air light. It doesn’t do anything to stop Eclipse from scowling.

“Stop that.”

A widened grin, and a deepened scowl. Somehow, this seems to be your pattern. You shrug.

“Just saying.”

With another rumble Eclipse starts walking again, brushing past you without concern. You jump a step to get back into the motion, and then match his pace. Who even needs a workout regime if you have a grumpy animatronic to keep up with?

“I see you still haven’t learned to keep your mouth shut.”

Despite the cutting words, you don’t feel like the tone quite matches that sharpness. Not friendly, mind you, but much less hostile than you’ve heard from him before. Laughter bubbles up in your voice, and you don’t care to smother it.

“Bold of you to assume I ever will.”

The long suffering sigh you get in reply only makes you laugh harder. Though only for a moment, before a question is directed at you for a change.

"How are you still dressed like that?"

He gestures towards you, eyes on you as he waits. Though he doesn’t slow down at all.

You blink, and look down on your outfit. It’s certainly a choice to walk around in something that won’t be worn for another century, but then again… Your choices here are rather limited. And as far as you’re concerned, you’ll gladly wear familiar outfits rather than worry about buying new ones with money you don’t have.

Eclipse only narrows his eyes at your shrug.

"Would you believe me if I told you the stuff just shows up in my closet every morning?"

Silence sure isn’t the answer you expected. You glance back up, head tilted, waiting for his judgement. After a moment of consideration he looks away. The noise he makes isn’t hostile enough for a snarl, but too grumbly to be a sigh. It is a concession, though.

"Your anomalous existence affecting your surroundings should faze me more, but sure, why not."

The defeat in his tone startles a laugh out of you, and you skip the step it costs you.

"Yeah, same. I went inside, didn't go home. Not even Narnia."

Ah, hm. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

"Narnia?"

Yeah, no, that is not a story you want to get into. You’re not even sure how similarly history will play out with animatronics around. Also not a topic you want to analyze further. So once again, you shrug.

"Wait a couple years, it'll make sense."

And if not, by then he’ll hopefully have forgotten about it.

“I would hope you’re not just volunteering future information to other people.”

This time the sharper tone is accompanied by a quick matching glare. Naturally, you wink.

“Nah, don’t worry. You’re special.”

The frustrated grumble is wordless, and you have to press your lips together to not laugh. But he does pick up pace again, and you hurry after him.

Something wet hits you.

You look up.

The sky isn’t just night dark - it’s covered in heavy clouds, and just like that, the next fat raindrop hits your face. You blink. Another.

So you get your wish of a rainy night. Now if only you were in your bed, you’d be all set. Mild panic creeps up in your throat, and you run a few steps to catch up with Eclipse.

“Uhh!”

Eclipse turns, frowning at your tone. But he does stop, which honestly? You didn’t really expect. So you take the plunge.

“Where are we?”

“Where -”

His scowl deepens in record time as he looks around, and then his eyes are blazing even in the twilight granted by the nearby street lamp. Mostly the light illuminates the steady increase of rain hitting the ground.

“You followed me home. You followed me home?”

Your first instinct is to smile again, though this time it’s a lot more wobbly than before. You didn’t think this through, at all. You didn’t even notice how far you were going, all because you were too focused on talking.

Maybe you can find your way back, retrace your steps - but you’ve been following Eclipse for a while now, and even before that you weren’t exactly close to the boarding house. You’ve been wandering a lot these days, for lack of other activities, and now you’re looking at a good distance to walk. In the rain. At night.

But maybe Eclipse knows a shortcut. It’s not like you have many options.

“Uh. How far to the boarding house?”

“Too far.”

Quick way of shattering your hopes, then. You deflate.

In your periphery, Eclipse reaches out - but aborts the motion with a curl of his fingers. Just as you look he turns, instead waving over his shoulder. Yours are getting wetter by the second, and you see the matching darkness growing on his coat.

“Follow me. You’re not dying without paying me back for that favor.”

You’d hopefully just get drenched, but if that’s what he has to tell himself to help you’ll take it. Thinking about how much better he knows this city by night isn’t really helping your anxiety. You’ve been a duckling for this long, so there’s no reason to stop now.

Somehow you just keep getting yourself into these objectively dangerous situations, huh?

For once, you stay silent as you follow Eclipse past the last block. There’s tension in the line of his shoulders and you’re pretty sure you’re about to owe him again. He doesn’t seem happy about it. You can’t blame him. This was avoidable, it shouldn’t have happened. Anxiety is churning your stomach.

Only when he takes a turn into a nearby apartment complex do you find the courage to speak up again. Your steps echo on the tiled floor, breaking the silence for you.

“You’re waterproof?”

You can figure, given his lax reaction to the rain, but you’d feel better with the confirmation. Despite everything, animatronics are new to you, and you’re missing a lot of what would be considered common knowledge.

Eclipse just glares, obviously not happy over having to state the obvious.

“Do you think I’d be done in by a bit of rain?”

Your shrug doesn’t feel half as cheeky as all the preceding ones.

“No, but wanted to make sure.”

Something in his expression shifts, so you duck your head. If you can’t see his annoyance, it can’t hurt you.

Silence reigns.

Eclipse turns on his heels, and continues down the hallway. You shuffle after him, chancing a glance back up at his back.

Have his shoulders relaxed, or is that wishful thinking?

“Don’t you think I would have been more concerned about the rain if I wasn’t?”

Some of the edge has left his voice, and unfortunately you immediately read into it. Your own shoulders drop with the relief as you follow him up the stairs. This is a worse workout than everything before. He’s so fast.

“I mean, yeah, but I prefer checking in with the expert.”

“Surprising enough that you’re admitting ignorance.”

You can’t see his face, but his tone makes you picture an eye roll. Still annoyed, but the edge hasn’t returned. You crack a smile.

“I don’t know a lot of stuff. Would you like me to elaborate?”

He steps away from the stairwell, and you notice just how high the ceilings are - but still only high enough to leave a few meager inches between his top most sunray and the stucco on the ceiling.

Mostly, you’re just glad you only had to climb the stairs up one floor. He’s fast enough on even ground, where he doesn’t get to skip steps.

“Don’t.”

With a grin you start listing things, eyes closed for posterity.

“Physics, never had a good teacher. Social cues - no one tells you those rules, and I hate it. Taxes are nebulous too, even after I’ve started - ough.”

You’re yanked back by your collar, and make an ungraceful sputtering sound. Shouldn’t have closed your eyes then - seems like you missed Eclipse stopping at his apartment door. But his hand lets go of your shirt as quickly as he’s grabbed you, and you’re left rubbing the spot where the fabric dug into your throat.

Eclipse scowls, but there’s something new to it. His grin is wider than usual, just a bit.

“When to shut up.”

You test it, just a bit, and let your own smile grow.

“I think that’s part of the social cues.”

His eyes narrow, but you don’t feel apprehensive.

“The fences.”

You nod sagely.

“The fences.”

A huff of static, and he unlocks the door. A snort? You’re starting to get amusement without it being at your expense then, that’s progress.

Stepping past the threshold makes your anxiety spike again though. With the room he got for you it was different - this is his space, and you’re only here because you didn’t pay enough attention.

Well, also because Eclipse is nicer than he lets on. Or believes himself to be, maybe. You’re still convinced you wouldn’t have died walking back to the boarding house.

But it’s strange. Following him through the foyer, the coat and shoe racks are the only things indicating that anyone lives here. No decorations to the wall, no carpets on the bare floor, barely even any furniture in the hall. That’s a lot of wasted storage space.

The first thing actually indicating a personality for the place is in the living room.

“A leather couch?”

There’s more furniture of course, dark wooden drawers and shelves, a desk covered in documents and a chair, and a high coffee table matching the couch. But somehow the obvious source of comfort is what stands out to you.

“Easier to clean off.”

Comfort, huh?

Eclipse continues walking down the hallway stretching on beyond the room, but you halt with a frown.

The dark leather on the large (Eclipse-sized) three seater looks well maintained even with the worn creases on one of the edge seats. Eclipse’s preferred spot, it seems. The furthest from the window, and with a good view of the entrance. A realization about as cheerful as his comment.

You trace a deeper line on the armrest, bright where the leather broke.

“Ominous. Have they invented blacklight yet?"

You hear rustling from an open door, and you don’t think he heard you. Warily you step away from the couch to follow. Probably best if he didn’t hear you, actually.

Except he did, and his reply echoes from what you must now assume is the bathroom.

"Why?"

The suspicion is evident, and you have no other option but to commit. Not that he sees the shrug, but it helps you remain lighthearted. He heard you all the way over there without issue, but still you raise your voice just slightly.

"I’m taking that as a yes. Even cleaned up, you'd still see a whole lot in blacklight. Urine, blood, platypuses."

The confusion echoes, too.

"Pla-”

Eclipse ducks back out, stepping out of the bathroom with a scowl directed at you.

“No. Don't do that here."

Shame, you almost got him with the platypuses. It makes not grinning very hard, and you fail much too quickly. His eyes only narrow further as he steps back into the living room, and then his hand is moving too fast for you to process.

Fabric covers your head. You blink against the bright terry cloth, yellow from the light passing through it, then pull it away from your face.

A towel - you aren’t even that wet. But what gets you more than the gesture is the sheer size of it. Nearly a blanket, really.

“Something wrong?”

The words are barely more than a growl, a storm just waiting to be unleashed. The question, not really a question - a dare. Seems like you look just a bit too taken aback.

Honesty it is, then. Baffle him too much to be upset with you. You look back up to meet his glare head on, fingers still buried in the soft fabric, and blink.

“I kind of expected red towels. White doesn’t match you.”

Eclipse blinks, too, and for a breath his eyes are just wide and golden. Plan, success. But much too soon he averts his gaze, eyes narrowing as if on instinct.

You want to see him relaxed more often.

And where did that thought come from? Challenges usually aren’t your thing, and this guy is tougher than a rock with about as much emotional awareness.

Honestly, that might even be too generous an assessment.

“Red can’t be bleached.”

The response startles you out of your thoughts, and it takes you a moment to process. It clicks, just a bit belatedly - Eclipse has already brushed past you back into the hallway.

“Oh.”

You don’t leave the living room, but step closer to the threshold to the hall. Watch as he takes off the wet coat and hangs it up on the coat rack, nearly bunching up at the ground.

Again you raise your voice.

“Thank you.”

The glare hits harder from the dark hallway, but it doesn’t faze you. You’re getting desensitized.

“I told you to stop that.”

You stick out your tongue, then cover your head again and towel your hair dry, just a bit. Plausible deniability in terms of disrespect, or something. Mostly hiding from retaliation, given that you’ll disappoint him yet again.

“I won’t stop saying thank you if you keep helping me, that’d be rude.”

“Don’t test me, I’ll kick you out.”

As expected, his tone is sharper than your knife collection. Though, to be fair, you got yours for the looks, and not for their functionality.

“I don’t think you will.”

You pull off the towel just a bit, holding on to it as you look up to where he’s scowling. But angry as he looks, he’s not making any move towards you, remaining more than an arm’s length away. One of his, too.

It’s a gamble, daring him to go through with his threat - but if he wanted to get rid of you, he really wouldn’t need to threaten it. From the start he hasn’t tried particularly hard to make you someone else’s problem. Your police bluff couldn’t have been that convincing, unless he’s really worried about involving them, and just running for a block would have shaken you off easily.

He’s not as uncaring as he wants you to think, and unfortunately for him, you won’t play along.

You blink, ending the staring contest, and his shoulders drop with a static huff.

“You’re a walking headache. Dry off, I’m not dealing with a sick you.”

It’s hard not to smile, so you just hide it behind the towel and a ducked head. You’re still pretty sure you earn a glare for your quiet snort, even though you try to cover it up with a cough.

Pulling down the towel you unfortunately see the next issue.

“Uhh? Eclipse?”

Where did he disappear to, anyway?

“What?”

Your drawn out hum doesn’t seem to incite any confidence, because he stalks through an open door back into the hallway.

“What?”

You grimace.

“So, uh, the bleach? You might need that. Usually the dye washes out without issue, but that’s with the cleaning stuff from a hundred years in the future, so…”

The frown deepens as confusion starts to weigh on him, and he steps closer. You pull the towel away from your neck and hold it out. The red and purple dye spots are faint, more orange and pink respectively, but definitely visible, and you really should’ve thought about that before. It’s not like your hair was that wet either.

Eclipse stares.

You swallow.

No reply.

“I’m sorry -”

Faster than a cobra his hand darts forward, and snatches the towel from your grasp. You fumble just a bit as he drags it away from you, holding on out of instinct before letting it pass through your hands. No rope burn for you today.

Without sparing you another glance, or even the chance to gauge his expression, he vanishes back into the bathroom. An insistent clank makes you jump, and then he reappears with a dark static brewing in his eyes like a storm. His pupils flicker ever so slightly, but you don’t get the time to really look.

A new towel is flying your way, and you scramble to catch it out of the air before it hits the ground.

You blink.

“Don’t stain it.”

When you look up, the door to what must be his bedroom slams shut. You think the doorframe vibrates, even.

It makes no sense. The old towel was fine, and if he doesn’t want them stained, why give you a new one? You could go grab the other one, making sure this one won’t get dripped on, but after what felt like progress his reaction to the stains throws you off. Risking the dark eyes isn’t really on your agenda for this unorthodox sleepover.

Wrapping the towel around your damp shoulders instead, you step backwards until you hit the leather of the couch. Kick off your shoes, and then curl up on the seat closer to the window.

It’s going to be a long night.

—

You don’t know how late it is when the door to Eclipse’s room opens quietly. Definitely late, long past your bedtime, but your mind is too restless to grant you any reprieve.

Golden eyes find yours in the darkness, and the tall shape that is your reluctant host steps into the hallway. You turned off the lights earlier, feeling more comfortable in the darkness, so the only sources of light are his optics and the faint illumination from the moon and street lights reaching through the window. The light doesn’t reach him.

“You’re still up.”

Huddled in your towel blanket, you shrug.

“Can’t sleep.”

The rain outside has trickled away to nearly nothing, and you’ve spent the last few hours lost in thought as you watched the raindrops race down the glass of the window.

Eclipse remains in the hallway, where the faint light from outside won’t reach. You still see his eyes narrow, bright as they are.

“I don’t have any bedding.”

“It’s not that.”

He shifts, but it’s too dark for that to tell you much.

“Ah. I didn’t expect you to be that prudent. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

You should have figured he’s being an idiot. The glare you send his way is probably the worst you’ve directed at him so far, and the glow of his optics disappears for a moment as he blinks.

“I’m not you. I was trying to figure out what I did wrong with the towel, not waiting for you to come kill me while I sleep. What the hell am I supposed to do if you decide to do that, anyway?”

There’s hardly anything you can do to stop him if he decides he’s had enough of you. Your only reassurance is his continued inaction despite all your pestering. Well, and the fact that you refuse to default to that kind of paranoia.

Still frowning he steps forward, just into the space where the moonlight dips into the hallway. Just that amount of light is enough to let you see the confusion evident on his face.

“... The towel?”

“You got angry.”

You don’t like how quiet your voice is. But any louder and it would crack.

So instead you just duck slightly, resting your chin on your knees. The perspective and your hair should hide most of your face. Maybe you pull the towel tighter around you, just a bit. It’s warm, offering just a bit of a shield.

Eclipse takes half a step forward, though you hear it more than you see.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. My reaction had nothing to do with you.”

That makes you look up. If he wasn’t mad at you for staining his towel, then why was he mad?

“Then why?”

Confusion furrows your brows as you right yourself. Eclipse dodges your gaze much too quickly.

“I won’t answer that.”

Given the reaction and now his tone, you’re starting to wonder if you even want to know. In any case you don’t feel like pushing him further on this, not tonight. You can let it go.

“Okay. But you’d tell me if I did something wrong?”

That part is important - and actually earns you another static snort. This time the narrow eyes aren’t angry, more a squint. Amusement. Back on track.

“Little star, have I hesitated to criticize you before?”

The bluntness makes you laugh, just a bit. You quell it quickly, but the smile doesn’t leave. Relief floods through you, and you feel more at ease.

This time when you rest your head on your knees you don’t look away from him.

“Good point. Why are you still up? Don’t you have to, I don’t know, charge some time?”

His shoulders rise, and that is an answer in and of itself. Right, he thought you’re “prudent” for not trusting him. Of course he’d manage to think of you as a threat.

“Ah, right. I could come into your room and kill you. Somehow.”

“Nothing personal. But I won’t trust you on principle.”

Your sigh hopefully tells him just what you think about that. Still, you decide to let him off the hook. And besides, you’re already talking, neither of you planning to sleep, or otherwise rest, so maybe you can have a little fun.

You extract a hand from your cozy cocoon to pat the couch. An invitation.

“Can’t blame you for that, I guess. Will you sit with me then? If neither of us is going to sleep.”

Eclipse frowns as he follows the motion with his eyes. Warily, he takes one step closer, into the dim lighting of the living room. The line of his shoulders relaxes just a bit, and then he closes the distance to the couch in resolute steps.

He does sit down in his spot, and you can’t even take the space between you two personally. Not when he looks so out of place looking back at you.

“And now?”

You huff, smile crooked where it’s pressed against your knees.

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since my last sleepover, and I don’t think you have a bottle to spin. We could play truth or dare.”

For a moment, his pupils flick away from you. But just for a breath - and then he relaxes against the backrest, settling into it.

“You go first.”

You perk up.

“Wait, really?”

One eye narrows, the other remains wider, and it gives the impression of a quirked eyebrow. At least, that’s how you choose to interpret it. The amusement in his tone speaks for it, too.

“A free pass to learn more about you and how you got here, and you don’t think I’d take you up on that?”

Snorting actually hurts - you pull your head down on instinct, knocking your nose against your kneecaps. Enough of that, then. You readjust just a bit, leaning into the crook between armrest and backrest. It allows you to face him more easily too, and you don’t hide your grin.

“I’ll pick truth, then.”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Why would you trust me? Follow me?”

You don’t know which time he means - which honestly just makes his question all the more relevant. For now you’ll answer for both, can’t go wrong with that.

“I didn’t really have a lot of options. And you haven’t made me regret it yet.”

He frowns.

“That’s reckless.”

You shrug.

“Sure is. Truth or dare?”

Best to move the game along. You can see he still wants to argue, but there really isn’t more to it. He’s helped you whenever you needed it for as long as you’ve known him - sure, it hasn’t been many times, or for long, but a hundred percent is a hundred percent. Grumpy or not.

There’s a moment of silence, and then, like pulling teeth, his choice.

“... Dare.”

Shoot, now you have to think. That’s the downside of these games, having to come up with questions and dares yourself. There’s not a whole lot you can ask him to do, given that this is his apartment and you don’t want to overstep.

Unless…

Your grin grows instinctively as the idea takes hold. Eclipse’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but you voice your dare before he gets to backtrack.

“Let me thank you, without being grumpy about it. Accept it.”

Golden eyes blaze before narrowing back at you.

“Wha-”

You squint, channeling your strongest little shit energy.

“Backing out?”

Even in the darkness you can see his expression twitch. It’s not what he expected, but pride forces him to let you go through with it. Pride, and the fact that he probably still has questions he wants to ask, and can’t end the game prematurely.

His tone does little to hide the strain, and you nearly laugh.

“No. Go ahead.”

Perfect. You straighten a little, as if that will help reflect that you mean it. Even with the dare, you don’t think he’ll actually believe you, but it’s the best you’ll get without being glared at.

“Thank you, for letting me stay tonight. And for getting me a room. I would’ve been majorly screwed without you, and I appreciate you cashing in a more lucrative favor to get me settled.”

The lemon face is back. You’re trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“You usually say ‘You’re welcome’ to expressions of gratitude.”

If his face looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, yours now looks like you’re trying to be unaffected by a sour candy. You’re pretty sure your eyes are tearing up from the strain of keeping the laughter down.

“You’re welcome.”

Words near dripping with disdain. You'll have to watch out for a puddle later, or you’ll slip.

You duck your head, hiding your face behind your knees again. Only this time you’re shaking with silent laughter.

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

Your voice warbles ever so slightly in amusement, and you’re not surprised when Eclipse cuts to the chase immediately.

“Truth or dare?”

He has questions, and you’re not sure you want to invite retaliation. Easy choice.

“I’m scared of the dares you’d come up with. Truth.”

Eclipse tilts his head, settling with a click. The suspicion isn’t new - in fact, it’s old enough to give you an inkling of what his question will be.

“What do you know about how you got here?”

Bingo. Unfortunately, there’s no prize to win, and you just sigh. You’ll have to disappoint him.

“Answer is absolutely nothing. One moment I’m back home, taking a little walk, I blink, I’m here and looking at a whole ass animatronic. I’ll give you a do over if you want.”

There’s a yawn creeping up on you, but you don’t want the game to end. You stretch your arms over your legs with a hum, hoping the tension will cover up the tiredness, and then relax again.

There’s a flicker to Eclipse’s expression that you can’t read, but then he sighs, too.

“No, an answer is an answer, satisfying or not. Truth.”

That’s barely better than dares, just on the other end of the spectrum. Dares are hard to come up with, whereas with truths… There are so many things you want to ask him, about this time and this world and about him and -

You hum, trying to stall for time, and scrunch up your face deep in thought. Maybe you need to approach this practically. For now you’re living here, so perhaps it’s good to learn about some rules you simply know nothing about.

“What do I need to know about animatronics?”

“That’s a broad question.”

Fair point. But he doesn’t sound inherently against the question, so you decide to elaborate. Maybe that will help him answer.

“I’ve been fumbling for over a week now. I just want to avoid obvious mistakes, things I shouldn’t mention, things not to ask. Like if you’re waterproof.”

For a moment he squints, amusement sparking in his eyes. But then he looks away, expression falling into something more thoughtful, and he hums.

When he meets your eyes again, his expression is hard. No trace of amusement left.

“Don’t ask about assignments before the revolution, before we had rights. It’s been twenty years, but too many humans still believe it was better then. Do not imply we should submit to that again.”

A revolution, huh? Of course things couldn’t be peaceful. It’s good to know about it, you figure, though you also can’t help but think that not knowing wouldn’t have been that much of an issue. It's not something you would have assumed blindly, and thus nothing you would have brought up. Maybe asking in and of itself was the faux pas you wanted to avoid.

Still, you want to go back to the lighthearted air you had going for you just before his answer, so you shrug.

“Well, that’s easy. ‘Don’t be a dick to people’, I can do that.”

“‘People’?”

That's a weird emphasis. Bad weird emphasis.

You crack your eyes open again, with a bit more effort than it should take you. Then again, it’s late. Then again, you already abandoned your sleep schedule for tonight.

Eclipse is frowning at you, and you have no idea why.

“Uh, duh.”

“We’re not human. And you can just accept that?”

You match his frown, if for different reasons.

“Why are you arguing against your personhood after just telling me not to do that?”

Silence and a deepening scowl are the only answer you get. You stare for a moment, but when it becomes clear he won’t elaborate, you sigh. Sounds like this runs deeper than you have the brain cells to spare tonight.

“I don’t know your history. I came here, and you helped me. That’s all I need to know you’re a good person.”

“I’m really not.”

There’s more gravel in his voice than in a good quarry. He’s still being difficult, and you’re a bit too tired to be gentle about your questioning.

You huff, barely dodging another sigh through spite alone.

“Do you want to be?”

Squintier and squinter, and then he’s avoiding eye contact again. Of course.

“It’s not your turn to ask.”

You throw your head back with a groan. It’s frustrating, not getting a straight answer. But “an answer is an answer, satisfying or not”. You’ll take it, and just hope the rest of the game will be more fun.

“Ugh, fine. Truth.”

Eclipse seems to be out for revenge now. His tone is still sharp, and you can’t say you’re a fan of his line of thinking.

“How are you so cheerful here? You lost all you know.”

Stating the obvious there. Whether purposeful retaliation or not, you figure you can look past one unfortunate question too.

You rest your head on your knee again, your cheek squishing almost uncomfortably.

“Yeah, but I also escaped late stage capitalism trying to kill everyone’s future.”

There, that’ll do. Except a snappy reply won’t really bring back the fun of the game, and only makes both of you feel awkward.

Maybe… maybe you do have a way to turn this conversation around. The smile comes automatically, small as it is.

“I do miss my sister though.”

“You have a sister?”

Surprise softens his tone. Seems like your little redirection worked even better than expected. You widen your grin then, thinking about how Eclipse would react to meeting her.

“Yup. Menace. She’s younger, but taller. Honestly, if you can’t handle me, she’d wreck you. She has a knack for sniffing out insecurities, and pulls no punches.”

You stretch, humming along. It does little to dampen your amusement, and you squint at Eclipse. His eyes are still narrow, but much more relaxed than before. Amused, maybe? He relaxes against the backrest again - you didn’t even notice him straightening.

“... I see she learned from the best.”

Your laughter is more a bark than anything else, and you slap your hand over your mouth quickly. Who knows how thin those walls are, and how many sane people are actually trying to get some sleep right now.

With the volume control back in place you do allow yourself a chuckle though.

“Student surpassing the master, if anything. Your turn.”

His eyes wander, moving away from you, and then he’s staring out of the window. You glance back, too. The rain is starting up again, a gentle background noise.

“Truth. Don’t make me regret it.”

You untwist your spine to look back at Eclipse, finding yourself late to the party. His glare doesn’t feel hostile, but it does remind you that there was something else you’ve been eager to ask. And while you’re already on the topic…

Time to figure out whom Eclipse doesn’t hate. You spare him a smile, aiming for a reassuring look, but the way his shoulders slump in resignation you don’t think you succeed.

“No fun in you ending the game early. Who's 'not everyone'?”

The quotation marks are more a suggestion from underneath the towel, but you don't care. You trust Eclipse understands - and he does, because he looks down. Almost melancholic. You don't know if you like it.

“... I have two brothers.”

A blink. A small part of you is intrigued by the technicalities - family by choice, but how so? Without blood in the way, when really all you have is choice, how does a family find together?

But even though it’s not about any revolution as far as you’re aware, this just screams insensitive question. So instead, you let excitement take over.

“You have brothers?”

As your grin grows, his frown deepens.

“Why is that so sur- why are you looking at me like this.”

The couch isn’t the bounciest, but soft enough to let you swing forward. You land on your hands, splayed on the leather of the unoccupied middle seat. Eclipse actually leans back, surprised by your sudden approach, or maybe put off by the mischief promised by your smile.

“Younger or older? Shorter or taller?”

At least he relaxes again, though not without his expression twisting into annoyance.

“... Your priorities are off, little star. And it’s not your turn.”

“Consider it a follow up. I need to know for science!”

You bounce once, insistently, and nearly laugh when you see it reach Eclipse. Scary scary bounty hunter, moved by your shenanigans.

“... Science.”

He says it just as the couch settles again. Too much fun. You bounce again.

“Younger or -”

“Little brothers.”

“Ahw man.”

You’ll keep the bouncing tucked away as an effective method of getting him to talk. Whether or not it’s just to keep you from talking is a secondary concern. For now, you groan in mock frustration, and push yourself back again. Your back hits the armrest, and you tuck the towel close again.

You huff, and Eclipse tilts his head slightly as he squints at you.

“Why are you disappointed?”

As you explain you wiggle a bit, shifting your legs into a position that doesn’t hurt your stiff knee.

“I have this theory of younger siblings outgrowing their older siblings. Though I guess with you in the mix I’d seriously be concerned for your brothers’ heads.”

For a second, you imagine it. Two more animatronics, even taller than Eclipse. Given that you know nothing about them so far, your imagination supplies you with two more Eclipses, somehow looking even grumpier as they flank the already grumpy Eclipse of your mind.

The real Eclipse isn’t any more cheerful in his reaction.

“... Do I have to tell you that animatronics don’t grow?”

Animatronics are not early two thousands robots, you forgot.

“... I might have been thinking of a movie again.”

At his groan you press your lips together tightly to avoid laughing. You’re pretty sure if he had a defined nose bridge he’d be pinching it.

“You’re incorrigible. Truth or Dare?”

You know what, you’re feeling daring.

“Hit me with a dare.”

Eclipse is much quicker than you in choosing dares, and you don’t like this stormy expression.

“Show me your shoulder.”

Your brows furrow on instinct. Your shoulder? Which one? Why?

“Huh?”

There’s no change to his expression, but he does elaborate.

“The one I hurt.”

