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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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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

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blessednereid · 3 years

Text

Dinners, Apologies, and Bowling Alleys: LFLLLL Pt.4

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist: @rogershoe @woodxweasley

Mentions: Police investigations, dead bodies, animal attacks, implied abuse, sexual implications, emancipation, cursing, half-naked massages, use of the word “Kinky”

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Dinner

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Your dad pulled into the driveway of the Lahey family residence.

When he opened the door and greeted you, his voice was sickly sweet, and you could tell that the dinner wasn't going to be pleasant.

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

"That was… something," your dad said as he opened the door to your house and allowed you and Isaac to walk inside.

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

Within thirty minutes, the dinner soon turned passively hostile, and it seemed like there was no way out.

"So, Sheriff Stilinsk-"

"Please, call me Noah."

Mr. Lahey smiled sourly before continuing. "Your daughter and my son have been dating for quite a while now. Yet, this is the first time we meet."

"Oh, well. The role of being a sheriff is very strenuous and time-consuming."

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, and you were anticipating the thing that would cause everything to blow up.

"I find it quite unfortunate that the circumstances we meet are due to my son being involved in a murder investigation."

You noticed how your dad looked confused for a second, but that look was soon wiped away.

"Yes, well. Finding a dead body is something that would cause you to end up in that situation."

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

"Alright, Kids. Go to bed."

You nodded before you walked up the stairs.

"Isaac, you…" Isaac waited for instruction from your dad.

Noah sighed before speaking. "It's been a rough night. Just… No funny business."

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

Mr. Lahey continued speaking. "So, you've recently taken my son into your household, and now he's in a murder investigation."

"There is no causation here. He could've as easily found a dead body that is part of a murder investigation under your household."

Mr. Lahey squinted, and you realized the kindling was added to the flame.

"Are you questioning my parenting skills? Noah," He added resentfully.

"Are you questioning mine?"

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

"Isaac."

He let out a deep breath before turning to face you.

"It's gonna be alright."

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

"You know, I don't think it's okay for my child to be in your house anymore. He is legally in my custody, and him involved in anything involving the law comes back to me."

You and Isaac widened your eyes, and your dad made a brief glance at you and saw the panic in your eyes.

"Well, maybe him being in my house is better. I can protect him in certain ways seeing as how I am the Sheriff. You own a graveyard. Your son finding a dead body could be a telltale sign that you may be trying to drum up business."

He paused. "Even if it's not true, of course."

"I mean, you are a cop. Are you not? Your job is to find the bodies, and not only did my son who is dating your daughter find the body, but it could also be a way to raise your own paycheck." Mr. Lahey chuckled as he spoke; his words were laced with venom.

Your dad grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It's not my job to find bodies, quite the opposite. And, I assure you, I would not kill someone for a paycheck."

Your dad wiped his mouth and rose from the table.

"Mr. Lahey, I think it's time for us to go."

The burly man grimaced in response. "Alright, well- Isaac. Go to your room."

"Oh no. I don't think you understand. I have to take Isaac in for a statement. He's coming with me."

"I don't think you understand. He is my son. He's staying with me."

While they continued their argument, you and Isaac slipped out the door and headed to the car.

"Hey, babe… are you okay?"

He sighed. "No… I just want this to be over, Y/n."

"It's just two more years, Isaac. And you're going to be with me most of that time."

"I can't do this anymore!"

"What do you mean?"

He looked at you with a solemn expression.

"I think I'm gonna run away."

You widened your eyes and nearly choked. "What do you mean? You can't run away?"

"Y/n, I can't stay here where he's always able to do this!"

"Then we'll figure something out! Just give me time. Till next Friday! I promise… Just… Just give me time."

He saw the tears in your eyes and pulled you into his arms.

You gasped for air as you cried against his chest.

"Give me a week, and If I can't find something, I'll go with you-"

"N/n, I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me. I'm telling you."

He frowned. "You have a life here. Don't throw that away."

"What? And leave you to run away on your own? Possibly die? I couldn't do that. I couldn't live like that, not knowing where you are."

"I would tell you."

"Of course you couldn't," you frowned. "I'd be the first person the police ask after your dad and mine."

"Besides, I wouldn't stay if I knew where you were anyway. I'd come to find you."

You wrapped your arms around Isaac's neck and pulled him in.

Just then, your dad opened the front door of the car, got in, and slammed it.

"I'm so sorry you guys had to see me so mad."

"It's fine, Sheriff," Isaac smiled grimly.

"Isaac…"

"Noah, sorry…"

.•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•°

"It's gonna be alright."

His eyes moved around the room, settling on the posters around your walls before saying, "I believe you."

"You do?"

"I do," he paused. "One week."

You half-smiled. "One week. But you have to promise me you won't leave me."

"I can't make that promise."

You walked over to him and put his face in between your hands.

"You are not leaving me."

You pulled him towards the bed towards the back of the room, and you fell asleep in each other's arms.

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School

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On Monday, you approached Lydia before class. You had a cold chill in your spine, and your apprehension was tying a knot around your lungs.

"Look. I was a horrible friend. I said stupid things. I shouldn't have said that about you and Jackson. You're not a 'suckup barbie doll.' You're Lydia Martin, and you've been doing this relationship stuff for way longer than I have. And I'm sorry I was so butthurt that I let my relationship get in the way of us, something you've never done."

By the time you finished speaking, you were slightly out of breath. You had said everything in one breath so that Lydia couldn't interject.

"No, Y/n, I'm sorry. This is your first time in a relationship, and I- I should've been more supportive. I should be helping you with your relationship and instead…" As you anticipated her following words, her gaze softened. There was a tint of remorse that could be seen.

"I've been trying to dissuade you from it. You deserve love… so much. I just missed my best friend."

"Can we like… never let guys get between us again?"

Lydia grinned before embracing you in a tight hug.

"Lydia, I can't breathe!" You managed to stammer out those few words before Lydia suffocated you.

"Oh! Sorry."

You both walked into your English class while still being engrossed in conversation.

"You hear about Grace Cooper?"

"Ugh, that shark! No, and I don't really care."

"She got mumps from one of her conquests in another school."

Your eyes widened. "Poor, poor, Gracie!" you said satirically.

You saw Isaac down the hall and beckoned him over.

When he reached you, he had a confused look on his face.

"Isaac, Lydia. Lydia, Isaac."

He squinted with a slight smile but stuck out his hand nonetheless.

"I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot, Isaac. My friend here really seems to like you. So if she can forgive you, then I guess so can I."

He smiled. "I'm glad to hear that, Lydia. I've heard such great things about you."

You smiled and clapped your hands rapidly. "Yay, my friends are friends. Now, let's try and get Stiles onboard."

Lydia squinted and cocked her head. "Who?"

You sighed. "Woosah. My brother, Lydi."

"Oh yeah! Forgot you were a twin."

Isaac interrupted. "Babe, we're going two different ways. I gotta get to class."

"Okay, but you're sitting with us at lunch, yeah?"

He turned his chin up in thought and bounced on the balls of his feet before leaning over and pecking your lips. "Of course."

You grinned before he turned and went to his class.

"Aww. Okay! Time to get to AP chem."

When you both walked into the class, it was only mere seconds before the bell rang.

You sat in your seats, staring eagerly at the board because your teacher had not yet arrived.

When the door swung open once more, it revealed the face of Mrs. Goldblatt.

"Oh my god," Lydia whispered, but it was clearly loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"Hello to you too, Lydia."

"Hello, class," she continued. "Mr. Ochoa isn't here today, so I will be your sub."

"Now, pull out your textbooks and-" She was interrupted.

"Hey, something's going down at the bus!" A student yelled, causing everyone to rush to the windows.

"EVERYONE IN YOUR SEATS!"

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Lunch

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After the first period, you went to English with Allison, Scott, and Stiles, splitting up with Lydia.

However, You and Allison caught up with her at lunch in the line.

"Hey!" You both greeted.

"Hey!"

Soon Isaac and Jackson approached you. They walked together, but separately.

"Hey, babe," Lydia said to Jackson.

"Hi, love," you greeted Isaac. He gave you a side hug with his free arm and allowed it to stay there.

Lydia and Jackson walked away from you and Isaac and towards the window, away from your regular table.

"Lydia, where are we going?"

"To sit with Allison's boyfriend, duh!" She said with a shimmy of her shoulders.

Allison quickly rolled her eyes. "He's not my boyfriend!"

You interjected. "That's not what I heard!"

"From who?"

"Your brain, we're connected. Remember?"

It was a long-lasting joke that you had since you were children. You had always been able to read Allison's mind in a way and tell what she was feeling, as well as vice versa. It would be a terrible day when that bond stopped working. You were sure of it.

She chuckled as you all walked towards Scott and Stiles. Some of Jackson's friends already sat down.

"Figure out what?" you hear Lydia say before you sat down next to your brother, in between him and Isaac.

"Just, uh homework-" Scott replied tentatively.

"Hey, guys!"

"Yeah… Y/n, why are you guys sitting here?" His question was soon answered when Allison sat down next to Scott.

Jackson began arguing with his friend about the seat at the head of the table, and Danny made a sarcastic remark about how the guy looked at Lydia.

"So I hear they're saying it's some type of animal attack… Probably a cougar," Danny stated.

"I heard mountain lion."

Lydia squinted. "A cougar is a mountain lion. Isn't it?" She said before tilting her head.

You internally scoffed but didn't say anything.

"Who cares? The guy's probably some homeless tweaker who's gonna die anyway."

"Sorry that not everyone can be as rich and entitled as you, Whitmore," you whispered under your breath. Jackson and Lydia hadn't heard, but Danny, Stiles, Allison, and Isaac did, giving a brief chuckle.

Stiles took out his phone and showed the table a video. "Actually, I just found out who it is. Check it out."

Scott's eyes widened. "I know this guy."

"You do?" Allison asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, when I used to take the bus back when I lived with my dad," he said in shock. "He was the driver."

Lydia interjected the gruesome conversation. "Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please? Oh, like, where are we going tomorrow night? You said that you and Scott were going somewhere tomorrow night, right?"

"Lydia!" you scolded.

"Uh, we were thinking of what we were gonna do," Allison said softly.

"Well, I am not sitting home again watching lacrosse videos. So if the four of us- six, if Y/n and Isaac want to come, are hanging out, we are doing something fun!"

You glanced at Allison, who met your gaze and turned to Scott.

"Hanging out… like the four of us? Do you want to hang out? Like us, and them?" Scott asked confusedly.

"Yeah, I guess. Sounds fun."

You rolled your eyes and sighed softly.

"You know what else sounds fun?" Jackson asked, annoyed. "Stabbing myself in the face with this fork.

"What about bowling? You love to bowl?" Lydia proposed.

"Yeah, with actual competition."

You frowned. "I, too, would love to bowl with actual competition, Whitmore."

He glared at you before Allison spoke up.

"Yeah, how do you know we aren't actual competition?" She turned to Scott. "You can bowl, right?"

Isaac spoke up for the first time. "Well, I know for a fact that Y/n and I are competition."

You grinned at his competitive nature. Under his shy mask was someone who did not like to lose.

"Scott?" Jackson called.

"Yes. Sort of…" he said warily.

"Is it sort of, or is it yes?"

"Yes! In fact, I'm a great bowler," Scott lied, and you facepalmed internally. You had seen him bowl, and he was, in fact, terrible.

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Stilinski House

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Are we actually going bowling tomorrow?"

You squinted. "Yeah? Why wouldn't we?"

"Babe, I have work tomorrow?"

"I thought you got off early tomorrow?"

He sighed. "I do. I get off at 8, but I don't want you to wait for me, and I won't be ready-" He continued rambling before you walked up and covered his mouth with your hand.

"You get off work and come back here. Take 30 minutes to get ready, and then we leave so we can reach the alley by 9:30."

He pushed your wrist down. "N/n, I'm just going to be groggy, and dampen the mood, and-"

"Isaac Kai Lahey! You are allowed to have fun. Besides, I have to go pick outfits with Lydia and Allison after class anyway, and that'll keep us busy."

He contemplated your plan before reluctantly sighing. "Fine. But I have to be back by midnight. I want to sleep peacefully."

You stepped on the tips of your toes to kiss his cheek.

"Are you sure you want to sleep, though?" you asked innocently, but there was a hidden meaning behind your words.

"Yes! I want to sleep... I haven't really been getting a good night lately."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of things we haven't told each other… Scott? Werewolf? I'm sorry, but I still don't believe you."

You sighed. "I was kind of refraining from telling you about that?"

"Hey, If werewolves are real, I want to see them."

"I know, but you just have so much on your plate. I didn't want to add shape-shifting humans with strange abilities to that."

He smiled. "Hey, prove me wrong about that werewolf thing, and I'll give you twenty bucks."

"Deal! Speaking of deals..."

You moved to sit on the bed. "I've been working on getting you out of your dad's house. You said you didn't want to go into foster care, so the only way to prevent that from happening is for you to be an adult."

"An adult? How is that even possible, Y/n? I'm still a minor for 2 more years."

You looked at him hesitantly. "There's this legal thing called emancipation. It's where you can be declared, legally, an adult and be separate from your parent's care."

He smiled before scoffing. "How would we even do that?"

"Well, we can either prove to the courts that you can provide for yourself with housing and finances… or you can get married."

He stood up very quickly, to the point where you almost got whiplash. "Married? Y/n, I'm not getting married to a stranger, and we both know your dad would never agree to that."

"Then we go to the courts! You can say that you're renting a room from my dad for however much he agrees for the housing portion, and you have a job!"

"A job my dad gave me! The point is to not rely on my dad!"

You smiled. "That's the beauty of the law. Your dad's business is independent of him. So you can still work for him, but you would be earning your money from the business, not him."

"And if he fires me because I filed for emancipation?"

"You have perfect employee references. You worked at Waffle House for six months before they shut down and got employee of the month twice."

He flopped down on the bed, and you moved to wrap your arms around him.

"How long would it take?" He asked quietly.

"A few months… Less than the two years we would've waited, and you wouldn't have to run away."

"Would I have to tell my dad?"

"Yeah, he'd have to be able to represent his side in court," you replied solemnly.

"Don't I need a reason? What would I even say? I don't want him to go to jail."

"I have no-" you said before an idea dinged like a lightbulb in your mind. "You said you have that inheritance you get from your grandparents that you'll be able to collect once you become a legal adult, right?"

"Yeaaah?"

"Just say that you want to be able to use that inheritance."

"No, that would never work…" he said wistfully.

You both pondered in thought for a while.

"You could say that you are financially independent and want to start on making investments and stuff like that before you're 18."

You looked up to him and saw him squinting. "Huh, that could work."

"So, does that mean you won't run away?"

"That's if it works...If it doesn't work and I stay, it could be worse."

You sighed. "It's going to work…If not, I- It's going to work."

He turned on his side to face you, and you did the same.

"Kiss me?" And that is, exactly, what Isaac did.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Argent House

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

The next day after school, you and Isaac went your separate ways. He went to work, and you grabbed several different outfits before heading to Allison's house.

When you arrived, you were ushered and practically dragged inside by Allison, who desperately needed help with her outfit.

You found Lydia already inside, sifting through Allison's entire closet and rejecting each prospect.

"Lydia, this isn't the bachelorette! Oh my gosh."

You sat back on Allison's bed and allowed Lydia, who wouldn't let you help, pick Allison's outfit.

Many passes were given by Lydia. "Allison, respect for your taste is, uh, dwindling by the second."

You scoffed. "Okay, how about we let the person who makes displays at Forever 21 pick the outfit?"

You got up and put together three choices for selection.

"This!" Lydia said before your "Uncle" Chris walked in.

"Dad, hello?" Allison said.

"Hi, Uncle Chris!" You waved enthusiastically.

"Hey, Y/n. Nice to see you."

Lydia flew back onto Allison's bed and laid on her side with her hand on her hip. "Hi, Mr. Argent," she said sultrily.

"Lydia!' You scolded, and Mr. Argent flinched.

Allison sneered, "Dad, do you need something?"

He cleared his throat. "I wanted to let you know you'll be staying in tonight."

You and Lydia frowned, and Allison scoffed. "What? I'm going out with my friends tonight."

"Not when some animal is out there attacking people."

You and Allison protested in unison.

"It's out of my hands. There's a curfew. No one's allowed out past 9:30 p.m. No more arguing," He said simply before walking out the room."

You and Allison both sighed, resolved.

"Someone's daddy's little girl," Lydia remarked.

"Sometimes, but not tonight," Allison replied.

"Y/n, what about you? Your dad would kill you!"

"He would, but he wouldn't let the law handle me," you smirked.

You texted Isaac about the new plan and changed into your outfit. When Isaac told you that he'd meet you at the alley, you nodded to Allison, and you both walked to the window.

She went first and then you before Lydia called after you both.

"What are you doing?"

You dropped your bag and your phone onto the dirt before Allison flipped off the building and landed on her feet while you did a somersault as you landed.

"8 years of gymnastics!"

You grinned, "She just taught me some tricks."

"You coming?" You both said in unison.

"I'll take the stairs."

You brushed off your outfit as you waited outside for Lydia.

You both entered her car and drove to the rink.

You called Isaac to make sure that he was coming. "Hey, babe. Have you made it to the house yet?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way. Don't worry."

"Okay, we just left Allison's house."

"How far are you?" He asked.

"About 15 minutes?"

"Alright, I'm 10."

You smiled before saying goodbye.

When you hung up the phone, Lydia hummed.

"What, Lyds?"

She smirked. "Nothing, just that you guys are good together."

You half scoffed, half chuckled. "It took you three months to realize that?"

"I was still a little focused on him hurting you, but if that didn't happen, I would've always thought so."

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Bowling Alley

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You all met Scott, Isaac, and Jackson at the bowling alley.

Allison and Scott went to pick their balls, and the rest of you sat down.

"Hey, how was work?"

Isaac sighed. "Dad wasn't there. I don't know why."

"Well, that's not a bad thing."

"True," he shrugged. "Thanks for forcing me to come out here tonight. I didn't realize how stressed work was making me until I walked inside."

"Yeah, well, I like bowling, and I wasn't going to be a fifth wheel."

He smiled.

"And, I have the perfect remedy for your sleeping issues, okay? So don't even worry about that tonight."

"What is it?"

You got up to whisper in his ear, "it's a surprise!" You turned away to go get a bowling ball, eventually picking a pink and white marbled one.

When everyone had their balls, you arranged how the teams would work.

"Okay, so how about we start couples vs. couples vs. couples and then gals vs. guys?" You nominated.

"Sounds good, except we can only have two teams," Lydia pointed out the flaw in the couple war.

"Oh, okay, uh. Give me a minute," You said before pulling Isaac aside.

"Are we gonna be the ones to split up?"

He squinted. "Why would we do that?"

"C'mon, baby. This could be a way for you to branch out without me next to you."

"What is that supposed to-"

"Besides," you smirked. "Imagine what tension that all that competition between us is gonna make!"

He hummed while twisting a strand of your hair in his hands. You lifted your head in an attempt to brush your lips against his, but he pulled back.

"Fine. I'll go with Allison and Scott. I wanna see if I can spot any were-wolfiness," he chuckled.

"I'm not joking about that, okay! And don't tell anyone."

You both walked back to the group and informed them of the decision.

"Alright, Isaac is going to be on McArgents team, so now it will be McL'Argent, and I will be on Whittin's team, so it will now be Whittinski."

"Yeah, yeah, hurry up," Jackson scolded.

"Whittmore, be lucky I'm on your team. Otherwise, I'd be kicking your ass."

The competition started, and Lydia went first, with Jackson guiding her arm mixed with plentiful amounts of PDA.

The first one landed in the gutter, and the second hit only the right-most three.

"I'm so bad at this," she said solemnly.

"Lydi, you'll get the hang of it."

Allison took her turn next, hitting all of the pins and knocking them down.

"YES, ALLI!" you whooped.

"Someone brought their A-game," Lydia said.

Jackson scoffed. "Wrong team."

"She's my godsister. I'm obligated to tell her she did brilliantly."

Jackson took his turn next, removing all the pins from the lane and knocking them into the abyss, causing Lydia to holler.

"You're up, McCall," he stated blankly after wrapping his arms around Lydia.

"You can do it, Scott," Allison motivated Scott, and he got up and grabbed his ball.

He stalled for a few seconds before pulling his arms back and throwing the ball, the trajectory causing it to land straight in the gutter.

Jackson started laughing hysterically, and you and Allison both scolded him.

"Mind shutting up?" Allison sneered.'

"I'm sorry," he half-apologized in between breaths. "I'm just flashing back to the words 'I'm a great bowler'"

"Maybe he just needs a little warm-up."

Jackson continued to laugh. "Maybe he just needs the kiddy bumpers," he said, which caused Lydia to laugh with him.

"Will you shut up for five fucking seconds, Jackson?"

"Just aim for the middle," Allison advised.

Jackson rolled his eyes, "How about you aim for anything except the gutter?"

"Let him concentrate!"

Allison smiled at Scott, and he took his next shot. It was getting closer and closer to the pins before swerving to the side and falling in the gutter.

"Great job, McCall. Man, you are a pro!" He said when he was done laughing.

You shot up from your seat, grabbed the ball, and took a deep breath. You moved your arm back just a little bit behind you when a groan resounded from behind you.

You turned around quickly and saw Isaac.

"OH MY GOSH! Why would you come up behind me?"

He chuckled. "No apologies, just beratement?"

"I'm sorry, better? Are you okay?" You picked up his arm and examined it.

"Hurry Up!"

He gave a curt nod to let you know he was okay, and you turned back to the alley.

He wrapped his hands around your waist. "You look stressed, babe. What's wrong?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Isaac, what are you doing?"

"Helping you out…" you could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Mhm," you resounded. "I don't want your help!"

You playfully nudged him and regained your concentration. You pulled back your arms and threw the ball. It rolled and rolled until it came in contact with the pins, managing to knock down all but two.

"YES!" Lydia shouted, and Jackson gave a half-hearted clap and a 'not bad.'

You all continued playing, with Scott getting better towards the end. While your team lost the first game, the girls' team had won against the boys.

After that, you all parted ways. When you and Isaac walked outside, he said something that stunned you.

"Did you call Stiles?" he asked innocently.

"What do you mean 'did I call Stiles?' Where's the jeep?"

He grinned shyly. "I didn't bring the jeep. I took an Uber."

"ISAAC!"

"WHAT? Stiles wouldn't take me!"

Your eyes widened. "And you think he would pick us up?"

"Well, sure. Stiles wouldn't let his sister freeze."

You growled before calling Stiles.

It took him twenty minutes to reach the bowling alley, and when you got in the car, he began to scold you for your ill-preparedness.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Massage Therapy

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You got home and into your room straight away.

From there, you peeled Isaac's jacket off before he had the chance to do it himself and then removed yours, tossing both to the ground.

