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sunflowerharrington · 2 years

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My Favorite Poison - Chapter One

overall synopsis: billy meets a girl. billy and said girl hit it off. but like most things in life… they don’t always have a happy end. 99% of the time they don’t, but he’s holding onto that 1% like his life depends on it. and then everything goes downhill.

content warnings: swearing, fighting, cheating, arguing, typical highschool behaviour, n*il hargrove, implied sexual content towards the second half of the book, more content warnings to be added

author’s notes: please, be kind. it costs nothing. billy’s backstory is inspired by nate jacobs’ but billy actually turns out to be the good guy unlike nate. italics are thoughts (mostly). get your popcorn and enjoy watching these idiots bicker over a school project and other things —bee.

i’m super nervous about this one, i hope at least one person likes this story…

tagging: @myobmaya @steveslittlesunflower @thisishellfire @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @hellfirehaley @corrodedhawkins @quickiesgirl @taecube @eddies-bat @wzrlds @fxllfaiiry @liviawritesthings @eddiebillysteve @fleetwood-mac-demarco if you would like to be added, please let me know!

masterlist and playlist coming soon!!

part two

please do not copy or repost to another site or on your own blog, i have spent so much time on this

chapter one: cigarettes and new faces

AUGUST 29TH 1984, HAWKINS, INDIANA

He held the flame of the lighter at the end of his second cigarette of the evening, listening to the flick of metal hitting against metal. He inhaled deeply, leaning back against the cold wall behind him, his legs tucked up to his chest as he sat on the window cill. The boy let his fragile eyelids flutter shut, images of waves, sand and the bright sunlight coursing through his mind, reminiscing about his time in California. Wishing he could go back to his home.

Nothing could kill Billy quite like being stuck in a boxing ring in his own home, where he was the punching bag. His quote unquote “home” was practically a jailhouse. Not a home, but a house. But this was just four walls, four people, four fights every night which the person who actually started them all always blamed Billy for starting them. Everything was in fours for Billy Hargrove.

Until one person disrupted those even numbers. Ruining the order in the Hargrove household, ruining everything. According to Neil; a very unreliable source, who then began taking his anger out in a heinous way.

So Billy turned to drinking alcohol and inhaling toxic fumes from the cigarettes. Smoking that amount would kill him one day. It would eventually make his pearly whites rot and fall out and his jaw would also dislocate and fall off. But he didn’t give a shit. But he would in the next hour.

He’d rather die than be in Hawkins.

And exhale, blowing the smoke back into the bathroom, watching it brush against the cloudy window panes and the cracked mirror hanging on the door at the opposite end of the room, listening to the hustle and bustle of the outside world and god-awful music from a nearby car. The hardest part about it for him was the long exhale after inhaling the death threatening substances. He hated letting go, he hated relaxing.

But it didn’t matter what he was breathing in, he hated it. He would do anything to cut off all air circulation… Letting himself exhale and let go was what led him to be thrown into this hell on Earth, Hawkins, for eternity.

Sometimes Billy thought back to the day that everything changed in his house. He was twelve years old when his dad turned on him. Neil wanted to keep everything in order and was quite obsessive, but didn’t want to do any of the work. He was the man of the house after all, and whatever he says, goes. So he forced William to start working.

When he turned thirteen he started going by Billy. Around that time he also adopted healthier habits, except he started smoking and began consuming too much alcohol. At thirteen. He also adopted a rigid diet consisting of carbs, protein and cheap cans of beer from the fridge when his mom and Neil weren’t looking. His workout schedule included surfing, swimming and running the length of the beach.

He joined the Lenora Hills basketball team as a freshman, coming out as not only the star player at the year’s end, but the team captain too. And he loved it. He loved the attention and his mom’s praise, until Neil kicked her out of the house for reasons unknown to Billy at the time, and until Susan Mayfield and her daughter, Max, showed up.

Max was a fuck-up. Billy could tell Neil didn’t like Max; didn’t think she had guts, or a brain or half a fucking clue about anything in the world except how to skateboard and be a disappointment to everyone.

He didn’t talk to Neil all that much after the switch flicked in Neil’s mind to start inflicting his anger and pain onto the child. Billy didn’t like Susan either. She was weak and a pushover. Plus, she was an alcoholic and didn’t take care of herself. What a waste. Susan could have been his saving grace.

And inhale… breathing in the smoke and letting it fill his lungs, letting it calm your senses, and then exhaling slowly. He watched with half-lidded, slightly dazed eyes as the cigarette smoke filled the small room, coating the already thick air around him.

Susan insisted on him going out for the evening, so he found himself trudging to the nearest gas station, picking an unopened box of cheap cigarettes off the ground on his way. He’d gone out to buy some, so getting free ones was a win in his book.

He kicked open one of the bathroom stall doors and locked it behind him, taking a seat on the window cill with a thin coat of chipped white paint on it that had turned a murky yellow color due to… how long it had been there, he thought.

Billy moved to Hawkins with Susan, Max and Neil after Neil kicked Billy’s mom out. Moving into a new house that was a ten minute drive from the local middle school and high school. Though he would rather work out all day and swim in the community pool, working on getting his lifeguard training certificate, than going to school. He’d rather read a fucking Shakespearean tragedy aloud than attend school. He'd rather marry somebody he hated than attend school.

And now he found himself walking down a dark alleyway, freckles of blue sky peeking out from behind the clouds full of angel tears, a street lamp flickering above him, which was surprisingly more comfortable than locking himself up (leaving the door open three inches, he wasn’t allowed to close his door) in an almost empty bedroom that might as well have been a foreign country. And exhale again.

He’d heard stories about this town; about how two young kids went missing in the same week but only one survived, about how one man was forced to look after said child and his friends because their deadbeat parents were as useful as the pythagorean theorem outside of school. But he chose to believe none of it. Max on the other hand believed everything. Her lack of brain cells allowed her to do that.

Though her IQ still wasn’t as bad as Neil’s receding hairline.

And inhale. Inhaling this shit never burned as bad the second time around… Well, not as bad as the burn he received when he tripped down the stairs in his next door neighbour slash best friend’s house, when the bare skin of his thigh dragged and scraped along the carpet. When the only person who didn’t laugh at him could barely help him because they’d both smoked one too many purple palm tree delights that day.

And so is where he was now; leaning against a damp concrete wall near a girl his age and presumably her younger sister, who looked to be around Max’s age or slightly older. As he breathed in the cool air of the autumn evening, he watched as they completed their daisy chains using the flowers from the tiny patch of grass by the flickering street lamp.

The older of the two girls noticed him out of the corner of her eye and gave him a warm smile, one that slowly began to melt his heart without him even knowing it, little creases forming around her eyes. The little girl waved at Billy, but he didn’t have it in him to wave back. He felt like he didn’t deserve it after all the shit Neil said he did; after that time at the police station when Neil accused him of abusing his own step-mother and step-sister, when in reality the real monster was Neil.

But he couldn’t help but look back at the older girl, who had wrapped her arms around the little girl’s shoulders. She had long, ash blonde hair and pretty amber eyes. Her sun kissed skin had been injected with bright, colorful ink, and the drawings covered the entirety of one of her arms. A tattoo-covered hand moved to cup the younger girl’s cheek, her thumb wiping away a stray tear.

Panic set in for Billy. Did he make her cry? Was it because he didn’t say anything to her? Should he buy her an ice cream to cheer her up? A magazine? A movie from Family Video? He flicked his lighter out of boredom and to distract himself from his thoughts, blowing smoke out into the darkness of the late summer night.

It would be better if he didn’t say anything.

His cigarettes tasted like shit but they calmed his ever growing nerves. So he kept them up. The shitty doctor he went to with his mom told him that the injections they were going to give him would fix his addiction and calm his nerves, but boy were they far from right. They just made him even worse.

They did fucking shit to help him.

“It’s the pretty boy from the pool!” He heard the younger girl, the brunette, say quietly into the blonde girl’s shoulder. Muffled, but clear and loud enough for him to hear almost crystal clearly.

The tattooed girl smiled, pressing a kiss to the little girl’s forehead. “You’re right, El! You wouldn’t know who this is, but he reminds me of James Dean, in a way.”

Her voice was sweeter than candy, and it made Billy’s skin crawl. It was the first time she’d uttered more than a word. He couldn’t tell where she was from; the sing-song tunes of a Gaelic drawl mixed perfectly in with Midwest American that warmed him more than the sun beating down on his blonde curls in a hot summer in California. And he hated it.

James Dean? Wow…

Billy grinned, smirking as he heard the little girl, El, say that she thought Billy had heard what the girl with the sweet tatties had said. The older girl hid her blushing face in her hands while the other giggled, teasing her. “Why is your face pink?”

“It’s not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not, El!”

His heart sank as the little girl ran up to him. Should he apologize now? Should he compliment her daisy chain bracelet? Should he ask her about the brown-haired girl? Should he—?

“My friend thinks you’re really pretty,” she said, bouncing up to him, now standing not even a foot away from him, practically leaning against his body. His ears perked up at the sound of her voice.

Okay. They’re not sisters.

“I know I am,” he replied plainly, flicking his cigarette again, looking down into her glassy, deep brown eyes. Eyes that made him instantly relax, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as he sighed a quiet “thank you,” to her.

El beamed, but Billy hadn’t noticed, too busy looking at the other girl. He shifted in his spot by the wall and stared, admiring how she flicked her nails together. Maybe it was a nervous thing? However, she was a stunner. Skin like soft cashmere with a sunkissed glow, gleaming amber eyes and a full plush mouth. She had her almost pin straight hair pulled into a high ponytail with her bangs falling over her forehead, her ponytail secured with a blue scrunchie; Billy’s favorite color.

She also looked strong, her arms muscled but not as much as his, with her colorful sleeve, and she had the kind of full swishy hips a boy would love to grab a hold of. And she smiled like a pageant queen.

Billy hadn’t noticed that his fingers had tangled together, kneading each other like bread dough. He hated how pretty she was. She was so out of his league, and he hated that. He hated how he wouldn’t be able to sweet talk her into a date, hated how he wouldn’t be good enough for her even though he hadn’t even spoken to her yet.

Her glossy smile wavered, and she laughed, a sound that jingled in tune with the dangling earrings she was wearing. Ones that looked almost identical to Billy’s. The sound rang in his ears louder than anything ever had before.

Is this fate?

“Come on, El,” she said, beckoning the girl back over to her, her eyes locking with Billy’s for a moment. “I’m sorry about her, she gets really excited around boys.”

Billy opened his mouth, uncharacteristically unsure of what to say. He lived by the philosophy that regrets were for another day, not today. Or, at least for a minute after he’d said something that made him sound like a fucking idiot.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I get that excited around pretty people too.”

Her smile broke, laughter bubbling in her chest. The sweetest sound in the world was worth looking like an idiot for.

“You do? I guess that means you’re not excited right now,” she said, her voice dropping, trailing off. “I mean, why would you be? El’s pretty but she’s twelve… But whatever you’re into...”

Billy shrugged. “What if I was talking about you?”

“You were?” Her pretty mouth fell open, letting out a short gasp. Billy’s brows furrowed; she was surprised he said that?

As Billy nodded, a huge smile broke on her face, pulling at the corners of her glossy lips. However, he felt his heart beginning to shatter as she tried her hardest to conceal that beautiful smile. Each time her smile broke, so did his heart.

And he fucking hated it. He hated how easily this girl had made him crack. He hated how she didn’t see herself as beautiful or worthy. He hated how she didn’t see herself the way he saw her.

She flicked her light gaze in his direction, the force of her smile so bright he almost had to physically rub his eyes to adjust; instead he just squinted them shut for a second longer than a normal blink. That was exactly how she looked to him: a vision. One so beautiful it could bring a tear to somebody’s eye. She had the beauty of Venus, the power of Aphrodite, the grace of la primavera di Botticelli and a smile with enough adoration it could power an entire twelve lifetimes of perfect, puppy love.

“Of course I was, doll,” he replied with a chuckle from the bottom of his stomach. “Have you met yourself?”

Billy smiled back at her, running his skilful tongue over his top teeth and bottom lip, which for whatever reason looked hot. Any time she tried, it looked weird and creepy. He made it look so effortless and so, so… so…—

Billy watched as a scarlet blush crept onto her cheeks, tucking a wayward strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, biting the side of her bottom lip to distract herself from… something. Anything. She could feel herself faltering under his intense gaze.

Billy also had to look away. The longer he looked, the more he felt like he was falling. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t just because she was too good looking for her own good. He’d met plenty of beautiful girls in his life, maybe a few who looked even more gorgeous than her, but nobody, in his entire 17 years of life had managed to knock him sideways like that that fast.

When he finally opened his mouth again, he was so busy trying to smooth talk her, that he may have insulted her. Fuck. Telling her she looked like somebody who would balance out his prettiness even after he called her beautiful. God, why won’t he stop fucking talking?

He was digging himself a grave 8 feet under instead of 6. Every word was more stupid and more flustered-sounding than the last.

But she laughed. She laughed at his stupidity, which was better than her running off with tears falling down her beautiful face. He’d take anything he could at that point.

He slowly walked over and sat down next to her, pulling his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the gas station bathroom. Bold move.

The swift movement only made the blush on her cheeks grow even more, and she now had no choice but to let him see that.

“What’s a sweet girl like you doing out here almost all by yourself anyway?” He asked after she failed to fully falter under his gaze. There was a party down the road

“I could ask you the same thing, Stud,” she replied, breath hitching in his throat as she scooted closer to him, his boots and her converse touching, something of a small spark igniting between the two as her right knee and his left knee briefly touched.

“You think I’m a sweet girl?”

“You know what I mean!” She laughed. Oh he liked the sound of her laugh.

But no. He hated it. No. Hate. Hate. He wasn’t allowed to like anything so why should he start now?

You don’t like her. Get that in your fucking head.

“What’s your name?” He asked, filling what might have been an awkward silence.