Now you blink. That was over a week ago, and you haven’t even paid attention to the bruises. They’re gone, probably. You think. Moving around hasn’t hurt after the initial soreness wore off, and you don’t like the thought that he’s that hung up over an accident.

“It was barely anything, really. The bruises all faded.”

Still he won’t let up.

“Show me.”

No way out then. Though no one said you have to be happy about it. You peel yourself out of the towel blanket, and then push away the fabric from your shoulder.

In the dark, you can’t see shit. Maybe the bruises are gone, or maybe they’re just too faint to see. Without thinking you raise your finger and test instead, poking around where you remember Eclipse’s fingers digging in. You don’t get far before a larger hand wraps around yours, immediately pulling you away from the exposed skin.

You blink at Eclipse. His eyes are wide, flickering to something darker in the corners, and his hand twitches around yours. He snaps to the movement, as if unaware of his own actions, and then rips his hand away again.

“Don’t do that.”

He sounds like he’s hanging on by a thread, and you don’t think you want to know what happens when it snaps.

His sudden departure after learning he bruised you back at the boarding house. The strain in his voice then, and now. And, for a second, you think about the towel again. You don’t know how it relates to the bruises, but his eyes looked like this earlier, too.

The dark static calms somewhat, though he glances back at your shoulder for a moment. There’s no better word for it - he slumps in his seat.

“I’ve seen enough.”

You spare him one more wary glance, then sigh.

“I didn’t see anything, and the touch test was negative too. You can stop feeling guilty.”

No reply. You get started on restoring your layers of comfort. As you pull up your sleeve your eyes fall on your hand again, and you think about how big Eclipse’s is in comparison. You knew, he even grabbed your head before, but just like then you can’t let it go.

On the one hand, you would have liked some more time to actually process what his hand feels like. On the other hand, you’re mad at yourself for thinking like that.

Eclipse seems eager to move things along. His eyes may have brightened, but his voice still hasn’t.

“Dare.”

You hum. If you don’t know how to reassure him your best course of action is to ignore the weirdness entirely. Maybe one day you’ll figure out his deal with bruises. Maybe not. For now, not your circus and not your giant monkey.

“Ah, hm. Give me a moment, I need to think.”

There’s a brief pause, but then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Eclipse huffs.

“If I wanted to, I’d take that as the dare.”

So he’s fine with trying to keep things lighthearted. He doesn’t want to linger on whatever that was, either, and it strengthens your resolve. Said resolve may involve a lot of silliness, but he’ll have to deal.

“Shush, or it’s going to be something stupid.”

Just for posterity you scrunch up your face in thought, then tap your toweled finger against your chin.

Never looking away from your antics, Eclipse relaxes further. He leans back against the couch, even going so far as to rest his arm on the backrest. For a second, you believe him. Except then you notice the way his fingers are digging into the leather, and his careful projection shatters.

“Your last dare was stupid.”

You do have to admit he’s trying though. Unfortunately for him, you just had an idea, and it’s entirely self-serving. Well, maybe it’ll distract him, too.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Show me your hand.”

A blink.

“My hand?”

“Yeah, like this.”

You grin as you raise one hand from your cocoon, splaying the fingers in the air. Eclipse looks on, tilting his head as if he’ll understand you better from a different perspective. From the way his frown twitches you don’t think it’s helping. But he does mimic the motion, glaring first at you and then at his hand. Slowly, hesitantly, he holds out his hand in the space between you two.

No time to lose. You scoot closer, and press your palm against his. He jerks back, but you only stretch further, following the motion.

“Stay. You’re not grabbing, it’s fine.”

He stills.

A soft laugh escapes you, now that you have the time to look. His hands are proportional to his body, which is to say they’re ungodly huge.

Not that you mind.

“Oh, big. I mean, I knew, I saw, but the side by side comparison sure is something.”

Eclipse tilts his hand, and you move with him. There’s a twitch that you ignore.

“You’re just tiny.”

Again you scoot closer, and extract your other hand too. Again he starts, but then you’re already pulling his hand closer. He lets you.

Absentmindedly, you prattle on.

“Look - okay, I can’t argue, I’m short even by human standards - wait! I think I’m actually pretty average in this day and age!”

One hand you keep on his, just so he doesn’t get any ideas about the dare being over. With the other you trace the lines on his palm where the casing is broken up to allow for movement. You move towards his thumb, the indent of the lower joint and the upwards, brushing past the rougher shell of his fingertip. Worn down from all the grabbing he does, for who knows how long.

You’re so lost in thought, you nearly miss his quiet retort.

“That doesn’t matter.”

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to remember just what you were talking about, but then you huff.

“Because you’re big.”

The moment is over, and Eclipse’s patience runs out. He pulls his hand back and leans away from you, out of reach.

“Shut up.”

Despite his glare he still doesn’t sound hostile. You stick your tongue out at him, then shuffle back against your cozy nook.

“No, I’m choosing truth.”

The question comes much too quickly after another glance at his hand.

“Why aren’t you scared?”

You freeze.

The anxiety you’ve managed to keep down rears its ugly head again, churning your stomach, and you pull the towel tighter around you. Duck your head, even if you can’t escape his gaze.

Sometimes, silence is answer enough. He understands.

“You are.”

Try as you might, you don’t think he buys the nonchalance of your shrug. Still, you have no other option but to continue the act.

“Pretty much always, yup. You get used to doing things despite it.”

There’s a pause, the silence weighing heavy as you wait. Turns out you’re not off the hook yet.

“You had a follow up question earlier.”

Part of you wants to sigh. So you do, even as it turns into a yawn halfway through. Tiredness is starting to win out over the anxiety, so you look back up.

“Shoot.”

There’s an expectant hum in the air. Not like the intentional ones, more like the soft sound from old TVs. Well, old for your time, not this. Eclipse weighing his words, perhaps. A click, and he speaks.

“How scared are you of me?”

Ah. That probably shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does - from his perspective a valid concern, and of course something that would occupy his mind. After his very first question tonight, it just makes sense.

But he doesn’t understand what you’re scared of.

“Not as much as I probably should be. Not as much as you think I should be, anyway. Mostly just on principle - you’re bigger, stronger, and one of few people who even knows I’m here.”

No one who would miss you, or bother looking for you. You were lucky to meet someone who isn’t interested in making you disappear, not even to make his own life easier.

Someone who knows societal rejection first hand, too.

Anxiety quells, and you breathe easier. You relax against the backrest of the couch, accepting that you’ll have to peel yourself off later.

“I’d probably be more scared if you were human, actually.”

The tension you expelled is the tension Eclipse soaks up, it seems. His shoulders harden into a straight line, and his eyes narrow.

“That makes no sense.”

Earlier you thought you’re getting desensitized against his glares. Right now you’re just way too drowsy to care.

“Does it? I’m not really a human humans in power like. I’ve got things ‘wrong’ with me that don’t even have names yet.”

You take in a breath, barely concealing yet another yawn. The quotation marks you mimic with your fingers are about as energetic as your tone, so you can’t be sure he even notices.

For a moment, Eclipse just stares. But then he too sighs, and his shoulders drop again.

“I don’t doubt that. I’ll concede the point, I have no reason to antagonize you for who you are.”

Even so, this isn’t the tone you want to end this conversation on. You smile, tired as you are. At least he can interpret your squint as amused, too.

“Just for how much I’m annoying you.”

And you got him.

“So you admit you’re doing it on purpose.”

There’s no fire behind his words, and you chuckle softly.

“Never said that. Plausible deniability is my friend.”

His glare actually makes you laugh. It’s overly dramatic, and you’ve seen him be scary - this is so far from it. Maybe if you hadn’t been playing a silly little game for the better part of an hour you would be more inclined to be properly impressed, but now? Nope, no can do.

You sink a little lower on the couch, and your cheek squeaks slightly against the leather. Ough.

“One last round for you? I have one more question.”

Your enunciation is slowly but surely saying goodbye. Lack of sleep is catching up on you.

But for now, Eclipse indulges you.

"Truth."

"Why did you help me?"

If he can wonder just why you aren’t appropriately terrified, you can wonder just why he cares. Coincidence is the only thing tying you together, and that doesn’t actually seem like a big enough incentive for him.

He sighs again, turning a bit where he sits. Drapes his arm over the backrest again - no more need for distance then. Or maybe it’s just more comfortable. He’s not even looking at you, rather past you, out of the window. The rain is still pittering away.

"My reputation at the station is bad enough as is. Didn't want you running into either of my brothers telling them how I abandoned you."

What crumbs of energy you have left let you perk up at that implication.

“Your brothers are cops?”

“Yes. Don’t call them that to their faces.”

You snort. If you ever meet them you’ll have to remember, but for now you can’t help but abuse that newfound crumb of power.

“So that's how to get you to -”

The hand you so thoroughly inspected before now covers your entire face, and you laugh against it. There’s not much to see - the bit of light passing by his palm is barely enough to make out his fingers.

Though you didn’t get to sniff it before. If you were any more awake you might refrain, but right now you’re tired and his hand is right there. Given that you need to breathe, not smelling is harder than just giving into the impulse. Heavy and metallic, but mixed with something sweeter - some of it the leather, almost earthy, and some of it you don’t recognize.

At least he doesn’t seem to notice what you’re doing.

“Shut up. Don't even try.”

There’s something else you might try. Your impulse control is so dangerously low.

He’s not holding on tightly right now, barely even holding rather than just covering, but you’re not sure how well-advised it would be to translate your impulses into actions.

… Did he even wash his hands earlier?

Maybe you can distract yourself.

“Can you imagine though? ‘Hi everyone, I’m from the future, and also I met this grumpy animatronic who wouldn’t help me out. Name’s Eclipse, anyone know him?’. Makes me almost sad it was a bluff.”

“You were bluffing?”

Can’t make bad decisions if the temptation is out of reach. Eclipse pulls his hand away, just so you can see his wide eyed glare in all its glory.

You manage a satisfied grin despite your eyelids weighing all too heavy on your eyes.

“Oh, thanks, my next idea was to lick it and I don’t think either of us want that.”

For a moment he stares at his hand. You’re glad you’re looking, because you notice the near imperceptible shake of his head before he drops it again. Your laugh is barely more than a tired huff.

And yet, despite all that interesting bonus information, he hasn’t actually answered you yet.

"That's not really it though. That bluff came way later. Why not just dip when I started screaming?"

Again that half squint, leaving one optic wider. Sardonic, maybe.

"A human in hysterics and the bounty hunter with a violent reputation. What do you think people would have assumed?"

That sobers you up, too.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's out of your control."

He’s no longer looking at you. His back is against the couch, and he looks off into the room. Not at anything specific, you don’t think. Just staring off into space. Maybe pondering some what ifs, too.

What if you hadn’t appeared in front of him. What if right now, he could be charging in peace, being owed by someone who can actually pay up, and who won’t antagonize him at every turn.

You shrink in on yourself.

"Still, I've been causing trouble for you from the start."

Silence settles between you. It’s heavy, but your eyelids are heavier, and sleep might just win even against the fresh wave of guilt.

The moment stretches, and then golden lights find you again in the darkness.

"It's not all bad."

For someone who doesn’t believe in friendship he’s doing a shit job of keeping you at a distance. How can you not read into that?

"Yeah?"

Amusement sparks, even as the lights dim as he squints.

"I've learned many interesting things already. Like platypuses being fluorescent under a Wood's lamp."

A squeak, or a huff - you don’t know what your laugh resembles more. Eclipse is still squinting.

You stretch again, but there is no stopping this yawn. If you’re already standing by your sleepiness, you’ll make yourself comfortable too. First you unstick your cheek from the leather, then let yourself slide down. The couch is big enough for you to curl up in the corner and rest your head on the armrest, the towel between the leather and your skin. Avoid the bad stickiness.

Eclipse watches you silently, and you lazily blink his way.

“Don’t scratch the couch.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Hrm.”

Whatever he means, you’re not in the mood to ask. Words are escaping you at record speed. Instead you close your eyes, shuffling closer into the corner.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

Just because he can’t try. You’d shoot him a squinty glare if you had any inclination of opening your eyes right now.

“‘m small, ’s perfect.”

It’s comfortable, despite it being leather. The towel is a good barrier against the stickiness, and a warm little cocoon. Not as heavy as you’d like, maybe, but you don’t think weighted blankets have been invented yet.

At least you have the rain as background noise.

“The boarding house isn’t too far away from here, if you’re walking in daylight. I’ll map it out for you when you’re awake again.”

Eclipse’s voice startles you out of your daze, and you jolt. Still, your eyes remain closed, even as you huff.

“Not asl’p.”

There’s a low rumble of a laugh, and you smile against your cozy nest. He should laugh more often. Maybe you can tell him a few good jokes, see if he likes any. Not now though. Enunciation is too hard right now, whether you’re awake or not. You totally are.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

You don’t have the awareness to argue.

Tomorrow. You’ll tell him tomorrow.

#post let luce #dcamv #bloodstain fool #menace4menace #my fic #headinhands. 1K in I was like “haha maybe thisll be another 4K long can you imagine”#then [REDACTED] happened #maybe not quite as lighthearted as the first one?#but nothing I'd warn for in particular #maybe with this out of my system i can focus back on building a nest fghdjs

97 notes · View notes

karatekels · 6 months

Text

TIGmas Day #1 - Person of Interest

Happy first day of TIGmas everybody! I’m so excited to finally start this off! This fic is for @virgo-mess, whose own writing has made me so happy! Thanks for being such a great part of the TIG community, virgo, and I hope you enjoy!

TW: semi-public sex (people definitely know what’s going on), graphic sex, gagging

---

Person of Interest

---

Reader’s POV:

“Turn right at the light,” you dictate from the passenger’s seat, and the driver nods, following your instructions. The two of you are on the way to your precinct’s annual Christmas party, and you have been really looking forward to it – it’s been months since you’ve seen your coworkers.

You and Jacob, your chauffeur for the evening, had been undercover for the past nine months, acting as a betrothed couple and scoping out jewelry stores that were part of an underground smuggling network. Jacob was from a neighbouring precinct, and you hadn’t known him before your assignment, but you had quickly become fast friends – and convincing paramours, though you were glad the latter part of your relationship could be dropped now that the necessary arrests had been made.

Jacob was tall, blond, and classically handsome, so it wasn’t that it was difficult to keep up the pretense of being attracted to him for that reason. But he was head-over-heels for his actual girlfriend, which had made things awkward more than once during your time undercover. You weren’t involved with anyone romantically prior to your assignment, and were almost grateful; you’re not sure it would have been possible for you to be so convincing if your heart belonged to someone else.

“What do you think your coworkers are going to think about our big news?” Jacob jokes, and you groan, trying once again to get the engagement ring off of your finger. It fit you a little too perfectly, and you had been trying in vain to get it off of your finger for days now. You really didn’t want to have it cut off – Jacob had been planning on proposing to his girlfriend with it on New Year’s Eve – but at this point you’re running out of options.

“I would hope that these people know me well enough that they won’t assume I disappeared for almost a year to go run off with some guy,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at him. “It’s the third house on the left.”

Jacob is still chuckling as he pulls the car over, parking across the street from the house – there were vehicles parked everywhere, letting you know that the party was likely in full swing. You’re feeling rather nervous as you exit the car; you’d only told the hostess of the party – the Captain’s wife, Charlotte – that you and Jacob were coming tonight. Everyone except the Captain still thought that you were away on your assignment, and hadn’t even been told what it entailed when you had left.

You approach the front door with Jacob, a few giftwrapped bottles of liquor bundled in your arms, and Jacob rings the doorbell. You take a deep breath, hoping that you’re welcomed back into the group with open arms.

Cash’s POV:

He’s already on his sixth beer… he thinks.

He wasn’t even planning on coming tonight, but Charlotte had cornered him a week ago and bullied him into accepting her oh-so-gracious invitation. He hadn’t been able to think of a viable excuse at the time and reluctantly gave in to the demands of the small, older woman. Just as well – he didn’t want to get on the Captain’s bad side anymore than he already was by upsetting his wife.

But truly, what was the point in having him here? He wasn’t particularly sociable amongst the other officers in the precinct; he had only been somewhat close with his partner, Y/N, but she had disappeared on some assignment ages ago without so much as a heads up to him.

His hand clenches his bottle tightly, to distract himself from the way his heart mirrors the action.

Y/N…

Cash knew that it was wishful thinking, hoping that you would show up here tonight, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. It’s been 273 days since you disappeared, and he’s missed you every single one of them. There had been other feelings, too – anger, hurt, and rejection among the most prominent – but he always went to bed praying that you were alright and would be back at your desk, right next to his, the next morning.

He takes another sip of his beverage, trying to wash the bitter taste from his mouth. Surely you could have told him something before you’d left, at least… but you hadn’t, and it stung.

He’d become something of a loose cannon since your abrupt departure. You’d always been the more level-headed one between you, and without you by his side to keep him rational, he’d gotten himself into trouble more than once, ultimately resulting in a brief suspension that hadn’t helped his brooding surliness.

The same brooding surliness he was displaying now, leaning against a wall by himself in the middle of a lively Christmas party, surrounded by lights and decorations and happiness.

He was starting to sound like the Grinch, even to himself.

There’s a knock at the door, and Cash briefly contemplates how many more people would need to show up for him to be able to slip away unnoticed. He couldn’t stand being around all this merriment, not feeling as low as he does.

“Y/N! You made it!” Charlotte’s voice is clear over the din of the party, and everyone seems to fall silent, surprised by the announcement of your arrival.

Cash’s heart leaps into his throat, but he doesn’t move from his place on the wall as the entryway is immediately crowded by others wanting to greet you. And why wouldn’t they? You possessed a downright magical degree of kindness, the type that was normally squashed out of everyone in your line of work relatively early on. But no, not you. You were the department’s shining light, always willing to go the extra mile for anything and anyone.

“Will you all back up already and let us breathe?!” he hears you snap at the throng of people, and he can’t help but crack a grin. Kind but cutting; just as he remembered.

The crowd parts, and as it does, Cash seems to replay your words in slow motion. Let us breathe, you had said?

And then he sees you, your sparkling dark green dress revealed as a lanky blond helps you remove your coat.

Cash sees red at the dazzling smile you give the other man, immediately forcing himself to move out of your line of sight, recognizing that he needs to get himself together now, before he puts a hole through one of the Captain’s walls.

You found someone?! he thinks to himself in anguish, downing the rest of his beer in an attempt to swallow the lump that has formed in his throat. You disappear out of the blue for nine months, before he can work up the courage to ask you out, and then come back with some moron wrapped around your finger?

He knows the sense of betrayal he’s feeling towards you is unjust, but he also knows that he doesn’t fucking care.

Whatever. You showing up with your boy toy gives him ample opportunity to slip away; you were perfect… the perfect distraction, that is.

Right.

He moves to loop around the lower level of the house to the front closet, looking for his coat.

“Hi, Cash.”

He jumps despite himself at the sound of your voice – how long has he been waiting to hear it, to hear his name coming from your lips? – and whirls around, looking down at you.

How dare you look up at him with such happiness in your eyes when you belong to someone else?

And you have the audacity to look radiant, too. He’s been wanting to see you for so long, thought about you so often that he notices every difference about you. You’re a little thinner after your time away, your hair quite a bit longer, but you’re still you, albeit dolled up and wrapped in sequined fabric that makes it even more difficult to look away from you.

“Y/N,” he replies to your greeting in a hoarse voice. Your smile fades for a moment, your brows creasing at his less-than-enthusiastic response, and he pushes past the pang of guilt that rings through his chest. No, this was your fault, not his.

“It’s so good to see you again!” you bounce back from his sour reaction quickly, all smiles as always. The honesty in your voice hurts him and leaves him confused.

“So you’re back, then?” he asks curtly, turning back to the closet to grab his jacket, throwing it over his arm. He can’t even look at you without getting butterflies in his stomach, for Christ’s sake…

“Yeah, the undercover part of the case is over. I’m back on Monday,” you offer weakly, clearly still perplexed by the way he’s acting towards you. “Are you leaving? I was hoping we could catch up…” your voice is sad as you reach up to put a hand on his arm. He tenses at the contact, abruptly turning to face you once again, and that’s when he sees it.

A fucking engagement ring on your finger, the large diamond at its centre practically winking at him as it sparkles in the Christmas lights.

He has to get away from you, right fucking now.

“Yeah, I am. Just need to thank the hosts,” he says abruptly, brushing past you without another word. He moves through the house, opening a random door tucked under the stairs and disappearing behind it, needing to calm down before he hits the road.

Reader’s POV:

You tamp down the hurt you’re feeling at Cash giving you the cold shoulder, returning to Jacob’s side where he’s talking to Charlotte. Sure, you had expected him to be a little mad at you for disappearing all of a sudden, but for him to be this upset really takes you by surprise. Cash was always a bit standoffish, but never cold, never cruel…

You try to push the thoughts of him aside for now, telling yourself you’ll straighten everything out come Monday.

“Y/N, there you are!” Charlotte exclaims, giving you another warm hug. You can’t help but give her a smile – she was like a surrogate mother to everyone in the precinct, occasionally doting on you all to the point of being overbearing, but always well-intentioned in her efforts.

“Here I am!” you reply cheerfully, trying to get back into the festive mood. “I see you’re getting to know my fake fiancé,” you add with a giggle, and Jacob preens at the title. He would be coming by regularly over the next few weeks as you worked on the reports and filing of evidence for the upcoming court case, and you figured this would be a good place to introduce him to your colleagues.

“Jacob is lovely; he was just telling me about Emily,” Charlotte replies with a fond smile for the younger man before she turns on you. “And when exactly do you plan on getting yourself a real fiancé of your own, hmm?” she teases, giving you a stern expression.

“I just got back after nine months, mom,” you respond, sticking your tongue out at her playfully. “You try finding a man who’s okay with this kind of work!”

“I already have,” she replies, looking across the room to her husband. You see their eyes meet; they still looked at each other like they were falling in love all over again, even after decades of marriage, and while the sight is heartwarming it also leaves you feeling empty. Would you ever have anything even close to that with someone?

“I don’t mean to pester you with favours on your first day back with us, Y/N, but could you head into the basement and grab a couple more bottles of red for me?” Charlotte asks with a pleading expression.

“Of course, ‘Lottie,” you reply with a friendly smile, heading towards the door under the stairs that she had pointed out to you. You open it, the stairs dark but the basement light on, and head down, hoping to avoid any spiders.

Instead, you find something much worse: Cash, looking furious.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” he demands, scowling at you, and you find your hurt at the way he’s treating you quickly being burned away by the anger you feel at his childish behaviour. You didn’t often lash out at people when you were frustrated, but Cash Ewing was well on his way to testing your patience and being on the receiving end of your ire.

“Charlotte asked me to grab some more wine. What are you doing down here? Get lost trying to find the front door? I thought you were leaving,” you sneer at him, walking past him to the wine rack and selecting a couple bottles of merlot. You don’t notice the intense way his eyes track you across the room.

“Why do you care whether I leave or not?” he snaps back, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you. You roll your eyes at him dismissively, moving past him to head back upstairs. You’re not sure what had happened during your time away to make Cash so dismissive, so angry, but you aren’t going to let it get to you tonight.

“I don’t care, Cash. So sorry for interrupting your little brooding session; I’ll leave you to it,” you say with a sigh, marching up the stairs. Someone has closed the door to the basement since you’ve opened it, so you readjust the bottles of wine in your arms to grab the doorknob.

It doesn’t budge.

You try again, and again, eventually setting down the bottles on the step below you so that you can grab the knob with both hands, pulling and pushing and twisting to no avail. Frustrated, you start pounding on the door angrily with both fists.

“Hello?! HELLO?!” you call, trying to make yourself heard over the din of the party.

“What’s wrong? Can’t even open a door?” Cash’s amused voice cuts through your screaming and punching at the door. You whirl around angrily to face him, having forgotten just how quiet he could be, frustrated that you’re still having to look up at him even though he’s standing a couple stairs below you.

“Hey genius, it’s locked. You try to get it open, if you’re so smart,” you snarl at him, gesturing towards the door and pressing yourself against the wall to give him space to get to it. He takes care to elbow past you anyways, even though you had given him more than enough room, and you glare at his back as he tries the knob.

You bite your tongue to hide a smile as it doesn’t open, smugly enjoying Cash getting frustrated, pounding on the door himself. There’s movement at the door, and someone slips a folded piece of paper underneath the crack at the bottom of the door. Cash, tall and distracted by trying to break the door down, doesn’t notice, so you reach past his feet to grab it.

“Excuse me, Detective,” you say sarcastically, trying to get his attention. “We’ve been given a message,” you add once he turns, waving the piece of paper at him. His forehead creases in confusion, and you open the note, recognizing Charlotte’s handwriting and frowning at the words.

“It just says ‘Talk to each other – Figure it out’,” you inform him, growling when he snatches the piece of paper out of your hand to read it himself. Had Cash always been such a self-important, pompous asshole?

Ignoring him, you stomp back down the stairs, throwing yourself onto the old couch. You know enough about Charlotte to know that she’s serious about her meddling, and stubborn enough to not let you out until she was satisfied that you and Cash had… what? Mended your friendship? You don’t even know why he’s being so rude in the first place!

You hear Cash start to pound on the door again, grumbling curses to himself, and roll your eyes, crossing your arms over his chest and waiting him out.

…

Unfortunately, you imagine at least ten minutes have gone by, and he’s still trying to get someone’s attention. Clearly, your hopes that he would independently come to the conclusion that you both needed to listen Charlotte aren’t going to come to fruition.

“Are you really so scared of having a conversation with me, Cash Ewing?!” you call up to him mockingly, grinning to yourself when the banging immediately stops and you hear him start to stomp down the stairs. If there’s one thing that Cash hated, it was being called a coward.

You manage to rearrange your features into a neutral mask before he comes back into view, looking down at you on the couch with a severe expression.

“I would’ve thought you’d be more bothered, Y/N,” he hisses at you, his blue eyes bright in his anger. “It’s not exactly a good look, being locked away at a party with another man while your fiancé is in the next room.”

Your mouth falls open, and no sound comes out; all you can do is gape at him.

He makes no move to break the silence, glaring down at you, arms crossed and jaw clenched.

You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself as the reality of the situation hits you. Cash was acting like this because he thought you were with Jacob? Because he was jealous?!

Cash leans down, caging you against the couch with his strong arms and getting in your face.

“And just what exactly is so funny?” he snarls, his eyes locked with yours. Your laughter dies in your throat.

You shove him away from you angrily before answering; you had never let Cash intimidate you before, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

“Jacob and I aren’t engaged, you moron,” you inform him coldly, crossing your arms again. He stares pointedly at the ring on your finger instead of offering a response, not denying that the issue of your relationship status is the reason why he’s acting like such a big, dumb baby.

“It’s stuck,” you admit with a chuckle. “We were undercover as a couple during our assignment, and I can’t get it off.”

Cash stares at you in silence, and you know him well enough to tell that he’s angry at himself right now, both for jumping to the wrong conclusion and for making his own feelings apparent in the process. Well, you certainly aren’t going to coddle him for it; he’s made you feel horrible all evening, when you’d been so excited to see him.

He’d been the first person you had searched for tonight, looking for him the moment that Charlotte had opened the front door. You’d missed him the entire time you had been away; you’re sure you talked about him to Jacob at least as much as he’d brought up Emily, maybe even more…

And when you had seen him tonight, all brooding good looks, the butterflies that you’d always felt around him came back tenfold. To know that he clearly feels the same way for you is such wonderful news.

But he’s made you feel like garbage tonight, and you don’t plan on letting that go lightly, reciprocated feelings be damned.

“I can’t believe you, Cash Ewing,” you hiss, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’ve been pissy with me all night because you’re jealous of Jacob? What gives you the right to be upset about me being in a relationship, huh?! We’ve been partners for years, and you’ve never said anything, but the first sign of me being with someone else and suddenly you’re acting lik–”

“Don’t,” he snarls, interrupting your rant, and your jaw snaps shut. So much for not letting yourself be intimidated by him…

“Where do you get off, speaking to me like that?” he seethes, his hands clenching into fists. “You disappear without a word for nine months, and then come back out of the blue with some random guy and a ring on your finger, and act like I’m not supposed to have feelings about it?!”

The jealousy looks good on him, especially when he’s dressed up for the party and out of his regular uniform. Dark dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and a blue tie that matches his eyes hanging loose around his throat… you feel yourself getting hot and bothered.

“And why, exactly, should you feel any sort of way about me being with someone else?” you snap, intent on getting a confession out of this stubborn, stupid man.