"Are you ready for your surprise?" You asked with wriggling eyebrows.

He chuckled darkly. "Sure."

You bit your lip and pushed him down on the bed. "Stay there!" You said before moving to get something.

"Despite you and your brother's running joke, I am not a golden retriever!" He called out as you rummaged around.

"Got it!" You said as you moved to place the blindfold over his eyes.

"Kinky… I thought we weren't doing that tonight, though?"

You smiled. "Nope! Turn around!"

He sighed and turned to face your headboard as you tore his shirt from his torso.

To let him know that you weren't planning on having sex, you began digging your thumbs into his muscles, finding the knots in his back rather quickly.

He groaned in relief, which only spurred you on.

"Your pants too, babe," you advised while still rubbing.

When his pants were off, you pushed him down onto the pillow, backside up, and applied the heating oil on his back and thighs.

You moved around his body slowly and sensually, making sure not to apply too much pressure to sensitive areas while still being effective.

When you were finished after maybe fifteen minutes, you removed the blindfold from his eyes to let him know you were done.

You stripped down to your bra and underwear before going to lay beside Isaac.

"That was so nice…I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You sighed contently. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

"Ouch," Isaac mocked. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight."

Just as you were about to fall asleep, Isaac exclaimed.

"OH! I just remembered- I didn't see any werewolf nature in Scott..."

You sighed. "Is this why you haven't been sleeping?"

"No, but I'm interested."

"Look," you paused. "I only relayed the information Stiles gave me, I haven't seen it for myself either, but I want you to be safe. I trust Stiles, and I need you to trust me so that this can work and we can get you out of there. Okay?"

"Yeah, of course, I trust you. Goodnight, for real this time."

You smiled. "Goodnight." You fell asleep shortly after, a warm, tingly feeling of happiness spreading throughout your body.

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hes-a-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (Part One)

A/N: I’ve always loved soulmate AU’s so I wrote a little something based on my interpretation. I’ll only continue this if it gets good feedback so remember to like and share!

word count: 2k warnings: small mention of panic attacks.

Soulmates weren’t a new concept. Many people argued soulmates were as old as the universe itself. But that didn’t stop the tiny twinge of jealousy that twisted in Rue’s stomach as she opened up yet another wedding invitation. She stared back at the smiling couple, one of her friends from high school that had met their soulmate a few years back in college. Another photo zoomed in on their ring fingers. Their first initials scarred on both of their fingers indicating their eternal bond.

She flipped over the invitation to fill out the rsvp and dinner selection she would be having in a few months time. She also marked an ‘X’ next to ‘not bringing a guest’. She sighed as the tiny ‘X’ seemingly mocked her loneliness.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates, they were a fact of life since the beginning of civilization. It was merely the loneliness she felt seeing everyone meeting their soulmate while she still remained alone. Her best friend, Madison, who had met her soulmate back in kindergarten and she was now six months pregnant with their second child.

There was no real science to when, where, or how you would meet your soulmate, it was just supposed to happen. Fate would eventually intertwine the lives of two people who were simply meant to be. Rue was now nearing 26. She had been in love before, as many before her, but the looming fact that her significant others’ soulmate could show up at any time kept her from anything long term.

There was always that terrible thought in the back of her head; the one she had since she was young and still kept her up at night. Growing up, the concept of soulmates were taught in schools. Children mocked each other on the school yard that they would be forever ‘unmarked’, a term coined for those who were destined to be alone. It was a rare phenomenon but it still happened nonetheless.

She took a look at her left hand adorned with rings except for on her ring finger. She remembers spending hours as a child staring and hoping the initial of her true love would show up. But all these years later, it remained as bare as the day she was born. She never thought of herself as a pessimist and she knew she was still young (her parents hadn’t met until they were in their mid thirties) but it still hurt as she watched from the sidelines as seemingly everyone else was matched up.

The loud ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Her friend and close confidante, Caroline, was calling. She swiped her finger across her phone and cleared her throat, “What’s up?”

“Well hello to you too!” Caroline’s voice roared back to her. She hit the volume button down lower as she knew Caroline was a loud talker. “I’m on my way to Rory’s. My guitar string broke this morning and Talia got called in for a late shift. Do you wanna stop by with me and then get take out for dinner?” Caroline’s soulmate, Talia, was a highly wanted chef in Hell’s Kitchen who worked nights at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the entire city.

She stared at the digital clock on her oven that indicated it was only 5:30. “Sure, I just got home so just let me change and I’ll meet you at Rory’s.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and wandered over to her bedroom to pull out a pair of jeans.

“No need. I’m walking up your stairs as we speak.” Like clockwork, she heard the sound of Caroline’s knuckles knocking at her front door.

“Jesus Caroline, and what if I had said no?” She walked over to the door, unzipping her work pants. Caroline’s bright smile and bleached blonde hair greeted her. “You can’t say no to me!” Caroline looked down at her friends’ outfit. “Cute but can I recommend something less librarian?” Caroline placed her guitar case by the door as Rue rolled her eyes but held the door open. She sauntered back over to her dresser to continue changing out of her work clothes. Caroline sat on her bed and basically held an entire conversation by herself as Rue simply replied with oh, uh huh, and that’s crazy.

Winter had come to the city fast, blanketing the city in a slick frost every morning. The two women walked side by side, bundled up in hats and scarves as they walked the two blocks from Rue’s apartment to Rory’s, an old music shop that also happened to be run by Rory, Rue’s upstairs neighbor and close friend.

“And I know she’ll be upset if I spend so much money but she’s been talking about this knife set for months now.” Caroline rambled on about what she would be getting Talia for their upcoming anniversary. They weren’t married yet, or even engaged for that matter, but they had been together for nearly five years now and didn’t see the need to rush anything.

“I mean it is your five year. She can’t be too upset that you would want to splurge a little bit. But that’s also basically your whole paycheck. You’d basically be leaving it up to her to pick up that entire month’s rent.” Rue’s faded leather boots slapped the pavement as she hid her face further into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up her freezing nose. It was almost completely dark out now which meant there was no sun to help ease off the cold.

“And what about that song you were working on? No amount of money spent could give Talia anything that personal and from the heart.” Caroline was an aspiring musician who worked full time as a coffee shop manager and played open mics on the weekends. Caroline hummed in response, her confidence slipping. “I’m just not sure if I like how it turned out…” She let her voice trail off and stared ahead as if in deep thought.

“She’d love it no matter what. Anyone would.” Rue knocked her shoulder into her friends’. “I mean isn’t that like everybody’s dream? To have a song written about them?”

“Yeah, I guess.” They both stopped at the old music store with the big ‘open’ sign in neon lights adorning the window.

“Ah fuck it’s cold out there.” Caroline announced as the warmth from the stores’ heater hit them. Rue untangled her scarf to hang loosely at her side. A loud bell indicated their arrival and they saw Rory’s head perk up from behind the register.

“How much for an hour, ladies?” He called over to them and was met with not one, but two middle fingers from them both. Rory was only a few years older than them but had become especially close with Caroline because of their love of music. Rue worked as a receptionist at a law firm but worked a few shifts at the shop here and there when Rory needed extra help.

Caroline walked over to the counter and plopped her heavy guitar case on it. “String broke again.” She popped open the buckles on the side, lifting it up to reveal the old acoustic guitar she had been gifted as a teenager. The shine of the guitar had been long lost and was now replaced with a few dings and scratches but Caroline loved it no less than the day she got it.

“Damn Caroline. Really have to start being more careful with her.” Rory took the guitar out of it’s velvet bed by the neck and examined the broken string that hung lamely at the side. “This is the second time this month. What could you possibly be playing?”

“I’m trying to learn some flamenco techniques and it’s not going as well as I planned…” Rue wandered over to the wall that hung the electric guitars, zoning out the banter coming from her two friends.

She always admired the instrument but had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. She loved how Rory kept all the guitars miraculously clean, there were never any fingerprints or smudges on them and she swear he went over every spot with a toothbrush to make sure. She reached for an acoustic guitar that was hanging lower than the more expensive ones.

“You break it, you buy it!” Rory called over to her as he always did. She huffed in response and propped her knee up on a low shelf that held a variety of guitar straps. She didn’t know how to play nor did she know any songs but she loved the sounds the strings made when plucked. She would find herself mesmerized when she watched Caroline play the guitar so effortlessly. Rue even thought back to when she was a child and took a few piano lessons here and there but could never get the hang of it.

As she stood under the guitars and heard Caroline and Rory bickering about which string would be the best replacement (of course his recommendation was also the most expensive brand he sold), the bell by the front door rung to indicate a new customer. Rue didn’t bother looking over as she played some random notes in an attempt to put something together but only to be met by a terrible ‘plunk’. She decided to put the guitar back before embarrassing herself even further in front of her very talented friends.

She was about to place the head of the guitar back on the hook it hung from when she felt an intense pain in her chest. The hand not holding the guitar went right to the center of her chest as a warmth ran over her body. Her ears started to ring and she teetered in her place before placing the guitar down on the floor, not wanting to damage it if she fell.

“Rue?” She heard her name coming from behind her but her eyes filled with stars. She opened and closed them as the pain in her chest increased, causing her to fall to the floor on her knees. She could hear frantic chatter coming from the counter but her only focus was calming her breathing. She had suffered from panic attacks before but the intense pain in her chest was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard footsteps running towards her as she released a groan from deep in her throat.

“Rue! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline slumped to the floor next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Rue’s vision was blurry and she blinked fast as her eyes started to water. A bang and a deep groan went through the store somewhere behind her. “Holy shit!” A stranger's voice yelled, “Harry, man, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the pain Rue felt in her chest shot down her left arm. She felt as if she were dying. It was as if her skin was being cut from the inside out while also spontaneously being burned. “Rue! Rue!” She could hear Caroline calling her name but it came through as muffled though her ringing ears. She looked up to see a group of men standing by the counter. Rory was speaking frantically on his cell phone and she could see two men crowded around another who sat in the same position on the floor as she did. The brunette on the floor looked up and their eyes met. The overwhelming pain stopped suddenly as she stared at him. Pictures flashed in her mind of her and this man, someone who was a stranger to her but also oddly familiar. She saw his smile and heard her own laugh. She saw tears stream down his face and her own fingers wiping them away.

What is this? She thought in her head.

You know what this is. Her conscious replied.

Caroline’s face came back to her line of sight, “Hey Rue, look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She held Rue’s face in her hands. Rue’s hands came up to clasp her friends’ wrist, her breathing rapid as her heart beat finally started to slow back to a normal pace. Her left hand still stung. More specifically, her left ring finger.

She pulled away from her friend quickly to examine the new mark that now adorned her skin.

“Holy shit.” Rue rubbed at the mark with her other hand to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But with every swipe, the letter remained. “Holy shit!” Rue heard Caroline agree as she looked down at Rue’s hand, but Caroline’s voice was filled with less fear and more glee than Rue’s.

There, on her left ring finger, still swollen and red was the letter H.

A/N: This is just an idea I have that I may or may not continue based on the feedback. I know Harry was literally just a mention in this part but I would obviously include him much more going forward. Let me know if you’re interested in what happens next and please like and share!

Part Two

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry style fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #one direction #hslot #soulmates au #harry styles writing #tpwk #treat people with kindness #harry styles drabble #harry styles x oc

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feralthoughtdump · 3 years

Text

Only Angel

Part Two of Kiss With A Fist

On the way to Madripoor, Bucky and his acquaintance talk about names.

Word Count: 5.5K

CW: violence, talk of killing people, TFATWS ep. 3 spoilers, stitching wounds, smut, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, technically a reader x bucky but he gives her a new name.

“So, we’re headed to Madripoor?” She questions, adjusting the straps of her harness.

Bucky adverts his eyes as she unbuttons her jeans, not answering her question, but she doesn’t seem to notice. They were standing in the back of the jet, a curtain obscuring the two of them from Sam and Zemo.

“Help me really quick. I have a holster in my bag.”

He reaches into her light blue duffle back, rifling through the articles of clothing and various weapons until his finger wraps around the leather.

“Thanks, you’re a godsend.” She chuckles. “Tell me about this mission of ours. I need to know what I should wear.”

“We’re going undercover. Zemo is just… Zemo, Sam’s going as some big shot, and I’m… well-“

“The Winter Soldier?”

He silently nods.

“You scared?”

She buckles the holster around her thigh, tightening it so it slightly squeezes at the flesh.

“Not sure.” He grumbles. “I’m worried, you know, I might end up..” his words trail off.

“Relapsing?”

“You can say that.”

She pulls her jeans down past her ankle and places them into her bag.

He clears his throat and looks away, unsure if she’s okay with him looking.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Buck.” She hymns, reaching into her bag. “What do you think? Shorts or a dress?”

He looks back up, eyeing the black slip dress in one hand, and the leather shorts in the other.

“Shorts I guess. Easy mobility.”

“Smart.”

As she’s pulling the shorts up past her waist, Bucky stares out the plane window.

“Do you still go by Angel of Death?” He asks.

She looks up at him.

“I never chose to go by that name, you know? The public did.” Her hands dig into the bag, pulling out a gun and a few knives. “Angels of death are serial killers in caregiver positions and I have nobody under my care. But they gave me that name because they saw me as some vigilante, someone who took down bad people.”

“Do you like the name?”

“I don’t really care. It’s factually incorrect but names don’t matter when you have to kill the person standing in the way of a paycheck.”

“Is that how you see them? Just another person you have to kill so you can go buy a fancy handbag?” He scoffs.

“You have no idea who those people are do you? Those people are corrupt. Evil. People who have no regard for the lives of innocent people.”

“And you think you’re any better?”

His tone is less accusing, rather it’s more curious.

“Maybe not, but at the end of the day, it’s my job. And if my job means I’m killing morally corrupt people, then I really don’t care. And if I’m as bad as them, then maybe you had a right to kill me ten years ago.”

Bucky shifts on his feet.

“You know my mission wasn’t to kill you.” He confesses.

“Then why did you stab me?”

“I think for the first time, I felt scared. I was confused and I panicked.”

“Fair enough.” She takes out a dark red trench coat. One made of soft crushed velvet. Bucky runs his flesh hand over it, taking in the feeling of the soft fabric.

“I was supposed to take you away, hand you over to HYDRA. I think they wanted you to work for them.”

She snorts, humored by his words.

“So they wanted me to be a weapon, huh. Fry my brain until all my free will is gone and come up with a few words in Russian to make sure I’ll do their bidding.”

“Most likely.” He crosses his arms. “You’re good at your job. You’ve wracked up kills in the hundreds, and I thought I was the one with the high body count.”

“Do you know why I’m good at my job?” She laughs, pulling her hair into a tight bun and securing it with a gold hairpin. “Do you know why I’m one of the best female assassins in Europe?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders.

“Every time I’m assigned a job, I’m walking into a life or death situation. I need to be prepared for any type of outcome so I won’t get caught off guard.” She pulls a black, satin, dress shirt over her shoulders. “But do you know the real reason as to why I’m the best?”

Bucky parts his lips.

“Tell me.”

“It’s because I never let my feelings get in the way.”

“But you have to feel at least something.”

“No. I don’t think I really feel anything.” She tucks the hem into the shorts. “I haven’t felt anything in a very long time.”

He doesn’t know what to say. As he observes her concealing weapons within her outfit, he thinks about the past few decades of his life. One mission after another. He thinks about the bloodshed. He thinks about Yori and his son. Did he feel anything when he put a bullet in that boy? Not at the time. But now? All he feels is guilt. Shame. But here she stands in front of him, dressed to the nines, hidden weapons strapped to her body. I haven’t felt anything in a really long time. No guilt, no shame, no emotions. The silence hangs over them like a thick, heavy fog.

His mind wanders to their first interaction. Though he can’t remember much, he often revisits it in his dreams.

Don’t you want to know my name?

The question she asked him before he plunged the knife into her abdomen.

“Ten years ago, you asked if I wanted to know your name.”

“I did.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No. I would’ve just given you a fake one.”

She sits down on the leather seat and stuffs her feet into a pair of heeled boots. Bucky takes a seat next to her.

“What name would you have given me?”

“I was reading Anna Karenina at the time so probably Kitty.”

“Do you have a name?”

“I have many names.”

“No, a real name.”

She zips up her left boot.

“I do. Well, I did.” She sighs, moving her fingers to zip up the right. “I don’t remember it anymore.”

Bucky frowns.

“Do you want to remember?”

Her head falls onto his shoulders and she nuzzles her nose into his neck.

“Not really. Sometimes I think it’s better that I’m nameless.”

Bucky doesn’t want to say he pities her, but he does. Maybe it isn’t pitying, rather sympathizing.

“Can I give you a new one?”

She smiles, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against her skin.

“Sure.”

“I’d like to call you Angel.”

A hum of content passes her lips and she presses a soft kiss on his skin.

“I’d like that too.” She whispers. “I’ll be your angel.”

They sit together for a good five minutes, syncing their breathing together, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should go back to your friends.” She mutters, grabbing the coat.

“We probably should.”

Sam gives the two of them as they walk past the curtain. Bucky sits across from him and he watches with a slightly annoyed eye as she takes the seat across from Zemo.

“How do you two know each other?” Sam queries.

“Oh. Bucky stabbed me ten years ago.” She bluntly states.

A humored smile crosses her face as Sam’s eyes widen and darts between the two.

“He stabbed you?”

“Hey, I wasn’t really myself back then.” Bucky quickly defends himself. “Plus, she tried to kill me a few hours ago.”

“In her defense,” Zemo interjects “being stabbed isn’t something you can just forgive and forget.”

“Oh, and you know everything about forgiving and forgetting.” Sam shoots back.

Sensing oncoming tension, she quickly changes the subject.

“Bucky told me you three needed a tour guide. Someone who knows the place well.”

“I’d consider myself-“

“Oh Baron,” she laughs “after everything you did in 2017, I doubt it’s easy for them to trust you.”

Zemo’s eyes widened.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been to Sokovia before.”

Sam furrowed his brows.

“What led you to Sokovia?”

“Business meetings.”

“Jesus, Bucky, who is this girl?”

“Oh, yeah, I never actually introduced myself. I’m Angel.” Bucky smiles at the use of her name, affection blooming in his chest. “I work for a small company based in Europe. We mostly sell cosmetics.”

Bucky’s impressed by her ability to spit out a convincing story with no hesitation.

Sam doesn’t seem to buy it, but he lets it go.

“Anyways, what role do you three want me to play?”

“Well,” Zemo shifts in his seat, “I was thinking you could be my date-“

“No. No” Bucky grouses, a deep frown cutting across his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Relax, James. I won’t try anything with her. I know you two are… close.”

Bucky scrambles out of his seat to wrap a hand around Zemo’s neck but he steps away at the feeling of Angel’s gentle hand on his bicep.

“Calm down, Bucky. Everything’s going to be fine.” She looks at Zemo with an amused grin. “Alright. I’ll play the part, but I have a few rules.” She points her thumb up. “One, no kissing.” Then her pointer. “No silly pet names. I don’t want to hear you calling me baby or kitten. It’s patronizing.” Finally her middle. “And three, I don’t drink. My tolerance is low.”

Zemo and Sam nod in agreement and eventually so does Bucky, but the anger in his eyes refuses to fade away.

It’s nighttime when they arrive, but the bright, neon lights illuminate the city.

Loud music seeps out from the clubs and the air smells of smoke and booze. They’re surrounded by crime, and Angel smiles at the familiarity. She can spot a few familiar faces, but she never bothers to say hi. It’s best she stays faceless, unknown, invisible.

Zemo wraps an arm around her waist and Bucky side eyes him. She can read his annoyance. His jealousy. Yet, his cold, emotionless expression doesn't change. He’s fallen into character and he’s doing a damn good job of it.

Whispers of ‘is that the Winter Soldier?’ pour around them as they enter the bar, but they all do their best to pay no attention.

“Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nods towards Sam.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo interjects.

Selby.

Angel remembers that name. She’s heard it in whispers on the streets.

Angel takes a seat on Zemo’s lap, leaning her head against the fur on his coat.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Close friend of mine,” Zemo smirks.

“I’m Moria.” She extends a hand and the bartender politely shakes it.

Bucky glances down at his fingers. Of course, her name here would be fake.

“The usual?” The bartender asks.

Sam and Zemo reply with a nod.

The four of them watch as he pulls a snake out of a jar, cutting its organs out and placing them in a shot glass. He moves on to pour out a shot of vodka for Zemo.

She grins and runs a hand from the fur collar of his coat to his chest. A soft, flirtatious giggle slips past her lips. Oh, Bucky wanted to take Zemo’s shot glass and throw it at the wall but he can’t. Not when the stakes are so high.

She suppresses a giggle as she watches Sam struggle to down the shot.

“Got word from on high,” A man approaches Zemo. “You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker. But if he insists, he can either talk to me…”

He gestures towards Bucky.

Angel surveys the bar, observing the patrons around them. Most of them are staring at the four, suspicious eyes being thrown their way.

Her concentration is broken when Zemo speaks.

“Winter Soldier” He orders in Russian.

She remembers Bucky’s words on the plane. He’s afraid of relapsing.

“Attack.”

Compassion, something she hasn’t felt for a long time, floods her body and before he can strike, she finds herself twisting the man’s fingers. Another approaches them and Bucky takes the lead, kicking the man to the ground. Men charge towards them and she fights along with him. He’s throwing kicks, punches, a sight that Angel is all too familiar with. Bucky takes hold of a man thrown his way, slamming him down onto the table, metal arm wrapped around his neck.

They freeze at the sound of weapons around them. Her eyes dart around the room, seeing the guns trained on them. Slowly, she reaches under her shirt, feeling the knives she has strapped to her body.

Sam places a hand on Bucky’s arm and Zemo quickly stops him.

“Stay in character or the entire bar turns on us.”

They all stand as the bartender turns to them.

“Selby will see you now.”

She looks at Bucky, then Sam, then Zemo who opens his arms, beckoning her towards him. She lets him place a hand on her hip as the four of them walk away.

“You should know Baron,” Selby’s voice rings through her ears. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer.” Zemo replies.

“Well, a lot has changed since you were last here. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” He chuckles. Zemo releases his hand on her.

“You’re taller than I heard, Smiling Tiger.” She purrs at Sam, who glances away. “What’s the offer? The girl?”

“No. Something better.”

He walks over to Bucky.

“Tell me what you know about the super-soldier serum and I’ll hand him over.” Fingers trace over his face, from his cheekbones down to his chin. “Along with the code words to control him. He will do whatever you want.”

A Cheshire cat smile cuts across Selby’s face.

“Now that’s the Zemo I know.” She settles into her couch. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank… or condemn.” She shrugs. “Whatever side you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo inquires.

Selby stands.

“The breadcrumbs, you can have for free, but the bakery’s going to cost you.” She sighs. “Your arm candy, Baron, she’s extraordinary. There’s no way a little bird” Selby points her finger up and down at Angel “can fight like that without years of training. Come here, darling.” She beckons her over. Angel turns to Zemo, and then to Bucky, a worried expression on her face. Zemo falters for a second and releases his hand on her shoulder.