“What’s yours?” She challenged, her lips matching his cheeky smirk, politely deciding a cigarette from him when he offered.

He got to work attempting to roll a blunt from the back pocket of his jeans with his shaky fingers on the surface of the slightly damp ground next to him, cigarette dangling from his plush lips. He noticed her pushing her thighs together tighter than before, but never said anything, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.

“Are you gonna make me annoy the shit out of you until you tell me, Stud?” Shit. Fuck. Double and triple times fuck. He forgot about that.

“It’s Billy,” he said, exhaling, the area around them filling with a soft haze of gray smoke, clouding both of their minds even more.

“Sloane,” she replied. “Got a surname?” I wish I didn’t. “…Or are you just Billy?”

His stomach leapt at the way his name rolled off her tongue so perfectly, and he gulped, covering it up by pulling his cigarette. The sound of her saying his name… It was cheesy as fuck but it sounded better than any song he’d ever heard. “It’s Hargrove.”

“Mitchell,” she said, slipping something into the pocket of his denim jacket, patting the fabric twice. “Always nice to see new faces around here, Hargrove… Well, I think you’re new, I’d notice a pretty boy like you a mile away.”

Pretty boy, huh? Looked like Billy was off to a great start.

…Until he fucked it all up. Just like he did with everything he ever went near. He was destined to not have nice things.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #stranger things angst #angst #fluff #stranger things fluff #meet cute #billy hargrove x oc #original character #billy x oc #my favorite poison #stranger things x oc #back on my clown shit #fuck neil hargrove and his hairline that looks like it was fucked with a weed whacked #whacker*#bee simps

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yemilnisu · 4 years

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INCORRECT HAIKYUU QUOTES FROM BUZZFEED UNSOLVED

nisu entries:

i got this idea from @memekingofwwiii and some of it are theirs 🙇🏻‍♀️ thank you for letting me add it here 😊 it’s a mixture from buzzfeed unsolved supernatural and true crime 👀 i really had fun doing this!

warning: swearing, mentions of death/murder/killing/blood/weed

「part 2」

Tendou: i did have a neighbor who had an overhang of a lime tree, and it was great because i could go pick a little lime.

Ushijima: did you ever think about killing your neighbor?

Tendou: when he didn't give me limes, yeah.

Ushijima: oh, okay; all right.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Matsukawa: this is my bridge now, if you want it back you’re gonna have to kill me.

Oikawa: he did throw someone off the bridge once.

Matsukawa: fuck you, goatman!

Oikawa: Jesus Christ.

Kunimi: *behind the camera snickering as mattsun taunts the goatman much to oikawa’s dismay*

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Matsukawa: hey demons, it’s me, ya boi.

Matsukawa: if you want to eat my heart, turn that light on. If you want to eat oikawa’s heart, turn that light on...

Oikawa: don’t drag me into your shit, mattsun.

*torch turns on*

Oikawa: *screams*

Matsukawa: *laughs hysterically as he continues to lie on the pentagram*

Kunimi: *actual wheezing*

Matsukawa: i think this demon’s a wimp.

Oikawa: he’s out of his fucking mind.

Kunimi: *having the time of his life*

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Oikawa: every human's capable of murder if you push them enough. i just don't know if this is enough of a push.

Iwaizumi: okay.

Oikawa: it's true!

Iwaizumi: is that so?

Oikawa: yeah.

Oikawa: i bet you you would murder me if I pushed you enough.

Iwaizumi: yeah, probably.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Tsukishima: …

Tsukishima: so, you're telling me, at nine years old, you don’t go to church. the first time you cross the threshold into holy ground,

Nishinoya: *makes noise and imitates blood coming out of his nose*

Tsukishima: blood expels from your nostrils?

Nishinoya: yeah, yeah. they ran outta tissues! mopping that up.

Tsukishima: …

Nishinoya: it was wild!

Tsukishima: it sounds wild.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Kuroo: i think it was the neighbor. look, i’m a simple man. i see a trail of blood going to someone's house. even if they didn't do it, come on; you're going to jail.

Kenma: i think it might've been a random person.

Kuroo: all right.

Kenma: it just seems too obvious.

Kuroo: okay.

Kenma: there's a paper trail of their feud. why the hell would he be that dumb?

Kuroo: rage, you know? lust, rage. rage just- just building up, bursting out.

Kenma: well, i've never really gotten that angry. i don't really have that capacity.

Kuroo: it's building. it's building inside you. everyone sees it; we all see it.

Kenma: that's great. oh man, i can't wait for krakatoa then.

Kuroo: *shuddering* oh- oh- i shudder.

Kenma: hope no one's in the way 😺

Kuroo: …

Kuroo: scary.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Daichi: he allegedly chased his mother with an axe when he was 19.

Asahi: not great.

Daichi: (wheeze) no? not off- off to a bad start?

Asahi: no good. i’ve never done that. you didn’t do that did you?

Daichi: no! i didn't- what- is there anything to suggest that I would chase my mom with an axe?

Asahi: (inhales) not outright i feel like if you peel the layers back.

Daichi: you think if you peel the layers back from this onion, you'll see something you don’t want to see?

Asahi: yeah. i think you wear a mask sometimes 😅

Daichi: mm-hmm i think you should keep digging and maybe see what happens 🙂

Asahi: uh no i'm good 🧍🏻‍♂️

Daichi: *staring at asahi*

Asahi: 👁👄👁💧

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Osamu: my takeaway is people from chicago are weird.

Atsumu: the- this does not represent chicago. this is people and go "ey! chicago tylenol murders"

Osamu: (laugh) home with the beam, the cubs and the chicago tylenol murders and of course our nation's greatest tragedy, miya atsumu.

Atsumu: that- that's not me.

Osamu: i read it somewhere 🤷🏻

Atsumu: no, you didn’t, you probably wrote it.

Osamu: yeah.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Suna: i’d love to be an heiress.

Kita: (snickers)

Suna: i know she’s probably gonna disappear or something.

Kita: so you wanna be a trust fund baby?

Suna: i’d like someone to give me a lot of money for doing nothing. but i want-

Kita: and then you wanna disappear?

Suna: yes. i want to get a lot of money and then vanish from the face of the earth.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Ennoshita: her family believed that when she left at 11:30 am, she had as much as $30 in her purse, which in today’s dollars would be more than $750.

Nishinoya: holy moly!

Tanaka: that’s a lot of quiche—

Nishinoya: yeah.

Tanaka: that’s a lot of quiche.

Nishinoya: thirty bucks going that far in 1910.

Tanaka: i don’t even have $750 in my bank account.

Nishinoya: i’ve never had $750 in my pocket! i rarely have had $30 in my pocket.

Ennoshita: well i don’t really carry cash anymore-

Nishinoya & Tanaka: who does!?

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Yaku: stop number one, mothman statue.

Lev: it looks very ornate.

Yaku: *shocked that lev knows that word*

Yaku: you’ll be able to stare at it eye to eye.

Lev: what’s that supposed to mean?

Yaku: it means you’re eight feet tall, it’s a tall joke. get it?

Lev: 🧍🏼

Yaku: 🤦🏼‍♂️

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Akaashi: any... any thought in that so far?

Bokuto: (fart sound) nope. what year is it, ‘66?

Akaashi: ‘66.

Bokuto: few teens out there probably smoking a few funny cigarettes.

Akaashi: you could say weed. it’s 2018.

Bokuto: ...some grass.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Kageyama: so my guess is the couples were somewhere around here, maybe on that road over there.

Hinata: yeah.

Kageyama: and i'm not sure of the exact location but this is where they saw him stumbling around.

Hinata: they just… saw him kinda shambling?

Kageyama: yeah.

Hinata: big shambling man. kinda *shuffling his body*

Kageyama: i- i don’t know, maybe he was just taking a walk, i mean, what's it to you?

Hinata: why would you take a walk if you had wings?

Kageyama: he's a fucking creature, he can do what he wants.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Kuroo: but all im saying is that what you need to gather from this is that he has an effect on people's psyche.

Lev: this mothman's a complicated character.

Kuroo: what does he sound like? what does he sound like?

Lev: he sound like the blood bird.

Kuroo: …

Lev: flappy spookster.

Kuroo: …

Kuroo: that's- come on.

Kuroo: *glances over to lev's notes*

Lev: the winged wretch. did i already say that?

Kuroo: this just says fright terror.

Kuroo: *throws away the notes*

Lev: you know, just call him batman, why is that hard? 😩

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

(howling)

Goshiki: what the fuck.

Shirabu: well those are coyotes… or dogs. Or a large pack of something.

Goshiki: holy shit.

Shirabu: just some coyotes.

Goshiki: are you not fucking alarmed right now?

Shirabu: are you scared? (laugh)

Goshiki: dude wait- this goes beyond belief, that was a pack of, whatever the fuck that was.

Shirabu: it was coyotes!

Goshiki: is that our cue to leave? i think maybe. we've been out here for quite a bit.

Shirabu: yeah, i don’t know if were gonna find anything tonight.

Goshiki: i don’t wanna be in the mouth of some coyote later, that's not how i want the picture wrap on old tsutomu to be.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Atsumu: air force one? they filmed air force one here?

Atsumu: air force one actually, now that i think of it, remember the reason they hijacked the plane is to release for the-

Sakusa: i’m gonna go ahead and cut you off right there 'cause i don’t give a shit.

Sakusa: we’re gonna move over here.

Atsumu: …okay.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Kai: four people in a cell, that's a lot

Kuroo: i mean, you put any normal people in a room that's too small. like if you’re in a dorm in college, if you hate your roommate…

Kai: it's tough business

Kuroo: listening to music too loud when i'm trying to study

Kai: hwfrrrrr…

Kuroo: cookin' uhh… top ramen in the microwave when i'm trying to sleep

Kai: you got some axes to grind?

Kuroo: no.

Kai: oh

Kuroo: fuck you, daishou.

Kai: daishou?

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

(distant thud)

Yamamoto: what the fuck?

Kenma: :3

Yamamoto: is all i have to say to that.

Kenma: they didn’t like the thumb talk.

Yamamoto: you didn't like the thumb talk? was it too much thumb talk? i thought we went about two minutes long on the-

(distant thud)

Kenma: they don’t like the thumb talk.

Yamamoto: *looking around in shock*

Kenma: *stopping himself from laughing*

Yamamoto: uhhhh… holy fuck. holy fuck, holy fuck. if you’re one of the people that had that thumb thing to happen to you, that sucks. what was it like?

Kenma: what do you think you're gonna get right now? 😑

Yamamoto: i feel like we should go see what that is, to be honest.

Kenma: *shakes his head*

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Tsukishima: we’re walking over to the source of the disturbance.

Hinata: hello? (sigh) i’m gonna lose my mind. so, it did that twice within the span of 10 seconds but nothing else?

Tsukishima: but, we can confirm that it did sound like this right? *slams the cabinet door*

Hinata: yeah.

Tsukishima: that was the sound.

Hinata: do you think the wind’s gonna do that twice?

Tsukishima: *blows on the cabinet door*

Tsukishima: not moving 🙄

Hinata: well, shit.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Sugawara: oh there it is. it’s that. *pointing to where the sound was coming from*

Asahi: what?

Sugawara: there’s a logical explanation for you.

Asahi: ah! okay, there it is. well, there you go, there you go.

Sugawara: but, if we hadn’t seen that...

Asahi: if we hadn’t seen that we would be fooled 😅

Sugawara: no, we wouldn’t have been fooled. you would have been telling me for months.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

*inside the prisoners of ohio state penitentiary*

Kageyama: this is fucking terrible.

Tsukishima: it’s the opportunity of a lifetime to be here.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Tendou: i’m separating from the group.

Semi: it’s the ideal time to kill him.

Tendou: yeah i mean, if i were gonna die in camera it would be a pretty noble thing.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Osamu: I don’t understand what’s wrong with atsumu sometimes.

Atsumu: what was that?

Osamu: i didn’t say anything.

Atsumu: you sure you didn’t say anything, ‘samu?

Osamu: now go back and set ‘em off to make sure they work.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Sakusa: *inhales*

Atsumu: *inhales*

Sakusa: you need to back up from me. i can feel your air intake. it’s like a gross nasal jet, i don’t know.

Atsumu: *takes a step towards sakusa*

Sakusa: uh no *takes a step backwards*

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Futakuchi: latch yourself onto my soul, come back to hollywood with me, and destroy the lives of all my friends and coworkers.

Koganegawa: a little hard to follow, but i like where you’re going.

Futakuchi: kogane’s family has a little-

Koganegawa: ey! ey! do-! do-! don’t!

Futakuchi: -dog named mickey.

Koganegawa:*trying to stop futakuchi*

Futakuchi: real good. you wanted me to give it my all. i’m throwing stuff on the table.

Koganegawa: insults, not personal information. you’re giving him a dossier on my life!

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babytaes · 3 years

Text

afterglow

➳ summary: You, too, lived in a colorless world, trying to connect with it. How long would you have to wait for that one to brighten it up and let you see the real world?

❥ pairing: wonwoo x female reader

❥ genre: angst, fluff, kinda soulmate au.....?

❥ word count: 7k (sorry, mans is my bias and I had to ;)

❥ warning: mentions of death.

➳ part of the song series

↳ Imagine a world like that,

We go like up 'til I'm 'sleep on your chest

Love how my face fits so good in your neck

You had a twin brother who was everything to you. Everything was always you two, from the endless amounts of laughter to the sneaky efforts to take Christmas cookies early in the morning.

With him, everything seems to be so colorful; in your lifetime, everyone was given a companion who may be a friend, sibling, or lover. It was simply something that you treasured. As a result, the alternatives were numerous.

You had no idea how much his life meant to you. He was your second half, and now you'd been split in half, with one gone and the other remaining.

Months passed, and your relationship with him became increasingly dimmer and dimmer. The brilliant hues faded in and out, with black and white patches becoming more prominent.