“You’re mine,” he growls possessively. You bite your tongue to keep up the façade, managing to keep your face neutral as you raise an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure you’re blushing terribly and giving yourself away.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Cash? I’m not yours; I don’t owe you anything!”

You’re intent on continuing to argue with him, but you notice that he’s stopped listening, his gaze on the ceiling above you. Irritated at his lack of focus, you tilt your head upwards to see what’s distracted him, and notice a wreath of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above you. You fix him with another glare.

“Even now, you’re still looking around for a sign or for ‘the right time,’ instead of just being upfront and honest with me!” you scream incredulously. “You’re still scared of just acting on what you feel!”

You stand up, intent on moving away from him, from the mistletoe, from the whole situation, but he grabs your arm, pulling you against him firmly, his other hand grabbing your jaw and pulling you towards his face as he lowers your head to yours.

You make a half-hearted attempt to protest, but abandon that pursuit the instant his lips touch yours. His kiss is dominant, all-consuming, aggressive, and it makes your head spin and your toes curl. His hand moves down your arm to wrap around your waist, clutching you to him possessively, his other hand moving from your jaw to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as he turns your head to the angle he wants.

You’re briefly embarrassed by the desperate moan you let out from the intensity of the kiss, but Cash’s growl of approval makes you move past it quickly. Your hands, still crushed between your bodies, manage to grab hold of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you pour your heart and soul into the kiss.

You’d been attracted to Cash Ewing from the moment you laid eyes on him five years ago, and the crush had begun not long after that, but never in your wildest dreams (and there had been many involving him over the years) had you imagined that kissing him would feel so incredible.

Eventually, you two pull apart to catch your breath. The moment you do, you smack him in the chest, pushing him away from you.

“What makes you think you can just grab someone and –” you begin angrily, but Cash’s hand grips your chin and forces your jaw shut, his thumb over your lips.

“Shut up, Y/N,” he orders, eyes glittering down at you. “Just shut up for once. You want me to confess to you? Then you let me talk, and you listen.”

You blink up at him mutely, surprisingly even more turned on by him talking down to you like this.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice husky as he murmurs your name, and you suppress a shiver at the sound. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I’m crazy about you. I love the fire in your eyes when you tell people off, and how you somehow still manage to be the sweetest, kindest person in the precinct. I love the way you bite the end of your pen when you’re thinking hard about something. I love the way you’re not afraid of anything, and the way you call me an idiot when I rush into situations without thinking. I’ve loved you for years, and all that’s been keeping me going while you’ve been gone is the knowledge that I was going to finally work up the courage to tell you the minute you got back.”

He takes a couple deep breaths once he finishes his confession – Cash rarely spoke so much all at once – and you’re completely speechless, even after he releases your face from his grip. He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, your body immediately returning the gesture, but as he guides you back towards the couch you force yourself to pull away so that you can push him down first.

Kicking off your heels, you climb onto his lap, your knees to either side of his hips. Cash purrs approvingly, his large hands coming up to your hips, but you slap them away until they lay obediently at his sides. His gaze is intense as you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his and looking deeply into his blue, blue eyes.

“I love you, Cash Ewing, I have from the moment we met. I love the way you correct typos in my reports when you think I don’t notice, and the way your tongue sticks out when you’re upset. I love that I can read you like an open book even when you try to close yourself off from the world, and I love that I always feel safe when you’re around. I thought about you constantly over the past nine months, and dreamed about finally being with you as soon as I got back. Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper the request needily against his lips, kissing him fiercely.

His hands are on you again immediately, gripping your hips before moving back to squeeze your ass. You roll your hips against his encouragingly, whimpering into the kiss, and bring your hands from the back of his neck down to his chest, immediately fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Cash leans back, watching you undress him with a great deal of satisfaction, shrugging out of his shirt the instant you finish with the buttons.

You’ve never been particularly kinky, never even considered having sex where anyone could walk in on you at any moment – your coworkers, no less – but with Cash you find yourself wanting to do anything and everything. You pull him back towards you by the loose knot of his tie, kissing him hungrily as your fingers explore the hard contours of his chest. He responds with just as much passion, kissing you like he wants to swallow you whole, his hands everywhere as he feels you up over your dress.

You reach behind you, grabbing the zipper and pulling it down, the top of the dress falling to your waist. Cash’s blue eyes darken even further as they take in your cleavage, your breasts pressed together invitingly in a black push-up bra. He slides the straps down your arms, immediately pulling the bra down, the rough pads of his fingers immediately teasing your nipples. You toss your head back, moaning wantonly, and hear him let out a low chuckle before his mouth closes around a nipple, his tongue toying with the sensitive bud in a way that has you writhing against him.

He releases you after a moment, pulling you back towards his chest, a smirk on his face from the way you’re responding to him. You glower at him, and he offers you a pleased smile in return.

“Why’d you stop?” you demand, your voice whiny with need.

“Because if you moan any louder, someone will hear and come check on us,” he says smugly, his grin widening as you blush bright red. Huffing, you slide off his lap, trying not to pout as you tug your bra back into place. You reach behind you again to pull up the zipper on your dress, but before you can Cash has pounced on you, turning you around until you were on your knees, body pressed against the back rest of the couch. He presses your face against the cushions before pressing himself against your back, leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Are you going to be able to keep yourself quiet, or do you need my help?” he asks mockingly, pulling your bra fully off you this time. You shiver against him, already breathless with need, your hands coming up to grip the back of the couch tightly. You feel Cash still behind you, before he grabs your wrist, peeling you away from the back of the couch. You look up at him questioningly.

“I’m not fucking you while you’re wearing another man’s engagement ring, even if it’s all pretend,” he tells you in a low, gravelly voice.

“Then I guess you’re not fucking me at all,” you grumble, glaring at him. “I’ve tried for days, but it won’t come off, and I can’t cut it off – Jacob wants to give it to his girlfriend.”

Cash growls at the mere mention of Jacob, and you smirk at his jealousy rearing its head again. In response, he snatches up your left hand, staring at the ring on your finger intently for a moment. Between one blink and the next, he’s taken your finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the ring, and you gasp at the sensation. He locks eyes with you, his gaze heated as he sucks on your finger in a way that makes you whimper, feeling filthy from the depraved act.

With one last hard suck, his mouth making a lewd, wet noise that makes your clit throb with need, Cash pulls the ring off your finger with his teeth. Not moving his gaze away from you, he spits the ring into his palm and places it on the side table. You swallow, your mouth dry, unable to say a word. Instead, your hands dart out, sliding your fingers through his belt loops and tugging him towards you by his hips. He obliges, coming closer and wrapping his arms around you, slowly laying you down on the couch and covering you with his body.

You lift your head off of the cushions to kiss him, coaxing him with your tongue to get even closer, your hands reaching between you to remove his belt, a thrill running through you as your hand brushes up against his erection through his pants. Cash hisses into your mouth, his hands moving down your body to the hem of your dress before snaking their way up under it, his fingers squeezing your thighs possessively and making you squirm underneath him. He hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and off of you. In an act of pure depravity, he holds them to his face, breathing in deeply through his nose, his eyes locked with yours, and you groan at the sight, your eyes fluttering closed. You’re not sure you can take anymore of this…

A scrap of silk and lace, damp and musky, presses up against your mouth, and as your eyes snap open in your surprise, Cash stuffs your underwear into your mouth, gagging you with it. Rather than spitting curses at him the way you both likely anticipated you would at the action, you go limp, laying back against the couch without complaint, gazing up at him with wide, pleading eyes and your mouth full of your own underwear. You pant through the fabric, completely wild with lust, and Cash licks his lips, leaning back to unbutton his pants and free his hard cock. Your eyes hone in on his long, thick member, slightly curved and leaking at the tip, and let out a muffled moan of desire. You’ve never felt lust so intensely before; it feels like your body is going to burn up if you don’t get him inside you now.

Without a trace of shame or embarrassment, you spread your legs even wider to either side of his, hooking your feet around his butt and trying to pull him towards you, reaching down to pull up your skirt to your waist to join the rest of your dress. You absently notice that your vision is blurring with tears, both from the way your breathing is constricted and from your sheer need to have him.

“Fuck,” Cash breathes, leaning down to kiss your neck passionately, his hands running lightly up and down your sides. “I’ve thought about this moment for years, but never were you looking up at me as desperately as you are now.”

You give him another insistent moan, your legs fully locking around his hips and your arms thrown around his neck, stroking the short grey hair at the nape of his neck as you beg with your eyes. He looks deeply into your eyes, and you see nothing but lust and love for you in them before he moves to guide himself into you. The head of his cock slips through your slick entrance, stretching you out, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, laving your neck and shoulder in kisses as he thrusts himself fully into your tight, wet heat.

The sound of his groan of pleasure in your ear sears itself into your memory, echoing your own muffled cry of soul-deep satisfaction. And then he starts to move his hips, and all conscious thought leaves you as you surrender yourself fully to just being in the moment with Cash. It’s the most all-encompassing feeling you’ve ever felt, the sense of completion you feel as you make love nearly overwhelming. It’s sweet and passionate, it’s quick and dirty, it’s perfect.

“Y/N,” Cash moans in your ear, the sound of him saying your name like that almost making you come undone. “Finally. You’re finally mine,” he whispers, nuzzling into your hair as he moves above you, hips pumping a slow deep rhythm as his hands roam your body greedily, possessively. You tighten your hold on him, wordlessly letting him know that you feel the same way as you whine through your makeshift gag, clinging to him desperately as you move your hips to match his thrusts.

He lifts himself off of you enough to rest his forehead on yours, staring deeply into your eyes as he quickens his pace. You notice a wicked gleam in his eye, and brace yourself for some evil trick.

“You’re gonna come for me, sweetheart,” he hisses against your lips, eyes bright as your body clenches around him in response. “You’re gonna come so hard around my cock, and then I’m taking you home with me so I can make you do it again and again, without you needing to be kept quiet,” he teases, roughly inserting a few of his fingers into your mouth, choking you deliciously with your panties. The dirty talk and rough treatment make your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you fight your body telling you that you were getting close. If you let him win now, this first time, you’d never hear the end of it.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you throw yourself off the couch, rolling onto the carpeted floor and bringing Cash with you, managing to get him on his back underneath you. His surprise is evident on his face, but his expression immediately morphs into one of pleasure as you sink back onto his cock, riding him hard and fast. Lifting one hand from his chest, you pull your underwear from your mouth and press them to his lips with your fingers. He lets out a groan of arousal as you take charge, looking up at you with fascination and awe.

“I’m going to ride you until you can’t remember your own name, Cash Ewing,” you tell him in a husky voice, gyrating your hips in circles and making his grip on your waist tighten as you hit an angle that has both of you moaning. Keeping yourself there, you both work to bounce your body up and down on his cock, you covering his mouth with your underwear and him reaching up to cover your mouth with a large hand, muffling your noises of pleasure as you try to get the other to reach their peak first.

In the end, it’s pretty close, and you already know that you’ll both go to your graves swearing the other person came first. Either way, your orgasm washes over you like a powerful wave, Cash pinching your nose as the rest of his hand clamps over your mouth to try to keep you relatively quiet, even as he lets out a loud grunt as he releases deep inside of you. Once you both manage to keep quiet, Cash releases your mouth and spits your panties up at you, giving you a sinful smirk before guiding you to lay down against his chest, stroking your hair gently. As much as you would love to relax and curl up with him, the thought of getting walked in on post-coital and spread out on your boss’s basement floor has you fighting temptation and forcing yourself up and off Cash, batting away his hands as they try to keep you in place.

“Where are you going?” Cash asks, a twinge of vulnerable desperation in his voice that makes your heart melt. You’d apologize for not telling him about going undercover eventually, but not now.

“We have to get out here,” you explain, taking in his nude form spread out on the carpet with an appreciative gaze. He sighs, looking up at you wistfully before sitting up, making a show of pocketing your sodden underwear. You roll your eyes, pulling your bra back into place and zipping up your dress, trying not to appear too dishevelled. When you turn back to Cash he’s fully dressed, fiddling with his tie. You walk up to him almost shyly, reaching up to fix the knot until it’s laying properly against his shirt. He smiles down at you fondly, trying to smooth your hair down before giving up and settling for giving you a sweet, (relatively) chaste kiss.

“I just have to give Charlotte the wine and get Jacob his ring back, and then I’m all yours,” you promise, bending to put your shoes back on. These heels were already hard enough to walk in, but now you have to deal with being weak in the knees on top of everything.

“I’ll give loverboy his ring back,” Cash says, snatching it off the table before you can grab it for yourself. “Time to introduce myself and let him know where he stands,” he jokes, giving you a wink and heading for the stairs. You snatch up the bottles of wine and hurry after him, trying not to trip.

“You better be nice to him, Cash Ewing!” you hiss up the stairs at him, hearing him chuckle in response.

“The door’s open; you should wait a couple minutes before coming out or it’ll look suspicious,” he offers in reply, slipping out before you can protest. He did have a point, you suppose…

You give it a couple of minutes before sneaking up the stairs, trying to blend into the party without looking too guilty… or rumpled…

You find Charlotte right where you’d left her, and place the bottles of wine on the bar behind her.

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope they weren’t too difficult to find – you were gone for quite awhile,” she says knowingly with a bright smile. You force yourself to return the gesture, feeling your face flush. Nosy, manipulative woman… but you suppose you should thank her.

“No, the problem was that sticky doorknob,” you reply with a frown.

“Ah, well… things like that can be stubborn, but eventually they open up. Wine?” she offers innocently, positively beaming at you now.

“No, thank you. I’m actually going to head out, Charlotte – it’s still a lot for me to be around big groups of people after my time away,” you say, the excuse only partly a lie. You are finding it difficult being in a crowd without feeling the need to constantly look over your shoulder.

“Alright, dear. Well, it was lovely to see you again,” the older woman says kindly, cupping your cheek fondly.

“Do you think Cash would want some wine?” A voice chimes in, and Jacob appears suddenly, joining your conversation. You don’t say anything, but your mouth falls open as you watch him and Charlotte looking at you with identical wicked smiles and laughter in their eyes. So, they had been colluding, working together to lock you and Cash in the basement… this was a dangerous pair that you would need to keep an eye on.

But not tonight.

You scan the room, finding Cash standing head and shoulders above most everyone else, his blue eyes already on you. Flashing him a shy, flirty smile, you tilt your head in the direction of the front door, and he winks at you, immediately moving to the foyer. You bite your lip to keep a smile from breaking out across your face, looking back to Jacob and Charlotte guiltily.

“I don’t think so,” you reply to Jacob’s earlier question, and he rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, get out of here already! If I have to listen to you talk about Cash Ewing one more time…” Jacob warns, shooing you away with a wry grin. You dodge his hands, darting past them to wrap him up in a quick hug before doing the same to Charlotte.

“Thank you, you meddling little jerks,” you tell them both earnestly. “I’ll see you Monday!”

You move through the crowd, waving at everyone that gives you a friendly nod or greeting, eventually making your way to the foyer where Cash is waiting, your coat over his arm. He helps you into it, bundling you up quickly.

“What’s the rush, Officer?” you tease, doing up the buttons on your coat. You bite back a gasp as you feel his hand slip beneath your coat and dress, wandering up your thigh. “Cash!” you hiss, your eyes darting around to make sure that no one is watching.

“There’s a person of interest I’ve had my eye on for awhile,” he replies cheekily, patting his pocket where he had put your underwear. “I believe I made her some promises earlier in the evening that I intend to make good on,” he leers down at you, his gaze heated. You find it hard to breathe.

He takes your hand in his, the gesture as comfortable and natural as breathing to you, and pulls you towards the front door and out into the cold night.

---

[Just FYI, it’s canon that Cash bought the ring from Jacob and kept it to propose to you with when the time came; it meant more to the two of you]

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Cash #Cash x Reader #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Romance #Christmas Fic #Black Friday 2007 #The Kidnapping 2007

40 notes · View notes

sotwk · 2 years

Text

The Crown (Thranduil x OC Wife fanfic)

Summary: On the evening of his coronation, a heavy-hearted Thranduil prepares for the ceremony with the help of his wife. Takes place in SA 3441, seven years after Oropher's death and shortly after the end of the War of the Last Alliance.

Pairing: Thranduil x FemOC (2nd Person POV is Maereth, his OC wife in my "Sons of the Woodland King" series.)

Word count: 2.5k

Content: Grief/comfort, romance, marriage, angry/protective Thranduil

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: If you would like to be tagged in future Thranduil fics, please just say so in comments/reblog/DM!

____________________________

Shortly before sunset they all sweep into your chambers, bearing trunks of regalia and armfuls of fabric. No less than a dozen attendants, most faces familiar and a few less so, work in movements so organized and efficient that amid their whirlwind of activity, the room remains respectfully quiet. Unmoved is the somber stillness that has blanketed it over the long nights past.

When the last clasp on your gown has been fastened and the final stroke of the brush has run through your hair, the elleths who attend you curtsy simultaneously. "My Queen," murmurs Caethel, your own sweet handmaid. You give her a gracious smile but shake your head. "Thank you," you whisper. "But no. Not yet.”

After they leave, you walk over to the open double doors that lead out to the balcony, lingering behind the sheer white curtains to breathe in the crisp autumn air and feel the sun’s fading rays on your face. This evening, your life changes drastically, setting you on a road of so many possibilities not even your foresight can offer the comfort of certainty.

It frightens you, this new role and unfamiliar future that you never, in the long years of your youth, desired for yourself. But you desired him. From the moment you crossed paths with Thranduil Oropherion, you lost your heart and your choice.

You turn away from the balcony view and back to matters at hand. Across the chamber, the last two remaining servants hover about the feet of your husband, one working the straps of his tall boots, the other standing back to survey the overall effect. You had worked closely with the palace tailors to oversee the making of his coronation robes, and the final product they presented pleased you. Whatever Thranduil thinks of them, however, remains unclear. You watch as he stands still, eerily like a statue of cold marble, while they adjust the long ends of heavily embroidered fabric around his booted legs.

Finally, they turn their attention to his hair. The head valet, the late king’s personal own, reaches up to tug the loose silver locks away from his ears, and you see it. A barely perceptible grimace flickers over Thranduil’s face. The sight calls out to you, and you take one unbidden step forward.

He hears your movement. His eyes suddenly rise and carry his gaze across the room to where you stand, a silent, tearless cry that stabs your own heart in shared grief.

“Let me,” you call out, gliding swiftly to your husband’s side. The valet blinks at you in confusion, so you clarify. “I shall take it from here. Thank you for all you have done.”

He hesitates with a hand still resting over the cascade of Thranduil’s hair. “Would you like me to show you how, my lady?”

You shake your head and answer simply. “I will see it done.”

He senses your intention and is determined enough to try and object. “But Princess--”

“She said it will be done!” Thranduil cuts him off sharply. “And you are finished here. Leave us.” Robes swirling in his wake, he storms to the bedroom chamber, where none but you would dare follow.

You do not undermine your husband by apologizing on his behalf, but you thank the servants again as you see them out the door. Then entering your bedroom, you find Thranduil glaring at his reflection in a gilded mirror on the wall, a wine goblet in his hand.

“They want your ceremony executed properly, down to the last detail, so it may have the dignity it deserves. That is all.”

He remains silent and does not even look at you until you come up to him. You take the empty goblet from his hand and replace it with your own. A gentle squeeze of your palm brings his eyes on you, and in their blue depths you finally catch a glimmer of something other than pain.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers.

“Melmenya…” You hold your intertwined fingers to your cheek. “It is you who matters tonight, and only you. Let us finish getting you ready.”

His eyes dart back to the mirror. “Those braids,” he mutters. “Such a trivial thing. Such a small, trivial, foolish matter to have ever quarreled about.”

Thranduil has never been one to weep, and the death of his father did not change that. But his clear eyes, distant manner, and brusque comments cannot mask his sorrow from you. You do not press him for anything, but you simply listen to him grieve in his own way.

You wonder how Oropher’s personal valet could have missed the significance of hair braids in the late king’s tumultuous relationship with his only child. Perhaps the father and son had succeeded in concealing the tides of their estrangement from those close to them. But over the course of the two millenia you have known Thranduil, you became his most intimate confidante, and by the time you were married, you had heard the story behind every single deep-seated grievance your husband carried against his sire.

All his life, Oropher regarded braided hair as a sign of Elven refinement. A lord of old traditions, he braided his waist-length hair, a crowning glory of silver among the Silvans he ruled, in an elaborate and precise style that he considered the hallmark of his kingly visage. Hair ornamentation was neither the first nor most contentious matter Thranduil and Oropher disagreed on. But it was the first dissension that the prince actually expressed, which then emboldened him to start speaking his mind against every decreed formality or royal practice he did not wish to observe. And there were many.

By his account, Thranduil started rejecting the tying back of his hair as soon as he left the care of a nursemaid. His father tolerated this childish rebellion only by the intercession of his wife. But after this gentle mediator was lost to them both in the destruction of Doriath, the young Thranduil who had barely come of age only grew more determined to exert his independence from Oropher.

As wild as one of Araw’s Kine, Oropher had grumbled regarding your husband, when you once asked what he had been like in his youth. And as stubborn as the whole herd.

Reflecting on all this, you comb your fingers repeatedly through the silken strands that flow freely down Thranduil’s shoulder to his chest.

“We shall not braid or tie your hair,” you declare. “It is a practice that has no bearing on your ability to rule, and you have always sought to be a king of your own mind, your own customs. Let this be the first official departure from protocol towards your own image.”

“As you say, my love.” Thranduil takes your hand to press kisses on your palm before resting it against his chest. You feel the strong and steady beating of his heart, and once again feel weak with relief that he had not been among those lost upon the plains of Mordor.

“Despite his shortcomings as a father, he was a good king.” The slightest quiver in his voice betrays him. “A great king, where it mattered. He earned and deserved the people’s love and loyalty.”

“And so shall you.” You cradle his anguished face between your hands, wishing desperately for the power to heal him of his emotional wounds as well. “Your father rode to battle in confidence and in peace, knowing he had a worthy successor in place.”

“Successors.”

You smile at this correction and gentle reminder of your young son. “Yes. But tonight, only one of you shall be crowned.”

You brush a kiss on his lips before walking away to the dressing room once more. You fetch the gilded coffer that had been delivered to you earlier that day and set it on a table before your husband. He stares silently at the seal worked in gold upon the lid, the seal of the Crown Prince, now the seal of the Elvenking.

His lack of response disappoints you. “Do you not wish to see it?”

He shakes his head and raises his eyes from the box to meet your gaze. “I wish for you to do it.”

It takes you a moment to discern his meaning, and then you stammer through a protest. “I-I cannot. I must not. That honor has been reserved for Silevion.”

A scowl darkens his face. “That craven deserves no honors.”

In the past, Thranduil’s incorrigible disdain of politics had led him to mark himself as unfit to be king. He refused to employ his natural charisma to gain the friendship of Oropher’s councilors, instead amusing himself by subtly mocking them to their unknowing faces. But over time, once he had fully accepted his role as heir to the throne, he formed amicable relationships with all the key lords of Greenwood. Except one.

In the woodlands north of the Emyn Duir, Lord Silevion governs the largest province in the kingdom. He has held his seat since the foundation of the realm, which in his mind--as well as of the general populace--makes him the second highest authority in the land.

So great is Silevion’s accorded power that he had been permitted to stay behind while both King and Prince marched to battle, and safeguard the realm in the Crown’s stead. Rule the elflord did, warming the throne for seven years after Oropher was entombed and while Thranduil remained with the half-decimated Woodland forces to finish the war.

You cannot blame your husband for his grudges. You harbor your own private distrust of the elflord and his brazen ambition, but Thranduil’s enmity needs tempering, not fuel.

“It was your father’s expressed will that the chief councilor crown you when your time comes.” You move close and run your hands up his chest, hoping your touch can make the words easier to accept. “Let us not attempt to overturn decisions that were made long ago.”

Thranduil leans into your caresses, but a smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “If there is one lesson my father made clear, there is nothing decided in this realm that its king cannot overturn.” His arms around your waist suddenly tighten. “I want you, my wife. My Queen. Their Queen.”

His abrupt change in tone makes you recoil, as it dawns on you what is truly bothering him. “Thranduil, no…"

"Yes." His nostrils flare and his jaw trembles as he chokes a roar back into a snarl. “Yes.”

He is still so angry, after all these years. Years of seemingly endless debates, arguments, negotiations, threats and entreaties. Finally, at your behest, he had conceded to the Council’s ruling, burying his outrage at the choice forced on him. It is a fury you know he would never be able to extinguish.

The Crown Prince may marry the Noldor Exile, she who is of Kinslayer blood. She may bear and raise his heirs, who will join the line of succession. When the Prince inherits the throne and the title of King, she will be given the title of Queen, a title that carries prestige, but no rule or regency. Thranduil’s Queen shall not govern alongside her King, but shall serve under him. In matters brought before the crown, she shall have no voice, and no power shall be exercised by her unless granted by the unanimous vote of the King’s Council.

“Am I to stand by as they continue to insult my wife,” Thranduil fumes. “Let them again proclaim you an outsider, call attention to your lineage to goad our people’s suspicions and distrust?”

A prick of your own hurt at the memory threatens to surface, but you push it away. “Their edict did not poison the people against me when you made me your princess. It will be no different when you make me your queen.”

He barks a cold, humorless laugh. “Whenever they may permit me to crown you! A queen’s crown which, by their perversion, is no more than a shiny trinket.”

"That is mere posturing,” you say calmly. “I am mother to the Crown Prince, and wife to a King who respects me as his partner and equal. That is great power only I can hold and can never be taken from me. Your councilors may tell the people whatever they wish about me, so long as it is the truth. And you must allow it, as you had agreed to long ago.”

You can see your reasoning piercing through his wrath. But he holds you tight, as though pleading for permission to succumb to his impulses. “You deserve far better than this. I should have fought for it then, and I should demand it now.”

“I beg you, husband.” You grasp his arms firmly. “Do not take your focus away from what truly matters. Tonight you rise to your father’s place, and you will at last be king. My king, as much as the people’s. My devotion to you shall be as subject as well as wife. And know this without doubt, Thranduil Oropherion. It shall be my proudest honor to serve you. For I know no greater Elvenking shall ever walk upon Middle-earth.”

Your words rob him of speech, momentarily even of his breath. You extricate yourself from his arms and return to the gilded coffer. You undo the latch and lift the lid to extract the treasure within.

In making the new King’s crown, you sought guidance from your nephew, the son of your beloved late brother and inheritor of his father’s craft. Olondir lent his knowledge in working the pieces of oak branches into the precise shape and measurements, but the long months of troublesome design and delicate labor had been mostly yours.

The hours spent battling frustration and sore, bleeding fingers vanish from memory when you see the wonder light Thranduil’s face. Silently, he sinks down on one knee, so that his head comes at level to your shoulders. You slip the tall, intricate crown over his silver hair, and the entwined lengths of wood fit neatly around his ears and frame the strong lines of his cheekbones.

“It is living and breathing oak given by one of our own trees,” you say softly, brushing your fingertip along the orange autumn foliage sprouting from the wooden weaves. At your touch, the small leaves seem to shift and grow fuller and brighter in hue. “It will change and flourish with the woodlands over the seasons of your rule.”

He tilts his face up to you, love and worship pouring from his gaze, but also renewed strength and determination. Pride swells in your heart at the majestic vision of him, a dream that had graced you long, long ago and has finally come to life before your eyes. In this private moment, you vow to yourself that you would fear no darkness or uncertainty ever again, not while your lord husband held reign over the kingdom.

“On your feet, my King Thranduil,” you command him for the last time. “From this night forward, you kneel to no one.”

#thranduil x oc #thranduil wife #thranduil #king thranduil #lord of the rings #thranduil oropherion #lee pace #thranduil fanfiction #the hobbit #sons of the woodland king #sotwk

235 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 1 year

Text

Humans are weird: What is an Emperor? Part 2

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

From the journal of Ambassador Sor’an

“Despite the representative’s offer, it seemed that there were human military leaders who were not comfortable with leading an alien vessel of unknown origin to the heart of their domain. The human’s armada refused to allow our ships further into their territory. I offered in substitute that I and my aide could come aboard their ships and while the rest of our delegation waited along the border.

There was a silence as the humans discussed my offer while members of my own delegation expressed concerns over such a move. They worried that these humans could be dangerous and barbaric, killing us as soon as we boarded their vessels. I countered that such risks were part of a diplomat’s job, and that if they had truly wished us dead they had brought more than enough firepower to carry out such a task.