“Go ahead, darling.”

She stands and walks over the Selby, who looks her over with an inquisitive eye. Selby runs a manicured finger along the collar of Angel’s coat.

“I’ll tell you what,” Selby decides. “You hand both of them over to me, and I’ll tell you everything about Nagel.” She grins, pulling back the strap of Angel’s thigh holster and snapping it back onto her skin.

“Don’t touch me.” She snarls.

Selby cocks her head, an amused smirk on her face.

“I have to say, she’s quite the fiery one. I’d like to call her my little firebird. Have her sing for me.”

“A firebird and the Winter Soldier.” Zemo seethes. “Clever.”

Their attention turns to Sam when his phone rings.

Selby saunters over to him.

“Answer it.” She demands. “On speaker.”

Angel bites the inside of her cheek, waiting with bated breath as Sam speaks to Sarah. He rambles on about money laundering and having a banker killed until Sarah calls him Sam.

Her blood runs cold.

“Sam?” Selby questions, voice laced with accusation. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!”

Without hesitation, Angel pulls the gun out of her holster and unloads a bullet in the woman.

“We need to get out of here.” She yells, stuffing her gun back in place.

One of Selby’s bodyguards cocks his gun and Angel sends a throwing knife into his head, Bucky takes down the other, knocking him out with his fist.

“Jesus Christ, Angel!” Sam yells.

“We don’t have time to unpack that.” she pants, ripping the knife out of the bodyguard’s head. “The second people get word that she’s dead, we’ll have a million-dollar price tag on our heads.” She shoves the knife into a pocket on her holster and bolts to the door.

The four sprint out of the exit and onto the streets, laying low, trying not to get noticed. They walk at a brisk pace, shoulder forward, eyes straight.

The sound of rapid gunfire sends them scrambling.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells.

“Oh, tell me about it!” She replies. The shock from her boots meeting the pavement sends pain up her calves. “I’ve been running in heels for years and it still sucks.”

“That’s not humanly possible. How do you do that?” He pants.

“I got used to it.”

Angel grabs her gun and cocks it. She one bullet after another and when the wind blows back her coat, Bucky can spot another pistol tucked in the waistband of her shorts.

Motorcycles start to barrel towards them and they pick up their speed. A bounty hunter throws a dagger, slicing at the skin of her thigh. Despite the gash, she can’t feel the pain. Not with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

They cut to a halt when they find themselves in an alleyway, surrounded.

Gunshots ring through the air saving them from impending death.

“Looks like we have a guardian angel.” Zemo notes, his run slowing down into a walk.

They look around, catching their breath.

“Well, this is too perfect.” The four turn to see a blonde walking towards them, gun pointed in Zemo’s direction. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” Bucky inquires. She rolls her eyes and turns to Angel.

“Nice to finally meet you, Angel of Death.”

“What? How do you know her?” Sam asks.

“I was investigating a politician’s death a few years ago. I managed to get my hands on her picture but Bucky over here caused a bit of a stir.”

She chuckles. “Nice to meet you too, Agent Carter.

“I used to be an agent, not anymore.” Sharon states.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember?” Her words, laced with bitterness. She points her gun at Sam “I also took your wings” then to Bucky, “so you could save his ass” finally, to Zemo “from his ass. Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up.”

Angel stands by, watching Bucky ask for Sharon’s help, paying no attention to the cut on her leg. Unfortunately, the adrenaline finally wears off, sending pain up her leg. Her hands press on the bleeding wound, covering her fingers with blood. She hisses in pain, causing Sharon to turn to her, brows raised.

“This isn’t over.” She spits at them and makes her way over to Angel.

“You might need some stitches for that.” She sighs, handing her a tissue. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

…

Bucky takes a seat next to Angel, who is tending to her wound on Sharon’s couch, legs propped up on a glass coffee table.

“She’s stitching herself up.” Sharon smiles. “Best you don’t distract her.”

“I’ll be fine.” Angel murmurs, eyes trained on the needle piercing her skin. “Thanks for the suture kit by the way. I left mine on Zemo’s jet.”

“No problem. I got myself some first aid supplies when I was on the run. Figured they would come in handy.”

“My calves hurt. You have anything for that?” She grumbles, carefully knotting the thread.

“There’s probably some ibuprofen in there.” Sharon chuckles. “Those heels are gorgeous but damn, they look painful.”

Bucky gently wraps his fingers around her ankle and looks at her.

“May I?”

“Such a gentleman. Of course.”

She places her legs on his thighs and sighs with relief as he massages the sore muscles of her calves.

“Does it hurt?”

“My calves? Or cut on my thigh.”

“Your thigh.”

She shrugs, pulling the thread.

“Not too much. It’s nothing Advil can’t fix.”

Sharon throws them an amused look.

“So, what’s going on between the two of you?”

“James seems to have formed a little bond with her. In more ways than one.” Zemo smiles at them over a glass of whisky.

“I’ll knock that drink right out of your hands.” Angel barks.

“I have to say, it’s quite ironic. James, you swore that you’d leave your assassin roots behind, yet you’ve taken up the company of one of the most prolific hitwomen in Europe.”

“He’s got a point,” Sharon says, rifling through racks of clothing. “The irony part, I mean. When I was working the Death Angel case, both the FBI and the CIA profiled you as a psychopath. Someone unable to form proper emotional bonds with others-“

“Sociopath.” Angel interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Not a psychopath. Psychopaths have no moral compass. But I’d say I do. Sociopaths are still able to discern right from wrong.”

Sam walks into the room, shrugging a jacket onto his shoulders.

“So why’d you become a hitwoman?”

Though he asks out of curiosity, Bucky still notes the way her eyes narrow, the way her lips twist into a frown.

“I was getting paid. Plus, they aren’t the type of people you’d like to have dinner with.”

“Let’s drop this, yeah?” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t think Angel wants to continue this conversation.”

Angel. She still hasn’t gotten used to that new name, but she likes it.

It was nothing like the names the authorities and the public had slapped on her. Killer, psychopath, evil, monster.

The hardened shell she had built around her has started to crack, but only for Bucky.

For the first time, she wonders what it would be like. To be free from the title of an assassin.

Maybe she’d live in a quiet Parisian apartment or a sun-filled home in northern Italy. Maybe she’d be alone. She’d be okay with that. Maybe she’ll be with someone else. Maybe with Bucky. She’d be more than okay with that.

She envied him, even if she shouldn’t. She didn’t go through what he went through. Being taken away, stripped of any control, and then having to live in a world he knew nothing of.

However, Bucky had something she didn’t have. He had good within himself.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when Sharon hands her a small pile of clothing.

“Here, these seem to be your style. I know some higher-ups so I’ll ask about Nagel. So, while I’m at it, enjoy the party.”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“I’ll let you get changed.” Zemo stands and walks away, offering her privacy.

Sam and Sharon nod, leaving the room, but Bucky stayed behind.

“Are you okay?” He quietly asks.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She curtly nods.

Bucky reaches for a pad of gauze and presses it to the closed wound.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He holds the gauze in place while she tapes it down.

“You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.” She huffs. “YouTube has some great tutorials on bandaging.”

The music from the party downstairs echoes through Sharon’s home, bleeding into the room.

“Alright.” Angel stands and grabs the clothing that Sharon gave her. “I’ll change and we can head downstairs.”

She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Bucky cleans up the used suture supplies and throws them in the small trash can in the corner while waiting for Angel to finish.

He wonders what would have happened if he had successfully completed his Berlin mission in 2013. What would have become of her? Everything she does, she does it with a flair. From the way she dresses, to how she acts, even in the way she kills. She was spirited, creative, and clever. He can’t bear the thought of anyone, not just HYDRA, taking that away from her.

“Hey, Buck?” She walks out of the bathroom, holding her hands across her chest. “Can you help button me up?”

His mouth goes dry when he sees her. She’s ethereal, not of this world. The forest green satin of her dress compliments her gold jewelry, illuminated by the soft lights of Sharon’s home.

“Um,” he swallows. “Sure.”

She walks over to him and turns around so he can hook the buttons through the loops.

“Pretty isn’t it. Sharon has great taste.”

“Yeah.” He breathes.

“Do you like it?”

“I guess so.”

She turns to face him with a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean ‘you guess so’?”

“I was born in 1917, I know nothing about modern fashion. You look beautiful, though.”

Bucky sits back down and she crawls into his lap. “You’re so sweet to me. Maybe too sweet.” She giggles.

“Oh, by the way.” Her hands rest on his shoulders. “I never returned the favor from this morning.”

She leans in and presses her mouth against his, kissing him with fervor.

Bucky tucks her lower lip between his teeth and bites, smiling at her little yelp. He reaches up to cup her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. She deepens the kiss, letting her tongue brush against his lips.

A whine leaves his lips as she pulls back and stands.

He pouts and reaches his arms towards her, hands making a grabbing motion.

“Another kiss. Please?”

“Oh, Bucky,” She giggles, lowering herself onto her knees. “You’re too cute.”

Her hands reach for his belt, undoing the buckle. She pulls his jeans down, letting them pile around his feet. He stops her hands right as they reach for his briefs.

“Wait, I-” He stutters. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” Blushing in embarrassment.

“If you don’t want to, we can stop.” She says sweetly.

“I want to.” He lets go of her wrist and lets his hand rest in her hair. “I just forgot how it feels.”

“If you want, I can take control for a little bit.” She rests her head on his thigh. “Make you feel good.”

Bucky blinks owlishly and nods.

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

That was the green light. She pulls his briefs down and Bucky kicks them aside along with the jeans. He grins as he watches her eyes widen.

“You-” She gasps. “Oh, wow, you’re big.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, reaching down to stroke himself. “You think you can take me?”

“I can try.”

She spits on her hand and wraps it around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath when she thumbs over the tip.

“Oh.” He gasps when she licks the underside. “Oh!”

“Feels good?” She presses a kiss on his thigh.

“Yeah, really good.”

Her lips wrap around his cock, saliva dripping past her tongue and onto his skin.

He lets his head fall back, a quiet groan slipping past his lips.

“Oh, Angel, you’re amazing.”

She flutters her lashes and looks up at him.

It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks, the way she’s all doe-eyed and blushy.

He grabs a fist full of her hair and pulls her closer, letting his cock hit the back of her throat.

She gags around him and tears prick at her eyes, yet she doesn’t pull away. She bobs her head back and forth, sending electricity through his veins.

Spit dribbles down her chin and Bucky tightens his grip on her hair. He lets his other hand cup her cheek.

“Relax for me, love.” He murmurs. He holds her head still and pushes his hips forward. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto his thighs. Bucky hisses at the feeling of her nails digging into his skin but the pain is overshadowed by pleasure. Her mouth is so wet, so warm around him and he can’t get enough.

He’s only had his cock in her mouth for a few minutes but he can already feel himself getting closer.

“Wait, wait!” He gasps.

Angel pulls off, eyes wide with worry.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” She asks.

“No,” He caresses her face. “You were perfect. I just- I’m gonna cum soon and I want you to feel good too.”

She smiles affectionately.

“Oh, baby, you’re too good to me.”

As she moves to straddle him, Bucky takes hold of her waist and pushes her onto the couch so she’s lying underneath him.

“Don’t want you hurting yourself.” He kisses her nose. “Your wound is still healing.”

His hands push up the hem of her dress, the satin pooling around her waist, exposing the soft skin of her tummy and the scar he left her. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on the scar and he playfully nips at her skin.

“No biting, puppy.”

He whines at the name. It makes him feel all soft like he wants to give all of himself to her. His head rests on her tummy and he blinks at her with soft eyes.

“You wanted me to take control, so I’m taking control.” She coos, running a hand through his hair. “Give me a kiss, baby.”

He kisses up her body and when his lips meet hers, she takes this as an opportunity to roll themselves over.

She straddles his hips, letting her cunt rub against his cock. Her eyes close and she sighs in pleasure.

“You want to fuck me, baby?” She giggles.

“Yes.” He groans. “Oh god, yes.”

“What do you say?” she taunts, voice laced with authority.

“Please.” Bucky pants. “Can I please fuck you?”

“Mmm. Asking so nicely.” She muses. “Of course you can.”

His eyes roll back, chest heaving. His mouth drops open but she presses a hand against his mouth.

“Gotta stay quiet. Don’t want everyone hearing you do we?”

Bucky nods, biting down on his lip.

“Good boy.” She leans down and kisses his forehead. “So good.”

She lifts her hips and presses his cock against her entrance.

Bucky rests a hand on her hips but she intertwines their fingers and presses his hand onto the couch cushions.

“No touching.”

Unfair. She’s being unfair.

As she lowers herself onto him, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to moan.

“Beautiful.” She whispers, eyes hooded and lips parted. “You’re beautiful.”

He thinks he could cum right then and there.

“Am I making you feel good?” She whispers.

Bucky nods, quiet moans on the tip of his tongue.

She gasps and tightens around him. Bucky bites down on his lip. Hard.

“M-move.” He whimpers. “Please.”

She replies by moving her hips back and forth.

“You feel so good, sweet thing.”

Bucky hums in content.

“Thank you.”

With every movement she makes, with every sound that leaves her lips, Bucky’s convinced she’s going to kill him.

“Do you know what la petite mort means, baby?” She asks him.

“Mhm.” Bucky opens his eyes. “It’s French. It means a little death.”

They’re nose to nose, both gasping into each other’s mouths. The gold necklaces she’s wearing dangles in his face and he bites down on a chain with a smile.

“It means more than that, baby. La petit mort refers to an orgasm. And from the looks of it,” She teases, “I think you’re coming close.”

Bucky groans, letting go of the chain.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum?”

“Yes.” He whimpers with desperation. “Can I cum? Can I cum for you?”

“Tell me I’m your angel.” She whispers into his ear.

“You’re my angel. Can I please cum?” He begs.

“No, not yet.” She laves her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Tell me I’m your only angel.”

“You’re my angel. My only angel.”

She squeezes around him and quickens her movements. Her hands press down on his chest as she lifts her hips and sinks back down onto him.

She’s an angel. His angel. In this moment, he’d do anything for her. Anything for his angel.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” He groans.

“Gonna cum?” She asks, voice silvery and low. “Gonna cum for me baby?”

All he can do is nod.

“Alright.”

She lifts herself off of him and before he can protest, she’s got her lips wrapped around him. He bucks his hips forward and empties himself into her mouth.

He watches in awe, chest heaving post-orgasm, as she swallows him down and pulls off of him. With a quick swipe of her hand across she smiles.

She crawls up his body and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“So good. You were so good for me.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #tfatws #fanfic

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 8

Catch up on Chapter 7 here

The summer tour to promote the album is ready to kick off, and the band is due back in America with a show in Arizona on Tuesday. And while Van has informed you that the other boys will be flying directly from their respective U.K. homes to Phoenix, Van has decided that he would like to fly in to California before road tripping to the venue. In his Range Rover. With you.

Word count: ~11.2k

A/N: I feel like I got more messages this week than ever about how many people love this fic, and it really meant so much to me. I hadn’t realized so many people were following along with Van and Y/N’s journey and it just makes me so excited to put each new chapter out into the world. For everyone who told me how they’re always excited for Wednesdays, know that I am too! This is one of the chapters that really sticks out to me as a favorite, so I hope you love it. Thank you so much for reading. Anyway, I’m done being mushy. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight June 2019

“Shut up,” You say around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’m being serious!”

“You’re not,” You insist despite Van’s arguing, chomping away.

“I am!” His voice rings out on speakerphone from where you’ve got the phone set on the kitchen table.

You open up a new tab on your laptop, where you’d been putting in some extra time on one of your work assignments. You quickly google Van’s suggestion.

“It’s like a six hour drive, and less than two hours of a flight. Why the fuck would you drive?”

“You think it’s a two hour flight,” Van argues. “But once you take into account checking bags, and delays, and having to be picked up at the airport, it’s still a six hour ordeal.”

He kind of had a point. You’d never managed to take a trip home without being caught in nasty flight delays. But you’d always assumed that was because you flew during the holidays. Still, you’re not caving to Van’s crazy idea.

“I can’t get those days off work,” You tell him.

“Yes you can. I know you can. Your boss loves you.”

He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Even if I could,” You sigh, “I can’t afford to not work for three days. Some of us live paycheck to paycheck, Van.”

Per usual, Van dissipates a potential argument with humor. “Quit your job. I’ll hire you on as my assistant.”

You choke on a popcorn kernel from laughing. “That’s my worst nightmare. Bending to your whim at all hours of the day. Like right now!”

Van’s voice sounds hopeful when he pipes up, “Are you saying you’re bending to my whim?”

“Absolutely not,” You tell him sternly. “This isn’t how real life works! I don’t have the ability to drop everything and do shit like this just because you want me to.”

“It’s not about me,” Van lies. You roll your eyes. “It’s fun for you, isn’t it? You have vacation time, don’t you? If you’re not taking a big vacation, at least you can have a couple days of fun here or there.”

The most frustrating part of this entire phone call was that Van was right. And now that he’s planted the seed of the idea in your head, you were already becoming hopeful that it would work out and you could slip away to Phoenix for a day. You’d already halfheartedly texted Mary to get her opinion on your predicament.

“It’ll be so much fun,” Van pleads. “You get so caught up in work. It’s good for you to get out.”

You don’t respond, but glare at the phone. You’re so fucking tired of people telling you to get out of your comfort zone. These last two months hanging out with Van have already flipped your comfort zone inside out. You could use a little more comfort in your life, actually.

“I get out a lot, thanks,” You snipe at him.

“You’re welcome, love,” Van says sweetly in retaliation.

Mary’s text notification appears on your laptop. You click it and sigh.

“Well, Mary can’t go,” You tell Van, who’d promised you right off the bat you could bring a guest along.

“Is Mary your only friend?”

“That’s mean!” You pout into the phone.

“M’sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was genuinely asking.”

“She’s not my only friend,” You huff, “But she’s my best friend.” There were no other friends you felt even vaguely comfortable taking a six hour road trip with. “If she can’t go, I’m not going to hang out in Arizona alone, so just forget it.”

“You won’t be alone, you’ll be with me!”

“Yeah, but I’m just supposed to stand around in the crowd alone? And go to the hotel alone? And hang out while you’re at rehearsals alone? Sounds like so much fun.”

“It won’t be like that. Promise. If you’re my only guest I’ll get you a pass and you can go wherever I can. You can hang out during soundcheck, be backstage during the show, whatever.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “So if I don’t bring a guest I’m allowed backstage, but if I do then I’m not?”

“Yeah. We’re not big on people hanging out in the dressing room. We try to keep the number of guests small. But the boys know you. They won’t mind.”

“I dunno, Van,” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Think about it, please,” He gives his final plea. “It’ll be a good time.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it, whatever,” You lie, only to get him off of your back.

“Okay. Miss you,” Van chirps.

“Miss you.” And then the call is over.

You fold your arms down on the table, nestling your head on top of them.

The thing is, Van always gets his way, doesn’t he?

If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be driving his Range Rover over to his house on Monday morning, your suitcase resting on its side in the backseat.

Van is not ready on time, forcing you to begrudgingly shut the car off and knock on his front door impatiently after waiting for him long enough.

“Sorry!” Van apologizes immediately as he swings the front door open. He’s bustling around in jeans, his belt looped through the waist but not buckled. He’s got socks on but no shoes, and he’s got a t-shirt rumpled around his neck. You’re not sure if he’s trying to wear it or take it off.

“You’re not even dressed!” You groan, as Van races around fussing with the items in his suitcases.

“One of my bags got lost on the flight over,” He explains. “So I’m trying to figure out what was in it and what’s missing.” He stands up straight, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck.”

That’s a pretty good excuse, one you can’t be mad at him for. You sigh, softening. “That sucks.”

Van nods into his hands. When he lets them fall you can see how flushed his face is in frustration and decide to take pity on him.

“First things first,” You march over to him, getting your hands on his belt. “Get dressed.”

You buckle his belt and he sighs, tugging his arms into the shirt around his neck. You spot his usual boots resting by the front door. “Are you wearing those?”

He nods and you head over to the door, tossing them to Van. He slips them on and zips them up, tugging the cuffs of his jeans over them, and now he’s at least dressed.

Now you look around at the mess on the floor. “Do you have some sort of packing list?”

Van shrugs. “Not, like, written out, no. I pack all the time. I just kinda… do it.”

You don’t understand how anyone can mentally keep a packing list when it comes to packing your entire life away in preparation for months on the road. You reach for an unopened letter sitting on the table by the door. “Have a pen?”

Despite not having a list, Van has a pen within reach. He passes it over to you.

“Alright,” You sigh. “Let’s go through this step-by-step.”

After an hour and a half delay Van is significantly calmer, and mostly sure that he’s got everything he needs. The one thing that’s definitely been lost is his handful of adaptors so that his chargers work in America, so you have to stop off at Walmart before the drive can really begin so that he can buy some. Which works for you, considering you needed some drinks and snacks anyway.

You and Van separate as soon as you’re in the doors. You make a beeline for the food aisles while Van heads to find his adaptors.

Your assignment is pretty simple. Van doesn’t want any soft drinks, only water. But not just any water, he’d specified, but the largest water available. Considering that’s not sold in the coolers near the front where you grab a soft drink and an average sized water, you’re held up browsing for a bit. Eventually you find something that you hope he likes nestled amongst the two-liter bottles of juices and fruit punches and teas and any other sugary drink you could imagine. Then there’s snacks. Van wants Doritos, but you like a selection. You get yourself a smaller bag of potato chips, and some different boxes of movie theater candy from a different aisle. By the time you’re done, you’re sure he’s probably already searching for you.

Instead you find him still meandering around the tech area, all six feet of him clearly visible over the shelves.

“I can’t find them,” He mutters when you roll your squeaky shopping cart towards him. “I’ve checked everywhere.”

“Does this work?” You change the subject, lifting the water you’d gotten him. He nods, then goes back to scouring.

“Maybe they’re not over here,” You suggest after you’d abandoned the cart and conducted your own search without luck. “Is there a travel section?”

With that idea you follow Van as he heads for the luggage section.

You find the adaptors in the same aisle as the suitcases and duffle bags, along with other travel items you browse through curiously. There’s coolers as small as a shoe box and ice packs that will apparently stay frozen even in one-hundred degree heat. There’s sets of blankets and pillows rolled into packaging so tight you have no idea how you’d cram everything back in there. There’s a million different wallets that supposedly withstand every sort of natural disaster.

“This is so soft,” You gush as you’re squeezing each and every neck pillow. Van is still examining his adaptors, making sure he’s got exactly the right kind, but he does pause to reach out a hand and give the pillow you’ve held out to him a squish.

“That is soft,” He muses.