That awful day, unfortunately, was the last time you saw color. His light had faded from the world, and all that was left was black and white.

With him gone, your entire life seemed pointless, even your day-to-day existence. No splash of color to brighten things up.

“Y/N, I'll never forget you, big sister. Thank you for the enjoyable and considerate memories, and don't let this stunt your growth, please do that for me. As the beeper went off, he began to cough incessantly.

“Helpppp anyone.” As your parents draw you back into their arms, you hear many doctors rush into the room.

There was nothing they could do; his hue had vanished from this world. When you opened your tear-streaked eyes and examined your hands, you noticed that the formerly vivid cream palms had turned gray.

As if all colors were abruptly bleached out of the world, revealing a universe of whiteness—the rainbow, flowers, trees, and art, everything freshly bleached and pearled. The last vestige of color had vanished from your life, and you had been broken since then, heartbroken over the loss of your dearest friend.

“Y/n, hey you're good, we could use your help.” As you glanced to the side, you noticed that one of your employees had just spilled some water from the mop bucket.

As you approach their side, you assist them in mopping up the mess while sweeping aimlessly across the floor, making sure to get every spot. Due to your new life of no color it reflected on your life emotionally.

As the days passed, you became increasingly depressed and unmotivated. There wasn't a single day when you didn't feel mopey or lonely. It wasn't like anyone could help me; it was just the challenge of living a life without color.

Although you sincerely desired to overcome this phase of your life and simply find the right person to fill that void, life did not work in your favor at the time. Everyone around you seemed to be looking for or had already found their "person."

All you wanted was to find the person who could restore your hope and love, which had been taken away when your brother died. Your parents did everything they could to assist you, including setting you up on strange and ineffective dates that just added to your unhappiness.

Nobody could replace that color that your brother provided for you, or maybe someone could?

"I'm off," you remarked as you pulled off your apron and clocked out in the back. As you stepped out the door, you heard a flurry of goodbyes before closing it behind you.

The world never shifted when the clock struck five.

As you strolled down the crowded streets, the sky before and above you remained grey, never letting up that cloak of shade. A melodious music gradually pours into your ears as you go down the bustling sidewalk.

You follow the dazzling yet tranquil sound of the guitar aimlessly as you imagine music notes flying through the fall air. You cautiously open your tired eyes and spot the crowd to figure out where these tunes are coming from.

Looking up, you spotted a swarm encircling a male, but you couldn't tell who it was. However, it was the music that drew you in; you'd heard that melody before. Even if you weren't musically inclined, you could hear that tune anywhere.

It was his, the one he wrote for you.

You dashed outside to see your brother strumming a tune on the grass with his guitar. Your brother possessed a talent for music. It is a condition that many people are born with, and you were fortunate that your brother was one of them.

He didn't go a day without making up or humming something he'd learned. It was frustrating to hear it every day, but it was still lovely to witness his enthusiasm for it.

“Hey, what are you cooking up this time?” As he began to strum the guitar, he turned around and grinned at you. You couldn't understand what he was mumbling, but it sounded lovely as his fingers casually slid across the strings.

“I don't have the lyrics yet, but I'm sure they'll come. You laughed and nudged his shoulder.

“Just don’t go play at 3 in the morning. Okay?”

“It's not my fault that's typically when the inspiration comes,” he grumbled as he rolled his eyes.

As you raced away from him, you swiftly took his guitar, saying, "Well, I guess that inspiration will have to wait." He leapt from his seat and dashed towards you, yelling your name.

You had no idea that would be his final song; you regret not listening to the finished product; you never knew if he finished it. However, when you got closer to the enticing sound, you observed a young man strumming a guitar, and your ears perked up.

A slender man with long fingers and a quirky side smile, perhaps a musician, delicately touched a golden acoustic guitar, playing her ever so elegantly. You stand there, enthralled by the song, as his hands strum and tug the steel strings of the guitar. You take a cautious step closer to him in order to get a better look.

Allowing the music to take control of your body, you take a deep breath and allow an ounce of hope to creep in. From miles away, the formerly lovely and alive girl could be seen racing to you as you opened your arms to her.

You tried desperately to reach her before she vanished into thin air. The glint had disappeared. As you slowly open your eyes, you notice the man stop playing and gazes up at the audience.

As a smile crept across your face, the edges of your lips began to curl up. You'd forgotten what a smile looked like; you hadn't seen one in a long time, and it just felt natural. Even though he was gone, you could sense his presence. As you began to back away from the mob, tears began to flow freely from your eyes.

As you faded from his view and moved away from the crowd, the boy cast a peek at you. You swear you saw a glimpse of color rushing through your orbs, even if it was just for a split second. You couldn't tell if this was a joke or a new experience for you because you were more terrified than excited.

Could you trust that vision? Would they leave your life like he once did or would they stay? (IT)

Although you wanted to stay and figure it out you had somewhere to be and you didn’t want anyone to waste that special time.

(1 hour later)

Opening the rusted gate and looking at the wrought iron fences sends shivers down your spine as you are whisked back to that tragic day.

As you headed towards the pit, a crack formed in your heart. As they lowered his casket into the black abyss, the steady steps of feet carried it there. Countless shadowy figures form a procession, speaking in unison to pay their respects to the one you cherish. Your inner essence is corrupted by despair, and your heart bleeds like a river inside. Nothing could ever make you feel better.

As they began to fill the hole with dirt, tears welled up in your eyes, prompting you to lower your head. He didn't want you to be sad; he knew his time was coming to an end, yet he felt so safe in his final days.

He wasn't going to abandon you; he'd promised you that he'd left you something to aid you along the path. Even if that were the case, you never discovered it after four years. You rummaged through his room and tore it apart.

You quickly recognized that he was either joking or that the drug had taken effect in his brain and he was talking gibberish. In any case, you made a pledge to visit his grave every day from that day forward to keep him company and to keep yourself sane.

---

Clutching onto your bag, the leaves crunched beneath your feet as you peered about. You see specks of people strewn throughout the cemetery as you hear some speak in low whispers. It didn't take you long to find his gravestone.

You noticed the dead flowers drooping over as you took them out of their vase beside the tomb. Replacing them always brought joy to your heart as the sight of a fresh bouquet of flowers brightened the somber ambiance, which contrasted with the mold-infested tomb.

Taking out your cleaning supplies and speaker, you start working on his tomb while listening to his favorite music. As you hummed along with the song, your soft-bristle brush softly scrubbed the headstone in an orbital motion from bottom to top, carefully avoiding the fissures.

As you finished the soap, you began to rinse the stone as dirt and debris began to fall off the tomb. Although you couldn't determine if everything was off, you could plainly see the phrases and symbols, which was a good hint to stop cleaning everything off.

You wanted to do more for him and not leave any dirt on the surface. But because everything was gray, you couldn't tell, which made you sulk as you put down your brush. As you check the clock on your phone, you exhale a sigh of relief.

7:23p.m

Looking around, you noticed the stragglers had dispersed, leaving you alone as you gazed up at the sky.

“I hope the sunset looks beautiful today, I do miss it.”

The late evening sunset was the one thing you missed more than your brother; you had always admired how everything just flowed and fit together in the evening sky. It's almost as if someone began painting and simply let their hand float through the air.

As you turned to face his tomb, another smile appeared on your face, prompting you to go into your bag for something. As you placed down a cup for you and him, you chuckled at the bottle revealed beneath the sky.

“Lucas, here's to another day. It's been difficult in recent years, but today was a good day. I sensed your presence through the music of some random person; it was strange, but I'm glad I was there to see it. So thank you,” you say, raising your shot glass in the air and taking a sip.

As you heard a voice, you wiped a stray tear from your face.

“I'm sorry for bothering you.”

“Shit, what the hell,” you cursed the dark figure, startled and terrified. Who is there? As you squint your eyes at him, a male emerges from the shadows.

It's him.

----

You cough as you stand up and face the nameless man, he extends his hand as his glasses slide down his narrow nose, “Hi I’m Wonwoo.”

You take his hand in yours and shake it slowly, his grip firm until you let go.

“Hi..wonwoo? “I'm Y/n.” As the boy grinned at you, your voice was barely audible.

He takes a careful step alongside you and sits down close to your brother's grave, placing a case beside him. As you enlarged your eyes and sat down next to him, still observing him, the atmosphere felt reassuring but strange.

“I apologize for startling you; I didn't know that you were there. I’m not sure if your brother mentioned me but I was his friend, we used to write songs together.” As he turned to face you, you noticed the tall man attempting to cross his legs.

You shook your head as you began to gather your belongings, unsure of who this man was. For all you knew, he may be lying to you, so you needed to get out of there as soon as possible. You rose up and began walking away after securing the zipper on your backpack.

“Wait, you don’t have to leave. I can come back another time. I am truly sorry if I interrupted anything."

“No, it's fine,” you say with a shake of your head and outstretched hands.

“Are you sure?”

You walk away again, nodding your head as you hear his voice and a familiar tune.

You came to a halt in your tracks as you slowly turned around to face the boy after hearing a faint melody. As your ears perked up, you heard a low voice.

‘I stand still before you before me. I’m okay, not okay..” The lyrics faded out as you started to find your bearings again as you made your way out of the cemetery. As you stepped toward the road, you strapped your bag on, making sure you had everything you needed.

A girl out on a walk is something you can see every day, yet you were unique. You walked as if you and the road had reached an agreement, as if the concrete was more than eager to support your feet.

The road understood you.

*Ping*

The light of your phone lit up as you clicked on the message.

Mom: Hey sweetie, I dropped off some food at your apartment and did some tidying up. Get home safety.

You: Thanks mom.

Her message brought back memories of days when you and her would cook together and simply bond over the end result. You missed it. Because you live in different places, you don't get to see your parents very frequently, yet they always made time for you.

I wish you could do the same; home is just too much for you to stomach, and you'd rather avoid it.

You reach the corner street after a few more steps, ready to begin your one-mile trek home. As you look back after exhaling a sigh, you hear rumbling on your feet. An automobile approached you, its bright headlights blazing directly at you.

You shifted to the side, squinting your eyes at the sight, and wonwoo greeted you again before you realized it. He grinned at you with his dazzling whites as he bent his head down.

what is with this guy?

Hey, hop in, I'll give you a ride. It's becoming late, and I don't want you walking through here.” As you took a step back, wary of the stranger, he moved his hand closer to you.

“Um.. No-no I’m okay. However, thank you.” As you heard his engine trailing behind you, you began to walk faster. He followed you for a few seconds longer before you came to a complete halt and stared at him.

Through the windshield, you could see him smirk as he waved his hand to you.

“It'll be a lot faster, and if you're worried I'll kidnap you or anything, don't fret. I'm allergic to cats, and I'm a cat person myself. As a result, I assure you that I will not harm you. I just wanted to help a friend.” You moved over to his car, smiled a little, and hopped in, securing yourself with your seatbelt.

“If you do anything I have some bleach and I’m not afraid to use it,” he chuckled at you as he started the car and proceeded to exit the cemetery.

“You’re funny.”

As you gave wonwoo your address he proceeded to drive out of the rural neighborhood as you put your head on the window. You didn't realize it at the time, but you could feel his penetrating glances.

The car was quiet as the low sounds of music vibrated through the car. When you weren't driving, car journeys were the best since they enabled your mind to fantasize and paint over the enormous landscape you were seeing. That haven you built in your imagination calms you and makes you feel protected. The place where you may get away from reality.

As soon as your eyes close for the night, you hear him humming a familiar tune. Rather than remaining silent, you begin a conversation with him, inquiring as to how he learned the song.

“So how did you meet Lucas?” As he laughed, he cast a peek at you.

“Well, I met him at a college party a long time ago and discovered he makes music, so we used to meet up at a friend's studio and just create.” You lightly chuckled as a tear fell down your face as you nodded your head.

It was good to hear other people talk about your other half; it was almost as if he was there with you right now.

You were worried when he gave you brief glances since his eyes were off the road, but as he spoke, you felt protected because he spoke highly of your brother.

“Well, I'm not sure if he mentioned you, but the last song we were working on was one he wrote for you, and he said it was a gift.” As you turned to face him after hearing that final statement, your eyes widened.

“He—he said those exact words, a gift?”

As he rounded the corner and approached your apartment complex building, he shook his head. You could see his shoulder resting on the window sill as he put the car in park.

You hesitantly walk out of the car, stuttering as you gather your belongings, and turn to face him.

“Thank you for the ride; did Lucas mention anything else about the song?” “He wasn't quite finished with it, but he did give me and my other friend some crucial stuff to get it done,” he said as you pressed your face closer to the window.

Your heart began to race as you realized that things were beginning to turn around for you; perhaps this wonwoo boy was destined to be in your life. Lucas' way of demonstrating that he took great care of you.

“Would you like to work on it together sometime?”

Inside, it felt as if the creatures were finally waking up from their rehabilitation and making their way into the real world. Even if it took a while, this new form of relief made you feel alive again. You were adamant about working more to reclaim your color.

In some way, wonwoo was the key to it all.

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” you answered, smiling like a kid in a candy store as you handed him your phone. “Just let me know when you're free.”

Wonwoo returned your phone to you, which you joyfully accepted and placed in your pocket. As you walked to your door, you waved your hand at him and cried out to him one final time.

“Thank you”

“For what?” As you entered the flat and locked the door behind you, you waved your hand at him. You let out a sigh and shake your head as you slid down to the floor.

“What a day”

---

(4 weeks later)

It seemed like you and wonwoo had entered a very unique connection in the last few weeks. He made every effort not to cross any boundaries, both physically and emotionally. Regardless of the fact that you were his closest friend's sister, he was always respectful to you.

Even if that is what he sees from his perspective, you felt more alive when you were with him. Although you could still see gray and couldn't bask in all of his glory, it gave you hope that one day, whenever that time came, you'd be able to see him and everything else.