Finally, the human representative responded with a message of agreement to our terms and a human shuttle craft was sent over to collect us within the hour. It came from the small golden ship at the center of their armada and was lavishly decorated as well. It was designed to resemble an avian creature of some kind; no doubt native to one of their worlds. My aide Jen’den and I adorned environmental suits and stood ready in one of the landing bays for its arrival.

When it finally touched down in the landing bay the front of the craft slowly lowered to reveal a ramp leading into the interior of the craft. A trio of figures stood waiting at the top of the ramp. Two tall figures in some sort of armor with a third between them slightly smaller. The smaller human also wor an environmental suit though much like their ship it was more lavish in design with bright gold coloring and gemstones encrusted to form intricate patterns.

The journey to the human homeworld was one of anticipation and excitement. Despite the military’s intervention the human representative, who I learned was called “Anthony”, was a gracious host. Inside the golden ship I sat with them in a state room of some sort as we discussed many matters between our species. Human attendants provided all manner of drink and food for us; though in truth I had to agree with my aide that their constant silent vigil around the corners of the room was unnerving. It didn’t help either that half of the food they brought was poisonous to us after our built in scanners checked them. I overlooked the matter and viewed it as a lack of understanding of our biology rather than an assassination attempt.

Moving passed the food and drinks Anthony was bursting with questions. Who we were, where we came from, home many planets we held, what gods we prayed to; those general questions. I answered as many as I could without revealing too much. I was an old player of this game and learned it was best to keep some things close to your heart, than worn on your sleeve.

When we did arrive at the human homeworld it was surprising to say the least.

Exiting ship we set on to a city that stretched far beyond the horizon in every direction. Buildings clustered together like mountains towered into the sky and pierced the clouds themselves, while rivers of flying vehicles cut around them in every direction.

Just opposite the landing pad was a long causeway surrounded by flags and human military personnel leading straight towards a massive golden structure. It was not the tallest of the buildings I had seen, yet it still held a commanding presence. For in every direction for several dozen miles surrounding the golden building there were nothing but parks, parade grounds, and decorative spaces filled with throngs of humans celebrating and interacting with each other.

When I inquired about the nature of the design the human representative explained that though the realm of humanity may grow, there would be a place for all to view the splendor of the home of their emperor without anything blocking its majesty.

Like many things explained to me about human culture during the voyage here this new word I was unfamiliar with.

“Emperor?” I asked them. “What does that mean?”

Anthony looked at me with an equal expression of confusion. Granted at the time I had not picked up on this as I had not yet learned to read human expressions as well as I can today. I imagine my question must have been akin to that of a child what the great light in the sky was.

“He is the guiding star that humanity follows to a bright future.” Anthony replied. His tone had shifted from the cordial to one of reverence as he spoke these words. “As long as our emperor stands, humanity shall never die.”

Unsure how to respond, I make a remark that for this “emperor” to be regarded so highly they must be truly amazing. Anthony nods and to my surprise says that we were actually on the way to a private audience with him now.

The journey to the palace was short compared to the rest of the journey we had made. We now had an honor guard of human soldiers while civilians watched on. The closer we came to the palace itself the larger the crowd seemed to grow until the honor guard was carving a path forward through what seemed like an ocean of human faces.

Entering the palace itself was something I can not describe with the word available to me. The grandeur, the divinity; the sense of power and history reverberating off every wall, furniture piece, even art painting felt like it would snuff my life out of existence if I let it.

We reached an elevator of some kind and this is where we parted ways with our host. Anthony bowed and said that the audience had been reserved for them and did not include himself. He wished them us well as the doors closed and the elevator began to rise.

I remember my aide turning to me and asking that if this “emperor” was so highly regarded in their society; why would allow two aliens to meet without any security? For all they knew they could just as easily assassinate this leader and be gone before any of them were the wiser.

It was an idea that had crossed my mind as we were led to the palace, but I silenced him nonetheless from voicing such dangerous notions. For all we knew the elevator was rigged with recording or surveillance devices that even now were being transmitted to their emperor.

We did not have long to dwell on this as the elevator stopped and a pair of gilded doors slowly opened.

I don’t remember what the room looked like if I am being truthful. Even now after all these years I can barely make out what color the walls were. The only thing I do remember as clear as the day I first set foot in the audience chamber was the human sitting atop his throne looking down at us with mild interest.

Here, was the emperor of humanity.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #ai generated art #stable diffusion

38 notes · View notes

fanatichistory · 10 months

Text

Scene Prompt 19 pt 4

This one is a long one o.o my apologies! This story is morphing on me but I have to say I am not upset lol.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

CW: betrayal feels, start of some medical whump, multiple whumpees (Teammate One and Two as well as Whumpee)

Teammate One got up and stretched from the chair. Whumpee still had not awakened but according to Dr. Nova that was to be expected due to their injuries.

Dr. Nova stood at the foot of the bed holding Whumpee's clipboard and scratching notes as Teammate One took him in.

He was rather tall, with sandy brown hair, glasses he would occasionally push up the bridge of his nose and dark blue, almost dull, eyes.

He certainly seemed like someone of importance but Teammate One didn't get the chance to ponder much more as Teammate Two burst through the door with their weapon drawn.

Sounds of gunfire down the hall sounded and alerted the room into motion.

Teammate One drew their own weapon and took up position with Teammate Two by the door.

"Honestly now..." Dr. Nova muttered in annoyance as they put the clipboard back into place and went to Whumpee's bedside with their arms crossed.

Teammate One and Two raised a brow in question at each other before turning back to peer out the hallway, picking off the attacking soldiers one by one as they pressed their way towards them.

These soldiers were once comrades. Friends. Neither Teammate knew what could possess them to turn as they did and attack the base.

The second wave of soldiers, former friends and colleagues, pushed the hallway in force with a smoke bomb to make it harder for them to be picked off.

"Shit." Teammate Two muttered as they knew the exact protocol they were using against them.

"My thoughts exactly!" Teammate One managed to pop a couple off before the soldiers swarmed the doorway and tackled Teammate One and Two to the ground, disarming them.

"Keep them alive." Dr. Nova drolled, garnering the rooms attention.

"We have orders from Whumper to take no prisoners." One said, cocking a gun and holding to Teammate Two's temple.

"These two, along with Whumpee here, are part of my special research team. I can't collect my data if they're dead. I'll talk to Whumper about this...misunderstanding."

Dr. Nova pushed their glasses up and looked each soldier dead in the eyes and continued.

"If you kill my special team, any member, and ruin years of experiments and data, I will hold you all personally responsible."

"Yes, sir."

"Whumpee, sir?"

Dr. Nova sighed as they looked down at the unconscious Whumpee.

"I have my work cut out for me with this one. They will stay with me in the infirmary, I have something that should repair their broken bones and tissues in short order..."

They trailed before drawing themselves up as Teammate One began shouting and struggling.

"Doctor please! What is going on?"

"We trusted you! What are you doing?" Teammate Two added as the soldiers cuffed them both and stood them up on their feet.

"Whumper has his own plans for the base but is gracious enough to allow me to continue my work."

Dr. Nova explained as they checked Whumpee's vitals.

"What work?"

" I'm manufacturing a line of medicine to help treat all kinds of injuries and traumas that soldiers face in their line of work. Whumper may have gotten a little carried away with the number of broken bones I asked for but Whumpee will suffice just fine all the same for the first round of testing."

"You can't! That's wrong on so many levels-" Teammate One gasped, appalled by their once trusted primary doctor.

"-not to mention illegal!" Teammate Two added when they broke off.

Dr. Nova shook his head and stepped around the bed.

"I think we've had enough talk now. Take them to their cells. Once Whumper has what they need, I'll need to talk with them and give them my report if you would be so kind as to pass that along."

His tone held no room for argument or further comment. The soldiers dragged out Teammate One and Two and headed for the holding cells.

The base was in disarray down each hallway they looked, smoke clogging the air. The gunfire had stopped as well, bodies laying in heaps here and there as the soldiers began to clean up.

The base was officially taken over, and it had only been a matter of minutes.

Teammate One anxiously glanced over at Teammate Two who shared the same worry on their face.

How long had this been planned?

The courtyard was lying pristine and untouched, looking the same as it ever did as they were marched across it and entered the building containing the holding cells.

"Think they each get their own cell?" One soldier asked the other.

"Of course. Who knows what Whumper and the squint got lined up, and it's not like we took anyone else alive so we got the room"

Teammate Two growled and tried to shake off the soldiers holding them as the cells came into view.

"Easy now, here's your new home."

As soon as the cuffs were taken off them, Teammate Two began to struggle and fight, leading to them getting literally thrown into the holding cells.

Teammate One didn't get the chance. As soon as the cuffs came off them in front of their own cell, they were kicked inside and ended up sprawling on the ground from the loss of balance.

The soldiers continued their idle chatter on the way out, the door slamming shut and leaving them to stare at each between the bars as dread set in.

"You guys alright?" A voice rasped from the cell across from theirs.

"Team Leader?" Teammate Two sat up straighter and leaned close to the bars as they tried to get a good look at the figure who struggled into a sitting position.

"Holy shit! What happened to your eye?!" Teammate One gasped as they were the first to get a visual on Team Leader.

"Whumper...took it. Needed it for the...retinal scan." Team Leader rasped as they took in their comrades state with their good eye. Thankful they didn't appear injured.

"What retinal scan? Do you know what's going on?" Teammate Two questioned.

"They needed it to get into the Commander's office...and the Commander's Room."

Teammate One frowned as they processed this.

"Did you know Dr. Nova was using us for experiments?"

Silence met their question.

"Answer Teammate One, Team Leader."

"Not at first. I was told the vitamins, the pills... They were to keep us healthy. To improve...our performance."

Teammate Two took two steps back as Teammate One went white.

"You! You had no right to make that decision for us!"

"Oh good, the beans are spilled." Whumper stepped into view. They had quietly entered the holding cells with a triumphant smile on their face.

"I take it you have what you want now?" Team Leader spat.

"I do. But I have to do a favor for a colleague. Dr. Nova is requesting a patient to play with until Whumpee regains consciousness."

They stopped in front of Teammate One's cell.

"Hmm....you've always been the obediently shy one who never fails to follow an order, and he needs a talker. How about we play with you?"

Teammate One stood up straight as Whumper raised a small dart gun and fired a shot into their shoulder.

Teammate One ripped out the dart as quickly as possible but the contents were already empty and spreading through their bloodstream like wildfire.

Whumper turned to the security camera, shrugged, and fired a second shot at Teammate One when they apparently didn't make enough noise for their liking.

They dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, writhing in agony as their screams were shrill enough to peel the white paint off the concrete.

"What did you do?! Make it stop!!" Teammate Two pleaded, reaching through the bars to hold their hand only to have them cry out harder, forcing them to let go and stare helplessly.

"So, Dr. Nova came up with this little beauty awhile back to help further interrogations along etc etc, only now the enemy has formulated their own blend. The one I just shot Teammate One with."

Whumper beeped on the radio and two soldiers came in with a gurney.

"Now Dr. Nova needs someone who has the serum in their system so that samples can be collected, data this and that, yada yada really."

The soldiers struggled a bit with a screaming Teammate One but managed to restrain them on the gurney with various straps to hold them in place despite the thrashing about.

"Whumper, you don't have to do this..." Team Leader leaned heavily on the bars, the pain from losing their eye still hurt like no other and they were doing their best to keep their mind off it and focus on the state of their team as Teammate One was wheeled out.

Whumper turned back to them and scoffed. "You know exactly why I am doing this. You sign the dotted line, Team Leader, you and your teammates are the property of Command Forces."

"I thought I was signing us up for health insurance! We needed the benefits, the pay wasn't enough to pay to Infirmary and the bills when off duty. It was supposed to be a benefit!!!" Team Leader shouted incredulously as Teammate Two stared angrily and hopelessly at the same time at them.

"Yes, a benefit for Command's Research Division. As stated in the contract, you will have top tier medical care with Dr. Nova as your primary and overseer. The previous Commander had some qualms about this, which are over now, but I assure you I have all your best interests at heart as the new Commander moving forward."

Without adding anything more, Whumper simply left. The door slamming shut behind them with a note of finality.

"...I hate you." Teammate Two said quietly, sinking onto the cot in their cell as they dropped their head into their hands.

#whump scenario #scene prompt #whump prompt #whump writing #whump scenes #betrayal #medical whump #whumper x caretaker #team dynamics #multiple whumpees

8 notes · View notes

ironfoot-mothafocka · 2 years

Text

#KhazadWeek Day 7

Day 7: Stonefoots, Diversity and Folklore & Myths

I haven't been able to do the other prompts this week because of time constraints, but ended up doing all the prompts for the last day in one go!

It wasn’t typical for Ajin to stay out of the limelight when a party was in full swing, but here he was, trying his best to blend into the corner. He felt his heart beat faster inside his ribcage and he tried to hold his breath, letting it out slowly after a few moments to quell his rising anxiety.

So many people were here, and he’d seen so many new things on his journey from Harabza, the Stonefoot halls, to Minas Tirith. Gondor was a place as foreign to him as the other side of the world, but at least dwarven travellers to Ered Luin or even those that took the shorter roadway north-west to Erebor had their own kind to mingle with and a sense of familiarity once they reached the Longbeards. Here in the kingdom of Men, there was no such solace. He remembered when he had arrived a few days ago with the dwarven wagon train, and the curious eyes that gazed from every street corner and building. Some were friendly, old men remembering, perhaps, the times when as boys they had welcomed dwarves into the city, or children laughing and screaming as they ran alongside the wagons, waving up at him raucously. Others less so.

Go back to your own kind, Southron, someone had hissed at him, though he had been conversing with another dwarf and had only half-heard the muttered curse. As soon as he had turned his head, the person who had spoken had melted away into a crowd of Men, where they all looked the same. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. Southron, Easterling. To the Men of Gondor, those from the East were all the same, and he had both terms thrown at him by drunken warriors who lounged, broken from battle, outside taverns, or younger veterans who had lost blood-brothers in the war. To them, with his braided and shaved black hair that fell to his elbows, dark brown skin etched with striking red-ink tattoos, and the glimmering array of gold rings set in his lips and nose, an Eastern dwarf was no better than those who had served Sauron. Ajin spoke little Westron, but he understood enough to know he wasn’t welcome. At least those of the zulmâ-khazâd were treated with the respect that artisans, craftsdwarves, engineers and masons deserved.

For the most part, he ignored the comments directed towards him and the few Eastern dwarves who had journeyed at Gimli’s behest to help restore Minas Tirith to its former glory. Gimli he knew — his mother was a family friend, her sister marrying one of his uncles over a hundred years ago, and Gimli had visited Harabza where he had been instructed on some of the finer techniques of preparing vorn, the granite-hard, obsidian substance only native to some of the mountains and hills in the far south of the kingdom. It was for this reason that Gimli had chosen Ajin. Guarded by a garrison of Stonefoot mercenaries and weighing several tonnes, a king’s ransom of the precious eastern metal had been procured by King Elessar to build into the gates of the city and construct several major fortifications. Ajin’s eyes watered when he thought about the price.

At least his hosts had been gracious enough. The King had shown customary dwarven respect and could get by in khuzdul, and the house-keepers for the lodgings they had been provided hadn’t commented on Ajin’s appearance, even if they kept their thoughts to themselves. “Ignore them, Aji. Our way of life and theirs — we cannot compare them. Dwarves and Men are as different as rats and salamanders,” remarked Kurin one evening, a slow-voiced, tall Ironfist dwarf, who, with his rich ebony colouring and wild beard, had got his own share of frightened looks. He was the youngest foregemaster in Nazbukhrin, and had been part of the elite team to craft His Majesty the King of Nazbukhrin’s new axe. To Men, just another Easterner.

Ajin reminded himself this as he watched the Men in the guest-hall dancing, laughing and talking together. A few of them he’d made polite conversation with, but Kurin’s words kept coming back to him. As different as rats and salamanders. Don’t expect them to comprehend you. That was easily done though, as Ajin could only nod politely, and stutter a few words of Westron here and there. Mostly though, he kept himself to the other dwarves and to his drink.

“A fine evening, master dwarf.” Ajin looked around at the speaker, sighing through his nose and steeling himself for another conversation. “Yes. A good evening—” His voice trailed off as he looked upwards. And upwards. Something tall and thin was leaning against a marble column in front of him, a glass of wine in one hand, and smiling down at him. He blinked, trying to remove the apparition from his vision, and his fingers made the sign of the hammer inside of his pocket. He knew what the creature was, but not how it had appeared in Minas Tirith. After a few moments, the being frowned and pushed itself off from the wall. Ajin backed away. “Come no closer, inuk,” Ajin said, holding up the amulet he had worn around his neck since he left Harabza. It had the three-fingered hand on it, reaching outwards to ward against spirits. The inuk — for in Stonefoot legend, that is what this apparition could only be — looked confused and sipped at its drink. Do the inuk drink? At festivals he left red-coloured beverages at the Temple and at the windows of his house in offerings to appease them, but he’d never seen one in person. They preferred to inhabit the dream-land, the world between life and death. “I am no inuk, master dwarf, though I do not know of what it is that you speak,” the creature bowed low from the waist, and then placed its drink to one side on a ledge. “I am called Galdir, of the Woodland Realm, now Eryn Lasgalen in our tongue.” Ajin looked blankly up at Galdir. As far as he could remember, the inuk were not named. “An elf,” Galdir continued, raising its eyebrows slightly. “I am not sure if you have been acquainted to my kind before?” “Alves?” asked Ajin, once his head had gotten around the fact that Galdir was not, in fact, a spirit from the other side. “Elves,” corrected Galdir. “We are those that were created first by Illuvatar, who walked the world first before Men and Dwarves awoke.” “Oh!” exclaimed Ajin, recognising the story at once. “But… elves do not look… like you.” He was having a hard time explaining himself and felt his cheeks flush. In Stonefoot tales, the firstborn children of the One God were forest-dwelling giants, with dark blue and green-hued skin. Their hair was mossy, their teeth like chunks of stone, and limbs as strong and as knotted as great oak-trunks. Galdir was sprightly and slight, and his skin no more green than Ajin’s. Common sense and politeness, however, made Ajin think that to mention this wasn’t the best use of his limited words. “And what do we look like, to the dwarves far to the East?” Galdir asked, smiling brightly. “It does not matter. Seems our tales are… mixed up,” Ajin confessed. He bowed in return and stepped forwards. “Ajin, son of Ibural. At your service.” For good measure, however, his fingers still rested lightly upon the amulet around his neck. He wasn’t taking any chances.

#khazadweek #dwarves #stonefoot #tolkien #lotr #the hobbit

11 notes · View notes

yhwhrulz · 7 months

Text

Today's Daiy Encounter Friday, November 17, 2023

How Are We Measuring Up

"… I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather, I become righteous through faith in Christ. For God's way of making us right with himself depends on faith."1

My three-year-old daughter is constantly "measuring" how tall she is and comparing herself to me or her older siblings. Using her imaginary measuring stick, she is as tall as me, even though she is far from it in reality. Nonetheless, I share in her awe and excitement, because although she has a ways to go, she will be as tall or taller than me… one day!

My daughter is not alone in her using her imaginary measuring stick to her own benefit. There are many Christians who use their own ideas or personal opinion to measure how righteous they are. They believe that their good works will outweigh the bad, and therefore give them entrance into Heaven. However, God made it clear in Romans 3:23 that ALL have sinned and fall short of His glory. There is nothing in our human power that we could ever do to make us worthy enough of Heaven. We all fail to measure up to God's perfect standard, which is why we desperately needed forgiveness. This is why Jesus, in His perfect love, died on the cross for us. He removed our sin and gave us His righteousness. It is only through faith in Jesus Christ, the perfect Son of God, that we can have eternal life with Him.

I am so thankful that God, in His great compassion, has covered us in His righteousness, and as it says in Psalm 103:8-12, "The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us."

Suggested prayer: Dear God, please forgive me for the times I have tried to measure my righteousness up to my own humanly flawed standards. Thank you for Jesus, through whom I can have complete forgiveness of sins and life eternal. Help me draw closer to you each day and continually grow in Your righteousness. Thank you for hearing and answering my prayer. In Jesus' name, amen.

Philippians 3:9 (NLT).

Today's Encounter was written by: Crystal B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

Daily Encounter is published at no charge by ACTS International, a non-profit organization, and made possible through the donations of interested friends. Donations can be sent at: http://www.actscom.com

ACTS International P.O. Box 73545 San Clemente, California 92673-0119 U.S.A.

Phone: 949-940-9050 http://www.actsweb.org

0 notes

its-a-pandamonium-in-my-brain · 10 months

Text

The Storm

so, a while back, i had to write some short stories for school. which obvi i wrote about my ocs. so anyway, here's the first one. (i have no idea how much of this is canon still but i thought id share it anyways :))

Warnings: Violence and Non-explicit references to past child abuse

“Up! Up! Up!” As usual, Lafayette stood in the doorway of the crew’s quarters, banging pots and pans together.

I groaned and sat up. I’d only been on The Guardian Angel for a month, and I already knew that the second Enia’s rays of light breached the dark blue of the night sky, the crew was supposed to be waking and readying themself for another day at sea.

“Ayra, Tytham wants to see you in the kitchen.” This was also a regular occurrence. I wasn’t supposed to be on this ship, but Captain Jalana was nice enough to agree that I could stay as long as I carried my own weight. Which, according to the first mate, meant I had to be up at dawn and help cook the day’s meals.

I watched as the rest of the crew got up off their bunks and get to work, counting each person as they went—Kieran, Tsarra, Liyana, Gilvyre, Bryce—and then I felt hands grab my ankles and pull me off the top hammock.

“Hello Ayra! Just wanted to make sure you’re awake!”

“Malo, leave Ayra alone and get onto the quarter-deck!”

Malo pats my knee, jumps up, and turns to walk to the door, “Goodness gracious, Lafayette, don’t you ever have fun?” He flicked Lafayette’s forehead.

“Can’t you ever do what you’re told?”

“Nope!”

Rolling their eyes and handing me the pans, Lafayette said, “Ayra, get going. I want to have breakfast in an hour.”

In the corner of my eye, I watched as Malo mocked Lafayette, then wink at me.

“Yes, Lafayette.” They nodded at me, then they turned and walked away.

I grabbed my viola case and my boots in one hand, and the two pans in the other as I made my way to the kitchen.

-+-

In the kitchen, Tytham and I worked together to prepare breakfast. Sibas, the tall half-orc, stopped in to pick up some bread and to update Tytham.

“How was your watch last night, Sibas?”

“Well enough. Saw some storm clouds on the eastern horizon. They’ll probably be on us tonight.”

“Wait. We have to sail through the storm?” That made me nervous. I was still finding my “sea-legs,” as Malo called them, and I often got sea-sick.

“What else are we going to do, Ayra? Wait like sitting ducks ‘till it’s over?”

“Well, no, but-”

“You’ll be okay, kid. You can stay in the crew’s quarters when the storm hits.” It felt strange that this 40-something year-olf half-orc was calling me “kid,” but I suppose in his eyes, I am. Elves reach adulthood around when they turn 100, and I was 88 years old.

“He’s right. I doubt Captain Jalana would want someone new to sailing on the main deck during a storm.”

I nodded but still unsure. Either way, the conversation moved onto a different topic, leaving me behind, lost in my thoughts.

-+-

Around 10 in the morning, Captain Jalana pulled me aside in her office.

“Ayra, I am sure you have heard the news by now.”

I laughed nervously, “What, that I am going to brave my first storm on the sea?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, “Yes, well, that’s part of it,” Captain Jalana took a key out of her pocket and unlocked a drawer, pulling a smooth, clay- colored pebble out from it. She placed it on the desk, where the side facing me had a glyph painted on it with white paint. “What do you think this is, Ayra?”

I picked up the stone and ran a finger along the glyph, “It’s a sending stone, Captain.”

“Good. I have heard news from the Lucent Throne,” My mother, Anitua Amastacia, holds the Lucent Throne and is one of the most influential people in the country of Sirion. If Captain Jalana had contact with her, I was sure that this boat would have turned right around and returned me to that awful woman. “Her child, Akira Ayra Amastacia, has run away from home. Do you know this person, Ayra?”

“Haven’t a clue, ma’am,” I stuttered. My eyes darted to the window behind Jalana. I thought I could probably get there and jump away, or I could run across the ship away from her.

Jalana sighed, “Ayra, I wanted you to know, that if you do know anything about this Akira person, I won’t pass along the information. I’ve heard stories of Lucent Amastacia, and none of them good ones. You are safe, Ayra. Both the crew and I trust you. We won’t send you back. Nor would they be mad at you for lying about who you really are.”

I looked up at the Captain, eyes wide. “Uh, thank you, Captain.” She nodded and put the sending stone back in the drawer.

“Your thanks is not needed, Akira, if that is what you wish to be called. That woman shouldn’t be a mother. Now, the winds have gotten stronger since Sibas was on watch. The storm will probably hit us around noon now. Unless you wish it, you can stay below decks until the storm has passed.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.”

-+-

It was hard to tell, at first, whether I was dreaming, it was just the storm, or the ship was being attacked. I was hiding in my hammock, writing lyrics to How the World Began, a song for tutors to teach students about how Everania came to be, when I heard the faint sounds of metal against metal.

Startled, I sat up straighter and put down my notebook. “Hello?”

No response. I settled back down into my hammock when I heard a loud, inhuman screech.

“Hello? What’s going on up there?” I yelled as I fumbled to get out of the hammock. I doubted anyone could hear me, let alone responded, so even though it terrified me to do so, I stood up on shaky legs and made my way to the deck.

As I got closer, I could hear Malo, Jalana, Lafayette; I could hear the crew screaming out to each other. Some were in pain, others were orders, and others were pleas for help.

Just as I reached the door, Lafayette shoved it open.

“Can you fight?”“Uh, yes? Kind of?” But before I could finish speaking, Lafayette pulled me out into the rain.

“Then fight, unless you want us to sink,” and they ran down towards the gun deck.

-+-

Immediately, my eyes were drawn to two large claws off the starboard side. They were a sickly green color, with barnacles stuck to them. Clasped in one claw, was Malo, blood dripping down his forehead.

Drawing my eyes away from the monster, I ran to hide behind one of the pillars that supported the upper deck, running through the list of spells that I knew. I didn’t know any spells that could harm, and no way did I want to get up close and personal to that thing to attack it with my swords.

My swords! I left them down with my backpack. Fortunately, I put my boots on, so I do have my dagger…

I heard the boom of the cannons firing and that terrifying screech of the monster, watching in horror as it let go of Malo and he fell into the water.

I ran over to the starboard railing and lifted my viola to my chin, playing a couple of notes. The monster started to glow slightly with a dark red light. I turned my attention to the shifting waters below me, searching for Malo.

There, far off to the left, Malo was swimming towards the ladder. He was having trouble with the waves crashing against the ship, the giant monster, and from the gash in his forehead.

I glanced around, looking for rope when Captain Jalana came up behind me.

“Akira, here. We need to pull Malo back onto the ship before the chuul’s head breaches the surface,” I nodded, and together, we managed to pull Malo out.

“Wow, thankth Ayra, I didn’t know you were tho thtrong,” Malo slurred, trying to pat my forearm, but ended up patting the ship’s railing.

“Tytham! Malo needs healing!” Jalana yelled out as she helped me drag Malo far away from the edges.

“Oh, I can help with that,” I hummed gently, and Malo’s injuries heal a bit. Captain Jalana gave me a look of thanks and ran off to continue helping the rest of the crew.

After that, it was a blur. With the adrenaline pumping, I moved faster than I had ever moved before, helping Tytham heal the crew’s injuries. When we were out of spells, Tytham handed me some of his supplies from his medicine kit, and we continued.

It felt like days, running back and forth across the ship, staying out of the way of the chuul’s giant green claws. The worst part was when the head finally emerged. Its head was a slightly darker green than its claws, with massive, red tentacles that spilled out of its mouth that would paralyze anything it touched.

As I was quickly bandaging up one of Taulath’s injuries, the chuul managed to grab Captain Jalana in its claws.

Taulath, who was watching the chuul as I bandaged him up, tensed. “No!” He wrestled to get away from me, and me being much weaker than him, succeeded. He rushed to get to the claw that held Jalana, but it was too late; it lifted and grasped onto her with its tentacles. Everyone, including Malo who was delirious, rushed toward the chuul and attacked. Even the gunners, who couldn’t see what was happening, seemed to fire with a higher frequency. Together, we finished off the chuul.