You pull it around your neck, rolling your head against it. “Oh my God, it feels so good,” You practically moan.

Van stands up straight, plucking one from the display for himself. “This is amazing,” He agrees, before tossing it in the cart. “I need a new one. You want one?”

You pause where you’re still happily hanging your head limply. “They’re forty dollars,” You point out.

Van only shrugs.

“I don’t need one,” You insist, taking yours off of your shoulders and setting it back on the hanger. “It’s fine.”

Van stares at you. You stare at him.

“I don’t really travel,” You say, putting your hands on the cart, ready to walk away.

As you start to roll away another neck pillow lands in the basket, rattling the things it lands on.

You snap your neck to look at Van, who’s grinning.

“You’re traveling right now, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes to avoid having to think too hard about him spending money on you. And with that you head for the cash register, Van lagging behind you.

It takes over an hour to feel like the drive has really started. Although you’re on the highway, you’re caught in morning rush hour with jammed exits and people refusing to even meet the minimum speed. You can tell it drives Van nuts, who drums his fingertips on the steering wheel impatiently, changes the radio stations obsessively, and switches lanes when there really isn’t enough space for the Range Rover to squeeze over. It feels like a regular drive until the traffic eventually falls away and you guys can really get going, finally speeding away from your homes and towards Arizona.

“So when is everyone else arriving?” You ask after there’s been a bout of focused silence as Van tries to gain some ground, staying quiet as the radio plays.

“I have no clue,” He shrugs. “They could be there already, I dunno.”

“You haven’t spoken to them?”

“Not about flights, no. We talked about the show and how we’re excited to be back in America. But that’s it really.”

You think this over, watching the blur of restaurants and gas stations fly by.

“Do you like shows in the U.K. or U.S. better?” You ask eventually.

“Like ‘em both.”

“Oh, c’mon,” You sigh, turning to look at him. “That’s such an interview answer. You have to have a preference.”

Van licks his lips. “I like playing arenas,” He shrugs. “Arenas are fun. Shows in the U.K. are massive.”

“But you think arenas are the best thing in the world, and you’ll never wanna do a show anywhere else again, and then we do a smaller room in America and it’s class. You connect with the audience in an arena, but you don’t feel like you’re connecting with every single person in the crowd like you do in a smaller room.” He continues, “I don’t care though. I just love playing. As long as there’s a stage I’m happy. It doesn’t even have to be a real stage. I can stand on a milk crate.”

You have to laugh at that. “Okay, whatever. Fine. Where do you prefer living, then?”

Van considers this for a moment. “I dunno.”

“Oh, let me guess, Mr. I-like-everything. You can’t choose.”

“I can’t!” Van laughs. “There’s so many factors that go into it. That’s too hard of a question. I’ll say, I loved New York though. Have you ever been?”

“For one weekend,” You recall. “It was for school. A weekend of workshops and lectures and stuff. I didn’t get to see much, though. There was too much I wanted to do and not enough time after sitting in the convention center all day.”

You realize Van must feel the same way. In beautiful cities with not enough time to explore them. “Doesn’t that happen to you on tour?”

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t seem very disappointed.”

“M’not, really. The most exciting thing about a place to me is usually the music. And when we’re there we’re the music. I do miss a museum or a shop once in a while that I wish I’d been to.”

You sigh. Sometimes it feels like you and Van couldn’t be more unalike. He never seemed to have any anxieties or regrets about anything. Everything rolled off of him but stuck to you like you were flypaper.

“What’s your biggest regret?” You ask him suddenly, sitting up straighter.

“What, are we playing twenty questions?” Van laughs. “Pass me my water, will you?”

His bottle is too big for the cup holders so it’s rolling around by your feet. You pick it up and uncap it for him, handing it over. “You’re the one who wanted to road trip. Are we supposed to drive in silence?”

You watch Van’s throat work as he swallows down his drink before handing it back over to you.

“We can talk,” He replies. “But you go first. What’s your biggest regret?”

You know your biggest regret. It’s the first thing that pops into your mind whenever the topic comes up.

You don’t speak right away, though. You look out the windshield at the sky instead, watching as the car passes under the giant, cotton ball clouds.

“Leaving home,” You finally admit. You fold your legs up, hugging your knees into your chest. It makes the seatbelt cut into the soft flesh of your stomach, but you barely notice. “I’ve never told anyone that, actually.”

Van keeps his eyes on the road. “Never?”

“Never.” You say quietly. “Just you.”

“Why?”

“Why haven’t I told anyone or why do I regret it?”

“Both.”

You take a deep breath and rest your head on your knees so that you’re gazing at Van.

“It was too impulsive. Eighteen is way too young to be leaving behind your entire support system. My girlfriend had a shitty family, and I get leaving when things are like that. Like, if you don’t have anyone, might as well leave and start the life you want. Nothing to lose, sure. But I left a lot behind. My parents aren’t perfect, duh, whose are, but they loved me.”

So many feelings have started to swell up in you. You don’t know how to put them into words, but Van stays quiet, so you try.

“And I never told anyone because… How could I? Things turned out okay, didn’t they? I have a degree from UCLA. How many high school seniors are dying for that acceptance letter? I rent a nice place in one of the most expensive cities to live in in the country. I’ve got a nice job. Nice friends. My parents are so proud of me. They brag about me to everyone. How I left home and did so amazing on my own. I could never tell them I’d do things differently. And you try to say this stuff to people like you, or Mary, and they take it as a personal offense like I wish I’d never met them, you know what I mean?”

Van chuckles, nodding in understanding.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” You shake your head, wipe your hair out of your face. “I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.”

“You did ask a pretty loaded question,” Van snorts. But he reaches one of his hands across the console, resting it blindly on your knee in a moment of comfort before bringing it back to the steering wheel. “So lemme ask this, though: Are you happy?”

“Am I happy? Hm. I would say so. Happier than the people I see living on the streets. Happier than the kids that get roped into gang violence every day.”

“So you enjoy your life?”

“I mean. Sure. It’s fine. Yeah. Things could be better, but I like it.”

Saying it outloud, you realize your answer doesn’t equate to being happy. Or enjoying your life. There’s no feeling of satisfaction with what you’ve accomplished. But at the same time, you were only 24. Isn’t this how your twenties go?

Van seems to realize the crack in your answer, but he doesn’t say anything. You’re eager to change the subject off of your existential crisis.

“So what’s your regret?”

“Hm. I don’t have, like, one big one I can pinpoint like yours. But I have a lot of small ones that have kind of… rolled up over time.”

Your heart sinks. Of course you’d just spilled your heart out to someone who’s regret is probably going to be that he didn’t wear more comfortable shoes to drive in. You remember the wine-drunk conversation you and Mary had when you were done taking pictures, when you’d told her how you don’t really know Van.

“You have to have regrets.” Your voice wavers. “Please tell me you have at least one regret in your life, that you weren’t just born a beaming ray of sunshine.”

Van cackles. “A beaming ray of sunshine? I am not! Of course I have regrets!”

“Well, I’m just saying,” You huff. “You’re so calm about everything. It drives me nuts sometimes. Like, is it all an act? Or do you genuinely breeze through life?”

“I don’t breeze through life. At all. I guess I was raised to… not take things so hard, I suppose. So when things are out of my control I do try and shake them off. But I have lots of things that bother me. I try not to dwell on them, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

“Well for starters, I get the same guilt at leaving home.” Van wags his finger at you. “So that’s something we share. I don’t regret it, I knew what I was doing and I wanted to leave my hometown and I’m happy I did. But I know my parents miss me. And considering how hard they tried to have me I do feel a bit bad we haven’t gotten to live together under the same roof since I was… Twenty? I think?”

At Van’s confession you exhale in relief. “They tried hard to have you? Did they miscarry?”

Van shakes his head. “No, my mum didn’t miscarry. She couldn’t miscarry because nothing would take. I think she would’ve rather miscarried and realized her body could at least make a baby than what was going on. Just… nothing. Doctors told her she was barren.”

“And then… Bam? You?”

“Nah. Not even close. She was hit by a car when she was younger, you see. So there was some internal damage. Everyone tried to convince her just to adopt but she wouldn’t do it. Her and my dad tried IVF. They did two rounds, nothing. It was costing them everything. And breaking my mum’s heart. They saved up for one more round. And… here comes me.”

“Bam, you.” You repeat in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone born that way. I don’t even know anyone who’s adopted.”

Van seems happy to tell the story of his conception. “It’s mental to think about, isn’t it?” He changes gears, getting back on topic. “But see, they worked so hard to have me, and then I up ‘n left ‘em. But they’re so proud. It is sad, though.”

“That is kinda sad,” You frown. “What else?”

Van sighs. “I have a ton of, like, love regrets. There’s been a lot of relationships where the thing that really went wrong was just me being young and not putting in enough effort. So I guess all of those. Not trying harder. Leaving someone you love at home while you go tour is tough already, let alone me being a right prick and not bothering to call or text or any of that.”

“Oh, Lord. So you’re saying you were the boyfriend who wouldn’t speak to you for days until you’re wondering if you’re even dating anymore.”

Van winces. “Yeah. I did try, I didn’t think I was that bad! Time differences are hard. Finding time to call in the beginning when it was pushing the band from sun up to sun down was hard. But I could’ve done it if I’d made more of an effort. I’d forget birthdays, that sort of thing. I lost girlfriends I really saw a future with. Which fucking sucks. I know I broke their hearts. I wasn’t out to do that to anyone. I regret that.”

Van’s answer satisfies you. You unfold your legs, resting back in your seat. “And are you happy?”

“I’m very happy,” Van replies immediately. “I love my life. I love the band. I love waking up everyday and getting to do this as my job. Doesn’t mean I don’t hit hard times. And I always grew up around a lotta love. My mum and dad were very in love. Still are. So when I’m single I do tend to feel like I’m missing out on something.”

You don’t have a response for him. You still reach out, same as he did for you, and give his knee a squeeze. He smiles.

You guys give your heart-to-heart conversations a rest, instead taking some quiet time as you approach the Arizona border. You munch on your snacks and feed Van some of his when he asks, and you two take turns deciding what radio station to listen to.

As Arizona approaches so does a thick blanket of clouds, successfully blocking your view of the brilliant blue sky. Eventually you’re caught in a drizzle. You enjoy watching the rain soak the desert, a strange sight you’ve never considered before.

The longer Van drives, the thicker the clouds get. What had started as a thin blanket of light gray clouds with sun peeking through starts to become a more dense, charcoal covered sky, the rain starting to pound.

You persist on your journey as long as you can, windshield wipers whipping away the droplets, but eventually it’s too hard for Van to see. The rain pours down the windows like a curtain, the wipers only creating ripples through the thick layer of water. Cars less suited for the road conditions have veered off to the side, waiting the worst of the storm out. You and Van decide to do the same, pulling into the first rest stop that appears.

You guys had needed a break, anyway. It feels good to stretch your legs out as you and Van gallop into the building and out of the buckets of rain. Other drivers have had the same idea, and inside is peppered with damp people looking for a place away from the storm.

You use the restroom and pick through the pamphlets about everything Arizona has to offer until Van sneaks up behind you.

“Reading something interesting?” He spooks you, making you jump.

“Yeah, look. Have you ever heard of these guys? They’re playing in Phoenix tomorrow.”

Inside one of the tourist booklets is an event schedule. One of the pages is dedicated to Catfish and the Bottlemen, decorated with a dramatic black and white picture of the band and featuring their notorious toucan. You flash the page at Van, who laughs.

“Nobody’s gonna go after seeing my ugly face.” He tries to slip the book through your fingers, but you hold tighter. “C’mon, I need a smoke.”

“I’m keeping this,” You insist, clinging to it tightly. “It’s a souvenir.”

You sprint back to the car with him, trying to keep the book dry. An impossible task, but you hope once the pages air dry it’ll be salvageable. You set it aside on the dashboard, where the vent can blow on it.

Van cracks the window, letting in an obnoxious amount of rainwater as he smokes.

“I’m freezing,” You shudder, soaked to the bone. “Can we turn the heat on?”

Van obliges, but the air still feels cold when it hits your damp skin. Your clothes and hair are soaked, sticking to your skin. You’re glad you hadn’t bothered to put any effort into your appearance.

Between puffs of his cigarette you can see Van looking over at you as you scroll through your phone. It becomes so obvious that eventually you catch him in the act.

“Why are you looking at me?” You ask. Van smiles, so you smile nervously back. “I get it, I look crazy. Leave me alone!”

You flip down the overhead mirror, looking for whatever flaw Van is obviously obsessed with staring at. Your hair is completely parted wrong, somehow both wet and frizzy at the same time. “Is it my hair? Do I have something in my teeth?” You check your teeth in the mirror but they pass the inspection. You flip the mirror back up, looking at Van expectantly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Van brushes you off, ashing his cigarette out of the crack in the window.

“Something’s wrong. You’re making me self conscious.”

“I’m not trying to make you self conscious. Sorry. It’s nothing.”

You jump on his phrasing. “What is it?”

Van lets his cigarette go out of the window before rolling it up. The space is much quieter without having to hear the rain hit the cement at full volume. “Nothing!”

His eyes are on you again and you squirm, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Stop staring at me, then!” You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

“I mean,” Van sighs, exasperated. “Look at you!”

You look down at yourself then, and understand. You were wearing a white shirt, which has now dissolved into a transparent layer with the rain. You were practically sitting there naked. The thin bralette you have on underneath is clearly visible, and unable to conceal your nipples that are rock hard from the cold.

“You’re fit. That’s all I was thinking,” Van mutters.

Your cheeks heat up in realization. “Oh.”

Van looks away, fussing with the settings on the different vents to look busy. Now that he’s admitted his desire the air in the car feels thick with it. Your heart is pounding while your mind buzzes.

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” You mention quietly as the rain roars louder outside.

“Yeah. I just checked the weather and it’s supposed to pass over soon. This is the worst of it.”

You nod, still not looking at Van. You watch the water wash over the glass, obscuring your view of the outside. Surely nobody else can see, either. Not to mention the dark tint on the windows.

“I’m gonna change my shirt.” You try for breezy, but you know your voice always betrays your nerves. You look over at him. “You should get in the back and change, too.”

Van’s head snaps to meet your gaze, his eyes dark. He searches your face, clearly trying to decipher if you’re suggesting what he thinks you are. You raise your eyebrows in response, and reach over to click your door unlocked.

“You coming?” You ask him, before swinging the passenger door open and jumping out, trying to clamor into the backseat as fast as humanly possible. You shriek as you’re hit with a fresh douse of icy rain, tugging urgently at the handle. Van opens his door to the back bench at the same time, and the two of you are confronted with the luggage blocking your way. In the pouring rain you both scramble to toss it in the back before climbing in.

No sooner are you drenching the leather seats than Van has his hands on you, guiding you both into a soppy kiss. Your teeth chatter behind your lips and Van is breathing harshly from the shock to his system.

Your only relief is to shed your cold clothes. You get your hands under Van’s shirt, peeling the layer away. He does the same to yours, but struggles with your bralette. You take care of that for him, your chest completely broken out in goosebumps and your nipples unbearably sensitive.

Van’s in charge of peeling away his own boots.

“Is there a condom in your wallet?” You ask while he does that, reaching over the console for the cup holder where his leather wallet is.

“Yeah.”

You open it up, peering curiously in the compartments. “Where?”

“Right there with the cash.”

“There’s none in here.”

Van sighs in frustration, pausing after he undoes his belt to look himself. But you’re right. There’s none in there. “What?” He breathes in frustration, checking again. Still nothing. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

He closes the wallet, tossing it carelessly back up front. “Anyway, there’s some in my suitcase.”

You lean over the seats into the trunk. “What bag?”

“The black one.”

“They’re all black.”

“The one… fuck!” Van runs his hands through his hair. “The one that got lost at the airport.”

You sink into a sitting position, unsure of what to say.

“Do you have any?” Van asks you, his eyes pleading.

You shake your head. “You always have some.”

The mood is slowly starting to disintegrate as you two wrack your brains.

“You didn’t grab any at Walmart?” You ask hopefully.

It’s Van’s turn to shake his head. “I thought I had enough.”

You slump against your seat. “Do you think they sell any in there? They had that vending machine with the Tylenol and stuff.” You hadn’t seen any condoms, but then again you hadn’t particularly been looking.

Van perks up at that. “I think they have a machine in the men’s room.”

“...What?”

“What?”

You both stare at each other curiously. “A machine?”

Van nods. “Yeah. You put the quarter in and twist, ya know?”

“Like a tampon dispenser?”

Van shrugs. “Never seen one.”

You gesture. “Like a box on the wall?”

“Yeah!”

This information blows your mind, but you reach down on the floor and retrieve Van’s soaked shirt. “Go get one!”

Van groans, but obliges. He’s a rumpled mess when he exists the car, and you notice as he jogs away his belt is still undone.

While you sit there alone you finish undressing yourself. When that’s done you peruse the trunk, tugging out a throw blanket you’d packed and wrapping it around yourself for some coverage.

You see Van the second he bursts through the building doors, condom clearly in hand.

“Got one?” You ask when he hops back into the car, even though he clearly does.

“Yeah. Trojans, too.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“Yeah,” Van grins. “There was a lad at the urinal having a right laugh at me. Standing there in my socks with my belt undone.”

You grin at the image. “What’d you say?”

“What could I say? I just laughed with him.”

He’s got a second condom that he sets aside. “There’s one for my wallet. I can grab some more in Phoenix.”

He struggles to kick his jeans off and then adds his shirt and socks to the sopping puddle of fabric on the floor. Finally you’re both naked.

“You’re gonna have to warm me up,” Van says, reaching for you. “I’m way too cold to get wrapped.”

He tugs you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. The throw blanket around your shoulders encompasses you both, managing to create a space where your combined body heat can warm you up. You get a slow grind going against Van’s clammy thighs.

It’s a strange position to be in, sitting upright chest to chest. Every time you move your nipples rub against his chest hair, the sensitivity making you wince.

Van notices, his palms moving from your sides to roughly cup your breasts. His fingers are cold but his palms are warm, an instant relief against your nipples.

“That feels so good,” You tell him. “Blow into your hands.”

He does as he’s told, heating his palms up with hot air and rubbing them together before he cups you again, helping you warm up. You return the favor by breathing your hot breath down his neck, making him shiver.

“You’re so fit,” Van murmurs when you push the wet hair out of his face, tipping his head back to kiss him. “I don’t think I tell you enough.”

“Stop,” You groan quietly, forever uncomfortable taking even the slightest compliment. “You are too. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“There’s no credit to be given,” Van insists. In retaliation you bite down on his shoulder, making him jump.

Van lets a hand drop from your chest, easing around to touch you for some foreplay. He goes between your legs from behind, the brush of his fingertips making you startle.

“Easy, easy,” Van reassures you as he gently explores. But it’s like an ice cube pressing against you, and you cringe away.

“Quit, you’re so cold.” You tell him. “Like an icicle touching me.”

Van pulls away, bringing his fingers between your bodies. “Do you want me to do the honors?” He asks.

But you grab his wrist, guiding his two fingers into your mouth. You feel his dick jump against your thigh as you take them as deep as they can go, making a real show out of it.

“Oh, Christ,” Van groans, tipping his head back. “You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

You stop sucking with a sloppy noise, leaving him to guide his fingers back between your legs. Now that they’re warm the sensation is pleasant, and he eases them inside of you easily. It’s good, but highlights the ache of his absence more vividly.

“How are you doing?” You ask against his neck as you’re in the middle of pushing back against the pressure of his fingers. You slip a hand between his legs to feel for yourself. He throbs in your palm.

“Good,” He says, voice strained. “Making sure you’re coming along.” He slips his fingers out of you, spreading the wetness on his knuckles over your clit before rubbing in his usual circles.

Something about him considering your pleasure tugs at your heart. You bury your head in his neck, breathing his scent in while you try to push away the strange rush. “Van,” You breathe, but he understands, pulling his fingers away and reaching for the condom.

You have to shift your weight around to give him enough space, but then he’s ready. There’s a shared desperation as you guide him into you, both of you groping for the other, panting and kissing and groaning as you wiggle in his lap.

It’s physically the closest you’ve ever been to someone during sex. You’ve never been in this position, chest to chest with someone while they’re inside of you. The added tight space of the car means that no sound is lost as you two get going. And nothing feels the same as the first time after Van’s been away. You two have finally warmed up, and in this moment everything feels intense and perfect.

Van seems to feel the same, his eyes practically rolling back into his head every time you bounce against him. When he tips his head back in overwhelm you lunge forward, kissing down the column of his throat. You can feel his moan vibrating against your lips.

There’s no words exchanged as you fuck him. Anything that needs to be communicated is done through sharp breaths, groans, his fingertips digging into your sides, your hands in his hair, your teeth grazing each other’s skin, your mouths clashing together. The way your thighs shake and his stomach clenches.

“Let’s flip,” are the first words, uttered quietly by Van.

“No,” You pant. “I’m not going through that hassle.” There was no way Van was going to steal this moment from you. Your whole body was on fire with how incredible everything felt. No way in hell was he going to convince you to let him be in control. No fucking way.

Van whines in disagreement, pouting. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging hard. A raw noise escapes his lips as you hold his head tightly.

“I am so fucking close,” You pant, speeding up against his thighs for emphasis. “And I know you are too. So chill out, Van.”

When you say his name his eyelids flutter closed, relaxing more fully into the grip of your hand.

You hold him there for a bit longer, loving the access to the underside of his jaw. When you release him he stays put.

Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, something that rarely happens. As soon as you feel the tight tension between your legs Van seems to sense it, too, snapping his eyes open. He sits up straight, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as you tremble through it, crying out. He squeezes you a bit tighter as you ride the wave of your climax, and loosens his arms as you whimper through the aftershocks. It doesn’t take him too long after, and you cup his jaw in your hands, carefully watching the way his freckles shift as his face scrunches up. Oh how you’ve missed watching him come. You kiss him when it’s over.

When everything is said and done you climb off of him, tugging the blanket tighter around you. All of the windows are completely steamed over, windshield included. You’re trembling head to toe even though you’re not cold.

Van ties off the condom but has no choice but to set it gingerly in one of the backseat cup holders. “Don’t let me forget that,” He tells you.

When he meets your gaze you’re sure he’s mirroring your expression. Something about the encounter has you feeling like an exposed nerve. The intensity of the experience makes your stomach hurt. You’ve got that deep feeling in your bones you get from incredible sex. That feeling when you know that was a moment that exceeds others, a moment you’ll always remember.

“Have I told you I missed you?” Van asks quietly. You wonder if his stomach aches like yours.

“Not yet,” You whisper.

“I fucking missed you,” Van says, getting up on his knees to start searching around for some dry clothes. He struggles to unzip a bag before handing you one of his hoodies. The scent of his laundry detergent as you tug it over your head makes you feel dizzy.

“I missed you,” You tell him, sitting up to dig around in your own bags.