That was something you lacked previously: hope. Everyone around you including your parents could see a significant change in your life.

“Hey, honey, how's it going at work?” Before taking your purse, your mother kissed your cheek and opened the door for you.

As you met her at your old house, a smile emerged on your face. It was your first visit home in a while, and seeing you there brought joy to their hearts, despite the difficult years you've had.

“Everything has been going well, and I just wanted to drop by and see how you're doing. I miss seeing you and dad.”

“Is that my beautiful daughter, am I seeing things right?” your father exclaimed as he emerged from the back. As a tear trickled down your cheek, you watched as he raced over to you and hugged you.

As he stared at your face and admired it, the hue in front of you remained gray.

“Such lovely brown eyes," It pained your soul that you couldn't remember what they looked like since gray dulled everything and made you forget.

“Thank you, dad, but instead of fawning me, let's play some games. Just because life is bleak doesn't mean I can't be your ass at Monopoly.”

Your mother, gasping at your remark, watched from the back, her eyes welling up with tears as she marveled at a sight she hadn't seen in a long time.

“Moooom, don't start sobbing or dad will start crying,” you said as you turned around.

She comes over to your side and wraps you and your father in a hug, sandwiching you between them. It felt good because you were missing these times with your folks. You couldn't stay at home when your brother died; you had to leave and get away. Everything was just too much for you as things started to remind you of him.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“I'm really proud of you for coming here and having the confidence to do so. I understand how difficult it must be for you, but thank you.” Through the loud sniffles between you all, you started to feel warm as you wiped your tears.

“All right, no more crying; let's get down to business.” You dashed over to the couch and snatched up Monopoly from the board game box, motioning for them to join you. They chuckled as you began to pull everything out as they made their way over.

As loud yells and laughter echoed out throughout the home, the night was fresh and enjoyable. There were times when you were terrified you'd lose, but you couldn't let your champion status lapse.

Your mother said, "Noo, you're cheating."

“No, I'm not; there's a house there, and you need to pay up or I'll put you in jail.” Between the two, your father snickers and keeps his mouth shut. He was well aware of the rules.

“All right, but that wasn't there before.”

With a chuckle, you shook your head and held out your hand, saying, "excuses excuses."

As you turned off your alarm, it rang at 8:00 p.m. You wouldn't have realized the difference between night and day if it hadn't been for alarm clocks. You jumped up in triumph after placing one more piece on the board.

“And that's why I remain Monopoly's ruler.”

You witnessed your parents give up as they lifted their hands in surrender. They both remark, "Fine, you win," as they begin to clean up the mess. Taking the stray cups and bowls from the tables you set them in the sink as you turned to watch your parents.

It's been a long time since you've been back here, and you've certainly missed the atmosphere. Lucas wouldn't want me to miss out on this opportunity.

“Why don't I come on weekends and bring back board game nights?” As your parents turned back, you uttered, "Next time, I'll bring a friend."

“Oh, it would be wonderful; the more the better.”

As you walked back over to them, you hugged them as they kissed your head.

“You go, we'll take care of this; the drive back is long,” your father remarked as he took your bag and handed it to you.

“Thank you guys, and I love you and the night we just had.” As you approached the door, you waved goodbye before closing it.

“No thank you, love,” your mother said as she and your father watched you leave the home and get into your car.

After one last look at the house, you back out of the driveway and go down the street, looking forward to the day ahead.

Studio day!

You yawn as your body startles you up after taking a deep breath of fresh air. As you slowly open your eyes and look out the window, you breathe a sigh of relief. Something felt different. The chirping of the birds outside made you feel cheerful, not sad.

As your vision remained a little lighter, you began to blink your eyes faster. It wasn't your typical gray morning, and you thought it was growing lighter. The gray was gradually dissipating. You grinned as you considered your color returning.

What prompted this?

It didn't matter because today was dedicated to finishing your song; you, wonwoo, and his friend Mingyu had completed all but the title. You stretch one more time before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

When you get to the mirror, you take a look at yourself. The person in front of you had radically transformed; she had forgotten about her flaws and insecurities, and her heart now held more love. This woman didn't pick apart everything that was wrong with her; instead, she supported herself.

She was unrecognizable, and the old girl in the mirror was finally slipping away. You began to smile more frequently and laugh a little more, and the air around you became warmer rather than frigid. Someone's love had seeped into her heart and begun to unfreeze its hardness.

And that person was wonwoo, which you didn't realize until you looked in the mirror. If you've observed it, chances are that others have as well. And you were grateful for his help in getting you out of that gloomy situation. You were able to regain your trust and begin letting people in again, which made you pleased.

Lucas would be incredibly proud of you, and you didn't want to disappoint him again. You intended to honor his memory and keep him alive in your heart, rather than allowing the past to plague you and prevent you from living your life.

He would have wanted that.

As you stepped inside, you turned on the shower and stripped off your clothing. You had to find a method to repay wonwoo for his compassion. You would not have gotten this far without him and his musical gift, and you were grateful for him.

"I could take him to our place," you offer as you turn off the water and grab a towel from the shower.

“Yeah he would like that.”

----

Work seemed to fly by as your mind raced at a hundred miles per hour. You had everything planned out and had recruited the support of your parents to help you set up.

Your manager tapped your shoulder and asked, "Hey y/n, you okay?" As you dropped the pencil, you flinched.

“Oh sorry, just spacing out.” He shook his head as he spoke out, “For the rest of your shift you can take off if you want, we’re going to close earlier than usual. If you're leaving, clean out the coffee machine and be on your way.”

You enlarged your eyes as your jaw dropped, and you raced into his arms, squeezing him tightly. Your boss chuckled awkwardly as he gently pushed you away from him. For some reason, everything seemed to be working in your favor today. As you rush to get ready, you begin working on the machine, your smile never leaving your face.

You sped to the back room, clocking out and placing your apron into your locker, as you were done in no time. As you walked to the front, you waved goodbye to your manager before heading to your car in the parking area.

“What's the matter with her? That's the first time I've ever seen her that happy. Hmm”

And with that you were on your way to your parents house as you sent a quick text to wonwoo. As you grinned as you placed your phone in the dash holder, you came to a stop light.

You: Hey cancel today's session, I have a place to go to. It may also provide us with better title recommendations. You down??

Wonwoo:) Yes, that sounds excellent; the studio can become claustrophobic. Send me the address and a time frame for my arrival.

You: *address name*. Bring your guitar and meet there in 2 hours.

Wonwoo:) Oh okay. Can’t wait to see you there!

(read 5:45 p.m.)

Even though you weren’t nervous you wanted everything to be special, wonwoo deserved it for all that he has done for you in the past weeks.

You let yourself go as you blast songs down the road, pressing play on your playlist. You didn't notice it at first, but the color was gently sneaking in as you drove around. As creams and beige colors drifted in and out, the outsides of your eyes began to lift.

As you turned off the headlights and opened the door, it didn't take long for you to arrive at your destination. You smiled as you got your belongings from the car and made your way up the hill, finding your parents already set up.

You drop your belongings on the blanket and walk up to hug them, saying, "Hey guys." As they begin to chat with you, they embrace you in a friendly hug.

“So we set up all of the essential elements, such as lighting, a seating area, and refreshments in the cooler and basket.” As she began to indicate the various components, your mother explained. As she brought you around the hill to the tree, she took your hand in hers.

“You remember when you and Lucas did this?” You laugh as you remember that day as you place your palm on the antique carving.

-- “Noo I'd like to go first; you always go first.” You sighed as Lucas took up the knife and began carving his name into the tree.

“You better not cry and tell mom,” he remarked, turning to face you and seeing your glum demeanor. As you passed past him, you stood up straighter, rolling your eyes at him and snatching the knife from his grip.

“I'm not a baby like you,” you say. As he huffed and hurried toward mom, you heard him scoff.

“Mommmm y/n referring to me as a baby. And I'm not one of them. You stood there watching as he stomped his foot and landed on Mom's lap. Your father chuckles, rubbing his back and shaking his head at his wife.

As you return to the blanket, you cross your arms and say, "Well, then, quit acting like one."

That erupted in an outburst as he started to whine on mommy lap.

He did, in fact, act like a baby. Wiping a tear from your eyes as you chuckle, you hold your mother closer as you kiss her on the forehead.

“Hey we have an hour left before wonwoo get here, I'm going to head to the house to clean up. If he arrives early, keep him entertained.” As she watches you descend the hill, your mother shakes her head.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you put your foot down on the accelerator and drive over to your parents' house.

(45 minutes later)

Wonwoo approaches the destination, looking out the windshield as he spots some lights on the hill. As he steps out of the automobile, he notices two people moving around. He smiles as he collects his guitar from the rear and walks up the hill, noting the serene atmosphere.

“Those should go over by the tree and make sure they don't fall.” Wonwoo enters the place, his eyes widening. Fluorescent bulbs fanned out along the tops of the trees, each with a different picture on it, surrounding him.

As he looks down, he notices a blanket with a speaker playing music and the champagne.

Your parents finally turn around, gasping, when your mother rushes over to welcome him, saying, "Forgive us, we didn't hear anything, you must be wonwoo." That's y/n father over there, and I'm y/n mother.” As she introduces you to your father, she smiles and gives you a motherly look.

On this magnificent evening, only a few minutes had passed when you approached the hill once more. You take a brief glance in the mirror before applying some Chapstick. Rubbing it in you open the door as you look up on the hill, you hear conversations as you panic up the hill.

“So this is y/n, she was quite the messy twin when she was a baby-”

“What are you doing, Mom?” You walk over to her, ashamed, and place yourself between you and wonwoo, speaking quietly to her.

“I said to entertain him not embarrass me.”

“Oh, you're overthinking things; did you know he's friends with Lucas?” You chuckle as you grab your father and mother and begin bickering as you force them out of the location. As they descend the slope, they wave goodbye to you and wonwoo.

Taking one look at him, you notice his amusing state; he was cheesing so hard that his rosy cheeks were visible.

“Sorry about them.”

“It's fine; all parents do it.” They simply adore you.” You cross your legs and shake your head as you sit on the blanket, passing him a wine cup.

“To another wonderful day and a wonderful friendship.” Wonwoo takes out the champagne from the cooler as he opens it and sprays the excess in front of you.

“Ahh, you're spilling it” As you giggle at his action, the extra juice pours on your face. You reach for a napkin to wipe the wetness off your face as he takes one in front of you.

“Here, let me take care of it.” He leans in closer as he wipes the liquid from your face before resuming his seat. As your stomach begins to become a #1 gymnast, that simple action sends you spiraling.

“Th-thanks”

He smiles as he pours you a drink for both of you, and as he does so, you grab his guitar box and pry it open, admiring the golden beauty inside. Picking it up, you begin strumming a few chords of the nameless song while moving your head to the beat.

“Wow, you're actually pretty good.”

“I did have a good teacher, Lucas taught me a few things, but I only recall a few chords, so it may become irritating after a while.”

Wonwoo hands you the glass as you take it in your hand, and as you take a sip of the bubbly drink, you hand him the guitar.

As you take another sip, your spirits lift as you stare out at the scenery in front of you. You hear wonwoo begin to play the tune while you stare off towards the colorless world.

“Ruinous imagination consumes me. Makes me dream sweeter dreams, I close my eyes but thoughts of you. Bring noisy night, to you & me, real and dreamy.”

You sway back and forth as his voice soothes your body, his palm brushing over the guitar while his eyelids close, taking in the lyrics.

As you look up at him, you say, "Thank you." It's unavoidable, but tears stream down your face with no attempt to wipe them away.

“Th-thank you foreverythingyouhave-“ you say quickly and brokenly.

“Hey hey, calm down, I can't understand what you're saying,” he says as he scoots over to you and pats your shoulder. You both laugh as you start over, this time with more poise.

“I wanted to express my gratitude to you for genuinely improving my life. You probably don't know, but my relationship with Lucas was incredible; we were never apart, and when he passed, I couldn't live without him. I've struck rock bottom a few times and done some unfathomable things that I'm ashamed of, and I'm sincerely grateful that I've survived another day.”

Wonwoo drew you into a hug and caressed your back as he ceased patting your shoulder. As you sob into his shoulder, the tears begin to flow again.

“Sorry for interrupting, but it seemed like you needed one,” he says as you continue, releasing leave of you.

“To put it simply, you have brought me so much joy and optimism that I am overwhelmed. It's not the same without Lucas, but I'm grateful you entered my life at this point. So thank you; I don't know how to express my gratitude.”

You come to a halt as he looks at you through his round spectacles, and as you become concerned, you begin to look down.

“Sorry if I just spewed all that out.”

“No, it's fine.” I truly appreciate it, and I'm glad I was able to restore a sense of hope in your life. I may not be Lucas, but I will do my best to pay tribute to his memory.

You smile as you feel a wave of self-assurance and an overpowering sensation of bravery wash over you.

When you bring wonwoo closer to you and kiss him on the lips, everything inside of you turns on, and your body begins to feel alive again, exactly like it did before.

“I'm sorry I should have asked you first-“ You release him and lean back as you watch him.

He silenced your words with his lips as his hands wrapped around your neck.

Everything comes rushing back to you in an instant, like a blanket being pulled off of you. As you open your eyes again, you let go of each other. The difference this time is that you can see him.

As he smiled at you, you could see his cheeks flush with scarlet. You can see his silver rings around his slender fingers as his hands slip away from your neck.

You slowly turn around to face the sinking light on the horizon. As if a million scarlet petals have ignited, the sunset blooms on the horizon.

You expected the tears to flow this time as you stood up and walked closer to the cliff's edge. As you stared at the gorgeous view in front of you, you undoubtedly looked a mess.

You collapse to your knees and exclaim, "I can see it!"

Wonwoo approaches you slowly, bending down with you and holding you in his arms.

“See what?”

As you held him again, your snot-filled tear-streaked face turned to his.

“The color has returned, and I can see it now.” As he gasps, he pulls you back.