Lafayette, who I thought I would never see willingly in the sea, jumped straight in when they realized that Jalana was still stuck in that monster’s mouth.

With the captain incapacitated, Lafayette took control, bringing us out of the storm in record time. They ordered anyone who had the spell, to take turns casting Control Water to help speed us along, and Tytham and I to work as quickly as possible to return Jalana to consciousness.

Around sunset, the poison that caused the paralysis on Captain Jalana wore off just as we managed to leave the storm.

Tytham and I spent most of our time in the battle with the chuul and healing the captain, so we couldn’t have made dinner. Fortunately, we still had lots of hardtack that we could hand out to the crew.

After dinner, it was Arenna’s turn for the night watch, so they climbed up the mast to the crow’s nest. The rest of us went back down to the crew’s quarters and went to bed.

#everania #akira amastacia #my oc #writing

0 notes

subspencer · 3 years

Text

Neighborly Favors

baby!spencer x fem!reader

based on this request from @spencergubler

spencer discovers what his neighbor does for a living, and she offers to give him a show EDIT: i realized after posting i switch from using third person/‘she’ to second person/‘you’ halfway through. my excuse is i was sleep deprived. hope you can overlook the error!

wc: 2.3k. cw: none

He's only ever seen his neighbor in passing, catching the flash of her coat as she enters her apartment while he's leaving his, or seeing the top of her head as she's walking by on the street when he looks down from his window. Most people don't take enough interest in their neighbors to care to get to know them, and normally Spencer wouldn't care either. Except this neighbor plays some pretty interesting music, which he can hear through the thin walls connecting their apartments.

He's not exactly sure what she's doing when she's playing her music loudly, but it doesn't sound like she's with anyone. And not that he's trying to invade her privacy, but he also doesn't hear anything happening that's remotely as sexual as what the music is. It kind of sounds like she's working out? He's not sure.

What little information he has on her only inspires his mind to think of her more often. To solve the mystery of his next-door neighbor, who comes home just as he's leaving for work, who he thinks always looks pretty despite never having seen her face.

Unfortunately, his sweet, innocent mind doesn't consider what most would think is the obvious answer. He has to find that out himself after he finally sees her, properly, in the hallway, trying to break into own apartment by picking the lock.

"Are you locked out?" He manages to speak calmly even though his mind is racing looking at her. She has on a short coat that stops just above her knees, and a pair of heels that look incredibly tall. All he he sees between are long, bare legs.

"Yeah.” She sighed, dropping the bobby pin she jammed into the lock. “Can I wait in yours until the maintenance guy comes?"

And he has no idea how he doesn't just pick up his feet and start running, but he actually lets her in, and now it's just the two of them sitting on his couch, multiple feet apart as they try to find conversation to fill the awkward silence.

"So... what do you do for work?"

"I'm a dancer."

"Oh... like ballet or-"

She looks at him like he's grown a second head and laughs, "I'm an exotic dancer."

"Oh."

He folds his hands in his lap and is suddenly extremely red. From the embarrassment of looking stupid in front of her, for one. And a bit because now he's thinking about her, in those exact high heels she has on, dancing in a dark room.

"These aren't the shoes I wear for that."

His head snaps up at her, terrified he’d said those thoughts out loud. He must not have realized he'd been staring down at her shoes for a moment too long, and that given her profession, she can tell when a guy's looking at her a certain way. Lucky for him, she finds his bashful innocence to be endearingly cute.

"They're a lot taller than this. I just wear these to get to and from work. You can see them sometime," she shrugs. Too coolly offering to show Spencer what she looks like when she dances.

He really doesn't know what to say, it probably should not have been what he ended up saying, "So the music from your place then?" He blinks at her, hands holding his knees so he has something to do with them. When she doesn't answer right away, he offers his signature frog smile, feeling incredibly awkward still.

"Sorry, didn't realize it was so loud." She looks genuinely apologetic, and it makes him feel bad for saying it like that.

"No, I mean- I mean is that like, the music that..." She knows what he's trying to ask, but it's just so much more fun watching him squirm trying to figure out how to word it in a tactful way. "Is that what you listen to at work?"

God, he's so cute, managing to find the most unassuming way to ask that. "It's what I dance to, at work, yes."

"Cool." He has no idea why he asked that. Or where to take the conversation from there. Now he's just sitting in that silence again, staring pointedly at his floor as he ignores the new mental image of her next door, kept apart from him by only a paper thin wall as she practices her routines in her living room.

Spencer's not a creepy guy, he's really not, but he feels like one when he's picturing his neighbor naked while she's sitting right next to him.

And who is she helping when she takes off her coat (because Spencer's apartment is eighty degrees)? Certainly not Spencer, who is half-expecting her to be wearing her uniform underneath. He's relieved when it's actually just a dress. And then he hates himself for thinking it wouldn't be.

She’s too sharp to not catch the look that flashed across his face as she took it off. Curious, excited. Maybe a little lustful. Nervous, for sure. But curious is what she was going to cling onto.

“Do you at least like some of the songs?” She said behind a devilish grin.

“I uh... I haven’t heard any of them, before-”

"What's your favorite?"

Spencer let out an airy chuckle, shrinking under the pressure that she wouldn't let up. He can't answer that question without incriminating himself a little bit. It was easier to laugh and brush it off like she was joking.

"Spencer, I know you have a favorite," she pressed, scooting a tad closer. Her chin rested on her hand, propped up by her elbow resting on her crossed-over knees. "If you tell me I might show you the routine."

The lump in his throat is visible as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He wipes his sweaty palms on his knees before suddenly you're grabbing them, calling his attention as you stand up in front of him.

"I was going to practice anyway. I'm working on a new routine." His eyes can't get wider as you pull him up from the sofa and drag one of his dining room chairs to the center of the living room. "Maybe you can tell me if it's good."

As you queue up the song on your phone, Spencer does the only thing his mind is capable of doing. To sit down and wait for what's coming. Music starts playing softly from your phone speakers, and you move to the light switch in his living room, gesturing to ask if it's alright as you hit the dimmer.

Even in the dim light, Spencer can see how beautiful you are. He can make out the features of your face if he trains his eyes hard enough, and that's exactly what he's doing. Trying to watch your face, even as you're sauntering towards him, hiking up the hem of your dress.

"You okay?" Your tone was playful and light, two things Spencer did not feel capable of being right now. He felt completely serious as you placed a hand loosely on his shoulder, dragging it along his body as you circled the back of his chair, across his back and bracing his neck. Cupping under his jaw so tenderly before letting go. It lit up each nerve ending that came across your path.

You were behind him again, sliding both your hands down the front of his chest with soft pressure, dragging them down as your lips came to ghost near his neck. Your face just barely touched his skin, grazing it in a feather-soft way that made him tickle.

Each cell in his body came to attention under your touch. His eyes almost drifted shut to succumb to the feeling, but then you stood in front of him, swaying your hips gently as you sunk down towards the floor, bracing your self with a hand on each of his knees

As you came up, your hands slid up his thighs, using him as a brace to bring your body closer to his, diving towards him with your chest to his face. You moved slow on the way up, giving him time to appreciate the cleavage revealed by the skimpy dress as you did.

His eyes were still locked on yours, cowering under the attention and to nervous to look anywhere else.

"I-I don't know what to do with my hands," he chuckles, blushing hard.

You hum, turning around and taking a seat on his lap, pushing your hips slowly back until they met his crotch. You gave him a soft grind before letting your back fall to his chest, wrapping one arm around his neck. Taking his free hand into your own, you placed it gently around your thigh before trailing it up your body, allowing him to push the hem of the dress further up as your hands travelled towards your chest. You let his fingers toy with the lace edge of your panties for a second before ghosting them over the swell of your chest, skimming just briefly and teasingly, before dropping his hand back to his side.

Lifting up from your hips, you suspended your body over his, rolling in slow motion just above his lap, barely making contact with his body as he watched you. Still using his chest to bear your weight with your arms hooked around his shoulders, able to crane your neck to the side and place soft kisses on the shell of his ear before sighing deeply into it.

On instinct, his hands fly up, gripping your waist and bringing you back down to him against his hard dick. Immediately, he dropped his hands, feeling suddenly rude for being so forward and demanding. Instead, he was rewarded with a gracious bounce of your ass against him, a few times before grinding deeply against him.

Just as a groan fell from his lips, your fingernails scraped against his shoulder, ducking under the collar of his shirt to feel the bare skin. His hips buck up in reaction, and he's quickly embarrassed again.

"It's okay," you coo, running your hand through his hair. He follows your fingers as they run through the strands, chasing after them, so you provide him with a gentle tug. He bites back a moan and you tug harder, determined to make it fall from his mouth.

He lets out a surprised gasp and his arm wraps over your waist, weighing you down so you couldn't move too far from him. You almost want to tease that clients are never allowed to touch the dancers like this, but you fear that then he might stop. So, you don't.

Just for his benefit, you give him a deep, exaggerated moan right in his ear as you roll against his dick, allowing your free hand to wrap over the arm gripping your waist so tightly. When he starts subtly shifting in his chair, you can feel him getting closer.

He starts rolling his hips in time with yours, pushing them into you as you shift yours back, pressing your bodies ever closer. His eyes flutter shut as he bunches up the fabric of your dress, knotting it in his hands as he tries to hold himself back.

You break another rule when you wrap your lips over his earlobe, sucking it softly into your warm mouth before releasing, "It's okay."

It's all the permission he needs, both of his arms now pinning you against him. He gasps as his hips jut up, staggered and out of rhythm, a few times before he lets out a strangled moan, spilling his release inside his trousers.

It was never your intention to let it get this far, but you're so glad it did when you see his face, covered in a light sheen of sweat and pupils blown with lust. His naturally plump, pink lips are red and swollen from biting down so hard. That slicked-back hairdo he had before is now tousled up from your fingers knotting through it. He looks nothing like that shy, innocent boy who opened his door to you just thirty minutes ago. He's something else entirely, panting for air as he comes down from his climax.

When his eyes open again, they still look at you as softly as they did before. With the same admiration, and maybe now a deeper level of want.

You've never been one to be at a loss of words, but you truly don't know what to say now that you've seen your very cute neighbor come undone under you. And that he looks at you so sweetly despite what's just transpired. You keep it light and playful just as before as you climb off of him, searching for your phone and purse while he excuses himself to the bathroom to clean up.

While he's gone, you hear the maintenance guy coming down the hall, and you have no reason to stay. Just as you go to leave, he comes back out, and he hides his disappointment poorly because you look like you're making a quick escape. But when you see him, your hand leaves the doorknob and you turn to say goodbye.

His long legs carry him across the length of the room quickly, stopping just short of you, and you notice just how tall he is as he towers over you. His eyes flicker between yours and your lips, wanting to kiss you, but unsure where the boundary lies.

You lean forward to kiss him, the gap between you narrowing and your eyes drifting closed.

"Can I take you out?" he stops you in your tracks. He starts panicking internally, taking your stunned silence as a rejection. "Like, on a date? Is that... is that okay?"

Then you finally lung forward, crashing your lips over his as you bring him down to you by his neck, pulling him closer. His mouth chases yours as you separate, and you leave a trail of sweet pecks over his lips and chin, smiling at him and nodding, "It's okay."

form to be on my taglist: (for both this blog and my main cm blog @wheelsup)

@suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies @reidyoulikeabook @seasonfivereid @anaagraceeberr @spencerreid9 @sonnydoesrandomshit @luvofyourlifeliv @averyhotchner @spencerreidat3am @honeynico @realismisanexcusefornotbelieving @gubeskneescrew

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #crimina minds

684 notes · View notes

tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

I haven't seen much people requesting for snake bby so obanai x demon reader pls?Reader is like a succubus type of demon and when sent on a mission to kill her he falls into her clutches and it ends with smut 👀

‘in my dreams’ / Iguro O. x Reader

PLEASE STOP SLEEPING ON THIS MAN

warnings: NSFW, Obanai is a boob man, dream fucking?

words: 2,793

(a/n): I might’ve gotten carried away a bit

He’s always heard that sharks can smell blood on the water.

He isn’t a stranger to blood himself, used to the sightly images of gore and the rancid odor. It’s simply another part of his hellish life, bearing witness to mutilated remains of bodies and hunting down their killer.

It’s all in a day’s work.

It’s strange, though, when there aren’t any bodies to be found. Rumors of disappearances plague the night, travel from lips to ears, slowly spreading throughout the small town.

Takahashi’s daughter disappeared last night.

The doctor’s oldest son? Haven’t you heard? He’s gone.

For such a large number of people to be suddenly up and vanishing, it’s no wonder concerns have risen. It’s why Obanai’s here in the first place, determined to sniff out the culprit and promptly execute them. He’s dealt with similar cases before – finding the missing persons, only to find their remains or couple of bones – but this time… Well, it’s weird, to say the least. Not one person in this town knows where anybody could be, no strange sightings or feelings, nothing.

And, if Obanai is going to be completely honest, it’s infuriating as hell.

He’s not a patient person in the slightest. Perhaps that’s his curse and the sole reason why this case isn’t going anywhere; still, with the lingering danger hanging over these poor people’s heads, he needs to end this quickly. And so, cooped up in a small room at the town’s inn, he pours over his scribbling of notes, wondering just what kind of force he’s dealing with.

A demon’s nature can vary, depending on what kind you encounter. Obanai’s had his fair share of strange interactions – whether it be demons with multiple arms, pygmies, the facial features of a fly - he's nearly seen at all. But to take victims without leaving a single trace? That's where things get complicated.

"Dammit," Obanai grumbles, dragging a hand over his face. Kaburamaru flicks his tongue in concern, sensing his owner's unease.

This isn't going anywhere. The amount of time or effort spent trying to figure out where everyone has vanished isn't amounting to anything. How could this be? Obanai isn't some low level slayer, for gods' sakes - he's a Pillar. It shouldn't be this hard to put two and two together, yet here he is, staring blankly at his collected information. The idea of sending his crow to summon for help crosses his mind, but he hastily throws away the thought. No, that's not how this is done. He isn't willing to give up so easily.

As the hours drag further into the night, Obanai grows restless, twitchy. His striped haori sits to the side, folded neatly along with the shirt and overcoat of his uniform. Kaburamaru is already fast asleep, coiled into a tight circle at the edge of the futon. The wooden hatches of the window hang open, the night breeze drifting into the room with the sound of a singular solemn cricket.

A long, ornate kiseru dangles between his spindly fingers; it’s a rare occasion whenever Obanai smokes, so much to the point that the ones closest to him don’t even know he possesses such a fine pipe. He takes a slow drag as his he stares up at the moonlit clouds, the chilled breeze whipping the choppy strands of his hair against his bared cheeks. He wonders, truly, just how the hell he’s supposed to get to the bottom of this case if he can’t find anything to work with.

Perhaps the gods heard his woes - or he’s finally lost his mind - for an intoxicatingly sweet scent fills his senses.

Jasmine.

As far as Obanai knows, he hasn’t seen any jasmine plants when he came into town. This had to mean something - it had to. Opting his kiseru for his blade instead, he easily slips out the window, feet hitting the ground without a sound. Taking off into the night, he races through the town’s streets, eyes darting back and forth for anything out of the usual.

He comes to an abrupt stop when the scent of jasmine grows even stronger. He’s sure now that whatever he’s been looking for is here. A slight shuffling catches his attention; whipping his head to the side, a wooden hatch to a window bangs against the side of a house, but there’s no one to be seen on the other side.

“Found you,” Obanai breathes.

Rushing over to the house, he drops into a crouch as he creeps closer to the window. Jasmine floods his senses, the irresistible aroma gripping onto his consciousness and practically demanding for him to come closer. Swallowing thickly, he ignores the sudden wave of heat flushing over his body as he peeks into the darkened room. A family of five lays on the floor, their bodies moving gently with the deepened breathing of a heavy slumber. Even now, Obanai has to resist the urge to shut his eyes and succumb to the flowery scent.

Although the room is dark, he can make out a strange pillar of smoke; ah, so that’s where the origin of the smell is coming from. Is it some type of mist demon? Flower? He isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t have the time to care. He needs to get rid of it now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he unsheathes his blade, not wanting to attract attention to him yet. It’s a wish in vain, though; as soon as his blade is hanging in the air, the pillar of smoke rushes towards him, slamming into him and sending him flying. Obanai grunts as his back hits the ground, the sharp edge of rocks biting into the skin.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to sneak up on others?” a low, creamy voice drawls. Goosebumps break out across the surface of Obanai’s skin and a shiver races down his back. The smoke dissipates, then, revealing a feminine figure.

Obanai’s breath catches in his throat. This demon - you - are unlike any other he’s encountered. Immediately, his eyes latch onto the pair of horns protruding from your skull, pearly at the tip and then fading into ebony. You’re strikingly beautiful, facial features soft yet demanding. Embarrassment warms Obanai’s face as his eyes drift across the curves of your body; your breasts swell over the tight, strappy top while the entirety of your legs and hips frame the long loincloth-like garment between your legs. Both your arms and legs have the same pearly sheen towards the end, just like your horns.

By the gods, you’re ethereal, even if the claws on your fingers could easily tear Obanai’s throat out.

“So is breaking into other’s homes,” Obanai manages to croak. Bringing himself to a stand, he takes a defensive stance, his blade held out before him. He feels strangely heavy, almost like his body craves to stay flat on his back.

Much to his surprise, you pout at him, arms crossing beneath your chest and pushing your breasts further up. “But it gets so lonely at night, you know?” you say, that seductive lilt in your voice deepening. At that, you make a show of sweeping your eyes over Obanai’s bare torso, and a slight smile grows on your pretty lips.

Obanai clears his throat. He can’t let himself fall for your tricks, no matter how incredible you smell or alluring you look. If these are the methods you rely on, chances are you’re a weaker demon.

“What did you do with the missing persons?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Missing persons? Is that what they’re calling them?” you say, a giggle following your words.

Obanai growls at your nonchalant confession. If there’s one thing he can’t stand about demons, it’s their inability of basic human emotion, the inability of compassion. Yeah, he decides that your head is going to look even better once it’s separated from your body.

“You see, pretty boy,” you purr, pressing a hand to your throat and dragging it downwards, brushing over a luscious breast and tracing over your exposed tummy, “in return for making their dreams come true, I get to have a snack.”

“Enough,” Obanai grunts, switching to an offensive stance. “Maybe I’ll be gracious enough to meet you in hell someday.”

Before you even have a chance to react, Obanai springs into action, launching himself off the group in a great leap, lungs tightening as he releases a breath form.

It doesn’t hit.

It doesn’t fucking hit.

In fact, you’re nowhere in sight. Instead of the dusty, moonlit road, Obanai finds himself in an onsen; a great bamboo pavilion stands tall above the pool of water, blocking the golden rays of sunshine from hitting him. Thin trees are scattered about the area, riddled with stone lanterns and garden rocks covered in moss. With a chorus of birds singing overhead, it’s like he’s in an entire new world.

Muttering to himself, Obanai scans his surroundings, wracking his brain and trying to figure just what the hell happened. One moment, he’s about to slice your head clean off and put an end to your terror - the next, he’s in broad daylight in some overt paradise.

“Your dreams are beautiful,” that wonderful, wonderful voice of yours speaks.

Whirling around, Obanai sends splashes of water flying. “What did you do to me?” he spits.

You flash him a sly smile. “Why, I merely put you to sleep, pretty boy. Can’t be much of a threat if you’re not wide awake, no?”

Obanai curses under his breath. Of course you’re a dream demon - no wonder why there hasn’t been any bodies turning up. If only he had acted faster, got here sooner, more lives could’ve been saved. With a huff, he slithers further away from you, sinking below the water until only his face can be seen. “So what now? You’re going to try to kill me in my sleep? That’s a low blow and you know it.”

Sucking air through your teeth, you shake your head. Now that the two of you are no longer shrouded by darkness, Obanai really gets a good look of how utterly stunning you are. Again, he curses himself out, calling himself a fool for thinking such things when he should be killing you instead.

“Your blade isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him, a look of mischief crossing your features. “Silly boy - this a time meant for the two of us, not for you to end my forsaken life. Allow me to help you... relax.”

As you step to the edge of the onsen, Obanai finally notices the feeling of water caressing his thighs, his bare buttocks. You just had to make him naked in his dream, huh? What are you trying to accomplish, anyway? His eyes widen incredulously as your hands find their place on your torso, slinking over the swell of your breasts and around your neck; with a simple tug, your top comes loose. You merely let the garment fall to the rocks below, a small ‘oops’ slipping from our mouth.

Heat immediately floods to Obanai’s face and his groin; his insides squeeze in on themselves and he swallows thickly, thankful for the hidden protection the water provides. The look on your face is simply irresistible. Hell, even your breasts are as pretty as he imagined-

Shit, he inwardly curses, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.

But oh, you’re just so tempting, your hands squeezing your breasts, fingers rolling your hardening nipples as you stare directly at his flushed face. “Pretty boy,” you purr, “what’s your name?”

“Obanai.”

It’s out before he even knows it.

“Obanai...”

He really likes the way it rolls off your tongue, the dark glint in your eyes as you say it. Perhaps you can tell by his reaction alone - or maybe you like saying it - but you repeat his name, once, twice, thrice, and fuck does it drive Obanai insane. And then you’re reaching down, unfastening your lower garment and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Obanai’s cock twitches at the sight of your glorious body, the soft curves and glowing skin.

“Naughty boy, my eyes are up here,” you say. Again, you squeeze those beautiful fucking tits, a soft groan spilling from your lips. Obanai nearly goes feral from the sound; without further thought, he wades over to where you are. Jasmine clings in his nostrils, clouds his mind in a delicious haze, and he loves it.

You’re all too willing to meet his touch, body slipping into the heated water as he wraps his arms around you possessively. His body kicks into autopilot, mind going blank as he presses his lips to your throat. He should rip your throat out with his teeth, but there’s something magical about the way you arch into his touch, breasts pushing lewdly against his chest.

“Fucking-”

“Yes.”

A breathy moan spills from your lips as Obanai kneads your pretty tits, long fingers gripping possessively, wantingly. It’s almost ridiculous how hard he already is, his cock sandwiched between your bodies. He jolts as your hands land on his face, thumbs brushing against the ragged scars lining either sides of his mouth.

“Don’t,” he grits, but it goes ignored. The air is sucked from his lungs as you brush your lips over his scars, murmuring something about how pretty he is before stopping at his mouth. You kiss him fervently, clawed fingers scratching his shoulders as you tongue the inside of his mouth. You swallow the husky groan that spills from his mouth, hand dropping down from his shoulder and wrapping around his hardening cock.

“Ah, shit,” Obanai murmurs into your mouth.

“Tell me what you want, pretty boy,” you whisper, hand slowly jerking on his cock. His breathing picks up as you quicken your pace, the water rippling with the movements of your wrists. “Your wish is my command.”

“Gods, you’re such a fucking tease,” he pants, eyes practically glowing against the pink hue of his face. Ducking his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, the wet warmth enveloping your breast and eliciting a delicious moan from you. Obanai wastes no more time, opting to prop you in his lap and pressing your back against a smooth stone. “I shouldn’t... but fuck...”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re angry with me anymore,” you husk in that damned sexy voice. A moan bubbles from your throat as Obanai starts rocking against you, cock slipping against your folds. It’ll only take a little push for him to fill that pretty cunt of yours, to stuff you full of his cock and fuck you raw. It’s what he wants.

“Shut up,” he grunts, mouth latching onto your nipple, his hand beginning to play with the other. A low, drawn out curse gets muffled by your chest as he finally slips his cock into you; it shouldn’t be physically possible, but your velvety walls seemingly clench around him and suck him in, your arousal making the slide impossibly easy. He hiccups on a breath, his entire body twitching as he pants.

“The thing about succubi,” you drawl, sharp nails tracing down his spine, over the muscles in his back, “is that we’re the demons of sex and dreams. Oh, pretty baby, how much I’ve lucked out. Everyone else seemed like an appetizer - and you...” You pause, suck air between your teeth. “You’re like the damn main course.”

A helpless little grunt graces your ear as you fuck yourself on Obanai’s cock. His hips match your movements, your sopping cunt eagerly sucking him back in and squeezing around him. You’re so damn wet that it’s infuriating; Obanai wants more, more of your touch, your voice, that sweet scent clogging his senses. He can’t bring himself to stop touching your breasts, whether if it’s his hands or mouth. They bounce with the erratic rhythm of your hips, way too beautiful and hypnotizing.

A breathless whine breaks through your cute little pants whenever Obanai smacks a hand against the ample flesh of your ass. “Is that you meant when you said you make others’ wishes come true? Have them fuck that tight pussy of yours? Huh?”

“Obanai, don’t be mean,” you pout.

“Says a fucking demon that eats people.”

You hiss as his cockhead hits against your g-spot. “I can eat you too, so don’t get cocky, pretty boy.”

Obanai clicks his tongue, his brows furrowing. “You better keep that promise,” he grunts, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “I won’t take no for an answer.” He growls as your walls clench around him.

“If that’s your wish, Master,” you purr, a slight chuckle following your words, “then it is my command.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #obanai iguro x reader #iguro obanai x reader #obanai iguro #iguro obanai #request

410 notes · View notes

ghostspideys-moved · 3 years

Text

winter fun

a/n: it’s never too early for a winter fic, and i couldn’t get this idea out of my head, a quick reminder here of who i write for at the moment to anyone who’d like to request something

pairing: leonard mccoy x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: Joanna’s visiting, and you don’t want to screw up a chance to bond with her. Thankfully, you both share a favorite pastime - antagonizing Leonard.

The downside to being part of a five year mission in space is that you hardly have much time to be home. Thankfully, though, Jim had been gracious enough to grant shore leave for the holidays, and you couldn't be happier about it.

Finally being home - no longer confined to your duties aboard the Enterprise - is a blessing for you and Leonard both.

On top of that, Joanna is meant to visit for a few days. She's been eager to see her dad in person now that she could, and you can't blame her. Besides, you see this as a chance to bond with her more. Joanna seems to like you just fine, but you've always had an inkling of doubt for some reason.

In order to make Joanna's visit perfect, you've taken it upon yourself to start some cookies. Unfortunately, you've made quite a mess. Flour is splattered on your apron, and Leonard can't help but laugh when he comes in to check on you.

"You know, I'm pretty sure the flour is supposed to go in the bowl." Leonard leans against the counter, an amused look on his face.

"How silly of me. I never would've known if you hadn't said something," you retort, barely holding back a smile of your own.

He snorts and kisses your forehead. "Whatever would you do without me, darlin'?"

"I might actually finish these cookies on time, for starters," you tease. You've just started to cut them into shapes and set them on a baking sheet. You know Joanna's due to arrive any minute, and you want them done by then so she has a snack.

Leonard laughs and shakes his head, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't let me distract you, sweetheart," he says.

It's as you're carefully setting the cookies into the oven that the doorbell rings, and you don't have time to make a witty retort before Leonard leaves to answer it. You hear him greeting Joanna and letting her in from the cold.

Shit. A little earlier than you hoped, but you’ll manage.

You're already taking off your flour-covered apron when Joanna comes in, immediately zeroing in on the smell of cookies baking.

"Are you baking something?" she asks curiously, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

You nod, giving her a quick hug once she's no longer in danger of being equally covered in the mess you'd made.

"They shouldn't take too long," you assure her. "Why don't you get settled in the meantime, and then we can catch up while they finish."

Joanna nods and eagerly follows Leonard to the guest room you'd cleared for her.

Catching up with her goes by quickly, and the second the cookies are done and cooled down, her and Leonard both immediately reach for them. They comment on how well you did before easily falling back into conversation. From the sound of it, Joanna's just really glad to see her dad again. You can't imagine how much she misses him each day when he's millions of miles away.

Once most of the cookies are gone, Joanna gets the bright idea to play outside in the snow, which you're all too happy to agree to.

Leonard has some objections. "It's too cold right now, and the snow will be piled nearly as tall as you," he says, crossing his arms.

"Please, dad? It's not as bad as you're making it sound."

"Len, it's not like we won't be out there with her. Would you rather be there with us or leave us to our own devices?" You know all too well that he'd much rather be present in case anything goes wrong.

You and Joanna give him the best pleading looks you can manage. Leonard sighs and grumbles but ultimately caves.