Hours later you finally pull up at the hotel. You feel sorely out of place standing at the front desk next to Van, with your sweats and flip flops and rain damp hair. You’re swimming in Van’s hoodie, the cuffs of the arms hanging longer than your hands, and you fuss with your sleeves as Van speaks to the concierge. Everything is glossy marble and shiny brass accents, rich fabrics. The people look important, dressed in business attire. Van doesn’t look like he belongs either, but he’s so charming you don’t think anyone realizes it.

On your way to the elevators you only pray that you don’t see any of the other boys in your present state.

“Do you know if anyone else is here?” You ask when you and Van are the only ones in the elevator. It’s hard for you to believe it’s only 5pm. This day feels like it’s been eternal, and you’re exhausted.

“Dunno,” Van yawns. “Bob might be. Benji and Bondy usually don’t fly early if they can help it.”

You follow Van down the hall to your assigned room. Someone from the crew is headed to unload the car and bring Van’s bags up here, but you’d felt too awkward to take advantage of that, rolling your suitcase behind you.

It’s a nice room with two beds, a large bathroom and kitchenette, and a small cement balcony with a decent view of the city. There’s a gift basket on the desk like there had been in San Diego.

“Do you always get gift baskets?” You ask, poking around to see what he’s been given.

“Most of the time,” Van says, looking through it with you. “I mean, having a whole touring crew stay in your hotel is a lot of business. So they’re usually eager to make a good impression.”

That makes sense. You continue to look around. You want to open up your suitcase on the second bed, but you’re not sure if Van wants you two to sleep separately. You’ve never been in a situation where you had the option not to share one bed. Maybe he wants some space.

You awkwardly leave your bag standing in the middle of the floor while you poke around the kitchenette.

“What are you supposed to do with this?” You ask, lifting up the kettle on the small counter. There’s no stovetop where you’d be able to boil water in it, and there’s an electric cord attached to it.

“Um…” Van look at you quizzically. “Make tea?”

“But there’s no stove to heat it.”

“It’s electric.” Van gestures loosely at the kettle. “You fill it, plug it in.”

“Is this the hotel’s?”

“No. We each have one. The team leaves it for us.”

You continue to gape at it in amazement. You’ve never heard of an electric kettle.

“You’re so American it kills me,” Van shakes his head. There’s a knock at the door, and he rushes to retrieve his bags. He thanks whoever brought them up graciously before hauling them onto the bed closest to the door. That settled the bed situation, then.

You don’t know how you expected the rest of the evening to go, but you’re surprised at how mundane it is. You shower in preparation for tomorrow and half-heartedly blowdry your hair so that it wouldn’t soak your pillow. When you’re done with your shower Van places a room service order for dinner, and afterwards you two laze on the bed, watching whatever random movie is playing on the TV. Eventually you feel yourself dozing off even though it’s only eight, and snuggle up for an early night. The last thing you remember is Van telling you that Bondy had just arrived and he was going to his room for a smoke before you doze off.

You wake up to an empty bed, disoriented that you’re not at home and confused about what time it is. All of the blackout curtains are drawn but sunlight still manages to seep underneath them, illuminating the windowsill and a square of the carpet by the balcony doors.

You check your phone for any texts from Van, but there are none. You’ve slept later than usual, probably thanks to the blackout curtains, and you’re surprised to see it’s nearing noon. You take your sweet time climbing out of bed and meandering over to the kitchenette to fuck with the coffee maker.

It’s only as you’re reading the laminated instructions the hotel’s left on the counter that you hear Van’s voice, muffled through the glass doors. From where you’re standing you can see a sliver of him through the curtains, shuffling around on the balcony. You wonder who he’s outside with, and why he’d brought someone through the room while you were sleeping instead of just going to their room.

“Yeah…” You hear him say, straining to hear as you fill the machine with water from the tap. “Right. Right.”

You can only hear Van’s voice, and not whoever he’s replying to.

“Maybe. We’ll see. We’ll see, alright?”

You’re unable to hear as the machine gets going with a hiss, making a racket as it heats the water you’ve added and runs it through the grounds in the filter. The noise of it filling the styrofoam cup you’ve put under the machine is even worse, a loud trickle that feels like it takes forever to fill the cup.

There’s a shift in the shadows as Van stands up, and you can hear him pace.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” He laughs, and you realize he’s on the phone. With a sinking feeling it occurs to you that he could easily be talking to another girl. Does he do this same thing to her? Sneak away for phone calls with you?

You have to add an obscene amount of sugar packets to your coffee in order to make it slightly drinkable. You hope Van doesn’t take sugar in his tea, because there’s not much left for him. But judging by the way the kettle has a light on, it seems like he’s already made himself some.

You don’t know what comes over you, but the more you think about Van talking to another girl while you vigorously stir your coffee, the angrier it makes you. Sure you’re not exclusive with him, but at the very least he could have some basic decency and not call them directly after sharing a bed with you. Not to mention he hadn’t even bothered to leave the room, really. Only a thin set of doors kept you and this other girl from knowing about each other. Because really, who else would he be calling? Anyone he could possibly want to speak to is only a room away.

It’s this unexpected anger that carries your feet to the doors before you step out on the patio. You’d expected to startle Van, but that’s an unrealistic goal. He’s got his back to you, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other wrapped around his mug of tea. He nods to you in acknowledgement before taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s fucking annoying,” He agrees into the phone. “I’d be fuming.”

The mystery person talks for a bit longer, Van humming along in agreement before he speaks again.

“I’ll call you later,” He says, “Someone needs me.” The other person seems to put up a fuss, because he continues with, “Soon! Soon! I know. Okay.”

There are a few more okay’s and platitudes before he finishes the call with a warm I love you that has you digging your fingernails into your palm.

When Van hangs up he’s quiet. It’s not your place to ask who it was, a fact you have to chant to yourself in your mind like a mantra to keep the question from rolling off your tongue.

“They can talk forever, me mum ‘n dad,” Van says finally, turning so that he’s facing you.

You feel the blood drain out of your face as you realize who he’d been speaking to. You try to keep your expression neutral as your irrational anger drops away.

“Talking about them yesterday with you reminded me to give them a call. I was long overdue. They get so excited to hear what I’m up to.”

You sip your coffee. “You don’t text them?” You rarely called your parents. Texting was your primary way of keeping up with them, along with the occasional facetime.

“Sometimes. But they don’t really get texting. They like to pass the phone back and forth so they can both talk to me.” He grins as he explains this. “They love The Balance. Everytime I talk to them they’ve got a new favorite.”

You smile at that. “They love The Balance?”

“Yeah. They love everything we’ve done. They’ve always got the band playing. They play it when I’m not around, tellin’ everyone oh that’s my son, you know.” He lights up as he talks about them, sitting down on the wire chair next to the one you’ve settled into.

“That’s cool. That they support you like that. It’s one thing for them to be proud but it’s not their kind of music,” You say. “But for them to love it… That’s cute.”

“It is,” Van nods. “The only thing I hate is that they start getting on my back about who they’re about.” He shakes his head. “When 7 came out my mum was like, ‘I really like that song, Van. But who are you not calling back?’”

You laugh at that, and Van joins in.

“Do you tell them?” You ask when the laughter’s died down.

Van shrugs. “Depends. They’re my best mates so usually they have a pretty good idea before they even ask.”

The conversation dies down as you think about what Van’s said. It must be strange to have your parents listening to your songs so intently, like having them read your journal, but Van doesn’t seem to mind. Something about his close relationship with his parents sits warm in your stomach with your coffee.

“So…” You speak up eventually, “How do days like this go?”

“Oh, right. I’ve got your pass, by the way. You have to remind me to grab it.”

Just as Van explained, a few hours later the band is rounded up into a car before being escorted to the venue, where you’ll spend the rest of the day. After the initial arrival- with someone from the venue giving a quick tour of where everything is- everyone is left to their own devices, lounging around backstage until soundcheck, which you watch from side stage.

It’s more laid back than you’d thought. The band spends a lot of the time laughing with each other, telling jokes into their microphones in between requests for their instruments to be tweaked. Their guitar tech, Van’s childhood best friend Larry who you’d been introduced to today, jokingly stomps around as if their requests are the bane of his existence. They only play a few songs all the way through, and then apparently that’s the end of it and they’re ready for the show later.

After soundcheck everyone digs into the catered lunch. You’d been expecting some run-of-the-mill cafeteria type food, but instead it’s home cooked food that tastes incredible. Well, the mac and cheese tastes incredible. You shy away from most of the menu considering it’s mostly British foods you weren’t familiar with. But if the amount the boys eat is any indication, it must be amazing.

Afterwards everyone is laying around in the dressing room, with Bondy playing some eclectic music through a bluetooth speaker. You try to come across as relaxed, but truthfully you’re anything but. Van wasn’t kidding when he said they didn’t like guests. There’s no other guests besides you. You’re the odd one out keeping to yourself as they sing along to songs you don’t know and take frequent smoke breaks you’re too awkward to join. Everything is strange, and unfamiliar, and you’re so worried about disrupting any of their pre-show routine that you basically sit on your phone most of the time, taking occasional moments to laugh along politely so you don’t seem like you’re having a bad time. You’re so tense from it all that your neck aches.

The door to the hall is open, a steady flow of people passing the doorway. You’d overheard someone announce that the opening act had just arrived, and the volume of people bustling around was increasing with a second band in the venue. Somewhere in the chaos a little boy suddenly meanders into the dressing room.

He looks to be about three years old, blinking around at the band in shock.

“Hi, lad,” Bondy says. The boy stares at him, speechless, eliciting a laugh from everyone.

“Whatcha doin’?” Van asks. He’d been sprawled out on the loveseat while you’d been tightly bunched against the armrest, but at the arrival of this guest he suddenly slides off of the cushions, sitting down on the floor. He waves.

The little boy waves back, still looking like a deer in headlights.

“Aw, Charlie,” Van pouts. “You’re just gonna stand there?”

You assume the boy’s name is Charlie, because when Van says it the boy giggles, starting to toddle towards where Van’s sitting on the floor. Van stretches his arms out, snatching Charlie up when he’s close enough and plopping him into his lap. Charlie shrieks in amusement.

A middle aged man enters the room, relieved to see the two of them on the floor.

“Scares the shit out of me when he does that,” The guy shakes his head. As he approaches, Charlie stands up on Van’s thigh, throwing his chubby arms around Van’s neck and squealing, a clear indicator he does not want to go.

“Oi, oi,” Van winces, untangling the toddler from around his neck.

“He misses you,” The man laughs. “I could see him looking for you all day, like-” He widens his eyes, imitating a deer-in-headlights expression.

“You miss me?” Van asks, dramatically placing a hand on his heart and looking to Charlie for confirmation. Charlie doesn’t give one, but he giggles.

“Want me to watch him for a bit?” Van asks, shifting Charlie’s weight when he stands directly in his line of vision.

“You don’t have to,” The guy insists.

“Are you kidding?” Van scoffs playfully, before tickling Charlie. “I love hanging out with him! We have fun, right lad?” There’s the ear-piercing burst of baby giggles.

“Alright. When he starts annoying you just bring him back.”

“Annoying me!” Van laughs, eliciting another fit of giggles. “He could never!”

The man leaves the room, and Van nudges your knee from his spot on the floor.

“Come have a smoke with me,” He says before getting up from the floor and hoisting the toddler onto his hip.

You’re shocked when he doesn’t ask any of the other boys along. You get up from the loveseat awkwardly, walking with Van out into the busy hall and following him towards the back door.

“Dave’s one of our lighting guys,” He explains without being asked. “Brings his wife and Charlie out on the road with him.”

“Aw,” You say, offering a friendly smile to Charlie as he gazes at you from where his head is happily resting against Van’s shoulder. He’s got wide brown eyes, dark hair, and dried chocolate around his mouth.

“Yeah. I’ve known Mr. Charles here since they used to haul him around in a sling.”

“I can tell,” You reply. Despite Charlie’s initial shock at wandering into their dressing room, it’s clear he’s comfortable with Van.

Van leads you through the back door. You step out into the back parking lot for the venue, where there’s two large busses parked and a large team of people unloading them.

There’s a man and a woman smoking against the building, and they light up when they see Van.

“You want down?” He asks Charlie, and when he nods Van lets him down on the cement.

“Vaaan,” The woman, who looks older than both of you, greets him. She immediately reaches out for a hug that Van returns enthusiastically, kissing his cheek as she pulls away. The man hugs him, too.

You’re interrupted from watching their greeting by a tug on the hem of your shirt.

“Ball!” Charlie exclaims, and points. You look in the direction he’s pointing in to see a soccer ball jammed between the building and a parking block. There’s nobody using it, so you decide to wander away from the conversation, Charlie following after you eagerly as you pick it up.

“Wanna play?” You ask him, because at this point hanging out with a toddler is better than standing around awkwardly. Charlie nods, clapping with joy.

“Alright…” You hum. The parking lot isn’t ideal, since the cement is hot from baking in the sun and people are moving equipment. You spot a patch of grass. “Let’s play over there.”

“Me and Charlie are going to play ball,” You let Van know as you walk by. He nods, but you’re not sure if he really hears you.

The two of you make it to the strip of grass. Charlie doesn’t look like he’s very steady on his feet, so you sit down, and instruct him to do the same a little ways away. You roll the ball to him with your hands, and he catches on instantly, overjoyed to have someone to play with.

It’s calming to be in the presence of someone too young to judge you. After a long day of worrying about what everyone must be thinking of you, rolling a ball peacefully in the grass is therapeutic. Charlie takes care of the conversation, babbling about the grass and how hot it is and his favorite color (orange).

You don’t know when Van joins you, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes later.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, sitting down in the grass with you two. “I got caught up. That’s the opening act, haven’t seen them in a couple years.”

“That’s okay,” You tell him, even though you’re slightly annoyed at feeling excluded. “We’re having a good time over here.”

“I see that. You want a smoke?”

You pluck one out of his box he offers. He tosses you the lighter.

You’re so distracted lighting your cigarette that when Charlie rolls the ball to you it bounces over your shin.

“Hey,” You tell him, pretending to be upset. “You’re too good!”

“Look at you, superstar,” Van marvels, and Charlie glows with both of your praise.

Van gets his own cigarette lit before shuffling so that he’s sitting closer to you. “Are we boring the fuck out of you?”

“No, why?” The question is so random it makes you panic. Had your anxiety been coming off rudely?

“Only asking. A lot of people think these kinda things are so exciting and then once they’re a guest once they hate it.”

“It’s not boring. It’s… weird.”

“Yeah?” Van is purposely turning his head to exhale, making sure the breeze doesn’t carry his smoke straight at Charlie. “How so?”

“I dunno. I’ve never really thought about what bands do before their shows. But if you do take a second to think about it, you don’t really imagine they’re eating catering and babysitting the lighting guy’s toddler.”

Van laughs at that. “Right, right. Fair enough.”

“But I like it. I’d rather do this than watch you pop a handful of pills.” You shrug.

“Oi, pills. Mum would kill me.”

“Vah! Vah!” You’re both pulled out of your bubble by Charlie.

“What, lad?” Van asks.

“Wait, he knows your name?” You gape at Van in surprise.

Charlie rolls the ball to Van, who rolls it back. “He does,” He grins. “I’m ‘Vah’, and Bob, Bondy, and Benji are ‘Bah’.”

“And get this,” Van returns the ball so his hands are free to pluck his cigarette from his mouth. “What’s my band called, Charlie?”

“Cat-sh!” He misses the middle syllable.

“That’s insane,” You murmur in awe.

“It is. I remember when Jess was pregnant. And now there’s a whole human in front of me! It’s hard to wrap your head around.”

You agree, silently pondering the miracle of life.

“And he’s such a champ on the road. Great on planes and long car rides. I hope my kid is as good about traveling as him.”

At that you perk up. “You want kids?”

“Oh yeah,” Van nods. “Love ‘em. Can’t wait to have my own little boy.”

You snort at that. “And what if you have a girl?”

Van winks. “Just something to work at, innit?”

Charlie is tired of rolling the ball, deciding instead playing his own game where he picks the ball up in both of his arms, drops it, and picks it up again.

“How old are you again?” You ask him.

“Be 27 in August.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“It’s my gate code! First of August.”

When he says that you have the epiphany. “That’s what your gate code is? I thought it stood for January eighth!”

“Christ!” Van sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the grass. “You Americans and your weird dates!”

“Oh, quit.” You lightly kick at his outstretched leg. “For someone who hates America so much, you sure do spend a lot of time here.”

Van props himself up on an elbow, checking his phone. He smirks. “I like the people.”

Before you’re able to ask what that means, he starts standing up.

“It’s showtime soon. We should head back in.”

He helps you off of the grass before gathering Charlie up in his arms and heading to return him to Dave.

The dressing room has a television where you’re able to watch the show. You watch the opening act with the boys, their energy becoming more frantic as it gets closer to nine. Bob has a quiet, focused sort of energy, Benji seems indifferent, but Van and Bondy amp each other up, singing along to the set and pacing around the room.

When the lights go down and the crew is changing out the instruments, you follow the boys to a different area backstage, where everything starts to feel real. You hang around Van as someone from the team sets up his in-ears, feeding the wires underneath his shirt and through the collar of his button up, clipping the battery pack onto the waistband of his jeans. Van’s already stepped away a little bit ago to do a full vocal warm up with his coach, but she’s there again with him to do some last minute exercises. He doesn’t have any reservations about doing them in front of you, and it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. He imitates back whatever strange noise she makes with an extreme seriousness.

You can tell his head’s in a different place by the time he’s only a few minutes away from being in front of the crowd. He shifts his weight from foot to foot restlessly. You stay quiet, unsure of this new Van.

“I’ll meet you in the dressing room after this,” He says. You nod, even though it wasn’t a question.

Suddenly his hand is on your back, one side of his mouth quirking up. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, relieved at the crack in his intensity. “I’ve never seen you so serious. Don’t wanna mess you up.”

“You, mess me up? Nah,” He pats your back before dropping his hand.

The screams grow louder, the lighting changes.

“That’s my cue.” Van gives a quick wave before he’s ushered on stage. One by one the boys file out, the screams growing with each member.

Once they’re out there, the opening notes of Longshot starting up, you wander back to the dressing room, deciding to watch the show from the comfort of the couch.

You’d been worried that watching Van perform through a screen wouldn’t feel the same as when you’d seen him from the crowd back home, but that wasn’t the case. Something about the performance feels even more intoxicating than the first time.

You shut the door to the hall, eager to have some personal space. This is your first time having a moment alone in two days, and you desperately needed to sort through your thoughts.

As much as you’re entranced by the music, your mind tugs you elsewhere. You replay everything you’ve learned about Van on this short trip: His favorite road trip snacks, his relationship regrets, how close he is with his parents, how he wants to be a father. While watching him become progressively sweatier from singing his lungs out you think of how he’d been there for you after your accident, how he’d never even asked after the Range Rover. You think back to what Mary had said. He acts like he loves you.

You don’t know about that. But what you do know is you haven’t felt like yourself since that steamy moment at the rest stop. That dizzy, hazy feeling has clung to you like a fog all day. Not only did you not feel like yourself, you weren’t acting like yourself. You’d been so angry this morning, working yourself up when he’d only been on a phone call with his parents. And as much as you’d never admit it, for some reason you couldn’t stand being around the rest of the band today. You yearned for alone time with him and resented sharing him with anyone.

You’re interrupted from your train of thought by Van’s line in Pacifier ringing through the room: She said it’s you I detest!

He can’t contain his smile as he leans towards the crowd, smirking as he continues: I said c’mon, love, you’re upset.

The crowd goes wild at his amended line, screaming it right back at him. Something about the way he’s got the whole room in the palm of his hand makes your insides fizz. You’re in awe of how magic he is yet so confused by everything going on inside of you. It feels like your heart swells as you watch him, his passion contagious. It’s like he’s managed to transmit his joy of performing into everyone around him, yourself included. Your body buzzes with it and you wish suddenly you could be jumping around in the crowd with everyone else.

It’s in that moment, your legs practically twitching with the desire to move along to the beat, that all the fog clears. There’s no more confusion over how you feel. It’s crystal clear why you haven’t been acting like yourself. All of the pieces click into place.

The relief of understanding washes over you, settling into your bones and resting in the deepest part of your gut. You actually laugh out loud to yourself as the realization hits you, because of course. Of course.

You were completely- no doubt about it- in love with Van McCann.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catb #catb fic

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redspaceace-writes · 4 years

Text

Paycheck - (Roman Sionis x Reader)

Request: Hi I love ur blog and ur Roman story is a masterpiece!!!!I have a Roman Sionis request for u!!!!Could u maybe do a Roman Sionis that falls madly in at first sight with victor’s little sister!!!plz?? Thx

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 974

Warnings: Mention of past murder, awkward Victor, love-driven Roman

Tags (open):

Roman Sionis: @darling-i-read-it @stardancerluv @onebatch--twobatch

Forever: @starwarsprequelfangirl

NOT MY GIF! CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER!

“Victor! Where are we going?” you shout at your brother. He hadn’t told you he wanted you to climb in the car, but you obeyed. Now, you’re driving through dark alleys and busy streets at a reckless speed. Victor also hadn’t pulled the top over the car before you left so the wind whistled past your ears deafeningly. That was the reason for your raise in volume.

“I’m taking you to see my boss,” Victor yells. “I told him about you and your skills. He’s intrigued to meet you.” You and Victor grew up in a life that required you to learn self-defense. Your parents weren’t the best people, often getting mixed up with the wrong groups. At a young age, you actually ended up killing someone. If you hadn’t, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t be alive today. Over the years, Victor had done some pretty violent things. For example, he helped murder an entire family over a diamond. To your knowledge, he feels no remorse about it to this day. For Victor, it’s a pleasure thing. You are in a similar boat. You’re willing to do what’s asked of you as long as it pays well. Owning expensive items and living lavishly is what you desire most.

The car slows and stops outside a building called The Black Mask. Victor hops out of the vehicle and you follow behind him. He opens the door and allows you to walk in first. The second you step inside, your eyes adjust to the vibrant red of the club. It seems to engulf you. The walls, the stairs leading up to the main stage, the booths, the lighting: everything is doused in this alluring color. Whoever owned this establishment was someone you were suddenly very anxious to meet.

Victor leads you up a spiral staircase hidden by the stage. An empty hallway with one door at the very end greets your arrival to the second floor. You reach the door and Victor knocks before pushing it open. Once again, your surroundings astound you. Every object in this living space looks to be rather extravagant. You can’t help but gape in awe. You notice you’ve fallen behind and quicken your pace behind Victor. He stops near a corner of the room where a man sits on a sofa. Your eyes meet his and you immediately feel nervous. He gets up and saunters towards you, the robe he wears swishing with each step. When he speaks, your legs turn to jelly.