“Wait, are you serious, what color shirt am I wearing?”

“IT'S GREEN, YOUR SHIRT IS GREEN!!” Wonwoo scoops you up and spins you again in an instant. You lay another kiss on his lips as you chuckle into his lips, unsure of what to do.

The clouds floated into my life, not to bring rain or storms, but to add color to the sunset sky.

He picks up the polaroid camera off the ground and takes a candid shot of you. After he pecked your cheek once more, he smiled as he wanted to remember this special day.

You send wonwoo off to find a knife from the basket as the photo develops. You observe him as he runs around the area like a child, and you smile as the photo develops.

You've probably seen images where the background is blurred and the only thing in focus is the subject of the photograph. That was us. Every other detail became hazy as I concentrated on every facet of him.

You didn't realize how fortunate you were until now; he was the special someone you had wished for eons ago.

Everything felt even better when your color returned, and you knew deep down that everything was going to be well.

It was all because of wonwoo.

Your brother left you a gift, the lovely gift of music, which was seen via wonwoo.

Yes, your brother had been your best friend, and yes, he had left you. But, as you found a great friend, the life he presumably wanted for you had only just begun.

You hoped that with him, you would be able to treasure the love you had just as much as you did while you were together.

“Hey, wonwoo, I have a song title, also follow me.”

As he began heading toward you, he turned around and looked at you. You've both arrived at the same tree that was planted many years ago.

He gives you the knife as you start placing your name under your past self. As he watches you cry, Wonwoo does the same.

*Forever, Y/n, Wonwoo, and Lucas*

As he finishes up, you grab his hand and stroll back to the blanket setup. He takes a seat beside you and wraps his arm over your body.

“So, what are your thoughts?”

“Bittersweet, that's the title,” you said as you turned to face him.

“I love it,” he says as he pulls you closer to him with a nod of his head.

And with that, your brother's memory was carefully preserved, shared, and intended for all to hear.

“Lucas, I'll never forget you.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

➳ Navigate to the Maze

#seventeen #svt #seventeen jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #svt wonwoo #seventeen fics #seventeen writer #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen series #seventeen x reader #soulmate au #wonwoo fluff #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen masterlist #babytaes works

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cloudy-leonhart · 4 years

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AOT veterans with a Filipino S/O!!

[author note: did I write this as soon as I posted the first part?? yes. I like writing for this, it’s so fun lolol up next, Marleyan Warriors!!]

Summary: not much, just the AOT vets with their filipino S/O.

Gender Neutral Reader.

Recommended Song: Buwan - Juan Karlos.

Theme: Fluff, Modern AU.

TW: Swearing.

Characters: Hange, Levi, Miche, Erwin, Moblit, Nanaba.

Hange Zöe

Honestly they fully immersed themselves in your culture, as you know Hange LOVES learning about new things, discovering about your culture, they probably forced you to go the Philippines with them.

They started asking people for directions in english?? You had to step in translate for them, in which they responded to ask to teach them the language.

Yes they keep a small notebook of words they think are interesting. Yes even swear words are in there, not to mention they absolutely just butcher the way you say it.

One time when you both came back, Hange told Erwin that Bakla was a word for a good man, and they laughed their asses off watching Erwin tell people he was Bakla LMFAO.

They actually visited your province, they met your family and was surprised at the fact that they owned a whole farm, they tried to learn with your siblings on how to harvest rice, they nailed it btw.

they named your carabao, Sawney, and your chicken, Bean.

And respectfully so, your family started to call their animals by the name Hange gave them.

They started to cry about the fact that you guys had to go back, and like every time, your mom and dad encouraged y’all to bring filipino snacks back home, in which you did, because you knew that you’d probably miss it when you flew back home.

You guys have a tradition of going to the Philippines for your guys’ anniversary.

THEY SUPRISINGLY LISTENS TO FILIPINO MUSIC

They were the one to suggest Aegis to Levi but they prefer someone like Jireh Lim.

Favourite song is probably, Buko. They love the guitar in it.

Levi Ackerman

He first found out you were Filipino when he caught you packing a balikbayan box for your family back home, (for those who don’t know, balikbayan box is a box full of your country’s snacks to send back to the PH for your family to try.)

He had asked you what it was, and you answered that it was for your family back in the Philippines, in which he responded with helping you, and mainly scolding you about the way you packed it.

“Idiot, pack it like this, so you have more space to place stuff.”

When he first went to the Philippines, he first noticed the cleanliness of the hotels, he looked at you with a ‘is this why you’re so good at cleaning?’ look.

God when I say your parents loved him, YOUR PARENTS ABSOLUTELY ADORED HIM. He would clean for your mom, and not only that, your mom approved of his cleaning technique, yes she told you to marry him that second.

And that you did, you had your first wedding with you family in the Philippines, and another in where you guys currently lived.

Bye, he absolutely looks AMAZING in a Barong. Your dad helped him slick his hair back.

Your mom and him, bonded of cleaning, sometimes when your mom needs help removing rust on her pans, she calls Levi.

like Hange he and you go to the Philippines for y’alls anniversary.

Please save this man from the streets, I’m not saying it to be mean but this man almost gave his wallet to a bunch of kids who were hungry.

You gave money instead because you didn’t want your man to be broke lmfao.

He loves seeing you so happy while you’re in the Philippines, he just thinks it’s adorable when you speak your language.

Aegis listener, absolutely no discussion, mans listens to them while cleaning, he listens to “Sayang Na Sayang” religiously.

when Aegis plays in the house, you know it’s a cleaning day lmao.

Erwin Smith

Please, remember when I said Hange told him bakla was a word for a good man, yes, that’s how he found out you were Filipino, you literally was so dumbfounded, you waited for him in the living room, your friend’s laughing over the phone, man thought he did something wrong until..

“Erwin, can you tell me why you’ve been telling your friends you’re fucking gay??”

Yeah he’s got trust issues now. But he wasn’t that shocked to find out you were filipino, he just thinks it’s neat, he butchers pronouncing shit, he tries to learn filipino jokes??? It’s really bad, like you need to stop him from telling your family to save HIM from embarrassment.

He knows how to cook barbecue lmfao, he sits at your family’s barbecue spot and cooks for them, your dad appreciates the help so much lmao, also he loves drinking the gulaman whenever he’s there, your dad gives it to him for free because, he basically considers Erwin his son now. His awkward, barbecue-cooking, son.

You guys go on hiking in Mt. Butalao, yes you sneak peeks when he’s climbing because his muscles flex, and he sweats. You guys go on a double hiking date with Miche and his S/O all the time.

He was kind of fearful when you went to a province to get in touch with your grandparents, he watched you help their carabao back into their pens, he’s scared of carabaos, don’t blame him-

Surprisingly he’s as good as your dad in basketball, bye I just know the women of your community comes to watch him, he’s ripped, you’re jealous but you don’t say it lmao.

He’s got those jeep keychains lmfao, the fact that he kinda looked like a lost puppy when you’re traveling, like so many people, so little space-

please educate him, he’s confused on everything-

he probably listens to Eraserheads, Huwag Mo Nang Itanong. Yes his ultimate song.

Miche Zacharias

probably the only veteran that knows what to do?? Beside Moblit?? He knows how to bless, he knows to call your parents nanay and tatay. He also loves going to where there’s a lot of Filipino street food because he loves the smell, he prefers the smell of bananaque over anything, hotcakes are a close second.

mf was scared when your mom suddenly said, “Oh yeah, I kept your childhood spider.”

YOU OWNED A MF SPIDER?? You were all like ‘omg i miss him’ he was a little scared bitch omg.

You had to explain that you would buy them from the local toy store and you and your friends would make them fight each other to the death.

HE THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE SMALL- IT’S A WHOLE MF TARANTULA BYE

you know those dyed chicks you get from winning a game, yeah, he was attached to one you guys won, but as always, they weren’t going to live long, I think he sulked for a whole 2 days. He named the chick Richard AHAHA.

ah yes, absolute unit in basketball, yes you and Erwin’s S/O would watch them play basketball together with your guys’ dads. Yes y’all gossiped about how hot they were in tagalog.

Just saying, Miche got some that night.

He doesn’t fit in tricycles- neither does he fit in jeepneys lmfao- he kinda has to sit on the ground if you force him to fit, in which he has to awkwardly crawl to get out lmfao.

He literally looks godly while hiking, you guys don’t go to your parents’ house when you first arrive, you guys hike.

You guys go whenever y’all feel like it honestly.

“hey hey, reader, Mahal Kita.”

He listens to anything in filipino honestly, he likes chill filipino songs like Tell Me Where It Hurts by MYMP.

Moblit Berner

He’s a researcher, he makes sure he doesn’t disrespect the culture.

he knows to bless and all that jazz like Miche.

Wait but your family loved him as soon as you told them he was a doctor lmfao?? He’s in nursing.

He’s basically already apart of the family, all your little siblings call him kuya Moblit, he absolutely thinks it’s adorable.

when you guys are sending a balikbayan box, he places toys he bought for your little siblings in the box, with a note written and translated by you for them.

Moblit also knows about poverty in the Philippines, he’s apart of an organization where they give to those who can’t afford real food, even when he’s back home with you, he donates from abroad, everyone knows him as the generous kuya.

honestly I can see him as someone who’s also known by your community, people call him kuya Moblit or tito Moblit, it’s very wholesome when a kid asks him to carry them.

This man looks so nice and kind on the outside but when you guys are at your tita’s bday party and there’s a whole mf buffet, he’s a whole beast.

You know when your uncles have like, food stacked on their plate, and like a cup of buko pandan at the side?? yes, him. definitely.

He’s kinda like sasha in this au, he loves the food so much, he probably finished a filipino dish by himself (it’s the palabok)

he’s also a god at making ice candy?? like he’s so good at filling up the plastic with the liquid lmao.

you guys adopted a stray dog in the community and his name was Moblit, your family takes care of him while you guys are back home.

genuinely, it’s mostly wholesome with him, he doesn’t really do anything wrong besides butchering pronounciation.

Moblit probably watches boxing with your dad though, it’s just too accurate not to be true.

More of a movie watcher than a song listener, his favourite movie so far is Four Sisters and A Wedding.

he cries every filipino movie, them do it to you.

Seven Sundays, he cried for days straight.

Nanaba

Nanaba found a filipino flag from your collage years in a box, asked you about it, then encouraged you to visit the Philippines because she wanted to meet your family.

Okay but your family thought she was a guy because of her hair??

your siblings can’t say Nanaba, so they call her Ate Nana.

She was kind of jealous of your bond with your family, she knows she shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it since her and her father’s relationship absolutely sucked.

And you know this, you had talked with her about it too, it was kinda like a, “are you okay?” and “it’s nothing.”

You had to drag her out to family events, eventually, she started to feel like she was apart of the family, she went swimming with the fam, did karaoke nights, she was basically in the family now.

She felt really happy that you decided to help her educate herself in your culture, and that your family openly accepted her into your family.

when you and her married, she wore a baro’t saya for the wedding reception and she looked absolutely gorgeous in them. She took your last name.

Your mom taught her to do the tinikling dance, and she mastered it easily, you of course danced with her.

she kinda had a guilty pleasure of going to McDonalds in the Philippines, SOLELY FOR THE ROOT BEER FLOAT, that stuff be bussin.

she forces you to go to McD’s whenever’s there’s a new flavour released.

Nanaba loves going on the jeepney, she likes the fact that you ring a bell when you have to get off and she does it every time you guys use a jeep for transportation.

Nanaba knows one word in filipino and that’s Mahal, she uses it so weirdly though, but she’s adorable so you let it pass.

“Reader..erm, I mahal?? you?..”

she’s both a listener and a movie watcher, she listens to more modern filipino singers, like Patch Quiwa.

Favourite movie is when Vice Ganda’s in it, she just thinks all his movies are funny.

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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A Distant Dream V // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen-year-old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, heartbreak, fluff, talk of death and fluff.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: We’ve come to the end of the Distant Dream mini-series. I truly enjoyed writing this with my whole heart. @merceret I told you I’d use Lucy’s Cordial somewhere in the series. All parts are located in the linked masterlist.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

The massive changes between the ’90s and 2021 slowly but surely started no longer seemed startling as it had been at first. Carlos had helped you assimilate to homeschooling once he’d admitted he knew about the boys. Ray was still kept in the dark.

2020 ended on a high note. Mostly. With the years in Narnia providing you with the knowledge you flew through schooling. Then you took a job as a waitress at a coffee shop, one similar to the shop the band performed in. The downside to the end of the year was for the band.

Despite performing at the Orpheum, the band hadn’t received as much traction as Luke had desired. They were a step closer to the dream but not as far as the entire band had wished. During Julie’s Christmas break, Luke had overworked the band with little breaks.

“Hide me.” Julie hissed from behind the counter of Ancient Grounds. The Puerto Rican musician escaped the studio to have lunch with you.

Unfortunately, Julie failed to see that without the entire band together, Luke would go to what makes him just as happy. You. That’s precisely what happened as Luke walked in through the entrance of the coffee shop.

“He’s still pushing more practice?” You asked, stacking the clean mugs on the shelf with complete focus. How odd it is to go from being Queen to working in a city as a waitress.

“I love him like a brother, but I feel like my fingers are gonna fall off from playing the piano constantly.” Julie sighed, sliding down the counter to sit on the floor hidden from the approaching guitarist and from your manager.

“Hey!” Luke grinned once his hands fell on the counter to lean over on the balls of his feet. His lips pressed against your right cheek before he fell back onto his feet.

Not a single soul in the half-full Ancient Grounds batted an eye to your awkward stance when Luke kissed you. Not since the boys had become tangible and visible to the general public when they wanted.

“Look to decide to grace me with his presence.” You teased. Your foot nudged Julie in her thigh to urge her to crawl to the end of the counter.