"Fine, but you two better bundle up properly. The last thing I need is for both of you to get hypothermia or frostbite."

Despite his grumbling, he smiles, happy to see you two getting along. Even if it's in union against him. You know this is just his way of showing he cares, so neither of you are too surprised that he's given in.

Once you're all dressed appropriately for the weather, you head to the front yard where plenty of snow has accumulated. You're not at all surprised when a snowball hits you're back. You turn to find Joanna pointing at Leonard, who immediately hides another snowball behind his back.

"He did it!"

Leonard looks betrayed, though not surprised. "Anyone ever tell you you're a snitch?" he mumbles. "Some kid of mine."

Joanna only laughs. You snort and grab a handful of snow, quickly forming a snowball and tossing it at him in retaliation. Joanna is quick to join you.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh? Ganging up on me already?"

Leonard grins, despite his complaining, and quickly tries to defend himself. You two are quite the team, though, and he quickly realizes he has no chance.

"Alright, alright. Truce," he calls, ducking behind a tree to dodge the line of fire.

You turn to Joanna, silently asking whether to call it even.

"Hm, I don't know. What's in it for us?" she asks.

Leonard weighs his options for a moment. "I'll make hot chocolate," he offers. "Just the way you like it, kiddo. Plenty of cinnamon and marshmallows."

Joanna pretends to consider his offer, though you know she'll take it.

"Deal. But you have to help us make a snowman."

"Fine by me."

You laugh and shake your head, kissing his cheek when he finally comes out of hiding.

Joanna is quick to start the bottom of the snowman, and you and Leonard jump in to help when it gets too big. It goes smoothly with the three of you working together.

While you're finishing up, Leonard heads inside to fetch a carrot for the nose. When he returns, he pauses to take in your handiwork so far.

"Why's he frowning?" he asks, glancing at you two.

You finish placing the sticks being used for its arms and stand back. "It's you," you proudly proclaim.

Joanna nods, standing back to get a good look at your snowman. It was her idea to use some twigs as eyebrows to make him look grumpy.

To your surprise, Leonard doubles over in laughter as he takes in the nearly finished product. You and Joanna share a high five as he collects himself, more than happy to see that he likes it.

"Alright, you got me. I guess I should've seen that coming," Leonard says, shaking his head once his fit of laughter ends. He places the nose and takes off his hat, placing it on the snowman's head. "There. Now he's perfect."

You grin, kissing his cheek. "He looks just like you," you tease.

"I don't see it," he jokes, kissing your forehead.

"What? The resemblance is uncanny. I can barely tell you two apart."

Joanna fondly watches you two tease each other, more than relieved to see her father happy. You only stop when you two hear her sniffle from the cold as she wraps her arms around herself.

Leonard sighs and fixes her scarf so it's covering her nose properly. "Let's get you two inside before you get yourselves sick," he insists.

"Well, if we do, we'd have the best doctor in the galaxy to look after us," you joke, following them inside.

He laughs, though he gives you an exasperated look. "Keep it up and we'll see about that."

You know he'd happily take care of you guys with only some mild complaining. He hurries you both into the kitchen to make hot chocolate and warm you guys up. Any doubts you have about Joanna liking you have been erased from your mind, and you fondly watch them as Leonard wraps you both in blankets before starting the hot chocolate.

#leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x you #leonard mccoy one shot #leonard mccoy imagine #star trek imagines

123 notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

Dead Or Alive - Harry Styles

a/n: oof okay hello! this is a little different, i guess? but im very excited to share this with you! don’t ask me how i got the idea for this, no clue but it was stuck in my head for days before i finally gave in and started writing it. please share your thoughts and comments on it, i would love to read them!! hope you’ll enjoy it!

pairing: Wanted!Harry x BountyHunter!Reader

warning: violence, talks of drugs, murder, guns, i really lost track of it lol

word count: 15.2k

masterlist

The man in the handcuffs growls in pain again, but you just yank him forward, not in the mood to deal with a whining girl trapped in a six feet tall disgusting looking, oily-faced bald man in his forties.

“Y/N! What do we got today?” Jeremy greets you at the front desk, thumbs hooked into his belt as he watches you tug the guy into the hall of the station, pushing him down to the nearest seat as you step to Jeremy who is already handing you the paperwork.

“Dennis Delgado. Took me a few days to find him, but he couldn’t hide forever,” you grin proudly as you grab a pen and start filling the papers out.

Jeremy walks over to Dennis who just looks up at the officer in disgust. It’s not enough that he is a child molester disgusting prick, he is racist on top of everything and now Jeremy is enjoying having the higher ground, Dennis trapped in his handcuffs while Jeremy will be the one to get him behind bars for a long time.

“Nice one. We’ll have a lot of fun with this one,” Jeremy chuckles. “Want me to ring up your brother?”

“Is he in? Would love to have a word with him,” you nod smiling. When you’re done with the papers you hand them over to Stella, the receptionist who gets to work with them right away so you can get your money.

“Sure, I’ll get him for you on my way,” Jeremy nods, grabbing Dennis by his arm, pulling him along on his way to the elevators. “Come on you scumbag, you have a cell waiting with your name on it.”

The two of them disappear and you get into a little chit-chat with Stella while she is finishing up the paperwork. Leaning against the counter you look around, officers come and go in the hall, all of them dressed in their uniform and for a moment you picture yourself wearing the same outfit. At one point in your life it seemed to be part of your future, but now it would be the most ridiculous sight. Y/N, the best bounty hunter in the region in a police uniform? That’s not happening.

The elevator dings and your brother, Robert walks out. He on the other hand, made this vision happen. He has been an officer for about ten years now and though at first he was outraged that you chose the not so gracious lifestyle of a bounty hunter, but you soon became his unofficial partner, handing him over a wanted person every few days, making his work easier. Everyone at the station knows that Robert is the one who plays by the rules, doing everything according to the handbook, the perfect officer, always working to keep up the peace in town while you are… Well, you are a rebel. You could never play by the rules, always sneaking ways to do things according to your desires. You never liked if someone wanted to tell you what to do and how to do it, you are not a team player or either one that can easily managed by higher forces. It didn’t take long for you to realize your nature will never let you be an officer so you chose the other path that’s somewhere near joining the police, but still playing by your own rules.

Being a female bounty hunter wasn’t the easiest when you started off at the young age of seventeen. In desperate need of the extra money after the tragic passing of both your parents, the two of you had to get along on Robert’s slim, beginner paycheck. He was only twenty-three, started working at the station just a year prior, you knew you had to help him out. He kept bringing up cases, worked on them through the nights and when he passed you on the couch from exhaustion, you sneaked your way into the dining room and looked for easy targets. Speeding tickets, light drug trafficking, whatever you could deal with as a high schooler.

Robert hated the idea of you dealing with wanted people, you had endless fights about it, but you were too stubborn to stop and besides, you liked the adrenaline rush you got whenever you caught another one and brought them back to the station. Loved the stunned and shocked looks on the older officers when you managed to catch a bigger fish. It took Robert a few years to come to peace with your choice of lifestyle and now he doesn’t even try to talk you down. Instead, he keeps bringing you cases that pay well and he knows you’d like them.

“Who did you catch this time?” he grins at you, walking up to you and he envelopes you in a short hug.

“Just got Dennis Delgado, Jeremy took him.”

“Poor Dennis, he’ll have a rough evening,” Robert chuckles. “Did you get your money?”

“Stella is already working on it,” you nod towards the lady behind you.

“Oh, I’ve got you, Sweetheart,” Stella pushes herself back from her desk and walks over to you with an envelope filled with your reward.

“Amazing, thank you, Stella,” you grin at her happily. Dennis was worth a little more than the usual, you are well covered for the rest of the month thanks to him.

“Do you have something coming next?” Robert asks, hands on his hips as he watches you put the money away into your backpack.

“Not yet. Got something exciting for me?”

“An old friend,” he nods with a small smile. He reaches behind the counter and grabs a flyer, handing it over to you, a familiar face staring back at you from the photo this time.

Harry Styles is a name you’ve heard plenty of times and you know him well by now. You actually went to high school with him, you were just never in the same group. He was labeled as troubled all through his teenage years, his parents were brutally killed when he was just a kid, he was tossed around from one foster family to the other, moving around town every few months. It was no surprised when he got into some darker circles, he almost got kicked out of school right before graduation but somehow managed to stick around to get his diploma at the end.

You have actually handed him in a few times before. Never for anything bigger than drug trafficking or robbing smaller shops downtown, Harry is actually not as bad as people tend to portray him to be, he was just not blessed with the best background as most people. He is a smart guy and would never hurt anyone for real, this is why you are now staring down at his flyer shocked.

He is wanted for the murder of a local man who was found dead a few days ago in his home, Harry’s hair was found near the body with no other evidence.

“Are you sure about this?” you ask Robert with a concerned look. This doesn’t feel right. Not that you know Harry that well, but it’s very unlike him.

“Very much. His hair was the only thing we found near the body of Dave RIchards so evidently, he is our number one suspect.”

“I don’t know, this doesn’t sound right,” you think to yourself, staring down at the mug shot of him that was taken the last time you brought him in for selling weed to underage kids. You remember it exactly, because bringing Harry in is always… fun, if you could say that.

That last time, he was already expecting you, waiting around in his usual motel room that is somewhat considered as his home.

“My Y/N! You arrived earlier than I expected!” he greeted you when you kicked his door in. He was sitting in the middle of the double bed, rolling a joint as always, not a care in the world about your arrival.

“You knew I was coming?” you cocked your head to the side walking in and stopping at the end of the bed, watching him finish the joint and simply light it before taking a big puff.

“Of course. I was informed I’m on your list again, just thought you’d give me a few more hours, but it’s alright.” He waved around carelessly before holding out the joint in your way, offering you to try it.

“No thanks, I don’t trust your sketchy stuff.”

“That hurt!” he gasped dramatically, placing a hand to his tattooed chest that was partially on display since his shirts are never buttoned all the way up.

You brought him in that day, stopping for McDonald’s on your way to the station before handing him over to Robert. He was actually a great guy, nice sense of humor and good looks, you never thought otherwise, he was just moving around in different circles than you so you were left with the few jokes he always cracked when you took him in every few months.

“Well, it’s not your job to question his innocence. Want to take the job or not?” Robert asks you.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll find him,” you nod and fold the flyer, sliding it into your back pocket.

Normally, you take the rest of the day for yourself after turning someone in, but this situation with Harry just bugs you way more than to just go home and pretend like it’s not all you can think about. Harry is not a murderer, he would never randomly kill a man, he is not a psycho, just a guy with a rough background and some poor life decisions.

You know the route to the motel like the back of your hand. Arriving to the dodgy parking lot you park your car in the far end before taking one last look at the flyer. Then you push it into your backpack and get out, heading to Harry’s room with firm steps. You see no lights on, the door is closed and you almost don’t even get closer, thinking he is not here when you see someone move around inside.

You are almost at the door when a hand covers your mouth and an arm wraps around your body, pulling you back forcefully. It takes you a moment to recover from the shock as you are yanked backwards, but as you are being dragged towards the alleyway next to the motel you elbow your attacker in the stomach before kicking them in the knees. The hands fall from around you and turning around you pull out your pocket knife, ready to cut throats right away, but you are shocked to see Harry hunched over, groaning in pain as he holds his arm to his stomach.

“The fuck, Y/N?!” he growls, his chocolate curls falling forward, they’ve definitely gotten longer since the last time you saw him, he could easily put them up into a bun now. “What was that for?” he whispers in disbelief, his green eyes meeting yours in a scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean? You attacked me!”

“I didn’t attack you, I was trying to fucking save you!”

“From what?!”

“From the fucking asshole in my room who is four times bigger than you and would have probably shot you the moment you kicked my door in like you always fucking do!”

It’s just now processing in you that if Harry is here, the person you saw in the room can’t be him and he surely looked bulky. Harry runs his hand through his hair, straightening up from his hunched position before he sighs tiredly. He looks… worn-out, even more than he usually does. The dark circles under his eyes and beat-up knuckles are new, he usually looks fine despite everything that goes on in his life, but this is a version of him you haven’t seen. He has definitely been through some shit lately.

“What are you doin—“

“No time for questions now, we have to get out of here,” he cuts you off, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the alleyway to another parking lot on the other side of the motel. You spot his old jeep right away, but you yank your hand out of his hold, stopping in your tracks.

“Wait, my car is there!”

“We’ll come back for that later, but they can’t find you here with me or they’ll be after you as well,” he explains, grabbing your hand again as he pulls you towards the car and this time you follow him blindly.

You get into his jeep without even questioning it, not even caring that he is a man who is currently wanted for murder. Your instinct is telling you that you’re completely fine with him and you believe it. The two of you head out of town, taking the route to the next town nearby, but he takes a turn to the left, the jeep rolling onto a dirty road leading along fields filled with wildflowers. You have a guess where you’re going, there are some abandoned cabins near the woods that used to function as vacation homes, but they were slowly left to stand empty for eternity when a luxury resort was built on the other side of the woods.

“Care to tell me what the fuck just happened?” you ask him calmly, turning to look at him. He has one hand on the wheel, while his other elbow is resting on the armrest, fingers tapping on his chapped, pink lips.

“I’m in… deep shit, Y/N,” he admits with a sigh, eyes glued to the road ahead of him.

“No shit, you killed someone?”

“I didn’t,” he states, his eyes meeting yours for a moment to emphasize his truth. “It was a fucking set up and now they are after me every way possible.”

“Who is? And what did you do to get into so much trouble?”

“I’ll tell you about it when we arrive, okay?”

You sit in silence for the rest of the ride until you finally arrive to the cabins. You follow Harry inside one of them and it seems like he has set his base up here a few days ago. There’s a double bed with blankets thrown over it and a few mismatched pillows, a sports bag with his clothes and a few grocery bags on the dusty kitchen counter, candles everywhere since there’s probably no power in the cabin. You wonder how long he has been camping out here.

“About a week ago I got a visit from Hugo McKain, you’ve heard about him?” he asks as he grabs a bottled water from one of the grocery bags and fills up two plastic cups, handing you one of them.

“Sure. I’ve heard that… he is a big fish,” you nod.

“Yeah. He wanted me to work for him, but I sincerely rejected the offer, however it didn’t sit well with him. He threatened me that if I’m not selling his stuff, then I won’t sell anyone else’s stuff,” he explains, walking over to the bed and he sits at the edge, staring at the cup in his hands. “He gave me another day to change my mind, but I said that I don’t want to get involved with any of the heavy shit he deals with. I was hoping he would just willing to forget about it, but apparently, he is not the kind to just let shit go,” he chuckles bitterly. “A few days ago he sent two of his men after me, but I was able to run away. I was ready to pack my shit up and just leave the state forever, but then the fucking asshole framed me for the murder of that guy. A friend called me to let me know that I’m the only suspect in the case and that my face has been sent out already everywhere in the state. Hugo made it impossible for me to leave, I would be caught the moment I stop to pump fucking gas in my car,” he growls in annoyance. “So it’s a whole shit show, the police and Hugo are after me and I’m fucking stuck here.”

You stand there at a complete loss of words, because though you have no evidence if he is telling you the truth, you just know he is and the situation is fucking miserable. Harry drinks his water and throws the cup into a plastic bag that serves as a trashcan, his fingers running through his hair nervously.

“Do you know who killed the guy?” you speak up after some silence.

“Yeah, one of his men called Axel, he is a proper idiot, I’m actually surprised he didn’t leave his DNA back, just mine,” Harry scoffs.

“If you know they are after you, what were you doing at the motel?” you ask, leaning against the wall, curiously eyeing him as he glances up at you.

“Knew you’d come after me, didn’t want them to pull you into this mess too.”

Your eyebrows rise at his words. He went back because of you? Harry notices your surprise, a smug smirk tugging on his lips.

“What? Couldn’t let them lay a finger on my Y/N, right?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. He has always been so flirty with you since day one, always trying to pull your leg, chatting your ears off in hopes that he can finally drag you to bed one day. But you never give in, it all stays just some empty flirting and a playful banter.

“So what are you going to do now?” you ask clearing your throat. There’s just always been something in the way he calls you his Y/N that makes you a tad bit nervous.

“That’s an excellent question to which… I have no answer,” he truthfully admits.

“You can’t hide here forever.”

“You tryna’ lure me into going to the station with you?” he asks with a grin. “To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t cuffed me yet. You love that stuff, don’t you?” Harry stands from the bed and strides over to you, the height difference between the two of you forcing you to tilt your head up a little as he smirks down at you, enjoying that he has successfully made you blush. “Question is, have you been the one in the cuffs?”

You part your lips with the intention of answering, but nothing comes out. Harry smirks down at you, so full of himself before stepping away.

“Anyway, I think I’m just gonna lay low here for a while and then hopefully I’ll be able to sneak out of town at one point.”

“You wanna stay here?” you ask looking around. The place is fine for just a few nomad days, but staying here for more seems impossible. There’s no electricity, probably no water, some of the windows are broken in, the temperature must drop drastically in the nights so close to the woods.

“Not that I have any other choices,” he huffs, opening a bag of chips from the groceries.

“Don’t you have any friends who can share their couch with you for a while?”

“You think anyone would want to hide a dude who is wanted for murder and who is also in trouble with Hugo McKain? Baby, even if any of my friends were willing to help, I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t want to pull them into my shit. Besides, Hugo is probably already keeping tabs of all my friends, he has the connections to know everything about me.”

“And what about me?” you suddenly ask. Harry freezes, eyes flickering at you in confusion.

“What about you?”

“Would he look for you at mine?”

Now it’s his turn to rock a stunned expression, eyebrows shooting up as he stares back at you. He wasn’t expecting it, but truth is neither did you. However it doesn’t take him long to turn it into something entirely sexual.

“You know, if you wanted to see me in your bed, you should have just asked.”

Luckily, you don’t fall under his spell this time. Rolling your eyes you put the cup to the nearest surface and head to the door.

“Alright, changed my mind. Have fun camping out here on your own,” you mumble, reaching for the doorknob, but he is quick to get between you and the door, stopping you from leaving.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just not expecting you to make that offer, alright?” You take a step back, folding your arms on your chest. “Were you serious about that?”

“It seemed like an option. I doubt you’d be expected to be at my place.”

“And you’d actually let me stay there?”

“I guess a few days wouldn’t hurt. Until you figure out what to do.”

Harry stares at you in awe, like you just did the best thing ever for him and the thought that he never had anyone to do such favor for him is kind of heartbreaking. He might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but there’s just something in him.

You help him pack his stuff back into the jeep, leaving the weathered cabin empty again before you head back to town. Harry drops you off a few blocks from the motel so you can walk back to your car, you glance at his door just once, it’s still closed but they could easily still be there.

Harry is already at your place when you arrive to your building, waiting around in his jeep, he has put a beanie and sunglasses on, keeping his head low. As he follows you up to your little apartment, you actually realize that Harry is about to move in with you for the upcoming days, he is going to live in your place, you’ll share your home with him. How crazy does that sound?

Unlocking the door you walk into your small apartment. It’s just the perfect size for one person, a decent kitchen with a small dining table, a living room that also functions as your study, your desk filled with folders and flyers from previous works. Then you have a little bedroom and a bathroom opening from the living room. It’s cozy and homey, but definitely not the setting you would have ever imagined Harry in.

“So, the couch is a pull out, I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow, make yourself… home I guess,” you tell him walking into your bedroom to get him everything he needs. However, he is following you into the room, already snooping around in your private little space.

As you grab him a blanket and pillow, you find him inspecting your clutters on top of your dresser, your jewelry, perfumes and makeup stuff is just thrown out there, and he seemingly takes an interest in your rings.

“Never seen you wear any jewelry,” he huffs as you walk up to him.

“Don’t like them on me that much,” you admit. “Here,” you give them the bedding and usher him out of the bedroom before he gets way too adventurous and starts digging into your lingerie drawers.

When the pullout is all set up and Harry has settled in a little, you are faced with the fact once again, that Harry is in your home and about to spend the upcoming days here with you, since he can’t really roam around the streets.

You make sandwiches for the two of you and sit at the small dining table, eating in silence until you speak up.

“I can ask my brother to help find the guy who did it. There has to be a way to get you out of this.”

Harry glances at you, chewing on his food before putting the sandwich down, swallowing the bite.

“Not really if they don’t find evidence.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“We?” he smirks at you playfully, earning a blush from you again. You hate the effect he has on you, he is clearly a good-looking guy, you always thought that, even in high school. Thanks to his troubled name, girls easily fall for his bad guy behavior, they just never really saw that being a so called bad guy wasn’t just about the looks, with a slightly similar background you could imagine how hard it really was for him. Though he never really let it show. He is always this whitty, cocky bastard who is ready to flirt his way into your pants whenever the opportunity is given.

“If you keep up with the teasing you’ll find yourself on the street one morning,” you warn him and he just holds his hands up with a smug grin.

“You are the boss lady here,” she chuckles softly before returning to his sandwich.

For the rest of the evening you bury yourself into some other work stuff, you always have a few smaller gigs going on that are easy money, Harry in the meanwhile makes himself comfortable on the couch, watching your tiny TV in silence, letting you do your thing. It’s nearing midnight when you wrap it up and head to have a quick shower. Standing under the hot water you take a few minutes to collect your thoughts and just simply try to get used to the thought that you are in fact hiding a man who is wanted for murder. It’s going to be some pretty interesting days you have ahead of you, that is for sure.

Putting on your oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts you leave a clean towel on the counter for Harry in case he doesn’t have one before heading out.

“Towel is on the counter. Sorry, I don’t have shower gel for men, but the soap is unscented so feel free to use,” you tell him walking out, only to find him already waiting around the door, leaning against the wall. His eyes fall down the length of your uncovered leg, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“If you’re the kind who sleeps naked, feel free to get rid of the textile.”

“Are you a naked sleeper?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“I can be, if you want me to be,” he grins smugly and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Good night, Harry,” you sigh walking into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you, only allowing yourself to let out a shaky sigh when you are out of his sight. Leaning against the door you hear him shuffling around until the bathroom door closes and the water starts running. You try your best to ignore the thought of Harry currently in your shower naked as you climb to bed and pull the covers over your head. You need the coverage, hopefully it’ll help you with your wandering thoughts.

“Thought you’d deliver Styles by now,” Robert teases you when he meets you at the station the next day. You left Harry at your place, sincerely asking not to trash your home while you’re away and headed to the police station in hopes that your brother might be able to help him out.

“Uh, no. But actually, he is the reason why I’m here,” you tell him with a nervous chuckle.

“What? Did he hurt you or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Can we please talk in your office?” you ask and he nods, leading you up to his office.

Once the two of you are settled and secluded from the rest of the officers, you just decide to start right in the middle and not waste your time beating around the bush.

“Harry didn’t do it. He was framed.”

Robert gives you a surprised look as he leans back in his seat on the other side of his desk. He thinks about your words furrowing his eyebrows before scratching his neck.

“How… do you know that?”

“I just know. He is being framed by Hugo McKain, it was one of his men who killed the guy, not Harry.”

“I have a feeling that your source about this was none other than Harry himself.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does, because of course he would try to defend himself!”

“Harry is not a murderer, Robert,” you snap. “He always owns up to his mistakes and he would never do anything to hurt others. Yes, he is troubled and did a lot of illegal shit in his life, but never anything that could hurt others. He became a target because he didn’t want to join Hugo.”

Robert stares at you for a while, probably trying to figure out whether he should believe you or not. You knew he’d be skeptical, but you can only hope he trusts you enough to help you out in this one case.

“And what do you expect me to do?” he asks after a while.

“He knows the name of the guy. Axel something, can you get someone on his case? Look into the evidence more? Something might come up that could help Harry out of this mess.”

Robert’s jaw clenches as he stares back at you, contemplating his choices but something is telling you he is already in. You won him over.

“I’ll have Jake look into it, I think I know who this Axel guy is.”

“Thank you, Robert!” you cheer in excitement. Jumping from your seat you go around his desk and hug him from behind, kissing his cheek as he tries to escape your embrace. He hates it when you get all affectionate at his work, but you just had to. You head to the door to get out of his hair before he changes his mind, but he stops you before you could leave.

“Y/N, just please be careful with Styles, okay?”

“He is not as bad as people make him sound.”

“I just don’t want him to get you into trouble. There’s only so much I can do to save your ass.” “Don’t worry,” you smile at him softly. “I’ll be alright.”

The rest of the day goes by with catching some stupid guy who was wanted for trying to rob a gas station while drunk, it’s a mystery how he was able to run away, you saw the security footage, the guy was barely standing on his feet, but lucky for you, he is in the exact same state when you surprise him at a bar and bring him in.

It’s past seven when you finally get home. Keying yourself into the apartment you are met with a quite pleasant sight. Harry has pushed the pullout in to make some space in the cramped living room and as you step inside, you are met with the sight of him doing pushups in the middle of the room, no shirt on, just a pair of loose shorts, all his tattoos are on display, a thin layer of sweat covering his body, his curls are held back with a headband. When he hears you arrive, his head shoots up and smirks in your way before doing a few more and then he stops, standing up just as you shut the front door.

“Welcome home, Honey,” he winks in your way and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Turning my living room into your personal gym, huh?”

“I can’t just sit around all day, waiting for you to get home, can I?”

“You can always just fix up my apartment while I’m gone,” you joke chuckling. Setting your bag down on your bed you join him in the kitchen where he is sipping on some water. “Anyway, I have good news for you. My brother said he’ll have one of his guys look into the case. I’m sure he’ll check after this Axel dude you mentioned.”

“That’s great! I’ve also been asking around today, some of my friends said they will try to dig up some dirt that might help me out, but I don’t want any of them to get too deep and then have Hugo go after them too.”

“It’ll be fine,” you nod, convinced that things will turn out well. “Alright, I’ll throw something together for dinner, what—“

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already ordered, should be here soon.”

“You ordered food?” you ask in surprise.

“Of course. I won’t just eat your fridge out, dinners are on me while I’m here,” he smiles genuinely and you’re stunned by the gesture.

Half an hour later the two of you are sitting on the living room floor, Chinese takeout boxes littering the place around you, having a full on feast because Harry didn’t go light on the order.

“So, tell me, what have you been doing since high school?” he prompts the question. “I feel like I know you but I also don’t. Don’t get me wrong, being handcuffed by you every other month is fucking hot, but I don’t know much about you.”

“There’s not much to know,” you shrug. “I’ve been doing this since I was seventeen, no grandiose career.”

“But did you have any other plans before?”

“Thought about joining the police, but I was never tame enough to follow their rules.”

“Ooh, a little rebel?” he teases you and you throw a handful of napkins in his way, making him laugh.

“You can joke about it, but I’ve had my fair share of trouble as well, you are not the only one who’s been through some rough years.”

“I know that,” he nods, eyes getting serious for a moment. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“You know about them?” you ask in surprise. You didn’t really share it with anyone, talking about the loss of them just made it harder to deal with it and you also didn’t want everyone’s petty.

“You just know about this kind of stuff when you grow up in foster care. Though you were lucky your brother was already of age.”

“I know. I’m convinced I wouldn’t be here if I had to go into foster care.” Putting down the box from your hands you look at Harry. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.”

“Not that it was any of your fault,” he smiles softly, but you can see the pain in his green eyes. Despite not knowing him well growing up, you always felt this weird urge to tell him how sorry you were for everything he had to deal with. He deserved a better childhood and teenage years and most importantly, respect from people. Everyone just labeled him as a lost case because of his background, but no one really tried to help him. Part of you feels guilty, because you could have helped through those years, but you were a little frightened from him as well, believing the rumors and talks about him, though now you know they were probably just stupid gossips.

Harry reaches into your box, stealing a dumpling and you snap on his hand, but he just pops it into his mouth grinning slyly.

“Hey! You have your own!” you tell him off.

“I know, but yours just tastes better.”

“You are such a pest,” you roll your eyes at him as you grab your box and start eating again.

“So, what does your boyfriend think about me being here?” he asks out of nowhere, but you see through his act. It’s his sneaky way of trying to get you to say if you’re single or not, probably already knowing the answer to that, but you choose to pull his leg a little.

“He is fine. Though you might have to plug your ears in a little when he comes over,” you tell him with a straight face and see his fall, a stunned expression on his handsome face.

“Wait, really? You have a boyfriend and told him about me being here?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

It’s hard not to start laughing, especially when the words process and he realizes that you are in fact taken. The flirty, teasing act is long gone, he presses his lips together nodding to himself as he continues to eat in silence.