“Victor, would you care to introduce us?” the handsome man asks. Victor stares at how close you two are. He can tell a mutual attraction has already formed.

“Y/N,” your brother begins. “This is my boss, Roman Sionis. Boss, this is my sibling, Y/N.” Roman smiles as he learns your name.

“Y/N…” he trails off. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He grasps both of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. Roman’s touch sends chills down your spine. He pulls away, never breaking eye contact with you. As you gaze into his blue pools, you notice a hint of lust and…love? The latter surprises you. You’d only just met. How could this guy have already fallen for you? You suppose it’s possible considering you can’t deny your attraction for him at first glance.

The moment is briefly interrupted as Victor clears his throat. He announces he will wait downstairs and promptly exits. You listen to his footsteps fade away and you smile at Roman, heat spreading through your cheeks.

“So…” you start. “I’m guessing you own the club downstairs?” He steps away from you and reaches for his glass on the table in front of where he was previously seated.

“Yes,” he answers. “What do you think of it?” Roman walks across the room and opens a cabinet, pulling out a glass tumbler filled with booze.

“I love it,” you gush. “The atmosphere draws you in and the mood makes you never want to leave. Don’t even get me started on the physical aspect.” Roman chuckles, turning around to face you, holding two glasses.

“Oh? And why is that?” he questions curiously, walking back to you. He gives you one of the beverages. You thank him.

“I have a particularly expensive taste, Mr. Sionis. And your nightclub fits the bill,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. Roman bites his lip at your formal title for him.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking. Now,” he starts. “Let’s talk business.” From what he’s heard about you from Victor, he’s eager to see you in action.

“Okay,” you clear your throat. “How well does this job pay?” Roman can’t help but laugh at your question.

“That depends on your abilities,” he says. “Why don’t you show me what you can do?” You nod and hand him your drink. You reach for the interior of your leather jacket and pull out a throwing knife. You search for a target and choose one of the heads decorating the place. You bring your arm up and above your head, breathing deeply. Then, you throw the weapon, watching it puncture the right eye socket of the face.

Roman almost drops your glasses in awe. He had obtained that object from a village. Normally, he would drone on about how prized it was, but all he could think about was you. He swears he just fell deeper into the pit of feelings he’s developed for you. You walk back to him, a proud smile placed upon your face.

“How was that?” you ask. “Am I qualified for the job and pay?”

“Oh, Y/N, you are over-qualified. At this point, you can have as much money as you want,” Roman oozes. The smile you had only grew knowing you had officially won the heart of one Roman Sionis.

--------------------------------------

Requests are open. Check out who I write for and feel free to ask for anyone not on the list.

Posted: February 22, 2020

#birds of prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #birds of prey x reader #birds of prey imagine #roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis imagine #victor zsasz #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #ewan mcgregor imagine #chris messina #roman sionis x zsasz!reader

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king-finnigan · 4 years

Text

Play With Fire - part 9

Sorry that it took a while to update! It’s exam season at the moment and I’m too stressed to write a lot.

By god I’m going to make y’all soft for these two assholes though

Masterlist!

***

He lets go of Jaskier’s hand, leaning on the kitchen table, a sense of determination coursing through his veins like he’s never felt before. “Promise me,” he says.

Jaskier looks at him, confused, curious, fire kindling in those icy eyes.

“Promise me that you’re not gonna walk away from me the first chance you get. Promise me I’m not throwing away the last ten years of my life and my freedom of guilt for you to leave me behind.”

Jaskier blinks, then smiles at him, bright and joyful. “Love, I would never. I would sooner kill every person on this damned continent than leave you behind. I would sooner kill myself than walk away from you.”

And Geralt sees nothing but the bare, honest truth in those ocean eyes. He nods. “Let’s get going, then.”

---

He shows Jaskier where he’s stored his knife set - somewhere at the back of a kitchen cabinet, once bought in the naive hope that he might cook his own meals every night, when he’d first bought this house, before being put away and forgotten over the years. They’re still sharp and clean, and he leaves Jaskier in the kitchen, marvelling over the blades, running a gentle finger across the edge, almost cutting himself - while Geralt goes back to the bedroom.

He takes the duffelbag from under the bed, along with the plastic bag of money. It’s not a lot, only a few hundred bucks, and he considers raiding his own bank account before finding De Vries and Stregobor. He sighs, stuffing the money in the duffelbag, along with half his closet. He supposes they won’t have the time to go shopping once they’re on the run.

A burst of adrenaline explodes in his veins, and he feels dizzy for a split second as he’s sitting there, crouching next to the bag. He’s really doing this. He’s running away with a serial killer to evade going to prison for something that may or may not be his fault - depending on the person you ask.

He’s about to become a fugitive.

He’s about to become a criminal.

He’s about to become an outlaw.

And, as daunting as the idea should be - as daunting as it is, he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his face. Yes, they’ll have the rest of the world against them, but at least they’ll be on each other’s side.

He stuffs the clothes, the money, his handcuffs, and his gun in the bag, zipping it closed. He barely remembers to put on his shirt and shoes before slinging the bag over his shoulder, leaving the bedroom for the last time.

Jaskier looks up. “Ready, love?”

Geralt frowns, blinking a few times. “Not entirely.” He hands the bag to Jaskier. “Put this in the car, dear.”

Jaskier smiles at him, crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes as he nods, turning around, snatching the car keys off the living room table, heading out of the front door.

Geralt, in turn, goes to the garage. He was supposed to clean out the mess at some point, supposed to make room so he can park his car inside instead of in the street, but he never got around to it. He digs under a few piles of useless rubbish, pulling out three jerrycans of gasoline. He’d once stored them there, just in case he forgot to refuel on his way back from work one day, but he never did, so they just stood there for years, gathering dust and cobwebs.

And now, he finally has a use for them. Just not in a way that he had expected.

He starts with the first one, emptying half of it in the garage - there’s so many wooden planks, bought for building things he never got around to building, he’s sure the fire will catch on soon, here.

He empties the other half in the living room. The other two are spread out over the rest of the ground floor - he supposes that, if the ground floor is completely destroyed, the top half of the house will follow suit. He realizes he never used any of the rooms upstairs. It doesn’t matter anymore, no one will ever get the chance to use them.

He does a mental check, snatching his passport and wallet from his bedroom as an afterthought, just in case. He takes a matchbook from the kitchen, walking to the front door. He lights a match, taking one last look at his house, before staring into the flame, letting it burn up the match until the fire nearly touches his fingers, before tossing it onto the carpet.

He closes the door behind him, just as the first flames start catching on, the gasoline accellerating the fire at a terrifying speed, and as he walks to the car, he can already see the flickering shadows of the windowframes, cast by the flames.

Jaskier looks at him, smiling, as Geralt gets into the driver’s seat, turning the keys in the ignition, starting the car, driving away from the burning remains of his house - the ruins of his life.

---

Going back to the prison is painfully familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time. Sure, he’s done this countless of times before, taken these turns day in day out, but never like this - never with someone else sitting next to him, never with any other intention than just doing his job and cashing his next paycheck, never with the knowledge that this is the last time.

He glances at Jaskier next to him from time to time, smiling at the way the brown curls whip in the air coming through the open window, at the way he basks in the sunlight, at the way he looks perfectly relaxed and happy.

And when he gets the overwhelming urge to tell Jaskier that he’s beautiful, he doesn’t hold back, for once.

He stops at the bank on the way to the prison. He looks up as Jaskier says: “Let me.”

He frowns. “Let you what?”

“Get the money, empty your bank account.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Geralt’s almost tempted to just let him, without asking why. Almost.

“They’re gonna suspect something’s up when a stranger empties my bank account.”

Jaskier smiles at him triumphantly, blue eyes shining brightly as he turns around in his seat, facing Geralt. “Exactly! You see, love, I’ve been thinking. They already know I’m a murderer, but they don’t know we’re together now. If I empty your bank account, they might think I’m either holding you hostage or that I’ve killed you and burned your house down. That way, if we ever get caught, you can feign innocence!”

Geralt hates to admit it, but it’s a pretty solid idea. However- “Who says I want to feign innocence? Who says I don’t want to stick by your side if you go to prison?”

Jaskier sighs, reaching forward to softly cradle Geralt’s cheek in his left hand. “If I go to jail, at least let me have the knowledge that you’re still free, love. Let me at least have that.”

Geralt sighs, and even if he’s still reluctant, he can’t say no to those pleading, blue eyes. “Fine.” He takes his wallet, handing it to Jaskier. “Just be careful, dear.”

Jaskier laughs, reaching into the back seat, zipping the bag open and taking the gun out, tucking it into the back of his jeans before he takes the card from Geralt. He’s still grinning as he presses a kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “Love, you know me. I’m never careful.”

Adn when Jaskier leaves the car, Geralt remains seated, hands tightening around the steering wheel, engine still running. And when he sees the younger man walking into the bank, he feels a jolt of adrenaline and deep-rooted arousal coursing through his veins at the sight of the gun sticking out from Jaskier’s waistband.

And when there’s no movement or sound coming from the building for a good ten minutes, he waits patiently - he trusts Jaskier to come out of there unscathed. And when he hears a gunshot ringing out through the street, he jumps a bit in surprise, but keeps his eyes trained on the bank.

And when there are no other signs of life inside the building for another ten minutes, he does start to worry a little bit. Just a little bit.

And when he hears police sirens in the distance, he does grow a bit impatient, a bit more worried.

And when Jaskier runs out of the building with another duffelbag full of, presumably, money, grinning wildly, something feral in those blue eyes as he jumps into the car, slamming the door behind him, Geralt sighs in relief and takes off at full speed, in the opposite direction of the sirens.

“Everything okay? I heard a gunshot-”

His sentence is cut off when Jaskier pulls his face towards him, kissing him deeply. Geralt smiles, before pulling away, looking at the road again. “I assume that means you’re fine.”

“It does, love. Everything alright.” He sounds out of breath, unbridled joy and wildness on his features. “Was just a warning shot. No one got hurt, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Geralt nods, slowly relaxing into his seat as he takes a detour around the police sirens, to the prison.

“So,” Jaskier mumbles after a while, “what’s the plan, love?”

Geralt shrugs. “Go to the prison, use the system to find De Vries and Stregobor, pay them a visit, run away together.” He frowns for a bit, letting another idea run through his mind. “Maybe get a dog?”

Jaskier laughs, head thrown back, sunlight bright on his skin, carefree, happy. It’s the most beautiful thing Geralt’s seen in his entire life.

He takes a mental note, photographing this moment in his mind, storing it away to be remembered until the day he dies - just the two of them, the whole world at their feet, at their mercy, the future bright and wide open for them, full of possibilities.

He never ever wants to forget this moment. He doubts he ever will.

***

Tag list babey! (if you want to be added, just send me a DM or an ask, or put it in the comments, whatever suits you):

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @noobtiedoo, @foddle-the-fiddler, @thenameislion-dandelion, @skai6, @thesmileyplant, @hysteria347, @pensandknittingneedles, @freak-fee-blog, @whenrainbowsend, @flustratedcas, @negatjazzy, @bridgehampton, @lookinforsomeabsinth, @dandelion-and-the-wolf, @sweetiepieplum

#play with fire #part 9 #part 9 already???#how the FUCK #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #uhhhhh #bank robbery?#bank robbery #idk if that needs a tw #discussions of murder #can't believe i'm saying this but there's a lot of foreplay for the murder #maybe next chapter someone finally dies #maybe not #guess you'll just have to stay tuned wink wink #i'm rambling don't mind me

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smytimagine · 4 years

Text

Part III | Surprise Visitors

We get some other character’s perspectives in this chapter!

Warnings: Mild swearing

Word Count: 3,442

A/N: I’m in the middle of writing other chapters but I can’t decide, does Y/N end up with Grayson… or Ethan?!

part 1 part 2

Thank God the next day was Saturday, and although that didn’t mean a whole lot since I usually spent the day with the twins anyway, today was different.

I spent the whole night curled up in my bed watching chick flicks and ignoring Ethan’s persistent calls and texts. To be fair, I felt bad and had at least let him know I made it home safely but didn’t respond after that. It’s not like it was Ethan’s fault, he didn’t know about Grayson’s new girlfriend either, but I couldn’t tell Ethan how I felt if I wasn’t even sure how I felt.

Grayson had always been my best friend. When I moved out to LA from Connecticut the twins were the first real friends I had made. I had prior experience as a personal assistant to very wealthy CEO’s at large companies, and a recruiter had seen my resume and asked me if I was interested in a position with two clients who were social media moguls. I had no idea who the twins were when I met them, as I suppose I wasn’t their target demographic. I was 3 years older than them and had no idea what vine even was, never mind that they had blown up on the app. I guess you could say I wasn’t the trendiest teen back then.

The three of us had hit it off right away, probably because I treated them like normal people, I never put them on a pedestal. I wasn’t blind to how girls looked at them, I was even an unwilling target to some online slander from people who wanted to pin me to one of them. But it was never like that. We truly were just best friends, until now.

As I sat in my bed debating if I was ever going to crawl out of this mess of blankets and sheets, I wasn’t sure where I stood with the twins. Of course, I would always be professional when it came to work, but I now felt this awkwardness around Grayson. What was Ethan hinting at when he told Grayson he needed to tell me about his girlfriend? Why would they think I needed to know? Grayson didn’t owe me anything. Was there some kind of secret behind my back about me liking Grayson? Because certainly, I had never implied that, or at least I don’t think I did? Ethan would never go behind my back and make something like that up, so I wasn’t sure where any of this stemmed from.

______________

Noon rolled around and I finally pulled myself together enough to drag my ass out of bed and into the kitchen for some food. Still drowning in Ethan’s sweatshirt and a pair of PJ shorts I had thrown on.

“Well it’s about damn time,” a deep voice said from behind me

I jumped and threw my back against the fridge, I held a knife stabbed halfway through an avocado in my hand, looking towards my couch to see a mop of dark hair facing away from me towards the wall of windows

“ETHAN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” I screamed

“We have a spare key in case of emergencies Y/N. After you texted me you were home last night you never answered any of my other attempts to talk. I was genuinely worried about you. I came over around 3 am and saw you sleeping in bed surrounded by tissues. I decided I would sleep on the couch and be here when you woke up, I didn’t want you to be alone. I texted you that, but apparently, you decided to just let your phone die. Now please, put down the knife, that avocado isn’t very threatening ” Ethan laughed as he made his way towards me.

My heart melted. Here I was wasting the day away feeling sorry for myself when this man in front of me came over just to see if I was okay and then slept here in case I needed anything. What the hell did I do to deserve him?

I didn’t say anything, I tossed the knife on the counter and walked towards Ethan, I tucked my head into his chest and felt him wrap his arms around me. He pecked the top of my head and rubbed his hands slowly up and down my back. We stood silently in the embrace for a while.

“I’m okay E, to be honest, I’m not even sure why I was so upset. I told you before there was nothing going on between Gray and me, and now it’s just proof.” I said softly

“Y/N, you may not have thought there was anything, but there was - there is. I saw it, the guys all saw it. To be honest, you weren’t the only one let down last night. After the guys left they all texted me bummed out about the whole situation. There is absolutely no one who is as perfect for Gray as you. Literally, everyone around you guys can see that”

I felt myself smile into Ethan’s chest at his kind words, it felt nice that everyone thought so highly of me. That they all thought that I was good enough for their best friend and brother. But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. He had a girlfriend, and she wasn’t me.

I pulled away from him with his hands still resting on my shoulders. I tried to change the subject, as anything would be a better conversation than this.

“So, what should we do today Etee?” I smirked as I teased him. He hated that nickname and I knew it, but it was cute.

Ethan sighed at my use of his name, “Well, Mom and Cam are coming into town today actually, I’m supposed to pick them up in a few hours. Do you want to come?”

I loved the twin’s family. Their sister was my age and so much fun to gang up on the boys with. Their mom Lisa was the best. She was super supportive of everything the boys did and would even check up on me once in a while. My mom had never been exactly present in my life, so in a way, she helped to fill the void.

“Is that even a question?!” I asked, suddenly feeling my mood shift to pure excitement.

“I thought you might like that, we have to pick them up around 2:30, it’s going to take us an hour to get there from here, so you better get your ass in the shower because you fucking stink,” He said, pulling his head to the side implying he was trying to escape me.

“Oh, fuck you, dude. I absolutely do not stink, and even if I did, it’s your sweatshirt, which means you’re the stinky one” I scoffed at him, smirked, then turned to head down the hall towards the shower.

______________

Ethan POV

I watched Y/N walk away and head towards the bathroom, my eyes inspecting every inch of her body. She was perfect. She had absolutely no idea how perfect she actually was. I couldn’t stand the fact that my idiot brother had this perfect of a woman pining for him and decided to ignore her for someone else.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. He’s my best friend. But he can be a real idiot. The thing is, I’m not even sure he knows Y/N is crazy for him. In fact, Y/N doesn’t even know she’s crazy about him, but everyone else knows. They are so perfect for each other it makes me want to vomit out of jealousy. Someday I want to find someone as perfect as she is, though I know it will be a challenge.

I told her my mom and sister were coming into town today, and they are. But, I might have left out the part that I called them late last night and asked them to come. I explained what happened at the fire and when they agreed to come, I booked them on the next available flight out here.

They loved Y/N as much as Grayson and I did. My mom thought of her as her own, considering Y/N’s mom wasn’t the best. She left when Y/N was little and calls her once in a while when she runs low on money. Grayson and I have been throwing extra cash into her paychecks to cover it. We told her it was a pay raise, which part of it was, but we doubled it and if Y/N knew she would kill us. She never asks for anything, never expects anything, and never tries to inconvenience anyone. Her dad has always tried his best, but he works a lot and isn’t sure how to relate to her as a grown woman. Over the last two years, she has become more of a Dolan than a Y/L/N, my whole family accepts her with open arms, and secretly hopes one day she will actually be a Dolan. Of course, none of that will happen if Grayson stays with whatever her name is.

______________

Y/N POV

I showered, got dressed, fixed my hair and makeup and headed back out to the living room where Ethan was half asleep scrolling through twitter. He clicked his phone screen off when he noticed I had entered the room

“Damn” Ethan whispered to himself

I could feel my cheeks blush slightly

“Uh, you ready, E?”

“I’ve been ready, the question is, are you?” he replied, trying to cover for his trip up

“I’m ready! Let’s go get these beautiful ladies so I can ditch you and hang out with some real winners” I laughed as I pulled him up off the couch.

We hopped up into Ethan’s jeep and headed towards the airport. I absolutely loved this car. He had modified it so perfectly that everything about it screamed Ethan. He turned up the radio and started bobbing his head while I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes and leaned my head back into the headrest, letting my hair blow in the wind. He looked over at me, smiled and placed his hand on my knee. This wasn’t odd for us, it was his way of letting me know he was there, but that he didn’t want to turn down his music to talk. All of which, I was okay with. I didn’t want to talk.

______________

“Y/N/N!” Cameron screamed as she ran up and threw her arms around me in the biggest hug. I laughed and looked over her shoulder to see Lisa coming along smiling at the two of us

“Hey gorgeous, what the heck! I didn’t know you ladies were coming into town! I usually have you guys on the twin’s schedules for weeks before you visit” I said looking between Cameron and Lisa with an excited confusion.

Both women looked over at Ethan, unsure of what he actually told Y/N, clearly not the truth, and went along with the story line.

“Oh well, we wanted to surprise the boys and didn’t say anything until last night to them about coming to visit… SURPRISE!” Lisa fibbed as she embraced Y/N in a hug while shooting Ethan wide eyes hoping she said the right thing. He nodded in acceptance of her answer.

We all got back into Ethan’s jeep, his mom and sister in the back as they had insisted I sit in front. I always felt wrong about making a parent sit in the back, but Lisa had insisted.

I suddenly felt a wave of dread wash over me. They would definitely want to go back to the boy’s house to drop off their things and say hi to Grayson. I, on the other hand, did not want to say hi to Grayson until at least Monday.

______________

Lisa POV

I had insisted Y/N sit up front with Ethan. She was so sweet how she always offered me the front, but I knew she needed to be next to my son more than I did right now. As we drove back to the boy’s house I watched how Ethan would smile and look at her and how she mirrored the gesture. To be honest, I would be over the moon if she dated Ethan, the chemistry between them was undeniable. I could tell from a mother’s perspective that she truly made Ethan happy, but I didn’t know if either of them actually felt that way towards each other. Ethan had always insisted it wasn’t like that and that he was pulling for Y/N to get with Grayson. I would be a lucky parent to have that girl end up with either of my sons, so if Ethan felt that way and everyone was happy, it would be okay with me.

But that’s not why we’re here.

When Ethan called in the middle of the night I panicked. No parent likes to receive phone calls from their children at odd hours of the night. He sounded very concerned about Y/N and had mentioned that Grayson screwed up. I had kind of put the pieces together and Ethan filled in the details about Gray’s new girlfriend. My heart hurt for the poor girl. As far as I knew no words were ever exchanged from her about Grayson in that way, but we weren’t blind to it. She spent plenty of time with us both here and in New Jersey and I found myself daydreaming about the days of her and Grayson having kids running around my home and sitting together on our front porch hand in hand. She was everything he had ever said he wanted in a woman. Sometimes, we can’t see two inches in front of our face, and surely this was the situation with my son.

______________

Y/N POV

As we rounded the bend towards the gate I was all too familiar with, Ethan gently squeezed my knee. I looked over at him and he nodded in acknowledgment that he knew this would be hard for me but that he knew I could do it. And I would.

We parked in Ethan’s usual spot and everyone hopped out. I helped Lisa grab her bag as we headed towards the front door. Suddenly it opened

“E, where the hell have you been…” Grayson’s voice trailed off as he came storming out of the house and realized Ethan wasn’t alone.

“Mom? Cam? What are you guys doing here? Y/N were they on our calendars?” He looked at me happy but concerned

“Uh… I” I started but Ethan jumped in

“No, I stayed at Y/N’s last night because she wasn’t feeling well, mom texted me while I was there that it was a surprise and we just got back from picking them up” he explained, while looking at his mom and sister for back up. The three nodded in agreement.

“Okay… wait you stayed at Y/N’s?” Grayson asked looking between me and Ethan. He really had no idea what had happened last night, and here was Ethan covering my tracks. But Gray wasn’t stupid, he knew it wasn’t normal for Ethan to stay at my house even if I wasn’t feeling well. But Ethan brushed it off and changed the subject.

“Okay, let’s get inside, I want to drop off their bags so we can show them the new tiny home,” he said. Although there wasn’t much to show them except the empty shell at this point, it got the subject off of me and away from Grayson’s questions.

The four of us walked past Grayson in the driveway as he turned to watch us. I could tell something about this situation didn’t sit right with him, but I didn’t know why. He had a girlfriend. Ethan staying at my house was no concern of his.