“I have no clue where Julie is. Reggie dipped to join Ray in his errands, and Alex is somewhere.” Luke shrugged, stepping aside when an older gentleman dropped a tip in the jar before leaving.

“Pick a number.” You told the male with one of your dimples on display.

“Eleven,” Luke responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the regular game you played together.

Each visit, you’d split a dessert from the menu with Luke along with his favourite mug of tea and your drink of choice; even he knew he didn’t need caffeine with his energy. That was Luke’s favourite thing of being brought half alive from the golden glow they’d received. You were sure Reggie had cried upon eating your Tia’s best recipe.

“Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake. A limited-edition from our Worldwide Treat menu. It’s Canada’s month.”

Luke followed to the counter’s end, where the sweets were kept on a glass viewing shelf. With careful movements, you slid a perfect triangle of the cheesecake onto a beautiful plate. The half-ghost retrieved it to your favourite spot in the garden patio. Julie used the time to sneak out the door with Luke’s back to her.

“What is a Nanaimo Bar?” Luke questioned upon you joining him at the iron-wrought table. One teacup accompanied by a teapot with Luke’s tea and a mug of your drink on an emerald tray.

“It’s a no-bake dessert. The base is a chocolate graham cracker and coconut base with the middle layer a cream filling. The top layer is a thin layer of semi-sweet chocolate.”

Luken nodded, “Ancient Grounds loves cheesecakes.”

“Addie adores inventing new versions of cheesecake. Her best is the Creamsicle Cheesecake during the summer. A staple on the menu.” You responded with a twinkle in your eye. You may not look like the Queen you once were, but you were just as invested in learning about people as you’d done with the Narnians.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Luke questioned.

“I’m pretty partial to the chocolate cookies Addie makes.” You grinned, leaning closer to the male across from you. You hesitated in continuing, “In Narnia, the pastry chef Cair Paravel employed always had these gorgeous desserts with Edmund in mind. Turkish Delights with a secret ingredient.”

Luke’s smile grew as you talked about the other home you had. A place you rarely spoke about now. You hadn’t even returned to the basement to see the wardrobe like you had before.

“I wish I could have seen Cair Paravel. It always sounds so magical when you talk about it.” Luke’s tone was wistful paired with the twinkle of his hazel eyes.

“It’s a breathtaking place. Everything is lively in Narnia, and after the Witch was defeated, we ruled peacefully for the most part.” Your e/c eyes unfocused on your surroundings to recall all the wonderful times spent in Narnia.

The times you shared a table with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their home over the years snacking on the homemade jams. To the times you listened to Mr. Tumnus playing everchanging lullabies on his flute. Even walking the beaches with Lucy in hopes of catching sight of Aslan again. Of gossiping with Susan over the many suitors that came for her hand.

“If you could do it all over again knowing the outcome, would you still do it?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head. He’d shed the flannel jacket as the sun rose higher in the sky.

You nodded, “Absolutely. The Pevensies were some of the greatest friends one could ever hope to have.”

As usual, Peter wasn’t spoken of in light of the ache that resonated in your heart and the awkwardness Luke felt. A poor choice of avoiding your once husband instead of communicating on the topic.

“Have you ever thought of trying to find them?”

“No point. Peter would be ninety-seven now as the oldest, and Lucy would be eighty-nine. If I recall, it was 1940 for them when we went to Narnia. It’s possible Peter may have joined the war in ’42 when he was eighteen, so who knows if he lived.” Luke was surprised by the nonchalant reaction to the potentially grim outlook on your former in-laws.

However, Luke knew the truth, that you greatly missed the four people who became family during your disappearance. You could fool Julie and Reggie, but you could never fool Alex or Luke no matter how much you tried.

“I’ll see you at home? My break ended.” You swiftly cut off any more talking of your former life. Luke merely watched as you stacked the dirty dishes, only leaving Luke’s cup and teapot.

“I should get back. Julie’s most likely back in the garage from sneaking back.” Luke’s hand pushed through his messy curtain of brunette hair. His words revealing that he’d known Julie had been in Ancient Grounds the entire time.

“How’d-”

“When she sits on the floor, she taps the heel of her shoe on the floor. Same rhythm.” Luke smirked as he chugged the last of the tea, “Don’t tell her. I like when she fights a smug smile with that certain light in her eyes.”

The brotherly role Luke had taken on with the Molina girl was heartwarming, to say the least. Sometimes Julie would begrudgingly ask for advice about her feelings for Nick to Luke’s amusement. He adored being able to tease her.

“I’ll see you later.”

The boy dropped the correct change for the tea on his way out the door into the bright sunlight. Like clockwork, he’d turn into the alley to become intangible to poof back to the studio.

The rest of the day passed by like a breeze in the coffee shop with the late lunch rush and then the dinner rush the busiest time. Jess gave you a ride home in her truck as usual with a promise of a cupcake of Julie’s as payment.

“Did you see him?”

The sudden voice startled you so much your hand couldn’t help but grasp at empty air by your side. Alex screeched as you swung to face him on the Molina driveway.

“Alex! Good Aslan, you startled me.”

“...were you reaching for a sword?” Alex questioned, appalled by your reaction. Your e/c eyes rolled in response.

“Isn’t the saying old habits die hard?” You prodded the baby blue of Alex’s long sleeve shirt. One of the shirts you’d often stolen from him, “And no. I didn’t see Willie.”

Your heart clenched as soon as Alex’s shoulders dropped in defeat once more at the absence of the skater. It had been months now with little sightings of the skater you had yet to meet. The boys kept your presence on the down-low to avoid Caleb’s interest.

“I hope he’s okay,” Alex muttered under his breath. The elder Mercer began gnawing his lower lip in worry.

Gently you interlaced your hand with his hand, his deft fingers playing with the braided bracelets on your wrist. The bracelets had been a Christmas gift from Julie and Flynn with the colours of the sunrise. It grounded Alex more often than not.

“You told me the Club travels around the world. Maybe Caleb’s not in America; maybe his ego needs to recover from his loss.” You shrugged, tugging the teenager into the house. Ray barely waved from his work computer.

Ray Molina had welcomed Alex, Reggie and Luke into the family when he met them in person the day after the Orpheum performance. He’d accepted that Alex was your older brother and had been in Switzerland for boarding school. He understood that Luke and Reggie came as a package deal with Alex, so the boys had worked to clean out the basement.

A few visits to second-hand doors brought furniture for the basement renovated into the boys’ shared suite. Alex still spent most nights in your room; he still feared you'd disappear from his life again.

“I hope you’re right.” Alex muttered in false hope that something would go his way for once, “Oh! The band received an invitation to some underground music festival in England during spring break. We’re hoping to convince Ray and Julie’s aunt to let us go.”

And you could see the band practices would be growing for that breakthrough with the band. And you were correct in your guess merely hours after going to sleep.

At five in the damn morning, Luke burst into your attic bedroom to drag your less than enthusiastic brother from his sleep. You bet your ass you hit the teen in the face with your pillow, which meant you had to crawl out of bed to retrieve the pillow.

“Asshole!” Alex exclaimed as Luke roughly poofed both of them to the studio. Julie swaying sleepily in her sweater and pyjama pants, waiting for the two.

Spring Break 2021 (March 26-April 2)

The youngest member of the tourists proudly displayed her smile, catching sight of the bed and breakfast in the English countryside. Julie had been floored when Ray had given his permission to the foreign festival.

Ray couldn’t hide his excitement for the band, plus all-expense paid, receiving the invite via a relatively small record company.

“First birthday back together,” Luke spoke from your side. Hands intertwined together in the cool wind of England. His arms were covered by his flannel coat in the unfavourable weather of the day.

You hummed, “Never thought I’d be celebrating my seventeenth birthday in England during 2021. Besides, I’ve already been seventeen.”

“I always knew I’d bring you to all the countries in the world.” Luke’s tone was matter of fact, staring at the stage being built under a woman’s guidance in her mid-30s.

The bed and breakfast had a lovely history your tour guide Martin had enthusiastically told on the train ride from the city.

The man with spry greying hair pointed towards the old train station providing facts that interested most of the group. Luke’s arm tossed over your shoulder focused on the songbook, a new one, open in lap. Luke and you had slowly but surely evolved from shy brushes of skin to holding hands and then Luke’s arm over your shoulder. Chaste kisses on cheeks while you reassimilated into the dating world.

“In 1940, this train station deployed countless trains filled with evacuating children away from London during the Blitz. Filled with returning soldiers, mothers sending children to safety and children were torn from all they knew. Each child had a tag to identify them.” Martin explained intently, speaking to the group his organization had assigned him to.

“Where did they go?” Reggie curled into the travel blanket he’d bought specifically for the trip.

“Anywhere safe for them and where they could be cared for.”

“This route is one of many the evacuations used. The bed and breakfast we’re heading to holds a great history as well. It was once the Manor of Professor Digory Kirke during his life and passed down through generations throug-”

Martin’s story faded into the black abyss as sleep took you over by the soothing motion of the train and Luke’s warmth. Luke met the gaze of Alex. The two guys shared a sweet smile solely for the relaxed features of the younger Mercer.

“This is just another step in our journey for Julie and the Phantoms.” Your words warmed Luke Luke when he noticed you cemented your position in his life. You saw yourself in the future of Julie and the Phantoms as a faithful supporter and friend.

“Luke Patterson, correct? I’m Eva.” Your eyes widened, meeting the eyes that reminded you of someone. Just on the tip of your tongue, “My wife Diana will be a few minutes. We’re still getting the stage put together.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. How many people are you expecting?” Luke questioned the older woman. His mind snapped into business mode for the band.

“This is our fourth year putting on the festival at this location. This is the first year we added a wild card option for fans to vote on. Your band rocketed ahead of the other bands.” Eva explained, keeping her eyes on the woman you dubbed as Diana. The pure love in Eva’s eyes is a call to the yearning in your chest.

“I thought a recor-”

“Technically, yes, a record company flew you out. Diana started a small record label a few years back. Cair Oom Records. She’s the first person in both our families to step into a non-traditional career.” Eva explained to the now interesting young couple.

Luke was interested in the record label’s history, whereas you focused on the label’s name. Cair Oom. A call to your Narnia days you remembered.

“Cair Oom?” You interrupted the conversation in pure curiosity. Your eyes drinking in the features of Eva, her freckles and brown eyes mirroring a person from your past.

“The label name?” Eva continued once you nodded in response, “It’s from a childhood story my family passed down. Diana was close to my great-aunt before we moved out here to run the bed and breakfast.”

“Of a dream of a dream. Spare Oom.” It was whispered in the breeze straight in your ear of a voice you vividly recalled—the disembodied voice with the same freckles as Eva but with chocolate brown hair instead of strawberry blonde.

“Y/N? You coming?” Luke’s concerned hazel eyes bore into your distant ones wandering the hills of the property. You hadn’t even noticed Eva leaving towards the Manor.

Your e/c eyes search for the owner of the youthful voice but come up empty. The only people you saw included your group with the odd workers setting up under Diana’s supervision.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke stepped right up in front of you, “You’ve been out of it since Eva mentioned the record label.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, following the woman up the path. Luke stared lost as you disappeared into the door. Eva entered.

The woman stood outside a door within the home, “I never knew what she meant. Not until I saw you Y/N.”

Your foot stumbled back when Eva turned with a soft smile you vividly recalled on a certain Pevensie. Eva unlocked the door to a room with only a picture hung on the wall.

“Narnia.” You breathed, stepping right up to the detailed painting of Cair Paravel. Your fingers tracing the beautiful frame holding it up.

“Correct. My Great-Aunt, in her adult life, adored painting in her past time. It was rare she told Narnian stories, but my mother loved them so much she told them to me as a child.

“Who’s your-”

“My name is Lucy Eva Baker. I was named after my other Great-Aunt, but I prefer going by Eva.” Eva’s words pulled a deep gasp from your throat. Tears building as the truth settled in the room.

Eva shared the same smile and brown eyes as Edmund Pevensie did, even the mature aura wrapped around her. The maturity Edmund had grown into during the fifteen years in Narnia. Without a shadow of a doubt, Eva Baker was the granddaughter of your former brother-in-law.

“Your-”

“Edmund’s granddaughter.” Eva finished with a sympathetic smile, “You featured heavily in each story. I always knew Narnia wasn’t merely a story.”

And then the conversation stuttered when you finally noticed Eva spoke mostly of learning of everything by her mom and Susan. Not a mention passed Edmund being her granddad. A piece of your heart broke, and it seemed the older woman saw it happen.

“W-what happened to…” You couldn’t even choke the question out in the room. Eva’s hand reached out to grasp yours in her own hand.

“I can’t tell you much as that reason that will become clear but in 1949 just shortly before my mom was born there was an accident. Grandpa Edmund and Peter were waiting for the train at the station. The train wrecked, killing the train occupants and many people in the station.” Eva was quick to catch you as a piercing grief-stricken scream exploded in the room.

In the Manor’s tea room, the band and Ray enjoyed a genuine tea time with Diana. Ray and Diana traded stories of their young sons while Reggie restrained himself to savour the food. English tea time begging for genuine manners.

Luke raised his cup to lips before it dropped to the saucer upon an exploding anguished wail from upstairs. Thankfully the cup didn’t break as the American guitarist sprung himself in the direction of the wails—Alex hot on his heels with a call to his friends.

Your screaming drowned out the furious stomps of feet racing in the halls of the Manor to the entrance of the room. Luke’s heart shattered at the pure anguish coating your broken features. Alex roughly pushed his way to tug you into his arms.

Alex’s large hand cupped the back of your head while he rocked you in his arms, “Shh. Let it out.”

“No!” You screamed into Alex’s shoulder. You couldn’t acknowledge Luke’s comforting hand on your shoulder, “N-no.”

“I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Alex murmured in your ear so softly you almost didn’t catch what he said. Luke dropped to his knees by your side. The three teens unaware as Eva excused herself for your privacy. Eva had watched her great-aunt Susan break every time she spoke of her late siblings.