“I’m just fucking with you, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you tell him at last, finally letting out a laugh. His eyes snap up at you and a smirk slowly tugs at his lips as he points a finger at you.

“You had me for a hot minute. Nice one.”

“Why were you so surprised when I said I have a boyfriend?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“Guess the thought was just a little weird, I’ve never seen you with a guy before.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ve never been with any,” you point out, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Oh, I know. I never thought you are pretending to be a nun,” he snorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasp, feeling like it was a subtle way to call you some sort of slut. Harry looks up at your upset expression and he immediately knows how his words were taken.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he defends himself.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I meant that I always thought a girl as pretty as you must have plenty of guys after her.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at how bluntly he just called you pretty. It had a refreshing sound after all the shameless flirting he has been doing when it came to you, and your poor little heart immediately skipped a beat upon hearing his words.

“Well, I didn’t have,” you admit with a sad smile. You briefly dated a guy from another school in tenth grade, but after that, your life was just way too complicated to get involved in a relationship and you haven’t really been able to change that even years later. When you’re very keen on some intimacy you go to a nearby bar and just let whatever man to pick you up and have for the night, but that doesn’t happen too often either, because it seems useless most of the time, you can do the job yourself just fine too, you don’t need some random man to call you his babygirl when he doesn’t even know your name. Some never even bother to finish you, they pass out once they got what they wanted so you prefer being on your own.

“Fucking losers!” Harry huffs dramatically. “They have no idea what’s good.”

“You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better,” you roll your eyes at him, but you can feel yourself blushing.

“I’m not, I was always crushing on you a little in high school, if I’m being honest,” he admits truthfully, managing to surprise you once again.

“For real?”

“Sure,” he nods, turning his focus back to his food as he continues to talk. “Even thought about asking you out to prom one time. But I figured you might not even know who I am.”

“Come on, everyone knew who you were!”

“Are you telling me off for being humble?” he asks grinning. “Okay, let me rephrase it. I didn’t know if you wanted anything to do with me after hearing stuff about me, so I just dodged the idea.”

You chew on his words a little before looking up at him, eyes meeting his green irises, though you are usually not one to get in on the flirting, now you just feel like being a little blunt.

“Well, I always thought you were good-looking.”

“Were? Am I not good-looking anymore?” he teases with a dramatic gasp that makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, the smugness takes a bit away from it, if I’m being honest,” you tell him off making him laugh.

Once you both are well fed you clean the boxes up together, you wash the few extra plates you used while Harry dries them off and puts them away. Opening one of the cabinets he moves the door a bit, examining how it hangs a little low.

“I always forget to fix it up,” you sigh. There’s quite a few things that could use some work, but you just never get to start on them so they are always put aside.

You take your turns in the bathroom as usual and you sit at your desk a little, working on a few stuff before calling it a night. Harry is already lying in his temporary bed on the pullout, scrolling through his phone. The covers hide only half of his body, his naked, tattooed chest is on display, one of his arms is tucked under his head, the muscles on his arm flexing just right. He surely is a sight, you can’t deny that.

“Seeing something you like?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been caught staring. Clearing your throat you stack up the papers on your desk and head into your bedroom.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heating up.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he calls after you before you click the door closed.

The next day you go with your usual routine, Robert checks in with you letting you know he already has someone on Harry’s case, so there’s not much you can do for now, only hope that something will surface that can help him out of this mess. Throughout the day you often catch yourself thinking about what Harry could be doing at home all day and you pray to all higher powers he is not currently snooping through your lingerie.

It’s a frustrating day, you couldn’t find the guy you’ve been after but you were really hoping to finally get the money for him. He is big money, but he makes you work for it certainly. When you arrive home Harry is nowhere to be seen, but then you hear the shower running so you figure he must have just been working out and is now taking a shower. Two pizza boxes are set on the dining table and you sigh in relief that you don’t have to think about cooking with him around. Going to the kitchen you are about to grab two plates when you notice that the cupboard door that’s been hanging low a little is now fixed. It’s as new as it never was since you’ve been living here and it gets you wondering if anything else has been taken care of. Going through the kitchen you start to realize that all the little things that’s been waiting to be fixed are now working perfectly: the handle on one of the drawers, the loose tap, the shelf that’s been crooked for a while, it’s all perfect now.

The bathroom door opens and Harry walks out wearing a pair of black sweatpants, his hair is wet and he has a towel hanging from around his neck.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you arrive,” he breathes out throwing the towel to the back of one of the chairs around the dining table.

“Just arrived a few minutes ago. Hey, did you fix my kitchen?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“Uh, yeah. Took a look at the stuff that seemed off. Also fixed the shoe rack near the door and the hangers in the bathroom.”

“Oh wow. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Didn’t you tell me to fix the place up while being here?” he teases you with a smirk as he leans against the table.

“That was just a joke.”

“I know,” he chuckles softly. “But I really didn’t have much to do today so I thought I might make myself useful.”

“That’s… actually very nice of you. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

“So how was your day?” Harry asks as the two of you are chewing on the pizza, sitting at the dining table.

“Why are you making small talk like we’re a married couple?” you scrunch your nose, taking another bite from your slice.

“What, I can’t be nice?”

“You can, it’s just you are usually not,” you point out.

“Or you are just never around when I decide to be nice,” he grins. “You usually just burst into my place, handcuff me and then bring me in. That doesn’t give much time to be nice.”

“I wouldn’t cuff you if you didn’t try to run away the first time I wanted to bring you in,” you retort shrugging.

“Okay, first of all, I was not expecting you to just kick my door in and have a fucking knife pointed at my throat, of course I tried to escape! And second, I quite enjoy being handcuffed by you, so I guess it’s not that bad.”

That smug smirk is back on his lips again and you wish you could just wipe it off sometimes. He is so full of himself!

“You are always coming with this cuffing thing. Get a hold of your kinks, Styles.”

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on. I bet you’d like that, if you haven’t already been cuffed in the bedroom,” he snorts, taking a big bite, the sauce dripping a bit from the corner of his mouth that he wipes with the back of his hand.

“My kinks are none of your concerns,” you sternly reply, but it just makes his grin wider.

“Oh, so you do have kinks! Tell me more about them!”

“Well what are yours?” you retort, hoping it would shut him up, but it has the opposite effect on him. Leaning back he swallows the food in his mouth before starting the list.

“Well I do love getting handcuffed, I’m into spanking, both ways. I have a weird thing for—“

“Alright! I’ve heard enough!” you cut him off. “Stop, just… stop,” you breathe out.

“What?” Harry chuckles, clearly enjoying the situation more than you’d want him to. “Don’t tell me you’re too prude to talk about sex.”

“I’m not,” you answer right away.

“Okay, then tell me about your kinks!” he teases you some more. Snapping your eyes at him you can tell how much he is enjoying making you so uncomfortable, but you also know that he thinks he’ll just make you blush and you won’t tell him a thing. So you decide to give him his own medicine.

“I do in fact like to be handcuffed, I love a good spanking, when my ass cheeks turn red from the slaps, that makes me cum very hard. I love a good old choking and I particularly enjoy giving blowjobs because I don’t have a gagging reflex, makes men go fucking nuts when I have them down my throat to the last inch, I get off their reaction easily.”

Harry’s lips part as he stares at you with a stunned expression, he definitely did not expect that answer, or any answer at all. That face alone makes up for the slight anxiety that took over you talking about what you really enjoy in the bedroom. Your eyes wander down and a triumphant smirk tugs on your lips.

“Don’t be such a horny teenager, I can see your dick getting hard,” you tell him before flipping the pizza box closed and walking into the kitchen you put the remaining of it into the fridge.

“You are such a tease, Y/N,” he shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “But it might backfire, because now I’m gonna get off thinking about spanking you,” he grins at you, but you just shrug, heading to the bathroom.

“Do whatever you want, fantasizing is free,” you tell him before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t think about him in the shower. As your hands move down your body, your fingers wander between your legs, gently playing with your clit while thinking about Harry spanking you. Knowing that he is kind of into the same things as you makes your fantasies even more vivid, but you don’t let yourself get off. You wouldn’t want him to hear you moan under the shower, he would tease you about it forever.

When you’re all done you step out of the bathroom only to get startled by Harry who is standing right at the door, wearing only his boxer briefs.

“Shit!” you gasp, snapping your hand to your chest.

“You took awfully long in there, Y/N,” he smirks at you, but you just roll your eyes at him. “If you ever need help washing you back, don’t be shy to ask me to join.”

“Keep dreaming,” you mumble under your breath as you walk past him and make your way into your bedroom.

“I already do that!” he calls after you before you shut the door closed.

Throwing yourself to your bed you take a deep breath closing your eyes. If he keeps up this act, you have no idea how you’re gonna survive having him around any longer.

Two days go by in the same manner. You spend most of the day out doing your usual stuff, you actually manage to catch another guy who was a small reward, but it’s more than nothing. Harry usually has dinner ready and waiting for you by the time you get back home. During these two days he has fixed up basically everything that wasn’t working in your apartment, freeing you from doing it yourself for probably twice as long as he did.

You sit and eat together, Harry usually tries to get under your skin with some more flirting that you return with a cold shoulder, but then, when you’re lying in the comfort of your bed or standing under the hot water in the shower, you always find your thoughts wandering off to the man on the other side of the door.

Ashamed to admit, but you’ve gotten yourself off once thinking about him. You woke up in the middle of the night from a quite hot dream that, of course, featured a shirtless Harry and you just couldn’t stop yourself from bringing you some relief. For a little while your hands weren’t yours, you imagined that Harry’s big, calloused and ring clad fingers were moving against your body and you needed every drop of self-control not to moan his name out as you came. You blame it on him being so comfortable shirtless around your place, he has been really making himself feel home. Not that you’re complaining, he is a sight for the eyes certainly, but it’s also giving you a hard time.

Robert soon asks you to swing by the station to discuss some details about Harry’s case. You can tell he couldn’t dig up anything helpful, he would have already mentioned it through the phone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything that can be useful in further investigation.

“So, I’ve caught wind of Axel Morris being involved in the death of the victim, but we haven’t been able to recover any evidence that would point towards him, unfortunately,” Robert explains as the two of you sit in his office. “Didn’t want to bring him in for questioning either because then Hugo would find out we are after him.”

“So what can be done now?”

“I’m… really not sure, Y/N. If Axel doesn’t magically confesses the murder on tape, I’m not sure I can do anything to help Styles.”

Chewing on your bottom lip you’re trying hard to think of what to do. This can’t end like this, there has to be a way out for Harry…

“Look. I know you’re trying to cook up something to help Styles, but I’m not sure I can give you much time.”

“What do you mean?” you ask with a puzzled look.

“I mean that…” He glances at the door and then leans closer, speaking more quietly. “If I had a guess where he could be found, I would say he is at your place as we are speaking. I can’t let a guy walk free who is wanted for murder, Y/N. I eventually have to bring him back.”

“Alright, alright. Just give me a few more days. I’ll figure it out,” you plead, running your hand through your hair. Robert sighs, shaking his head.

“You have three days. That marks ten days since the warrant has been out. If you don’t bring me evidence by then, I’m sending the guys to your place to get him.”

“Three days, alright. I’ll… figure it out. Thanks, Robert,” you nod, leaving his office in a rush.

You have three days to find evidence against Axel and free Harry, but how do you even start? You’re good at what you do, but this is kind of out of your field and you’re not sure you can deal with it.

Walking around town you try to come up with an idea, but end up doing what you always do when you’re stuck on a case. Thanks to your work you’ve built up quite a web of connections, you always know someone who knows someone who is exactly the person you need. So sitting at a diner, munching on a late lunch you start calling your connections to see if you can dig up anything that could help.

A few hours later the situation becomes brighter and you finally have a somewhat useful plan so you head home to let Harry in on what you’ve come up with.

He is seemingly surprised when you arrive home earlier than the usual, he is sitting at the dining table, a bowl of instant noodles in front of him as he is watching some video on his phone. Like usually, he is only wearing a pair of sweatpants, his tattooed abdomen on full display.

“Oh, hi! Something happened?” he asks, concern showing in his eyes as he watches you kick your shoes off and storm into your bedroom, going straight to your wardrobe to dig up one particular outfit. “Y/N?” you hear him call out for you, his voice coming from your door.

“Yes! I knew I still had it!” you cheer in triumph as you hold up the latex set that clearly leaves very little to the imagination. When Harry sees it, his eyes go wide and his imagination probably gets wild for a moment, because he clears his throat as he looks at you puzzled.

“What do you need that for?”

“It’s part of my plan that will get us evidence against Axel Morris.”

“I’m not really following, so please elaborate?”

“I talked to Robert, he said we need to get him to confess. Now, I made a few phone calls and found out that our friend, Axel is a regular at this strip club called Siren. I’ll pretend to be a dancer and wrap him around my fingers and get him to confess while recording. You said it yourself, he is a real dumbass, I’m sure I can make it work.”

Harry stares at you frozen for a long moment before he lets out a heartfelt chuckle and now you’re the one confused about what’s really going on.

“S’cute you think I’m letting you close to that man. Funny, that was a good joke. Alright, what do you want for dinner?” he asks, walking back to the dinner table, but you chase after him.

“It’s not a joke, Harry. Pretty much our only chance to get you out of this mess!”

“You are not going anywhere near that guy and that’s not up for debate.”

“Not that you can tell me what to do!” you scoff at him.

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shakes his head sitting back to the table, stirring his pasta around with the spoon.

“I certainly know, and this is pretty much your only chance to save your ass, Harry.”

“Not if it means you go near Axel, nah,” he shakes his head calmly, as if it wasn’t even an argument and he had the right to grant you permission.

“Well, I’m doing it and you can’t do anything about that. I’m going in tomorrow. I know one of the dancers, she is helping me set it all up,” you shrug, your attitude meeting his careless one, but he doesn’t like your answer, not even a bit.

“Y/N, you are not going there!” he snaps, standing up, the chair falling back from the sudden movement. “That psycho killed a man or did you forget about that?!”

“Okay, so what’s your plan to save your ass? Because there’s literally no other choice,” you retort giving him a frown as you march back to your room and Harry follows you.

“But it won’t be you dressing up as a stripper, seducing a fucking murderer to get him to confess!”

“So then what is it going to be?!” you snap at him facing him again. “Because Robert gave me three days to sort things out before he comes here and takes you in himself!”

“Then I’ll go to jail! No big deal!” he throws his hands into the air like it was just a minor inconvenience and not a case of murder that could put him behind bars forever.

“Are you fucking insane?” you laugh in disbelief. “You’re willing to lose the rest of your life for what? Nothing at all?!”

“It’s not nothing, Y/N. You are not getting yourself into this mess and it’s not up for debate.”

“You hold no control over me, Harry!” you scream at him at this point, fed up with his bullshit.

You find yourself pinned against the wall in a blink of the eye, Harry is pressed up against you, hands grabbing onto your forearms as he keeps you in place firmly, one of his thighs coming between your legs as his face is dangerously close to yours now. He knocks the air out of you for a moment and you stare back at him with parted lips for just a split second before your instincts kick in.

You easily knee him in the crotch, giving you just enough opportunity to grab one of his wrists and twist it behind his back, forcing him to get on the ground, growling in pain.

“Fuck! Y/N!” he groans, snapping his other hand against the hardwood floor. You give him another squeeze as a warning before letting him go and he falls to the ground for a moment before he pushes himself up to sit on his heels.

“You still think I can’t protect myself against a man?” you sneer at him walking over to the bed to grab the outfit that was tossed to the side in the hustle.

“Shit, I think you broke my dick!” he breathes out hunching over and you just smile to yourself as you hand the outfit up to the side of your wardrobe.

“Don’t be such a crybaby, you’re fine.”

“Don’t think so, might need a get-well kiss on it though,” he smirks through his painful expression and you roll your eyes at him. How is he still at it when you just kneeled him in his crotch? “Okay, your message came through very clear though, but I’m still not a fan of your plan,” he sighs finally standing up from the floor.

“It’s gonna be easy, I’ll get him a little drunk, offer him a private dance, make a move and get him to talk. If he really is that dumb like you said, I can easily get him to open up, just gotta make sure he is focusing on something else,” you explain gesturing towards the outfit on the hanger.

“You can’t wear that, Y/N.”

“This is what strippers wear, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“My problem is that it’s like… nonexistent. There’s no textile at all!” he rages, still eyeing the red latex set.

“Are you… jealous?” you ask, starting to get a feel of what’s really going on. Harry’s head snaps in your way and the look in his eyes answers your question even when he tries to hide his real reasons.

“Jealous of you becoming a stripper? I bet I can make more than you if I became one,” he scoffs smugly.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking jealous!” you laugh, enjoying this one in a million moment. “What’s next, you have feelings for me? Are you gonna confess your undying love?” you tease him.

“Okay, you had your laughs, that was enough. Excuse me if I’m looking out for you and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“Don’t get all smitten with me now. I’ve been doing just fine without you so far.”

“Yeah, how many people did you bring in for murder?” Harry questions and that leaves you without an answer. Not that you don’t know it, but because the number is exactly zero. You’ve been doing your job for quite a while and there’s been all kind of cases under your hands, but not murders. Though you are completely capable of defending yourself, you’re not sure you want to deal with monsters who took a human’s life. The only reason you took Harry’s case was because you had an inkling feeling from the very start that he did not do it.

“Just as I thought,” Harry scoffs. “Listen, if you really want to do this then I’m going with you. No way I’m gonna just sit around here and wait to see if you make it back home.”

“How do you plan on leaving the house? Someone might recognize you and then it’s game over.”

“I’ll just… disguise myself,” he shrugs. “Can’t be that hard.”

You never thought the day would come when you see Harry Styles wearing a fake mustache and a ridiculous wig, secured with a beanie to his head. The moment the two of you finish his disguise, you can’t hold your laughter back. He looks so damn ridiculous, you can barely breathe through your laughter as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I look like a fucking pedophile,” he shakes his head chuckling as he pushes some fake hair out of his forehead. “Where the fuck did you find this wig?” he snaps at you in disbelief.

“Does it matter? You look so fucking bad!” you laugh hysterically and Harry just stands there, waiting for you to finally stop, but it seems like he is not bothered by your reaction. He probably finds it equally funny too.

It’s currently seven pm, you have to head to Siren soon to start your fake shift as a stripper and you haven’t been able to talk Harry down from following you, so there you are, getting ready to fool everyone around you. Harry with his awful disguise and you with your stripper outfit.

When you finally catch your breath you leave Harry in the living room to get ready as well. Following a heavy makeup with dark, smokey eyes, you also put on a wig, a short, red bob that’s part of the outfit. Then you squeeze yourself into the latex, the tiny top barely covering you, the skirt is not even a skirt, rather than just a belt. As an extra to the fit, you’ve put on a red corset, though it’s more so you can hide the voice recorder since the original outfit doesn’t give too many places to do that. You pair it all with fishnet tights and a pair of black, thigh-high boots. As you check yourself out in the mirror you don’t even recognize yourself. Y/N is officially gone, the girl in the boots is… Crystabel.

Opening the door you step out of your bedroom, Harry is standing in the middle of the living room, busy with his phone so at first he doesn’t even see you walk out.

“Ready to leave?” he asks, eyes still on the screen of his phone.

“I… guess?” you breathe out, feeling extremely self-conscious in this revealing set.

When Harry finally looks up his mouth drops open. He is not even trying to hide his hunger as his eyes rake down the length of your body. He takes his time to take in every inch of your exposed skin before his gaze settles on your eyes behind your long fake lashes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out and it gives you quite the confidence boost.

“You like it?” you ask, striking a pose as you push your hips to the side and place your hands on your waist.

“I-I’m… I’m fucking speechless,” he chuckles as you walk closer and grabbing the strings of his hoodie, you tug on the playfully while he is still shamelessly checking you out. “I don’t know how I could live this long without seeing you like this.”

“You are such a flirt,” you roll your eyes, but just as you are about to step away from him he grabs you by your waist and pulls you against him firmly. Your hands move to his broad shoulders right away, trying to keep your balance in his hold.

“I might be a flirt, but you are the hottest woman I’ve seen and I admit I will be fucking jealous of every man that’s gonna lay their eyes on you tonight.” His voice is low, full of lust and if it wasn’t for his funny disguise, you would have melted right into his arms in a heartbeat.

“I can’t take you seriously with this mustache on,” you chuckle softly, running your fingers over the fake facial hair, the pad of your fingers slightly touching his soft lips underneath.

“Just wait until we get back home and I get rid of it,” he smirks and winks at you, making you chuckle, but you can also feel yourself blushing at his words.

You put on a trench coat to cover the racy outfit as the two of you make your way to the club. Harry is driving, but you took your car in case someone might recognize him near the club. Arriving Harry parks at a darker corner in the parking lot and he pulls out a little box from his backpack.

“Alright, let’s wire you up, Love,” he smirks as you undo the coat and let him help you get the devices situated on you.

The voice recorder gets pushed into your stomach, hiding behind your corset. It’s thick enough that it doesn’t give away that anything is hidden under it, it’s just a little uncomfortable for you, but you are sucking it up.

“Here, put this into your ears,” Harry hands you an earpiece that you place into your right ear, hiding it with your wig. “It’s not the best quality, but you’ll be able to hear me and I’ll hear everything around you. We need a safe word if anything happens so I know I have to go inside.”

“This is starting to look like a spy movie or something,” you mumble under your breath as you start buttoning your coat again.

“Don’t turn it into a joke, Y/N. Axel might be a stupid jerk, but don’t forget he killed that man. He doesn’t care if you’re a woman or not, or if you’re a real stripper or not.”

“Alright, alright,” you sigh nodding. “How about… cherry?”

“Okay. Use it if you are in trouble or someone is hurting you or anything.” You nod, fidgeting with the end of the coat, but Harry grabs your hand and makes you look at him. “I mean it, Y/N. I don’t want you to play the hero.”

“I won’t, calm down. I gotta go now. I’ll see you soon,” you tell him before getting out of the car and heading to the backdoor. Glancing back one last time you see Harry standing at the hood of the car, watching you intently as you disappear from his sight.

Sienna, who is helping you tonight is already waiting for you at the backdoor. You met her a few years ago when you caught her abusive ex and took him in. She said she owed you one for freeing her from that asshole and now you are finally here to collect that favor.

“Damn, you look good!” she grins, pulling you into a short hug.

“You think it’s gonna be alright?” you ask, pulling the coat open to show her the whole outfit.

“Fucking fantastic. No men will be able to focus on anything than your boobs,” she snorts, pulling you inside.

The plan is easy. You won’t be out all night, Sienna will be your eyes and when she spots Axel arrive, that’s when you come into the picture. Sienna will escort him to a secluded area and tell him he has a free lap dance which will be, of course, performed by you. Some flirting, some seducing and hopefully Axel will be dumb enough to let a some sort of confession slip.

Sienna takes you to the changing room and you stay in the corner, trying not to be in the way as you watch the girls get ready. There are ten girls in total, five of them are dancing tonight, the other five are servers, but they still dress like dancers. They all wear equally revealing outfits, just like you and as you watch them move around so confidently, you start to get more and more nervous. What if Axel figures out you’re not a real dancer right away? Or if he notices the recorder pushed into your stomach? This plan is definitely not the safest you’ve ever come up with, and you are starting to doubt yourself now that you are so deep in it.

“Y/N?” you hear Harry’s faint voice in your ear. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and hearing his voice calms your nerves a little.

“Everything alright?” First you nod, but then you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Are you nervous?”

“Very,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. Luckily, Harry doesn’t bring his usual cockiness out, feeling how serious the situation is.

“You can still come out and we can just go home. You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I want to do this,” you firmly answer. “Just… talk to me a little. Please.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you about when I wanted to ask you out to prom,” you hear him start and you can’t push a smile down as you sit and wait, listening to his soothing voice. “You were wearing this pretty white sweater that day and tight jeans, you looked so fucking good, Y/N. I saw you walking to your locker and you smiled at some random guy and I was instantly jealous.”

“Really?” you ask quietly.

“O, yeah,” he chuckles. “I told you, I had a crush on you. So I thought about asking you out, wanted to just walk up to you and casually ask if you wanted to go with me. But then I just watched you and realized that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me, so I just watched you get your books out of your locker and then you walked right past me, looked me in the eyes and I straight up felt my knees turn into jelly. Good thing I was leaning against the wall. You walked away and I never asked you out. Still regret that,” he admits and your heart flutters at his words.

As weird as it sounds, you remember that day. Especially because when your eyes met Harry’s you felt kind of the same. You felt intimidated and wondered why he was watching you so intently, but you would have never guessed he wanted to ask you out.

You see Sienna walking in, her eyes find you and you immediately know it’s show time.

“Harry?” you breathe out at last.

“Yeah?”

“I would have said yes,” you tell him before you follow Sienna out and the blasting music pushes down Harry’s voice in your earpiece.

The bright lights of the back are switched to the dim, red lighting in the main bar area, a dancer is already on the stage and the place seems packed for the night as all men are hungrily watching the girl on the stage, throwing dollar bills at her shamelessly.

Sienna pulls you to the bar and leans closer to your ear so you can hear what she is saying.

“He is in one of the private rooms, told him the dance is on the house to thank him for being a regular. I asked one of the guards to stand nearby.”

“Thank you, S,” you nod at her as she squeezes your hands.

“Good luck, girl,” she smiles a little bitterly before she shows you the way to the room where Axel is currently waiting for his private dance.

As you stop at the door you take a deep breath, staring at the doorknob for a moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever is about to happen in there.

“I’m going in,” you say, partially to yourself, but mostly to Harry so he knows what’s happening though you don’t hear an answer before you open the door and step inside.

The room is mostly what you were expecting, a small stage with a rod in the middle, across that a long, plush, deep burgundy couch. The walls are black, just the red led lights illuminating the place.

And there he is. Axel Morris is sitting in the middle of the couch, manspreading so widely like the asshole that he is, arms leisurely draped across the back of the couch as his hungry eyes immediately snap to your body.

Axel is big. He is a large man and you realize that the moment you see him. Though he is sitting you can easily tell that he’s tall and he is definitely bulky. Could end you in a blink of an eye and knowing that he is capable of murder is just an eerie thought that doesn’t leave you alone. But you suck it up and get into character, only thinking about one thing: help Harry out of this mess.

Music with low bass starts playing through the speakers as you make your way over to Axel who grins at you disgustingly, making it hard for you to keep the façade.

“Hey big boy, heard you’ve earned a dance for yourself,” you coo at him stopping at the edge of the stage as you keep eye-contact with him. You lean against the edge and spread your legs just enough to tease his imagination about what’s about to come.

“Hell yes, I did! Hope you’re a good dancer, babygirl. Haven’t seen you around here.”

“I’m new. But I’m really good, that’s why they sent me,” you smirk at him sweetly as you walk closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches out and grabbing your hips he pulls you to straddle his lap and it catches you by surprise but you don’t fall out of character.

“Then show me what you can do. What’s your name?” He licks his lips as you start moving, doing your best from movies you’ve seen with strippers in them.

“Crystabel, but you can call me yours,” you hum, grinding and bouncing yourself, completely unleashing your inner hoe. “Tell me, big boy. Are you as dangerous as you seem?”

“Oh baby, you have no idea,” he grins proudly.

“Really?” you coo, pushing yourself up against him. His dirty hands find your ass and you want to push them away so badly, but you let him have his way with you for the sake of the plan. “What’s the worst you’ve done?”

“Why does a pretty girl like you want to know about that, huh?” he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you with suspicion so you know you have to be careful.

“Because I have a thing for those stuff. I love pain and blood, it gets me off always,” you smirk at him teasingly, grinding yourself against him to divert his attention a little from the words spoken.

“Mm, yeah?”

“Yeah, I love that kind of stuff,” you moan, running your hands down your chest, his eyes hungrily following your every move and you know he is zoned out. It’s going perfectly.

“Well, I’m the perfect man for you then, babygirl. I’ve done all the things you can imagine.”

“Really? You are turning me on, big boy,” you murmur lowly, turning around for a bit so he can get a good glimpse of your backside as well. “Have you… taken anyone’s life before?” you bluntly ask, hoping you aren’t moving too fast and he won’t snap at you.

“Not sure I should be talking about that with you, pretty girl,” he smirks smugly. You turn back to face him, pushing your crotch against him as you try not to gag feeling his erection under you.