We walked through the door and immediately I regretted being there. I could tell she was still there because there was a woman’s bag on the side table. She spent the night

We gathered in the kitchen, deciding what to do for the evening when Grayson came back into the kitchen with her in tow.

“Hey Mom, Cam, I want you to meet someone special. This is my girlfriend Alyana” Grayson said introducing the three of them.

Someone special. The words stung my ears. I hated what this was doing to me. How the heck was I supposed to come to work every day if I couldn’t even get through 5 minutes of being here. Surely now that she’s been introduced to everyone, Grayson plans to have her around a lot more. I was going to have to handle that.

I turned my attention to Ethan who was looking at his phone, ignoring the interaction in the room. He looked up from his phone and pulled my chair closer to his so I could see the video he was watching.

______________

Cameron POV

Surely my brother was joking. He presented this girl to us like she was some shiny surf board he won at the teen choice awards. The fake smile plastered on her face when she said hi was enough to make me puke. I saw right through her, and I knew if I saw through her so did Ethan. Grayson might be his twin but we were more on the same wavelength when it came to stuff like this. We can both spot a faker from miles away, while Grayson has the worst judge of character of anyone I know, clearly. Considering Y/N is sitting in the dining room with Ethan while this dumb ass is flaunting a girl I could replicate off of Instagram in a second.

“Hi, I’m Cameron” I tried my best to smile.

“I know! I’ve heard so much about the famous Cam” she said

“Cameron” I corrected her.

Grayson shot me a look. He knew I was being salty, but she didn’t know me. She didn’t know anything about me. Surely we were not on a nickname basis. My family and friends call me Cam, not some bimbo who’s using my brother for clout.

“Right, Cameron” she giggled her fake giggle.

I smiled roughly and turned to go sit with Ethan and Y/N. Surely whatever they were talking about would be much more fun than what was happening here.

______________

Y/N POV

Cam came and sat down next to me, smiling and placing her head on my shoulder. Did she know something I didn’t? Why did that smile seem sympathetic?

“Hey, do you guys want to go down to the beach for a little while and then grab some food?” Ethan broke the silence.

“Is that even a question? I absolutely want to go anywhere but here” I laughed while nudging him with my shoulder.

“I’m in, let me go get Mom,” Cameron said

“Can we please just go the four of us?” I asked Ethan quietly. I really didn’t know if I could handle staring at Grayson and Bimbo Barbie all night. Was I jealous of her? It was surely starting to seem that way.

Ethan nodded in agreement and quickly sent a text. At first, I didn’t know to whom until a pissed off Grayson stormed into the room.

“SO FIRST YOU SPEND THE ENTIRE NIGHT AT OUR ASSISTANTS HOUSE AND NOW YOU’RE EXCLUDING ME FROM PLANS WITH OUR FAMILY?!” Grayson shouted as Ethan stood over me in defense

Our Assistant? So now that’s how he saw me? What the fuck is happening.

“We just figured you guys might want some alone time Gray, no big deal, we’ll bring you guys back food if you want” Ethan covered for me. Again

I looked between Ethan and Grayson for a minute. Them arguing wasn’t really anything out of the norm, but I knew secretly it was because of me. Over my stupid feelings and it made me feel horrible.

“It’s okay E, I don’t have to go, you guys should go out as a family. Your mom and sister just got here, you should catch up” I tried to intervene.

“Well, all I see in this room is family” Lisa chimed in looking at me square in the eye. She was not going to let me bow out that easily. Little did I know she had come here for me, not them.

“Fine Ma, then we’ll all go,” Grayson said in a chilling tone, giving Ethan a smug look.

Great so it’ll just be me, the Dolans and Bimbo Barbie . One big happy family.

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfic #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfic #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins imagine #avocadotoast

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hvlfwygod · 3 years

Text

boxing day | major & abel & lucien (& gabriele)

summary: a surprise opportunity, a battle, an exorcism, a close call, a rescue

tw: stabbing, blood, broken bones, it’s a lil nasty

His head hurt. There had been this pushing, insistent pressure building up behind his eyes all day, and he could barely focus anymore. He was walking back to the Hebe cabin, ready to go to bed despite the early hour. The sun had only just set, but he was squinting just enough to see in front of him, trying to block out the streetlights with his hands. As time went on (how long, he couldn't say) the pressure only got worse, though. It built up and built up and built up until he had to crouch down and put his head between his knees to fight off nausea.

It wasn't clear to Major how long he'd been in control, distracted as he was by the sensation of his head splitting open. It'd been so long since he'd been at the front of his own mind, he almost didn't believe it when he willed himself to move and his body reacted readily. But he didn't allow himself to marvel at it: like every other time this happened, Major had a lot to do and no time to do it. He'd already wasted who knows how long just sitting there, halfway between himself and someone else.

Even though his head was still hurting, Major moved fast. He scrambled for his phone and immediately abandoned the idea when he saw that it was— of course— not fucking charged. Instead, he ran the rest of the way back to the cabin.

"Syd!" he called, practically falling through the front door. But all the rooms were dark and no one was home. Feeling desperate, Major started moving again before knowing exactly where he was going. It became clear to him after a moment, though: some small part of him remembered the party, another lifetime ago, where he'd met Abel. Abel, the person who saw him, knew he was here, and was trying to get Lucien out.

Maybe being the one in control would make it easier. Major didn't know, but he had to try. He ran up and down familiar looking streets, knocked on a few wrong doors, until he finally made it to the right house. At least, he hoped so as he banged frantically on the front door.

December 26th. It was a day of rest after their busy week. Picking Bailey up from Michigan, doing their best to help her recover, hosting groups for Christmas Eve and then the day of. They felt that they had earned a day of nothing. Still, there was a knock on their door.

Abel cast a glance down at Soup. Roommates off on their own misadventures (aka, normal human socializing), the two were in the living room alone and, naturally, sitting in the dark. “You think I should ignore it too, right?”

The cat blinked and Abel sighed as they stood and crossed the room to answer the door. As they opened it, they immediately tensed. Their spear had to be close by; their shield even. Why would Lucien come looking for them if not for a fight. Gabriele had told them to wait, and yet here was the perfect opportunity, presenting itself. They grabbed Major almost without thinking, yanking him inside as they aimed to pin him up against a wall.

The small wave of relief at seeing Abel answer was quickly brushed aside as they reached for him. Major yelped as hands closed around his shirt and pulled him inside. He held their wrists for leverage and tried to stop himself from falling over as Abel pushed him up against the wall. "I'm not—" he struggled to form a sentence and forced himself to let go and hold his hands up. "It's... I'm Major. I know you're trying to..." He trailed off but gave Abel a pleading look. "I don't know how long I have."

Their eyes betrayed their emotions. Anger turned to skepticism to relief to understanding, and they only loosened their grip slightly. "Then come with me." They kicked the door closed before turning towards their room, afraid of letting their mind buffer for too long. If they could restrain Major, then by the time Lucien took control once more it would be too late for him to get away. "Tell me how I can help you."

"I don't know," he admitted in a small voice. It took him a moment to move again, but he eventually followed Abel further into the house. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, as if trying to hold himself together. It was only when he placed his hands against his ribcage that he noticed how badly he was shaking. "I don't know. But if this doesn't work can you, tell my sister?" Major blinked a few times in a poor attempt to keep his eyes dry. "Her name is Sydney, she lives in the Hebe cabin."

They crossed the apartment into the room with a light, the warm glow of their snake tank almost sinister given the circumstances. Once in their room, Abel took no time to search for and then produce rope. "I've spoken to her already." This was not comforting, they realized, and exhaled as they decided to explain to Major more. "I... don't want to tell you much. In case he gets the information. But know that we're trying to help you, okay? I'm trying to figure out how to do something to him without doing something to you. You regenerate, ya?" They looked down at the rope in their hands. "Can I tie you up? It'll be easier to restrain him while you're willing, and then I won't lose him again."

Knowing that Syd was already aware and trying to get him back made Major nearly stop in his tracks. He almost bumped into something in the dark and stumbled into Abel's room as a few tears slid down his cheeks. "Okay," he said quietly. Major just nodded at Abel's explanation and lowered his hands. "Yeah," he answered. "I, think I heal faster, too, but if I—" His train of thought completely derailed mid-sentence, and Major pressed his eyes shut as a wave of anger washed over him. "You should start tying me up," he mumbled.

Abel looked at Major with sympathy but not pity. This wasn’t a job for a paycheck or personal reasons, it was a job to help a man who was going through something unimaginable. “If you...?” Abel prompted as they took Major’s wrist gently and moved his arm behind his back. The knots were less gentle. They wanted to make sure that they were tight enough to give Lucien a hard time.

He didn't respond right away, too busy focusing on not fighting Abel off. His head was hurting again, this time pulsing with increasingly sharp pains. "If I die I come back," he said, a little stiff and breathless, as if he were holding something heavy. "But I don't know how it works. What are you planning to do?"

The tinny ringing started, sharp and disarming for a moment, making Abel shake their head as they took pause, then continued. “I’m no killer. But I’ve never extracted a ghost from a human. I’ve been warned it could get... messy.”

A chill travelled down his spine. "Then I'll try to—" But whatever else Major had to say about that was lost. Lucien's reaction to this was enough to pull himself forward the rest of the way. He immediately acted, the last word still falling from his lips as he jerked his elbow upward, connecting somewhere on Abel's face. He yanked himself away and tried pulling at the ropes around his wrist to no avail. But his legs were free, so he started to sprint, heading back toward the front door.

Abel grabbed their face rather than at Lucien, then swore as they watched him run away. They staggered back, more disoriented from the blow than they thought they would be, but then forced themself to run forward after him, figuring knowing the layout would work to their advantage, as well as the fact that his hands were tied up. Should’ve done the legs first.

Lucien bit back a curse as he tripped over something, surely alerting Abel to exactly where he was. He gave up on going straight for the door, and instead pressed into the wall while he twisted his arms to grab at the knife on his waist. For everything else that had gone wrong tonight, at least Major hadn't let it slip that he had a weapon. He just barely managed to grab it and get it behind his back before he heard Abel approaching. He fumbled to turn the blade toward the ropes as he ran further into the apartment.

Abel watched as Lucien stumbled around. They hadn’t even considered that they’d have the advantage of being able to see when he couldn’t, but was glad that they could. Their spear was back in their room, and their shield by the door, but they took off after Lucien while reaching for their utility knife instead, afraid of him doing something if he ran into Soup. As they approached, they let the shadows engulf them, fading from vision, and kicked Lucien’s leg to knock him off balance.

One second Abel was there, and the next it was darkness, and then he felt a blow smash into his leg so hard that he immediately dropped to the floor. "Fuck!" he groaned. His head bounced off the floorboards and his knife—which he held onto for dear life— bit into his arm, drawing blood. He groaned and switched tactics again, deciding to stay on the ground and buy himself time. Lucien arched his back and tried pushing himself away from Abel a bit with his feet. He started cutting at his restraints as subtly as he could, glaring up at Abel as he did. "Fuck you," he sneered at them. A bit of the pressure released around his wrist. "If you try anything I'm dragging that motherfucker out with me.”

Abel moved forward and dropped down on top of Lucien, one knee against his chest. They grimaced at Lucien, almost as a way of showing their teeth than anything else. "You can't do that." They had no idea if he could do that, but they were pretty sure he was bluffing. "And if you could, don't you know I have friends in low places? He's not going anywhere."

He knew that his words would cause a reaction, but he hadn't expected Abel to come down so hard. Lucien grunted in frustration and then in pain. This time his grip on his knife was lost and he felt the blade cut into a hand. Lucien snarled back at Abel and tried to wriggle out from under them, grabbing hold of the knife once again despite the pain radiating throughout his palm. "No," Lucien struggled to catch his breath before he continued, "it's already too late."

“You really believe that?” Abel snarled back, grabbing Lucien by the hair. “Not only do I have to deal with an insolent ghost, but an ignorant one.” They brought their fist down towards his side.

Lucien's heart was racing with adrenaline, but he forced himself to stay calm. It was always moments like this where he lost his control, and he couldn't afford that right now. He writhed away from the blow and pulled his wrists with renewed vigor. He'd managed to cut it loose enough before that now the ropes broke after little resistance. Lucien leaned as much pressure as he could from one side of his body so he could lift his already-bloody hand out from under him. With a grunt of effort, he stabbed blindly at Abel's leg.

Abel yelled as they were stabbed, only holding tighter onto Lucien’s hair. You deserve this for not checking if he had weapons. This is textbook, Abel. They grunted and looked from their leg to Lucien. They could attack him and possibly incapacitate him, or they could disarm him, and keep the knife from leaving the wound. They went for Lucien’s wrist, trying to get him to let go of the knife without twisting their own body too much.

As soon as the grip released from his hair, Lucien started struggling more wildly, kicking his legs and twisting his body around in an attempt to get away. His other, more injured arm made it out from under him, numb and bloody and hard to use. The fight to break free also cost him his hold on the knife. Lucien made an angry sound and pounded his hand into Abel's other leg as he pried himself out from under their knee. He took in a ragged breath as he righted himself, but didn't waste his time. Practically trembling with anger, the thought of running away had completely left Lucien's mind. Instead, he tackled them. "It's too late," he repeated as he struggled to pin them down. "You should've just fucking— let me be!"

Abel prioritizing the knife and not moving it just made things complicated, they realized, when their balance was thrown off and they were looking up at Lucien, who was now holding their wrists down. They were bent backwards, already shifting the knife in the wound, and they inhaled sharply as they brought their good knee up, once and then again, trying to knock the wind out of Lucien as they tried to pull their hands free. They thanked the fact that they were in the dark, letting the shadows ebb around them, creating a barrier between the two.

His left hand was screaming as Lucien continued to apply pressure onto Abel's wrists. Teeth gnashing in determination, Lucien bore the blows to his body as best he could, but his arms couldn't keep Abel down. Their hands broke free as the second knee smashed into his ribs. Lucien quickly turned toward Abel's injured leg, gripped the handle of his knife, and pulled out the weapon roughly. I hope that hurt. He brought the knife back down— this time aimed at their chest— but a dark wall blocked his attack. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

The knife getting pulled out was pure agony, but Abel still managed to hold their shield up– it was a good thing too, as Lucien’s attack bounced off of it. Pride seemed to swell in Abel’s chest along with their fear. They were not about to be bested by an untrained ghost when they were a child of Hades who knew how to fight. As their shield began to fade, they formed a blade from the darkness, reached up to snatch Lucien’s wrist, and yanked to pull themself up as they pulled Lucien down, sending the dark blade into his shoulder, hoping to incapacitate this arm as well. “Λείπω,” they hissed as their face was close to their ear. “Or I will make you.” They grit their teeth, letting go of the shadow blade to hold a hand close to Lucien’s face, trying once again to force away the spirit within.

In another instant, Lucien was back on the floor and his shoulder seemed to partially explode. A pained cry escaped him involuntarily, but his voice died in his throat once Abel commanded him to leave. For a brief moment, Lucien's whole world went soft and shapeless, but he scrambled to come back to the moment. Ghosts swarmed in protest, trying like him to anchor themselves in their new body. A deep ache formed in Lucien's chest. "N...o..." he struggled, tasting metal as blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. "You won't... get him back. You can't."

Abel kept their grip strong on Lucien’s wrist despite the way the resonance of the ghosts seemed to reverberate throughout them. They turned their head away so that they could bite down on the collar of their shirt, gnawing at the fabric in an attempt to better handle the pain. Instead of replying to his threat, they just anchored themself and pressed their hand into Lucien’s face, trying to find the right spirit to pull from the body.

Another unwilling wail rang out of Major's body: it wasn't his, or Lucien's, voice. His body jerked, trying desperately to get away. Lucien clawed at Abel's face with his free hand and started writhing. It felt like something, somewhere in his chest, was about to break apart and he could do nothing to stop it. "I'm not— going. I'm not—" This time, his cry was quieter, but far more pained and agitated. He heard a worrying snapping sound and then coughed up some more blood, right into Abel's hand and consequently all over his face.

The blood was concerning and disgusting, but what really worried Abel was the snap. They didn’t relent, however, not even as Lucien began to claw at their face. They had gotten a hold of something, and though it wasn’t Lucien, it needed to come out. They dropped Lucien’s wrist to press their hand into his middle, opting to create armor with shadow to protect themself instead as they pushed at the same time that they pulled. They were past overexerting themself, but they didn’t care. This was coming out, and Lucien was next. They bit down harder on their shirt.

An agonizing burn spread over his skin, and Lucien lost a few seconds of lucidity, and then whatever unlucky ghost that had been grabbed was gone. For a disorienting moment, he wasn't sure if he was really there, taking a few gasping inhales, if his body would move if he willed it. "Listen to me," he rasped quietly. Another gurgling noise, a muffled half-laugh, and Lucien's arm twitched upward but grasped at nothing. "Listen, I'm serious. He's not going to make it if they're all gonna be like this."

Abel came to the terrible realization that Lucien was right as they pulled out what they had a grip on. It wasn’t a full ghost, but a patchwork of a few, trembling as Abel barked at them to leave once more. With nothing to tether them, they sank into the ground, the parts of them that remained dismissed. There was no telling exactly how many more were inside this body, but Abel could tell that if every extraction went this way, Major’s regeneration might not be enough. Still, they didn’t want to give Lucien the satisfaction of a reply, so they jabbed at his head once, twice.

The lack of a response was enough for Lucien. He blinked through the stinging in his eyes and angled his head back so he was staring up into Abel’s face. “I’m not even talking about physically.” The longer he was still, the more this terrible ache settled in his torso— so he tried sliding up along the floor somewhat. “I was dead for a long time, do you know what that did to me? Your friends in low places, they ever tell you what it’s like?” He sneered. “Not all of me came back. I don’t know what, but I can just— I can tell, so when I woke up in this body with all these ghosts, and this whole other person...” Lucien tried to move more; he succeeded in inching his arm slightly, nothing else. “I filled in all the gaps. I took what I needed, and you can’t—“ He managed another laugh, grimacing through it. “I can’t even fucking tell anymore what’s me and what I took. If you pull me out, and he survives it, he’s not going to be the same person. He’s not, and he’ll always know something is missing but won’t ever know what. That’s what I mean when I say you’re too late.” Lucien finally saw a decent enough angle, and willed himself to move through the agony in his shoulder to thrust his arm— and the knife— upward.

Pain as a knife found its way into Abel’s side. It was blocked and slowed by their armor, they were sure it would have been worse had they not had the hardened shadow to help them. But still, they could tell this was bad. They’d spent most of their adrenaline rush fighting, and now they weren’t sure if their leg was going to support their weight if they stood. Even so, Abel let out a spiteful laugh and pushed into the shadow knife, just burying it deeper into Lucien as they pulled him closer. “You come all this way just to give that shitty speech?” They growled, taking a ragged breath before continuing. “You have no idea who you’re talking to. I don’t need my friends to tell me what it’s like; I’ve been to hell and back myself.” They grasped the hair at the back of Lucien’s head, then yanked his head back to force him to look at them. “A long time? Try being dead for three years. You know nothing.” Their mouth tasted metallic, but they just continued on. “I want you to look at me and know that some do not decompose. Just the weak.” Their eyes burned, both dark instead of their usual two tones. “You can’t fill in any gaps. He’s a whole person. You. Stupid. Fuck.” They released his hair and brought their fist down on the back of his head, much weaker than before, hoping that their stamina would win out over his.

Lucien was nearly delirious with pain, which might’ve explained why he continued laughing despite being hit again. His arm barely had any feeling left in it, which might’ve explained how he managed to rip the knife out of Abel’s side and stab them again, this time closer to their stomach. They had to be bluffing, they had to be. “Three years and you don’t know shit,” he slurred, pushing himself upright as best he could. “How’d you make it back, huh? How come that’s allowed and I’m not? Fuck you. Fuck you.” Lucien grabbed Abel’s shirt to pull himself up further and pushed them backwards. “If you get to decide if I live, do I get to decide that for you, too?”

As Lucien moved, Abel predicted his movements enough to concentrate their shield on their stomach, and the wound they retained was much more superficial than the others. They pushed themself up more, then winced, back down on one knee. There was no way they could stand on that leg, darkness empowering them or not. They were shaking, and the floor trembled with them. “I made it back because this is my body. What you’re doing right now, you are not living. You are a virus. παράσιτο,” they hissed. Shadows swelled around them, covering their arms, chest, half their face, seeping into their wounds. “I came back because I am Abel Benoit, child of Death. So you’re going to have to try harder to kill me.” They leaned back into the shadows, fully absorbed and invisible now, before lunging forward to get Lucien back on the ground.

What would keep them down? Every time Lucien got a little bit of leverage, Abel hit him back. As he slammed once again into the floor, desperation melted into anger and prompted him to reach for his assailant’s throat. “Give me a fucking break,” he snarled up at them. “I fucking waited, I waited and I held out and I made it back. I deserve to be here, I’m more alive than you and your reanimated fucking corpse. I care about living more than any of you.”

Even Abel, the ruler of waxing poetic, knew when the time for saying cool things was over in a fight. There was also the fact that there were hands around their throat, making it difficult for them to deliver a monologue. They drove two knuckles down into Lucien's windpipe, a quick but strong jab to keep him from breathing. They grinned down at him, letting the fact that they seemed unhindered speak for how well they could hold their breath since coming back.

His hands unlatched from Abel's throat a little too readily. Lucien couldn't do more than make choking sound to relay how pissed, frustrated, panicked he was. He struggled to take a breath and resume fighting, but his head was spinning too badly, and his control felt shaky at best. He wanted to punch Abel back, but his arms refused to move anymore. "Fuck off," he groaned through clenched teeth as the fight began to melt out of his body. Linnaea! he tried, frantic. Lin! Can you hear me? I need you. But she was too far away, or maybe he was already too far under, because he didn't get an answer before he completely lost control.

Major couldn't understand how his body had managed to hold out this long. But for as much pain he was in, he was grateful to still be conscious, since he'd had enough time to claw his way back to the surface. He took another few rattling inhales and pressed his eyes shut. "Abel," he wheezed. "I—" he coughed and tasted more blood, "sorry.”

As the hands fell away from their throat, Abel grabbed them to pin Lucien down fully, and soon they recognized that it was Major they were holding down instead. "As am I," they rasped back. The shadows melted away from them, and their head spun as they found the knife, cut into their shirt, and ripped it to make strips so they could begin tying Major up once more. They pocketed the pesky blade and did their best to tie knots with shaky fingers. "Are you as close to passing out as I am?" They found their phone, but the screen glitched as they tried to use it, and they held it out to Major, before realizing that he couldn't call anyone, as he was tied up. They laughed and hung their head. "Shit. Can you move your hands or did I do an effective job tying you up this time?"