Seconds passed or maybe years as it seemed to happen to you. But soon, you simply rested against Alex staring at Susan’s painting. Barely blinking in the room causing you suffering. You barely responded to anyone as you battled the grief. You faded in and out of daydreams as the bands performed. Days mixed together. Time didn’t exist to you. You were aware enough when Julie and Ray invited you to shop in London.

To everyone, including your surprise, you agreed. The three half ghosts joining in fear you’d shatter again. Eva and Diana held hands watching the car disappear in the distance carrying a group of musicians. An echo of Eva’s words replacing in the back of your mind.

“Three of five drink at high tide. Four of nine and five of nine stand apart by time. A drop of Valiant’s potion will begin the time once before frozen.”

“Are they-”

“Yes.” Eva spoke before her wife could finish the sentence, “She’ll be returning to Narnia. Decades separating her from the Pevensie siblings.”

Eva was correct. At the station, the location was painful as it was Lucy, Peter and Edmund’s last place they’d been alive. Ray disappeared to use the restroom, leaving the five teenagers to wait for the adult.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, rubbing a spot on your arm with a grimace. Your eyes glaring at your tall older brother, “Don’t pinch me!”

Alex shook his head, “I didn’t pinch you!”

“Luke!” Reggie squealed, jumping away from the guitarist with a pout on his full lips. The bassist rubbing his stinging cheek, “These cheeks are reserved for my Grannie!”

Luke scoffed at his friend, “Why would I risk the chance of you biting off my finger Reginald?”

“We have bigger problems than whose pinching us! I’m losing my damn mind! First three himbos fall out of nowhere, then a girl trips out a magic wardrobe and now this!” Julie snapped, staring at their environment in the train station tunnel, “I need to be committed!”

You watched breathlessly as a strong gale storm literally tore pieces of the train and the walls of the station apart. Through the train windows, you watched as a bright blue sky increasingly grew. The colour is so clear and vivid in only one place you knew.

The train blew by. The wall behind you changed into stone—the floor into the sand.

“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, twirling around on the new scenery of a beach in what was supposed to be a train station. The poor male kept being thrown off-kilter since the alley in 1995.

You knew deep in your heart where you were. Especially when four people of different heights stood with their backs to you. One individual, the shortest, turns upon feeling eyes on her back. And at the same time, you spoke.

“Lucy!”

“Y/N!”

The two girls ran straight into each other’s arms sobbing in elation and relief at finally seeing each other after a long year apart. The seven additional people who joined the duo collapsed on the ground. Alex cleared his throat.

“Y/N? Are you going to intro-”

“That’s Queen Y/N.” Peter snapped towards the stranger with a pink sweater on. Peter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a man wear pink.

“That’s my sister.” Alex snapped, standing at his full six-foot height, pinning a glare on the other teenager. Peter scoffed in response. His face faltering upon finding your hand encased in a male shorter than the blonde.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Peter knew this man was the unseen third person that filled every conversation and room between Peter and Y/N. Peter was very much aware that you weren’t in love with him. He lived with the knowledge for a decade, pretending it was he that you deeply loved. Seeing the person holding your heart hurt.

“This is my brother Alex Mercer and our friends Julie Molina, Reggie Peters and my...this is Luke Patterson.” You gestured to each of them; the Puerto Rican musician shell shocked. Julie now knew why that talking lion you spoke of sounded familiar. Narnia had seen one other visitor years before Julie was born.

Rose Molina’s bedtime stories for her children involved a lion named Aslan and a magical wardrobe made from a special tree. Julie recalled the feeling Narnia birthed if in the world as Rose described it.

“Mercer as in...?” Edmund trailed off slowly.

“My horse. Yes. I guess subconsciously, I still remembered where I came from.”

“These are my friends Susan, Edmund, Lucy and...Peter.” You softly spoke of the eldest Pevensie. His blue eyes sadly meeting yours.

A fondness growing at the sight but a pain blossoming at the heartbreak in his features. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Peter had put two and two together on who Luke was to you. And while Peter desired to fight for you, he knew it was a lost cause; time cruelly separated you outside the world of Narnia. You both deserved happiness, so with great pain, Peter let you go.

“C’mon!” Lucy shouted, racing out of the cave on the bright sunny beach. The rest hot on the heels of the youngest member of the conjoined group. As you all goofed around on the beach, you told the Pevensie family all about Julie and the boys.

“Welcome to Narnia, my love.” You murmured to the boy that held your heart in his gentle hands. Luke Patterson beamed. He finally got the girl of his dreams and visited the place you hold dear.

The fun aspect of being in Narnia with both of your family came to a halt when you discovered the ruins. Cair Paravel had become a pile of broken stone and sadness. Not a single Narnian in the distance nor the Beavers or Mr. Tumnus.

“What?”

Julie and the boys’ presence became static in the background while the former Narnia royalty pursued through the ruins. They found the chessboard and the gifts Father Christmas gave them during the Winter Revolution.

Something clicked within Lucy as she almost robotically walked to each half-dead boy with her Cordial in hand. The room went silent as Lucy fed each phantom a drop of the medicinal potion. As soon as Alex closed his mouth, all three boys were enveloped in a blinding silver light.

And the true magic happened. For the first time in twenty-six years, three hearts began pumping blood. A previously frozen clock began beating to the sound of those hearts. The magic of Queen Lucy’s Cordial finished what Julie had started; the three formerly half head phantoms became living humans once more.

What a magical place the world of Narnia is.

(Above is the teacup and pot Luke uses in the Ancient Grounds coffee shop!)

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way.

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl.

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway.

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby.

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens. Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail.

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name.

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.”

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns.

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message.

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there.

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits.

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her.

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take.

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door.

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee.

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests.

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out.

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.”

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden.

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected, and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry.

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden.

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning.

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag.

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue.

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set.

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song.

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords.

Meet me in the hallway

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt?

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction.

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly.

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already? She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way.

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in.

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt?

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different.

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written.

“I should go back,”

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.”

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets.

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said.

I walked the streets all day

Running with the thieves

‘Cause you left me in the hallway

Just take my pain away

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on.

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing?

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face.

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow.

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

“Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile.

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart.

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly.

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return.

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him.

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping.

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb.

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie.

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her.

She nods and he takes a step back.

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases.

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway.

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits.

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside.

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?”

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning.

“No,” he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,”

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed.

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten.

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees.

“What’s it called?” she questions.

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues.

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go.

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her.

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space.

If you’re gonna let me down

Let me down gently don’t pretend

That you don’t want me

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors.

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors.

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues.

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.”

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside.

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them.

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long.

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously.

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,”

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,”

“I was,”

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,”

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words.

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.”

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home.

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh.

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically.

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,”

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,”

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,”

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,”

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying.

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,”

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts.

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?”

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did.

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back.

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat.

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers.

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over.

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond.

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw.

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound.

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch.

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it.

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces.

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,”

“M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring.

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks.

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue.

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak.

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches.

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go.

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?”

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her.

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,”

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow.

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back.

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes.

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris.

We don’t know where we’re going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It’s hard when we argue

We’re both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road

You bring me home

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #ybmh #so!!!! that's all folks <3

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

clouds of snow

Roger Taylor x Reader

synopsis: you and Roger are snowed in. an attempt to cheer up a gloomy Rog turns into an elaborate plan, and the results are cosy.

warnings: swearing

word count: 2.5k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

1975

It had begun to snow shortly after you’d woke up, and even now, two hours later, it had yet to stop.

You’d always known that your best friend— and flatmate— had a childish side, and when the snow had started to fall that morning, this childish side had come out.

He’d called your name from the kitchen, and sleepily, half-dressed in business wear for your drab office job but still wearing pyjamas on your lower half, you’d ambled out of your room to find him leaning out of the window, as the snow fell in his hair.

Realising what he was doing, you gave a shout of alarm.

“Roger, you’ll freeze to death!”

He turned to look at you, a smile forming on his lips. “If I don’t fall to it first.”

“What—”

His eyes widened and he waved his arms in frantic circles, leaning farther out over the windowsill.

You cried out and rushed forward, wrapping your arms around his waist before he could lean any more than he already had.

He laughed and braced himself on the windowsill with one arm, wrapping his other around you as you rested your cheek against his back.

“Don’t do that,” you murmured.

He ruffled your hair, shifting slightly in your grasp. “Would you miss me if I was gone?”

“Of course not,” you scoffed, “but who would pay the other half of the rent?”

“Oh, you’re lethal,” said Roger, shaking his head as he turned to face you, his arms winding around your frame. You clung to him still, your chin on his chest.

“How come you’ve lasted this long, then?”

He snorted. “Because I’m used to you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you calling me boring?”

“‘Course not. You keep surprising me every day. It’s a wonder I haven’t moved out yet.”

“And on that note,” you said, unclasping his hands from behind you, before proceeding to disentangle yourself from his embrace, “I’m going to work, so that if you do decide to move out, I can still afford to pay the lease.”

“Already?” said Roger, crossing his arms and pouting, as you nodded and hurried back to your bedroom to finish getting dressed.

You left the door open a crack, because he seemed in the mood to talk, and would probably expect a response from you when he did so.

“Oh, at least stay for coffee, Y/N. We haven’t done anything together in ages.”

You smirked to yourself at his petulant tone, pulling on your newly-polished shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot, trying not to lose your balance.

“Y/N?”

Now properly dressed, you opened your bedroom door and walked straight into your best friend, who was leaning against the doorframe. You took a retreating step.

Folding your arms as well, you considered.

“C’mon,” he said, with a little dip of his head, pleading with those big eyes of his. “Just you and me.” He nudged your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

You pretended to continue your consideration, but really, you had already made up your mind.

“Fine,” you said, and Roger smiled gorgeously. “But if I’m late, again, I’m having you ring them and butter them up as your charming self.”

His smile only broadened, as he winked and pushed off of the doorframe. “I’ll go make coffee.”

You shook your head at his suave demeanour, then resumed in collecting your things for work.

A few minutes later, the smell of coffee had begun to waft through the flat, and you made your way back into the main living area to find Roger leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter, frowning as he listened to something on the radio.

“Y/N,” he murmured when he saw you, “come listen to this.”

“What?” you said, straightening your cuffs as you made for the kitchen. “Have the Bay City Rollers knocked Queen out of a number one spot again?”

Roger made a face. “Ha ha, very funny. Happened once, will never let it happen again.” He passed you your coffee, and you thanked him with a nod. “No, this is about the weather.”

“The weather?”

“Yeah, listen.” He reached over and turned up the volume on the radio, and the two of you leaned closer to the apparatus, almost with your heads together.

You wrinkled your nose, feigning disgust at your closeness, though really you felt anything but. Roger rolled his eyes at you and tossed his head in the direction of the radio. You sighed and refocused on the presenter’s voice.

“We once again would like to remind you of London’s severe weather warning, and the national advisory to avoid driving through the city. The underground too, is overwhelmed, so if you were planning on getting to work via the Tube, think again. With the current repairs, and the inclement weather having demobilised several stations, burying them under a blanket of snow, there’s no knowing when you’d get to work, or whether you’d ever make it back.”

Here, the radio presented laughed, and you glanced over at Roger.

“Bit of a morbid sense of humour, that one.”

Roger snickered, “Yeah, bit.”

“Once again, we strongly recommend not travelling during this weather, if at all avoidable, and the Prime Minister seems to agree. Stay safe out there, London.

We now return to our regular broadcast, bringing you the best music of yesterday, today, and even that of tomorrow. Coming up next, an oldie but goldie, Shocking Blue’s ‘Venus’…”

Roger dialled down the volume again.

“So,” he raised his eyebrows at you. “Stay home with me?”

You tapped his nose with your forefinger, and straightened up. “Yeah, why not?”

He grinned.

⭒

“I am so bloody bored, I actually wouldn’t mind an argument with Brian.”

It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and having finished your coffee that morning, you had changed back into loungewear, whilst Roger had set about attempting to find a film to watch on the telly.

Between Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the dreadfully dull and inaptly named Great Gatsby— the book of which Roger insisted was far better than the shoddy film— the two of you had turned to board games. When Roger had beat you seven times in a row at Scrabble, you’d just about had enough, and had gone to the kitchen to make hot chocolate, skipping lunch entirely in favour of dessert.

Four cups of hot chocolate later— two for each of you— Roger had flopped down on the couch, his head and upper torso hanging over the armrest, his legs splayed on the sofa cushions, with a long-suffering sigh.

“I don’t think Brian would agree,” you laughed, finishing the nail you were painting. You were painting the nails of one hand black and the other white, as you’d once promised Freddie and Brian you would. You’d never had both the time and energy to fulfill your promise, until now, nearly a year later, despite Deacy’s efforts to coerce you into doing so, because he and Freddie had been running a bet as to when you would finally get to it.

“Hm. He’s probably off with Chrissie.” Roger shifted, pushing hair out of his eyes. His face was growing pinker the longer he remained suspended upside down. “I haven’t got a Chrissie,” he mumbled.

You screwed the cap back on the black nail polish, and looked over at your best friend. “You’ve got me,” you said softly.

“Yeah, and I’d give my life for you,” he smiled rather sadly, “but it’s not the same, is it?”

In all honesty, it hurt a little to hear him say that. You knew you were not to Roger what Chrissie was to Brian, but it hurt to know that you weren’t enough.

“Roger,” you began slowly, folding your legs beneath you, “are you lonely?”

His eyelashes fluttered as he turned his gaze on you. “Bit, yeah,” he said quietly.

This confession hurt all the more. You wanted to gather him into your arms and hug him to you until all the loneliness dispersed from his very soul.

You didn’t, though. You and Roger had always been close, but this would bring you a little too close. A little too close to something he clearly didn’t want, even if you might have been open to the idea. A little more than open, really, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind, and the feeling to the depths of your heart.