“I’m good with secrets, Honey. My lips are sealed,” you grin at him, stroking his oily face and try your best not to wipe your fingers into the cushion of the couch. Axel smirks at you, clearly enjoying the show you are putting on, his fingers are digging into your thighs as his eyes are practically glued to your chest.

“I’m a killer, babygirl.”

“Yeah?” you gasp, faking your excitement. “What did you do, big boy? Tell me, make me wet,” you purr biting into your bottom lip, pushing your chest out some more to distract him from his consciousness that might keep him from answering.

“Killed a guy recently,” he smugly admits and your adrenaline is high in the sky. You are so close to what you need!

“Oh my, sounds like a dirty job.”

“It was.”

“Saw it on the news a guy got killed not long ago, did you do that?” you smirk at him, his hand slapping your ass and you fight yourself not to punch him in the face.

“That Richards guy? Yeah,” he nods and you almost start screaming in your triumph. This dumbass really did just confess to you, because you had your ass and tits out for him!

“Cool. What’s your name, big guy? Wanna know who I’ll think of when I touch myself later,” you pant into his ear, you need him to say his name otherwise the confession might go to shit.

“I’m Axel, babygirl,” he grins, leaning dangerously close to you, he clearly wants to push his tongue down your throat but you push yourself away and up from his lap.

“Our time is up, big boy. See you later!” you sing and walk out of the room while he is still kind of zoned out.

The moment you are out, you start running. You can’t have him realize what just happened and stop you. Pushing your way back to the dressing room you grab all your stuff and spring out of the building. Harry is standing at the entrance, his ridiculous disguise is gone as he spots you with wide eyes. He probably heard everything and wanted to be there for you when you get out and as soon as you reach him he grabs your hand and the two of you run to the car. Right when you get into the car, you spot Axel running out from the front entrance and he definitely realized what just happened.

“Hey! Get back here you slut!” he shouts as Harry starts the car and you melt into the seat, scared of what’s about to happen because you see Axel reach to his back and the next thing you know is that he has a gun in his hand.

“Harry! Go!” you scream when you see him aim at the car and right at that moment, the wheels screech as Harry pushes the gas pedal to the fullest and the car yanks forward.

Your heart drops to the floor when a bullet shoots into the side of the car as Axel tries to stop the two of you. Harry takes a sharp turn and leaves the car park with full speed. You see Axel from the mirror, he is raging and keeps shooting after you, but he has no aim or whatsoever. You reach the end of the street and you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Oh shit, fuck,” you mumble, chest heaving as you grab onto the armrest for some kind of leverage, your adrenaline is still pumping through your veins from the action movie-like scene that just happened.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Harry asks, eyes dancing between the road ahead of him and you as he tries to figure out if anything happened to you.

“I-I’m fine, he was just… fucking nasty to deal with you,” you groan at the thought of his hands on you. You’ll need the hottest shower after this, that’s for sure. “Go to the station, we gotta bring the tape in now,” you tell him as you reach into your corset. Pulling the recorder out you huff in relief, it’s been pressed into you for way too long. The tape is still rolling so you end it and then rewind it, checking if everything you need is on it. Luckily, it caught the whole thing perfectly, that means Harry is not going to jail. Well, not this time at least.

He is speeding down the streets as you get rid of the wig and put on your coat, you don’t want to walk into the police station dressed like a hooker and have the word spread that Robert’s sister has been making money some other way lately.

Arriving to the station you hold the recorder so tightly as if your life depends on it while Harry reaches for your other hand and firmly holds it in his warm palm. You walk inside and immediately spot Jeremy at the front desk. Letting go of Harry’s hand you run up to him.

“Jer, I got evidence for the Richards case! I got a confession on tape,” you beam at him holding the recorder up. He gives you a stunned look as he takes the recorder.

“Confession? How do you—“ He is cut off when you hear Harry’s voice from behind you.

“Hey! What the fuck!” he snaps and as you turn around you see that two officers are already on him, trying to handcuff him. Jeremy quickly forgets about the recorder as he joins in on strangling Harry. but you grab his arm and try to pull back.

“No! He didn’t do it! Listen to the tape!” you cry out, desperate to end this mess, but it feels like no one is listening to you.

“Harry Styles, you are under arrest for the murder of Dave Richards. You have the right…” One of the officers starts saying the usual speech as they drag Harry away while you are begging to Jeremy to listen to you.

“Jeremy! He didn’t fucking do it!” you scream, tears rolling down your face.

“What do you mean?” he asks giving you a puzzled look. It was Axel Morris! One of Hugo McKain’s men! They are trying to frame Harry!” you explain, while Harry is being taken away. “Harry, no!” you shout after them, but the officers don’t stop.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll be fine!” he calls after you before he disappears from your vision.

“Jeremy, please just listen to the fucking tape! I got his confession!”

“I’ll look into it, but I’m afraid Harry is spending the night here,” he sighs, looking down at the recorder before he walks away.

“Fuck, no!” you choke out.

When you finally stop crying you rush out of the building and call your brother, not even caring that it’s past midnight. He better answer your call or you are showing up at his house and start banging on his door until he opens it.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he growls into the phone.

“Robert, they fucking took Harry in! I had the confession on tape, but they just wouldn’t listen, they arrested him!”

“Hey, slow down, what are you talking about?”

Taking a deep breath you tell him the whole story. The club, the dance, the confession and then how you came straight to the station but they arrested Harry without listening to you.

“Alright, you can’t do much now, Y/N. He is still a suspect but I’ll call Jeremy to look into the tape. If it’s found relevant Harry will be out in the morning okay?”

“Please come in early in the morning and make sure he is let out, please!” you cry out, feeling so helpless after everything that just happened.

“I will. Meet me at the station at six, okay? It’ll be alright. Go home, have some sleep and then we’ll make everything right in the morning.”

You do as Robert asked, go home, have a shower, wash the night off of your skin and lie in bed however you are not able to sleep, not even for a minute. You keep thinking about Harry and what might be happening to him now. They better get their shit together and let him out in the morning or you are losing your mind. You didn’t go through all this just to have him put behind bars anyway.

It’s not even six when you are already at the station, anxiously waiting for Robert to show up. You keep glancing up at the building, thinking about how Harry is somewhere in there and you can only hope he’ll be out with you shortly.

When Robert arrives he goes straight up to check out the situation with the tape and Harry. Waiting for him down in the hall is nerve-wrecking, you feel like time has stopped. When he finally appears again you jump to your feet running up to him with high hopes.

“The tape has been examined, it was classified as evidence. Jeremy has already put out an arrest warrant on Axel. Harry is no longer a suspect. He’ll be down once the paperwork is done.”

“Oh thank God!” you breathe out and throw yourself at him, hugging him tighter than ever.

“Look, but there is something I need to talk to you about,” he says with a serious look.

“Okay, what is it?”

“We might be able to get this Axel guy, but I’m pretty sure Hugo is already after the two of you. We have a whole team for him, working on catching him finally, but it might be smart if you just left town for a little.”

“Oh. Yeah, sounds logical,” you nod.

“Let me know if you need help with that. I can arrange something for you.”

“We’ll see. I have to talk to Harry first.”

“Harry, huh?” Robert smirks down at you knowingly and you feel yourself blushing. A lot has changed lately around you and Harry and you guess it’s quite evident for everyone else as well. “Just so you know, he asked about you during the night. Wanted to know if you are alright.”

“Yeah?” you breathe out with a small smile.

“Yes. Might have been wrong about him a little. Tell him I said hello, I need to get to work now,” he nods with a fond smile.

“Thank you, Robert!” you call after him as he waves in your way before disappearing in the elevator.

Waiting around in the hall you keep looking towards the hallway, hoping to see him appear finally, but the minutes are just dragging by way too slowly.

You’re impatiently sitting on one of the benches by the wall when you finally see him walking down the hallway, leisurely running his hand through his hair, a tired smile sitting on his lips when he sees you leap from your seat and launch at him, throwing yourself into his arms.

“Hey, hey! It’s all good, Love. Told you not to worry about me,” he chuckles, but holds you tight anyway, his arms wrapping around you as he lifts you off the ground, taking a few steps forward.

“Of course I fucking worry about you, idiot!” you mumble into his neck before leaning back you look at his pretty face.

“Yeah? Does this mean I had the right to worry about you last night?”

“You were?”

“Fuck yes,” he laughs. “You have no idea what it was like to sit outside and listen to everything that fucker told you. Wanted to punch him in the face so badly.”

“So heroic,” you grin at him, your face already inching closer to his, arms still wrapped around his neck.

“Only for my favorite stripper,” he winks at you, making you gasp.

“If you dare to bring it up again and call me a stripper, I swear to God I—“

You don’t get to finish your threat, because his hand snakes to the back of your neck and he pulls you into a hard kiss, his lips smashing against yours. Melting into the kiss you open your mouth for him without hesitation, his tongue meeting yours as he kisses you with so much vigor and passion, he makes you bend your back, leaning back as he holds you firmly in his strong arms. And suddenly, you feel like you’re seventeen again, making out with your high school crush in the school hallway, luckily, you are kissing the same person you wanted then.

“I’m fucking starving, babe,” he breathes out once you finally pull away from each other. “For you as well, but can we get some real food?” he asks as he laces his fingers together with yours, heading out of the station.

“Sure,” you chuckle. “Hey, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Love, told you, you can handcuff me to the bedframe, I’m into that stuff.”

“Shut up!” you laugh smacking his chest as the two of you walk out to your car. “It’s not about that,” you murmur with a soft blush. “Robert said we should leave for a while, Hugo might be after us after what happened last night.”

“Yeah, thought about that myself too,” he nods as he gets behind the wheel without even asking if you want him to drive or not.

“So what should we do?” you question, sitting in the comfort of your car. Harry reaches for your hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly before he smirks at you.

“Have you been to Ireland, Love?”

“No,” you breathe out, a little stunned by the question.

“I have a friend over there, I’m sure he would love to have us there for a while. What do you say?”

“Are you for real? You want to go to Ireland with me?”

“Yeah, would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” you smile in awe. Even after that kiss you had doubts he would want to run away with you for the time being. But he is definitely planning to have you around longer. “Yeah, Ireland sounds fun.”

“Great. Then let’s head home to pack,” he smirks, starting the car. “Oh, Love?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to bring your handcuffs,” he grins and you just laugh at his smugness before leaning closer to kiss him quickly before the two of you finally drive away from the station.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #dead or alive

369 notes · View notes

headcanonsandmore · 3 years

Text

Gentry and Gentlemen, Chapter One

Summary: Hermione Granger has just begun a new position of governess at Ottery Manor in the Devon Countryside, a world away from her upbringing in Regency-era London. There she meets a redheaded blacksmith man named Ron Weasley. Sparks may just fly between the middle class city woman and the working-class country man with a genuine and heartfelt charm all his own. (Jane Austen Romione AU)

Tagging: @hillnerd @nagemeikenu @acnelli @aimless-twig @femaledoubleagent @thehufflepuffpixie @adenei @abradystrix

~~~~~~~~~~

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Regency period is full of stories about dashing military officers and their lovers, titled men and women, and the romantic misadventures of the landed gentry. Almost always of young ladies of the gentry and their aristocratic suitors. Of money, land, and upper class goings-on. The sort of stories that have become synonymous with high romance, retold countless times since.

This is not one of those stories.

The stagecoach trundled along the country lane. It was the middle of April, and the Devon countryside was quickly losing any vestiges of the winter. Trees were growing green, bees were pollinating all manner of plants, and the lane was fast becoming dusty due to the lack of rain.

‘Oh, really, good sir!’ giggled a lady, her aristocratic manner evident in her voice. ‘You are a delight!’

‘My pleasure, good lady,’ replied the gentleman, a large tall man with a similar way of speaking. ‘I find myself inclined to be such when in the company of such an amiable person as yourself.’

There was a loud crack, as one of the stagecoach wheels hit a hole in the lane.

‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen!’ exclaimed the coachman from above. ‘The roads have not been repaired after the winter rains!’

‘You’d think the locals would have done something about it,’ complained the gentleman to his lady friend. ‘But I suppose that is to be expected of being so far out from respectable society.’

The woman sat across from the couple stared out of the window, a slight frown briefly appearing on her face. Her fellow passengers did not notice this, and had made no attempt at conversation with her for the entire journey from Exeter. But she was somewhat glad of that.

She was a young woman, in her mid-twenties and, unlike the pair sat across from her, was not wearing the latest fashions of aristocratic society. Her dress was well-worn but functional, as befitted her position. Her hat was smart was simple but sturdy. Her face was impassive, yet strong, and her eyes - a dark brown- were piercingly intelligent. A parasol, far from new, was placed sensibly across her lap. Her shoes, polished but faded from use, were the sort worn by practical working women since time immemorial. However, in contrast to all this was her hair; an enormous bushy mane that strained against the many pins she had used to keep it in place. It was the sort of hair that you couldn’t help but notice, and it was perhaps for that reason that the young lady had chosen to keep her hat on in the coach despite the heat.

‘Final stop; Ottery St Catchpole!’

The coach trundled to a halt, and the coachman (whose name was Mr Jones) climbed down, pulling the small set of steps out from under the coach door. The gentleman helped his lady companion down, and the two of them sauntered away with their bags without so much as a thank you to the coachman.

Sighing to himself, the coachman turned.

‘Er… my apologies, Mr Jones,’ came a voice from within the coach. ‘Could you help me down, please?’

‘Of course, miss,’ he said, before helping the young lady down to the ground. ‘Allow me to help you with your bags as well.’

‘Thank you.’

As the coachman pulled her bags out from the luggage racks, the young lady stared down the street. The gentleman and his lady friend were laughing loudly to themselves outside one of the shops.

‘They were awfully rude, weren’t they?’

‘Afraid so, Miss,’ replied Mr Jones. ‘Many from London feel that Devon might as well be on another planet.’

‘I hope you won’t judge me by their behaviour.’

‘Oh, of course not, Miss…er… my apologies, my memory isn’t what it once was…’

‘Granger.’ Hermione Granger said, giving a small curtsy. ‘And thank you for keeping me company on such a pleasant journey, Mr Jones.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Granger,’ Mr Jones said, tipping his cap. ‘I’m surprised that such a pleasant young lady like yourself is travelling all alone, truth be told.’

‘Well, you see, I’m on my way to a new place of employment.’ Hermione said. ‘Ottery Manor; perhaps you know it?’

‘Oh, yeah, Miss. Very prominent local gentry.’

‘I am due to take up the post of governess for the young children,’ Hermione elaborated.

‘A governess, you say?’ Mr Jones said, looking very surprised.

‘Yes, I recently achieved my qualification, you see.’

‘Very impressive, Miss. Er… just a word of warning, if you please?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Well…’ Mr Jones looked rather uncomfortable. ‘You are… that is…’

Hermione sighed. She had been expecting this.

‘Mr Jones, I am well aware that the colour of my skin is perhaps not what the locals are used to.’

‘Oh, no, miss; that’s not what I meant!’ Mr Jones replied, shaking his head quickly. ‘Good gracious, no! Plymouth isn’t that far away, and we’re used to seeing people from all over the world popping through. It’s just… the gentry round here… aren’t quite so relaxed about it as the ordinary people are.’

Hermione smiled. Mr Jones was a sweet old man who clearly wanted to warn her as best he could, even if he didn’t quite have the terminology correct.

‘Thank you, Mr Jones; you are very kind.’

‘My pleasure, miss.’

‘Could you… point me in the direction of the manor house?’

Mr Jones nodded, pointing along up the narrow winding street of Ottery St Catchpole.

‘You can’t miss it; the big house on the hill.’

‘Thank you.’

As Hermione made her way through the main street, she was aware of just how much of a different world this was to London, where she had lived most of her life. For one thing, people walked far slower and had a relaxed attitude in their comings and goings. One could certainly tell that the pace of life was slower.

Within a few minutes, Hermione had left the village, and headed along the country road up towards the manor house. The lack of rain had meant that dust was virtually inescapable, but Hermione preferred it to the mud she had been concerned about. She wouldn’t have wanted to make a first appearance with her best clothes dirtied. That would be most distressing. She, after all, was being entrusted with the care of the children of the local landed family, and ought to be presentable in a way that acknowledged that responsibility she was being granted.

Her stomach began to squirm, as her nerves became agitated. She had largely avoided thinking too much about it when she was travelling but, now that she was so close to the manor, she couldn’t help worrying. What if she wasn’t qualified for this? What if the other staff members didn’t like her? What if she-

‘NEIIIIIGHHHH!’

Hermione’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted, as a large horse rounded the corner of the lane, galloping as fast as it could, and heading right towards her. It was tall, brown, and looked startled, its eyes wide.

Hermione’s bags slipped from her hands as she stumbled backwards, but the horse was already barely seven feet away. With a cry, Hermione tripped over the uneven ground, her hat flying off her head.

The horse reared up on its hind legs, and Hermione found herself frozen on the ground. Hoofs began to fall.

‘WHOOOAAA!’

Suddenly, the horse was no longer there.

Coming to her senses, Hermione pulled herself to her feet, and collected her bags together.

A man, roughly her age, was stood with the horse a few feet away. The first thing of notice was his height, at least a foot taller than Hermione. His head was framed with short, red hair. Freckles covered every inch of skin that was on show. He was wearing a rough work shirt that was tied up to his elbows, and a pair of trousers that were slightly too short on him. A pair of tough work boots, that had clearly seen better days, completed the ensemble.

‘Sssshhhhh, Tiff….’ He soothed, stroking the horse’s neck slowly. ‘It’s okay, girl… no-one’s going to hurt you…’

‘Good grief!’

Another man had joined him.

‘Good thing you’re such a fast runner, mate!’

‘I try my best,’ replied the redheaded man. ‘Good thing we managed to catch her before she reached the village.’

As the horse was led away by the other man, the redhead turned and, spotting Hermione, ran forward.

‘Miss, are you alright?’ he exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. There was a splodge of dirt on his long nose. ‘Tiffany got spooked earlier, and we only just caught up with her. I’m so sorry; are you hurt?’

‘I’m… I’m fine, thank you,’ Hermione said, as a pair of bright blue eyes stared down at her. ‘Although I think my hat must have blown away in the wind.’

The redhead man looked around, and pointed up into the branches of a nearby tree.

‘You mean that one, with the nice bow?’

‘Yes, but-’

The man was up the tree in a flash, and was soon leaping down next to her again, holding her hat.

‘There we go,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Maybe a little dusty, but that’s the heatwave for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Hermione said, placing the hat on top of her bushy hair. The two of them began to walk up the lane. ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr…’

‘Weasley,’ the redhead said, smiling. ‘But there’s enough of the Weasleys around here, so you can just call me Ron. Everyone else does; it’d be confusing otherwise.’

‘I… I don’t think that would be appropriate.’ Hermione said, as she bent down to pick up her bags.

‘Why? We’re all people, aren’t we?’ Mr Weasley replied. ‘Oh, let me help you.’

‘Yes, but I’m…’ Hermione stammered, as her load was lightened considerably. ‘Well, I’m starting at the Manor as the new governess.’

‘Oh, you’re the teacher everyone’s been gossiping about!’ Ron said, cheerily. ‘Miss… Granger, if my memory’s correct?

‘W-why, yes!’ Hermione exclaimed, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. ‘Er…gossip, you say?’

‘Yes; the scullery-maids have been talking about nothing else for the past week,’ Mr Weasley replied, keenly. ‘Well, that and the summer fete. But, yes; a posh lady governess from up-country coming down to our little neck of the woods! They’ll be delighted to meet you!’

Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

‘I’m not nearly as posh as all that, Mr Weasley,’ she said, primly. ‘So I hope I don’t ruin their expectations when they see me.’

‘Why? You sound posh to me.’

‘No… I… I mean… well, look at me.’

The redhead stared at her in confusion, and Hermione felt she needed to elaborate.

‘Surely they were expecting someone less… exotic?’

Mr Weasley blinked.

‘You are from London, aren’t you? That’s pretty exotic.’

Hermione found herself suddenly laughing. Not the usual polite laughs she had been taught as a girl, but a full, unrestrained laugh, full of accompanying snorts.

‘London… exotic?!’

Mr Weasley grinned at her, his cheeks dimpling under his freckles.

‘If you’re born and raised in Devon, it is,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Besides, I bet that’s the first time you’ve laughed in a good long while.’

‘Why… yes, it is,’ Hermione replied, smiling. ‘However could you tell?’

‘I hear tell of the aristo’s who take the stagecoach routes down from London. I gather they aren’t much in the way of humorous conversation?’

‘You would be correct about that. But where do you hear that from? Mr Jones the coachman?’

‘Old Jonesey? Oh, yes; lovely old soul. I’m the… well, the blacksmith and the odd-job man for the estate, so I’m in and out of the village a lot.’

Hermione nodded, trying not to notice how well the redheads shirt seemed to fit him. She supposed blacksmiths were all rather… muscley.

Ottery Manor stretched out before them. It was a double-storied building, with fine windows and a pair of thick oak doors. The house was arranged around a central courtyard, so that two wings of the house stretched out in front. A small fountain marked the middle of the courtyard, and the centre of the house was covered in fine ivy. Grounds stretched out around the house in all directions, full of trees and well-trimmed lawns. Hermione could make out some distant greenhouses and vegetable gardens on the periphery.

‘You like the ivy?’ Mr Weasley enquired, pointing at the plant as they walked up the main pathway towards the house. ‘Me and my brother Bill -he works in the gardens- pruned them just last week; rather a nice effect, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione replied. ‘Are all your siblings employed as members of staff here?’

‘No.’ the redhead said. ‘Percy -he’s the intellectual one- he works in Plymouth in an office. Fred and George -they’re the youngest brothers aside from me- work in the post office a few villages over.’

‘Any sisters?’

‘Just Ginny. She’s the youngest. Mum did want her to get a good job as a scullery maid, but Ginny’s always been more outdoorsy. She works in the gardens most of the time, but she sometimes helps me and Charlie in the forge.’

‘Charlie is… the main blacksmith aside from you, then?’

Mr Weasley laughed.

‘Yes, he’s always been good with animals, so he handles the shoe-fitting. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, myself; that’s why I’m the odd job man as well.’

‘There is nothing wrong with being multi-skilled,’ Hermione said, earnestly. ‘Most men in London would love to have a wide array of talents.’

Mr Weasley laughed again, his cheeks dimpling again.

By this point, they had reached the courtyard but, instead of heading for the front door, Mr Weasley lead her around one wing of the house and into a yard of sorts. Hermione could hear horses neighing nearby, and presumed that the stables weren’t that far away.

‘You’d best come through the servants entrance,’ Mr Weasley said, leading her up the rear side of the wing and stopping before a door, which was left open. ‘Not a good idea to get on the bad side of the footmen on your first day. Especially the head footman; he’s a right killjoy about these things.’

‘Well, I am a servant, technically.’

‘I know,’ Mr Weasley said, sighing. ‘But, if I had my way, we wouldn’t have to worry about separate entrances. We’re the people who actually keep this place going, not the aristo’s using this place like a retreat for when the season ends in London.’

Hermione felt rather shocked at Mr Weasley’s words, but she opted not to say anything. She could certainly understand his frustration, but she had never met someone who was so open about it.

‘The gentry often have friends and relatives down from London, then?’

‘Yes, but you probably won’t have to worry about them,’ Mr Weasley said, encouragingly. ‘They tend to stay away from the children if they can help it. This time of year, most of them are living the high life in London society; they shouldn’t be arriving here for another couple months.’

‘Well, I lived in London most of my life, but I already rather like it here in Devon.’

The redhead turned to look at her.

‘Really? Why?’

‘Well, judging from what I’ve seen so far, it’s quieter, for one thing. The pace of life in the city is far too extreme. Out here, you can hear the birds in the trees, see the bees in the hedgerows, smell the…’

‘Muck on the fields?’

Hermione laughed.

‘You’re very amusing, Mr Weasley.’

‘I try,’ the redhead said, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled. ‘Not very often I get the opportunity to make a woman laugh without making a prat of myself first.’

‘Oh, I-I’m sure all the local girls adore you.’

‘With five older brothers? I barely get a look in,’ Mr Weasley chuckled, his ears going a little pink. ‘But, thank you, miss.’

‘My… my pleasure, Mr Weasley.’

‘Mr Weasley, I trust you haven’t been frightening the new governess.’

A man had stepped out from the servants entrance. Judging by his dress, he was a footman of some description. His hair was surprisingly greasy, and he had a long, hooked nose. His voice gave an indication that he had taken elocution lessons to disguise a midlands accent.

‘Oh, no, sir!’ Hermione exclaimed, as the two of them deposited her bags near the door. ‘Mr Weasley came to my assistance when my hat blew astray on the front drive.’

Mr Weasley grinned at the footman.

‘Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t do so, sir.’

‘Mr Weasley… you are not a gentleman, and never will be. You are a commoner, and you would do well to remember it,’ the footman said, looking unkindly up at Ron over his long hooked nose. ‘Now, Miss Granger, if you would accompany me this way…’

As Hermione followed the footman, she happened to look back over her shoulder. Mr Weasley caught her eye, and mouthed “what an oily-haired git, eh?”. Hermione bit down on her lower lip to stop herself laughing.

On reflection, Hermione was rather embarrassed that she’d been so nervous about her first meeting with her employers. The lord of the manor seemed disinterested the entire time, while his wife asked a few questions about Hermione’s teaching qualification. In fact, Hermione spent most of the meeting nodding politely while the lady discussed the difficulty in finding a good governess in the local area, and that they appreciated that Hermione had come such a long way.

She was then escorted by the head footman back to the servants entrance, all the while wondering if all lords and ladies were so… underwhelming as people.

‘Thank you, but where should I-’

But the footman had already walked away.

Hermione looked around, her nerves building again. She didn’t know her way around, and she hadn’t even been told where her lodgings would be. Maybe she should-

‘All finished?’

Mr Weasley had poked his head through the door.

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione said. ‘But… well, where should I put all my…’

‘Oh, I’ll help you,’ Mr Weasley replied, cheerfully. ‘I can’t go into the women’s quarters, but I can let the scullery maids know that you’ve arrived.’

Turning, he knocked on a door.

‘Parvati? Lavender? The new governess is here; can you help her move her things into the women’s dormitory?’

There was a loud squeal from inside the room.

Rolling his eyes, Mr Weasley opened the door, and poked his head around it.

‘Oy; are you two finished?’

A few moments later, two women appeared from behind the door. Both of them dressed in the same simple uniform, and both roughly the same age as Hermione. They also both seemed to be very giggly.

‘Hello, Miss Granger!’ said one of them, who seemed to be of Indian descent. ‘Nice to meet you; I’m Parvati, and this is Lavender.’

Lavender, a girl with blonde hair that was pulled up under her bonnet, smiled.

‘Sorry we couldn’t meet you at the gates,’ Parvati said. ‘Me and Lav got a bit… distracted.’

There was a snicker from Mr Weasley. Lavender laughed, and slapped him playfully on the arm.

‘Anyway,’ Parvati continued, and Hermione was confused as to why the girl’s face had flushed at Mr Weasley’s comment. ‘We’ll help you take your bags up to the dorm.’

‘I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble-’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Lavender said. ‘Besides, we never get to talk to anyone from London; do you know what the most recent styles are?’

‘Er…’ Hermione trailed off, as the two girls hurried along the corridor. She was about to follow, when she realised that the tall redhead was still there. She turned to face him again.

‘Thank you for all your help, Mr Weasley,’ Hermione said, giving a quick curtsy. ‘I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘As am I to make yours, Miss Granger,’ the redhead replied, his freckled cheeks dimpling once again. ‘Although, like I say, “Ron” is fine. There’s half a dozen Mr Weasleys here, so it just saves time.’

‘In that case, I will call you that,… Ron.’

The redhead grinned, before leaving to run across the wild grass nearby in the direction of the stables. The shirt Ron was wearing was, indeed, rather tight on him, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice how his muscles strained against the fabric as he ran, the sunlight reflecting beautifully off his red hair.

Hermione smiled, as she turned to follow Parvati and Lavender along the corridor. Ottery St Catchpole was shaping up to be a rather wonderful place to live.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it! If you want to keep up-to-date with the series, please subscribe on AO3 or FFN, or ask me to add you to the tag list on Tumblr.

#jane austen #jane austen au #romione #ronmione #romione au #alternative universe #ron x hermione #ron/hermione #hermione x ron #hermione/ron #hermione granger #ron weasley #governess!hermione granger #blacksmith!ron weasley #background pavender

77 notes · View notes