In a matter of minutes, Major was leaning against a wall with his hands and ankles tied in front of him, and it was the safest he felt in months. He was overwhelmed with how badly his body hurt; his arms protested even the smallest movement, like taking Abel's phone. "You did it fine the first time," he mumbled, wincing as he lowered the phone into his lap. "It's my fault. I should've said he had a..." Major's eyes misted over as the gravity of what was happening hit him all over again. He felt so far away, and Lucien's taunts from earlier were replaying in his head. "Um. Who should I call?"

“Don’t say that any of this is your fault or you should have done anything. You don’t have to apologize.” Abel lowered onto the floor, curling up on their side as they heaved ragged breaths. “Um. My roommates. Or Gabriele. Or a healer. Someone like that.” Their eyes darted without their permission, and they sighed. “Thank you.”

It was hard to feel reassured by that when Abel was beside him looking so pained. Instead of dwelling on it, for now he focused on finding someone who could help. Major was tempted to call Syd, but he thought he might completely lose it if he talked to her, so he just found the only name Abel mentioned and switched to speaker phone.

Gabriele was in the middle of a jog when his phone started ringing. He checked the screen without breaking stride and frowned at Abel's name glowing back at him. If they were calling, it had to be serious. Gabriele slowed to a walk and answered. "Hello, friend, is everything okay?"

"Can you come to Abel's house?" Major asked, not bothering to even attempt explaining what was going on. "I think the door is unlocked. Please, it's important."

"Who is this?" Gabriele asked, already turning toward the townhouses.

He shifted and inhaled sharply as pain flared through his torso. "Major."

A long silence followed this, then Gabriele finally responded. "I will be there in five minutes."

Abel’s eyes began to tick. Right, right, right, down. Right, right, right, down. They let their eyes half-close and focused on breathing through the pain. “Hey,” they said quietly to Major, pretty sure he was off the phone by now. “I’m sorry for taking so long on this, and I’m sorry for how much it’s hurting.” Their eyelids fluttered as they felt a familiar presence come and settle in against their stomach. “Where were you during that?” they jokingly chastised Soup quietly before continuing to Major. “And I don’t know how much you can retain while he’s... present, but I don’t want you to believe a word he says. He sounds really compelling, but so do demagogues, and you don’t listen to them, ya?” They rested a hand on Soup, hoping they wouldn’t get blood on his fur and worry their roommates when they got home. “You’re gonna feel different after this, but it’s not because he took something, it’s because that’s the human reaction.” A shudder ran through them, but their lips ticked upwards. “Do not go gentle into that good night, ya?”

Any feeble attempts Major had been making to keep himself together broke once Abel started speaking to him. He was so sick of this. He took a few shaking breaths as tears began to streak down his face. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice breaking on the word. But as much as he appreciated their comfort, all Major could think about was how little time he had before he was pulled back under. "I'm trying my best."

It was almost five minutes on the dot when Gabriele shoved open the front door. He was breathless from sprinting, but he still rushed toward Abel's room, only stopping short once he found the two bodies sprawled on the ground in the hall. "Porco cane..." he whispered, dropping by Abel's side. He glanced toward Major, too, noting the restraints. "Explain later, what do I need to do?" he asked, looking between the both of them.

Abel wasn’t very good at comforting people, so they were quiet for the rest of the time as they waiting for Gab. Each second seemed to stretch on for ages, and they could feel themself being pulled under as Soup pressed himself into their stomach, causing them to hiss in pain, but thankful for something keeping them conscious. Their breathing was growing shallow when they heard someone enter their house, and they had regained control of their eye movements, but chose to keep them closed. “Hospital,” they said quietly. “Sorry, I should have called someone with a car.” Now that Gab was here, they relaxed a bit more, nearly melting into the floor. “I might... ambrosia in my room. Some drawer. Only a bit,” they muttered into the floor, their breathing slowing down more. “Can you leave a note for my roommates?”

Gabriele ran the rest of the way toward Abel's room. He emerged after a minute with the ambrosia, then propped Abel up slightly and fed them a few pieces. "I'll call for help. And tell them..." He glanced over to Major once again.

While Abel seemed to relax in Gabriele's presence, Major was more stiff and cautious than ever. Even though it'd be two against one, the last thing he wanted was for Lucien to slow everything down. "Just make sure he doesn't get away," he said when Gabriele looked at him. "I don't care what you have to do."

Gabriele nodded. "I'll take care of everything," he assured them both. "Major, sorry to meet again in such circumstances."

"Me, too," he muttered.

Before he did anything else, Gabriele called for his goddess. While she couldn't fully intervene, she helped move him along quicker than he could have managed on his own. He called an ambulance, wrote a note, and gently helped get Abel and Major into the truck once it arrived, all in a matter of minutes. He even found a set of keys and locked the front door on the way out. Gabriele charmed his way into the back of the ambulance and began to explain, as discreetly as he could, the importance of keeping an eye on one of the passengers in particular...

He wouldn't let himself get his hopes up. Major had taken control twice tonight, and both for prolonged periods of time. He'd never managed such a thing before, but he could feel Lucien's rage rumbling inside of him. He knew the moment the painkillers hit, he'd go under, and probably be unable to surface for a long time. A fresh wave of sadness rolled over him, but for once, Major didn't feel completely hopeless. Still, he wished he'd thanked Abel more, he wished he had more time. But everything he wanted to say would yet again go unheard, since it wasn't long until the pain started to fade out of his body, and Major finally passed out.

#lucien x abel #lucienabel2 #major x abel #majorabel3 #major x gabriele #majorgabriele2 #gabriele x major #gabrielemajor2 #gabriele x abel #gabrieleabel5 #lucien #major #gabriele

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years

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Peace Like A River Part 8

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.7K

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A/N: oof y’all this is a big one

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

Part 8 here we go!!!

“I want to meet my daughter.”

“No,” you said instinctively.

“Don’t be so quick to decide,” Henry said. “After all-”

“No,” you repeated, firmer this time.

He sighed, but you detected sarcasm behind it. “Alright then. Guess I’ll just have one with Stacy.”

“Stacy doesn’t want kids,” you said.

“Ha!” he shot back. “You said the same thing, I still put one in you.”

You bit your lip and squeezed Gwilym’s hand. He looked at the phone as if it were gum he’d scraped off his shoes.

“That’s not fair,” you said.

“The world ain’t fair, Y/N,” he said with so much condescension you thought your head might explode. “But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: bring the girl to meet me and you can be right there with her or I stay with Stacy and you’ll just have to imagine - or perhaps remember - what will happen to her.”

A tear rolled down your cheek.

“You are such an asshole,” you said shakily. “Why do you even want to meet her? You signed away -”

“I didn’t do that by choice and you know it,” he cut across you. “It was part of our deal. Well, I’m striking a new deal.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the sob threatening to escape. You looked at Gwilym and his heart nearly broke at your helplessness. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand.

“When would we even be able to do this?” you returned. “I’m on tour right now.”

Gwilym shot you a horrified look that you were actually considering this.

“I know your last show is back in New York,” he said. “That’s when I want to meet her.”

“I need to think about this,” you said.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” he said. “Or I’m asking Stacy to marry me.”

“Are fucking kidding me?!” you cried. “You’d stoop that low just to spite me?!”

“You’re damn right I would!” he yelled back. “You think you’re so high and mighty now that you’re famous, but don’t you ever forget who you really are - just another bitc-”

You hung up on him once again. You looked over at Gwilym as your mouth began to tremble with the emotions flooding to the surface.

“What am I going to do?” you whimpered.

“Say no,” he said. “You can’t let him use Stacy against you.”

“Don’t you see?” you said. “He’s made whatever happens to Stacy my fault. Because I could have done something. He’s put this on me!”

“What he does to Stacy is his fault - his choice,” he argued. “It’s nobody else’s.”

“I can’t let him do what he did to me to someone else,” you said. “I can’t.”

“You can’t protect everyone, Y/N,” he reminded you.

“You’re right,” you said quietly as more tears spilled out. “Turns out, I can’t even protect my own daughter.”

“Yes, you can,” he protested. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” you returned.

“Y/N…”

“I know,” you said. “But it’s just one time and then we never have to see him again.”

Gwilym scooted closer to you and took your face in his hands.

“Y/N, please,” he said. “Please don’t do this.”

“He’s given me no other choice,” you said, pulling away from him. “And I’ll be right there with her. I’ll meet him in public, so he can’t start anything, and -”

“Hold on, are you saying you’re going alone?” he wondered.

“Well, yeah,” you said, blinking at him.

“Oh, no you’re not,” he said. “When’s your last day of tour?”

You told him.

“I’ll be in New York with the boys then,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

“No!” you cried, eyes going wide and grabbing his hands again. “No, I don’t want him to hurt you!”

He smiled at you. “He won’t, love. And I’ll think he’ll be even less inclined to try something with you if you have a man with you.”

You considered this. You really hated to bring anyone around Henry, much less the two most precious people in your life. Fear clawed at your heart. Henry almost always carried his gun and a knife on him. If anything happened, you could lose everything.

“I’ll negotiate some terms for this meeting,” you said. “Are you sure about this?”

“I cannot let you go alone,” he assured you. “I will not.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

You leaned towards him and rested your forehead against his. You held your face between his hands, wiping some fresh tears away with his thumb. You wondered how things had gotten so heavy. It was not quite so much of a burden with Gwilym to help.

A gasp left your mouth when you opened your eyes and saw the time on his watch.

“Gwilym, you’ve got to go,” you said. “Your interview.”

He glanced at the time and saw it too. “Damn. I’ll come straight back, after.”

“Don’t worry about that, I have a show tonight,” you said. “Spend some time with the guys. I can handle this.”

“Alright, love,” he agreed, kissing your forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you returned.

He finally parted from you, leaving your skin itching for his return. He said a quick goodbye to Violet as well and then was gone. When the door closed behind him, you reached into the desk drawer to read his latest letter.

It was much the same as the others. A brief update on his emotional well-being, something about another book he’d read. He also mentioned you and something you’d said that stuck with him. He told Dear Friend how much she would like you. You chuckled to yourself. When you reached the end of the letter, it hit you. This was the first one since the first admission of love that he had not written “I love you.” Your brow furrowed. Had his feelings actually changed?

You began to write a response, but you were having a difficult time. So much was on your mind now. Henry, Stacy, Gwilym, Violet. The huge web all of you were caught up in. For the first time, you didn’t feel like writing. With a sigh, you abandoned the letter for now and checked your emails. Your manager told you that he’d paid Stacy her final paycheck and they were looking for a new assistant, but since you only had two weeks left of tour, they would probably start when you returned to LA. It was a bit of a nuisance to be on your own, but you could manage.

That night, you let everything go as you got on the stage. It was a welcome relief to disappear behind your jokes once more and engage with a crowd for a while. You didn’t have to think much about Henry or Gwilym or anyone. It was just you and your audience. You could just have fun and laugh. It was nice.

After the show, you called Henry back. You were nervous but he picked up quickly and you told him you would meet him when you were back in New York.

“Some ground rules,” you said.

“I’m listening,” he replied.

“No weapons,” you told him. “Not your gun, not your knife, nothing that could hurt me or Violet.”

“So her name is Violet?” he asked.

“You didn’t know?”

“You never told me a goddamn thing about her, how was I supposed to know?”

“Whatever, do I have your word that you won’t bring any of your usual shit?” you pressed.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Anything else?”

“This is a one time meeting,” you said firmly. “I am under no obligation to foster a relationship between you and her. If she wants to meet you again she may do so when she is eighteen.”

He sighed. “I’m her father.”

“Speaking of which, you aren’t allowed to tell her who you are,” you snapped. “She doesn’t have a father.”

“Are you serious?!”

“As a heart attack,” you said. “These are my terms.”

“Okay,” he said, but he sounded hesitant. “I won’t tell her.”

“And you will not trick me into this again,” you said. “Your next attempt to contact me will be ignored. My management team will know your name and will screen anything from you or anyone associated with you, including the whole fucking NYPD. Do you understand?”

“You’re getting ridiculous,” he said.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he said irritably. “Fine.”

“Good,” you said. “I’ll text you when and where we can meet close to the date.”

“Whatever,” he said, and hung up.

You heaved a sigh. “This is gonna be a long two weeks.”

You could not have been more wrong. The next two weeks flew by. Normally, you were pretty pumped about the end of a tour, but you were dreading this one. The meeting with Henry loomed ahead like a cave with a wide mouth, but complete darkness inside.

What made it worse was that you wouldn’t see Gwilym until New York either. You did eventually write back to his letter, but it felt shallow and empty. Completely devoid of any real meaning. But you wanted to send it as quickly as possible. Perhaps the reason he’d stopped saying “I love you” was because he felt the distance, even in the letters. Or perhaps he’d put the distance there himself as he got closer to you outside of them.

It was just after Thanksgiving and you were back in New York. The air was chilly with the threat of winter, but everything looked warm and festive. It was a relief that this would be over soon and you could move on with your holidays, just you and Violet. The draw back was that Gwilym was going back home, and you’d be further from him than you had been since before you reconnected. It broke your heart to think of it.

Gwilym arrived to pick you and Violet up from your room. You were staying in the same hotel this time, but you could hardly be excited about it. Your stomach twisted up in knots as the hour grew closer to confronting your ex-husband. You subconsciously grabbed the scar on your side from your last encounter with him. It felt like that wound was opening again.

“You alright?” Gwilym asked.

“No, honestly,” you replied. “I hate this.”

“I know, love,” he said, pressing a kiss you the top of your head. “It won’t be long. You can do it.”

“Don’t let go of me,” you said, like a little girl asking her dad not to let go of her bike when she’s learning to ride. Only, a lot worse than scrapes and bruises were at risk.

“Mommy, why are we meeting this man?” Violet asked.

“I used to know him,” you explained. “And it’s important that I talk to him.”

“But you don’t like him?” she wondered.

You shook your head. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t wanna go,” she whined. “I don’t wanna!”

You wished it was that simple. That you could stamp your foot and say no and get your way. But you couldn’t. Not with his threat against someone you knew. You regretted not talking to Stacy more, but you weren’t sure you could have convinced her to leave him. But if you only opened up to people, then they would know. Guilt washed over you. Had you doomed her by keeping your guard up? You couldn’t think about that now.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said to her. “But we only have to go once.”

You walked to the park where you were meeting Henry. The beauty of the city in this season was lost on you as your nerves made every shaky step harder and harder to take. If Gwilym and Violet were not holding your hands you were sure you would have collapsed already.

You came around the corner to the park and you spotted him. He was not very tall, but he was bulky. He’d gained some weight since you last saw him, but you were sure he had not lost any of his old strength. He stood up from the bench he was on when he saw you coming. Every cell on your body was screaming at you to run. To get as far away from him as possible. You stopped walking to take a breath.

“Nearly there, Y/N,” Gwilym said gently.

You nodded, inhaling deeply again and started forward. Henry was only feet away from you now. The places on your body where he’d done the most damage were lighting up with the memory of his strikes. Your left eye throbbed. The burn on your collarbone grew hot. The cut on your side stung.

“Y/N,” Henry said.

“Henry,” you returned with a stiff nod.

Violet stood in front of you, but she backed up into your legs, looking warily up at Henry. He looked at Gwilym.

“Who’s this?” he wondered.

“Gwilym Lee,” Gwilym answered.

“What are you, her boyfriend?” Henry asked.

“That’s not your business,” you interjected. “You’re here to talk to Violet.”

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. He went to kneel down to greet her but you stopped him.

“Hold it,” you said. “Show me your waistband.”

“Come on, I left my gun in the car,” he told you. “My knife too.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you said. “Show me.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and then lifted his sweater and undershirt. You found no holster or knife clip.

“Go ahead,” you said.

He knelt in front of her. “Hi, Violet. My name’s Henry.” He held his hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and then looked up at you. “The bad man?”

Before you could answer, Henry sprang to his full height. You flinched.

“The bad man?” he repeated, practically spitting at you.

Gwilym wrapped his arm protectively around your shoulders, but you didn’t relax. Violet whimpered beside you and wrapped her arms around your leg.

“That slipped out,” you said. The familiar need to protect Henry’s feelings and appease him arose in you. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you oughta be,” he said. “You’re already setting her up not to like me.”

“Why should she?” you blurted out.

“Hey, watch it with the fuckin’ attitude,” he warned, stepping toward you.

“Is that a threat?” Gwilym challenged, moving to stand between you and Henry.

“Mommy,” Violet said, tugging on your jacket and cutting the quickly growing tension. “I gotta go potty.”

“Okay, sweetie,” you said, taking her hand. “Let’s go find the restroom.”

“There’s a building just down the path,” Henry said, his shoulders relaxing.

“Okay,” you returned. “We’ll be right back.”

Gwilym watched you disappear with Violet into the building Henry referred to. He felt tense now standing beside your ex-husband, who had caused you so much pain. He didn’t even know half of it, he was sure. Anger was boiling up inside of him, but he wanted to keep a cool head for your sake. You were anxious enough already.

“So, how do you know Y/N?” Henry asked.

Gwilym blinked at him.

“We used to work together,” he answered shortly.

“So you’re just friends?”

“Sure.”

“And Violet, she likes you?”

“I would think so considering how often she hugs me.”

Henry sighed and toed the ground with his boot, stirring up some dust. “Ah, fuck.”

“What?” wondered Gwilym.

“It’s just shitty how it all worked out,” he said. “I hate this.”

Gwilym was shocked. Had Henry changed?

“If she hadn’t left, we could have been happy,” Henry said.

Gwilym couldn’t hold back any more. “Are you joking? If you hadn’t treated her like a punching bag, maybe she wouldn’t have left!”

“Hey, what the hell do you know?” Henry shot back.

“Did it make you feel better?” Gwilym cried. “Burning her, slapping her around? Did it make you feel like a man? To force yourself on someone smaller than you and helpless?”

“She earned everything she got!” Henry shouted. “A good woman doesn’t talk shit to her husband!”

“Tell me, what exactly were you doing to be a husband worthy of her respect?”

Henry flared up and glowered at Gwilym. His hands balled into fists, which did not go unnoticed by the latter.

“Going to hit me?” Gwilym challenged. “Or do you exclusively beat on people who can’t fight back?”

“Hey, FUCK YOU!” Henry bellowed.

Gwilym laughed in his face. “Raise your voice all you want, Henry. You’re a tiny, pathetic little man, and you don’t scare me.”

Henry swung at Gwilym who only leaned back to avoid the impact. But the former had put all his weight behind the punch, so missing threw him off balance, and he stumbled. Gwilym took this opportunity to shove Henry several feet back. He caught himself and re-centered, preparing to lunge at Gwilym again.

You were drying Violet’s hands when you heard Henry curse loudly, and assumed it was directed at Gwilym. A nervous twinge went through you and you gulped. You wondered what had been said and if it was still escalating.

“Come on, sweetie,” you said, taking Violet’s hand. “Hurry.”

You walked quickly outside, and you saw Henry throw a punch but miss. Then you saw him prepare to strike a second time. You took off running, hurtling toward Gwilym. Violet gave a surprised cry and followed close behind, sprinting beside you at a rate that was impressive, though you couldn’t even process it. You had missile lock on Gwilym as Henry raised his hand.

“Don’t you TOUCH HIM!” you screamed, casting yourself between the men.

You faced Henry, arms spread in front of Gwilym. You glared fiercely at your ex-husband, surprised at his newfound hesitation. Violet caught up and hid herself behind Gwilym. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath.

Gwilym blinked, shocked at your sudden appearance and your ferocious defense of him. Your need to protect others from Henry’s cruelty became even clearer to him now. Even though you were smaller, weaker, and more afraid, you stood there in front of him, shielding him and your daughter. His admiration for you grew about tenfold. As did his love.

You waited for Henry to strike. You could not allow him to get to Gwilym and Violet. Your whole heart stood behind you, and you would shield it with your life if you had to. Henry stepped closer, and you brought your hands forward and rammed both fists into his chest. He was so thrown off by it, he fell onto his back.

“This was a mistake,” you said to Gwilym, but without facing him. You knew better than to turn your back on Henry. “Let’s go.”

Henry rolled onto his side and then scrambled to his feet.

“Hold on, I’m not finished,” he said.

“I am,” you retorted. “Deal’s off. Fuck you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Violet again interrupted.

“Daddy, hold me!” she whined.

You and Henry both whipped around - you terrified, and he hopeful. But then you saw it. She was reaching up for Gwilym, ignoring Henry entirely. She had tears streaming down her cheeks and she was shaking. Your heart ached for her. You knew she must so scared and confused. Gwilym stooped down and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and let out a sob.

“It’s alright, love,” he said, rubbing her back. “I’ve got you.”

You turned to Henry. “We’re leaving. Contact me again, and I’ll file harassment charges.”

“This is bullshit,” he said.

“Get bent,” you returned.

Gwilym approached. He had Violet on his hip, so he wrapped his free arm around your waist. You turned, feeling more secure now, and the three of you walked way.

“Y/N!” Henry called.

You ignored him.

“Y/N!”

You flipped him off as you walked.

As you headed back to the hotel, Violet relaxed. She was not asking questions, just holding Gwilym around his neck and relying on him for comfort. You took her hand.

“I love you,” you told her. “I’ll never put you through that again. I’m sorry, Violet.”

“I love you too, Mommy,” she returned. “I’m okay. You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

You smiled at her. Then she closed her eyes and rested on Gwilym. He looked over at you and smirked.

“You were really amazing back there,” he told you. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

Your heart swelled at his praise. “Thanks!”

When you got back to the hotel, Joe, Ben, and Rami were all there in the lobby, clearly fretting over Gwilym’s return. When they saw him in one piece, they all sighed with relief.

“How’d it go?” Joe wondered.

“Fine,” Gwilym assured him. “Y/N set him straight.”

“Good for you,” Rami said, clapping you on the shoulder as you grinned.

“Hey, would you guys mind taking Violet for a little while?” Gwilym asked.

You shot him a quizzical look.

“I just want to talk to you,” he said. “Privately. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “Do you guys mind?”

“Not at all,” Ben answered.

“What d’you say, Vi?” Gwilym asked her. “Wanna spend some time with your uncles?”

She looked at the three of them, a slow smile spreading across her lips. Joe made a goofy face and did a raspberry at her and she giggled.

“Yeah!” she agreed.

“Good girl!” Gwilym said, handing her off to Joe.

You waved to her as Gwilym led you to the elevator.

“Wait, are we going to your room?” you wondered.

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s important.”

Confusion and a jolt of worry went through you. You feared - irrationally - that he was going to tell you this was all too much for him and end your friendship. It had to be about what happened with Henry. Was he going to scold you for trying to protect him? You really had no idea what else it could be.

When you made it to his room, utterly lost at the purpose of all this, he quickly opened the door and almost pushed you inside. Where had this sudden intensity come from?

The door clicked shut and you looked at him, distressed.

“Gwil, what’s going -”

He cut you off with a kiss. His lips were hot, needy, and desperate against yours. His mouth swallowed your yelp of surprise. You could fight it no longer. You closed your eyes and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck as you melted into him.

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