He’d said nothing more in your silence, and when you looked at him again, he had tugged his lower lip between his teeth, and his eyes seemed more like the ocean than ever— watery.

“Rog,” you said.

“Hm?”

“We could build a fort. A pillow fort.”

His smile was small, but it was there. “The one you always tell me not to make because it’ll ruin the sofa cushions?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “with the splinters you get from these hardwood floors, they’ll scuff up the cushions nicely. And I can’t afford new ones.”

Roger sat up, brightened at the prospect of a pillow fort. “You know I can. I’ll gladly buy you new ones. So, pillow fort?”

His sudden excitement was almost comical, and you so loved seeing that smile back on his face, so you conceded.

“Yeah, alright then.”

“Oh, I’ll love you forever!” He stooped and kissed your cheek in elation, and you pushed him away.

“Get off, you big sap.”

He only laughed, and threw a cushion at you. “Get building, Y/N. We don’t have all day.”

⭒

It was a large-scale construction, your pillow fort. It spanned the whole of the living room floor, which, relatively speaking, wasn’t a lot, as the property you and Roger shared was in London, where a flat cost an arm and a leg, and half a heart as well. All the same, it was still quite impressive.

The pillow fort employed four blankets, six sofa cushions, five pillows, and two rugs, and was wide enough to crawl through and around the coffee table, in a sort of loop. Roger had retrieved torches and switched them on beneath coffee filters, to create makeshift lamps. In the meantime, you’d collected books and magazines, for something to do, and a tin of Roger’s favourite biscuits— the latter in hope of cheering him up ever the more, to keep at bay that loneliness.

“It’s brilliant,” said Roger, standing outside of the fort to admire the results of your teamwork. “It’s the best bloody pillow fort I’ve ever seen.”

You opened the tin of biscuits, a book already in your lap.

“You coming in, or what?” you asked. “You promised you’d read me Gatsby, and I’ve got the only biscuits in the house.”

“Is that so?” Roger mused, and a scuffling sound announced his entrance to the pillow fort, which, in your humble opinion, was really more of a castle.

The blankets rustled as he made his way toward you, and you glanced up at the cotton ceiling.

“Watch it, Rog. The whole place’ll come down in a second.”

Roger only laughed, but the cushion-wall at your side seemed about ready to fall.

“Roger,” you said again, as he came into view. “Seriously, be careful. All our hard work will be for nothing.”

“And to think you weren’t taking this seriously at the beginning, eh? Now you’d give up those biscuits to save it.”

Your tone was warning, “Rog, I really think you should—”

At that moment, the cushion at your side tilted dangerously, and you grabbed Roger’s arm to pull him away from the wall, because his motion was what had upset it in the first place.

But it was too late, and instead of pulling Roger out of the line of fire, you pulled the whole place down around you— and him atop you.

The blanket fell over his head as the walls around you collapsed, and Roger narrowly avoided falling flat upon you, bracing himself on his elbows, at your sides.

He laughed, and despite your slight contempt at him ruining the fort before you’d even had the chance to enjoy it, you laughed too.

His hair hung down over his face and fell in your eyes, and you batted golden streaks away as he continued to laugh, giddily.

“Oh, I’ve not had so much fun in ages,” he said, an echo of his statement from the morning, though this was an expression of happiness, rather than of complaint.

You smiled up at him. “Yeah, me neither.”

But Roger had gone abruptly silent.

His chest rose and fell in the wake of his laughter, but the smile had faded from his lips, his eyes.

Then he lowered his mouth to yours, trading a soft breath with you, before he kissed you.

Something swept over you, a tide, a wind, a fog, a daze— you knew not what, but it swept over you, and slowly, devoured you. It was like clouds, only these clouds were unfamiliar, warm in place of cold when, logically, they should have been cold. This was like looking at clouds, and realising that you’d been looking at clouds wrong for all your life.

Because something had to have changed, didn’t it? You had never felt Roger’s touch in this way, nor longed for it so much as you did now, even with it still upon you.

You’d looked at Roger wrong for all your life, it seemed.

Your hands came to rest on either side of his face, before they carded through his hair, and you kissed him deeply, savouring the taste of chocolate which still lingered on his lips, savouring his sudden closeness to you, the softness of his kiss— far softer than the pillows which had toppled about you and landed you in this beautiful mess in the first place.

You pushed his shoulder so that he fell to his side and you could wrap yourself around him and meld into his form, and he yielded to your touch as equally as he reciprocated it.

When he broke the kiss, it was with a dazed expression and swollen, parted lips, and you swallowed thickly, glancing away and hoping dearly that he was not about to express regret for what he had done.

He didn’t.

“Maybe it is the same,” he whispered.

“What?” you murmured back, confused.

He raised his hand and his fingertips traced your jaw, his eyes following in an intimate gaze. “I said I didn’t have someone, you know, but maybe I do. Maybe it could be the same. Maybe we could be both. Friends, and—”

His breath faltered, and you reached for his hand. “Go on, Rog.”

“Lovers,” he suggested quietly.

You didn’t think about it, because it was not a matter to be thought of. This was to be felt, and nothing more.

“I’d love that.”

He blinked. “Pun… not intended?”

You swatted at him, rolling your eyes, and that light, fluttering laughter bubbled up in his throat again, warm and familiar.

“I hate you,” you said.

“Good,” Roger whispered, touching his nose to yours. His words hummed on your lips. “Because I think I love you more than ever.”

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #roger taylor x reader #fic

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iraacundus · 4 years

Text

The Sins of Angels

devil!Taeyong soulmate!au

Genre: fluff, fantasy, smut, angst Words: 10k

warnings: sex (incl. degredation), swearing

better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven - Paradise Lost, John Milton 1667

You weren't a bad person, but clearly, you hadn’t been a great one either. You had to figure that was the case as you stood in a really long queue at the front desk of Hell. There were some people around you crying and screaming, but most people just stood in stony silence, waiting until they reached the end of the queue.

It was a casual four weeks later when you reached the front, which for Hell you supposed was quite quick. You wondered if it was meant to unsettle you, to form part of your eternity of torture, or maybe that's just how long bureaucracy in the afterlife took.

“Name and time of death?” You finally heard be called out to you. You had to think for a second, the hours of standing in the queue had really started to rot your brain.

“It’s y/n and I died on the 3rd March 2020 at 9:58pm” You said, having no idea why you knew your exact time of death, but the desk man wasn’t surprised and therefore it must have been something dead people just knew. The desk man handed you a gold coin.

“Straight ahead to the gates, tell them you’re going to the second circle,”. You took the coin and nodded. “Have a terrible time,” he said, sounding so bored that you were sure he was having a worse time.

No sooner had you step away from the desk to contemplate your impending doom before he called you back.

He stared down at the old 1980’s computer in front of him in slight disbelief, hitting the side of it three times just to make sure it was actually working properly. Seeing that this made no difference the man shrugged and motioned for you to come closer to the desk.

“Just had a message from the boss man, turns out your wanted down where the real actions happens,” he said taking back your coin. He placed it carefully back in its box before reaching down below his desk and fiddling for a moment.

“Could you come round here and stand beside me?” he asked, you noted his tone had become much more polite ever since he had read his computer message.

“First interesting thing to happen at this desk in ninety years,” He said looking at you, eyes not blinking for a slightly uncomfortable amount of time before pointing down to where he had been fiddling.

“This is a passage to the City of Dis. It’s a ten hour-long fall and it hurts when you get to the bottom, but it’s that… or ten hundred years of torture to get there and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Don’t we have all of time,” you questioned, Hell had always been marketed as an eternity of suffering.

“You mean to say,” the man began, “That you would actually prefer to endure the ten hundred years of torture?” He was incredulous, you didn’t think his eyebrows could lift any faster.

Neither seemed like a good option, but you couldn’t possibly die twice so one hard fall had to have been the better option. You looked down at the endless dark hole, trying to contemplate what was being proposed here.

“You don’t really have a choice, please jump down the hole, you’re really holding up the queue, I’ve got targets to meet.”

You couldn’t ascertain whether the last part was a joke or not, but you had realised that overthinking wasn’t helping anyone. You took one last look at the man at the hell desk before launching yourself into the depths of Hell.

You screamed for about the first minute, before realizing it was pointless, you had a long while to go until you hit the ground. You pondered about why you might have ended up where you were, cursing that in real life you hadn’t bothered to study the nine circles of hell, that might have given you a clue.

About three-quarters of the way through your fall it started to get lighter again, but also hotter, it was exhaustingly hot, worse than Death Valley in the summer hot. You felt like you had been falling for much less than a few hours, you weren't sure if time worked the same way in eternity. You almost wanted to cry but the thought that an eternity in Hell could be worse though, which somehow comforted you. Even though you knew that it could get worse and probably would.

-----

It was a while longer until you finally hit the ground. It hurt like every single bone in your body had broken. You just lay there, contorted.

“Oh... That looked like it hurt!” You heard someone exclaim from above you. You half-opened one eye to see a boy staring down at you. All you could notice was that he was very good looking, something you had noticed about desk boy too now that you thought about it. Every bone in your body may have shattered, but if all the people in hell, looked like the men you had seen so far... your complaints were limited. A fact which truly made you think you had really lost any sense of reality.

“You need to get up ... you haven't reached your final destination.” He said. You swore under your breath before pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, something that induced the agonising pain all over again. The good-looking guy just stared at you with a wicked grin.

“I have all the time in the world babe quite literally infinite time, but the person we are going to meet does not have infinite patience. And- and I can’t stress this enough - he's really fucking scary so stand the hell up,” he grabbed your arms lifting you to your feet, shaking his head, “get the hell up, did you not appreciate what I did there.” You stared at him blankly.

“My humour is wasted in this bloody city.” He complained.

You said nothing, you had literally no idea what to say to this man, if he even was a man.

“I’m Yangyang by the way,” he continued, “one of this city’s finest fallen angels, fell straight from heaven into the ladies' hearts.”

Now you were standing up you realised the light you had seen was just endless fire, the only break in the fire was a stone path that didn’t seem to have an end, at least not an end that you could see.

The fire was filled with burning souls in the distance, the screams you could hear were unnerving, you wanted to somehow disappear. Yangyang didn’t even seem to hear them, the screams of hell must have become just a faint music to him over time, like radio music in a shop.

You followed closely behind him as he led you along the fire-lit path. As you got closer to what you presumed was the city of Dis the sound of a distant roar of voices got louder and louder, but there was still no end in sight.

“What did you get kicked out of Heaven for... if it’s not rude to ask?” You were trying to create any sense of distortion from the horrifying surroundings.

He laughed, the fire reflecting against his face that still held the same wicked grin.

“I’m not offended and even if I was, this is Hell, people are rude all the time it doesn’t matter. Here in Hell you can do what you want babe. There is only one person youwill have to listen to; Lucifer himself. Most people listen to the fallen angels too, but I fear you will end up being more important here than me.”

You knew in theory who Lucifer was, fallen angel, cast out by God. Somehow though, you hadn’t expected him to exist even after you got to Hell, you assumed he was just created to scare children and adults alike. The idea of fallen angels was also a foreign one to you, you hadn’t even known there were more people like Lucifer.

“And to answer your question, I got kicked out of heaven for being too fun,” he said, laughing mostly to himself. You doubted that was the official reason he got kicked out, even if he decided to justify it as such.

-------------------------

The walk came to an end at the edge of a vast canyon. At the very bottom, you could see a very grand building surrounded by markets and various other buildings. In the rock face, there were many entrances and balconies which people seemed to live inside.

“We don’t have to jump do we?” You asked, feeling like you had done enough falling for at least the next six lifetimes in Hell.

“There is a lift.”

He said like it was very obvious, and you were stupid for even suggesting otherwise, even though he had seen the end of your bone breaking fall.

The lift wasn’t like any modern-day one, more like one you would have seen in a mine shaft in centuries past, just bigger. There was a large queue for the lift which Yangyang didn’t seem at all bothered by. He grabbed your arm and walked through the queue, the sea of people parting as the jumped back in what appeared to be fear. You couldn’t understand why; Yangyang seemed nice enough.

You stepped into the lift and clung to the side as the door shut. The metal groaned slightly before beginning to lower. You could see each of the levels more clearly now, there were four distinct areas above the ground floor.

“The city is the 6th to 9th circles of Hell,” Yangyang explained, “For people who committed worse crimes, treachery, heresy and all that.”

“What is the second circle?” You asked back, hoping he could provide you the answer to your biggest question.

“Is that where you were headed?”

You nodded.

“Just before I was told to jump down the hole and ended up here, I was originally meant to go to the second circle.”

Yangyang just laughed but didn’t bother to answer the question and you weren’t brave enough to ask again.

The metal began to screech again as the lift hit the ground floor and the gate began to open. The people waiting at the bottom also immediately moved back when they saw Yangyang step forward, pushing you off the lift and past the crowd.

Yangyang set off walking, through market, after market in which everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was the odd scream of pain here and there but there were more screams of laughter, more voices chatting and bargaining.

As you got closer to the centre of the floor the buildings got bigger and grander, some of them almost palatial.

“That’s my house” Yangyang said pointing to a large building to the right of you. It looked quite nice, even if a drunk man had passed out on the front steps.

“You can get drunk in Hell?” You asked.

“Ninety percent of the people here are drunk ninety percent of the time.” Was his answer.

You walked for a few more minutes before reaching the gate that surrounded the grandest building of all, Devil House, Yangyang informed you. The gates were opened by two guards as you approached, how bowed at you both as you passed. Yangyang walked you up to the door before knocking six times.

After a minute or so the doors opened seemingly by themselves. Situated behind the doors was a grandiose entrance hall made out of black marble, a gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

You looked at Yangyang expectantly for him to explain what would happen next, but he said nothing, the wicked grin gone from his face. For the first time he actually looked somewhat scared.

You suddenly noticed a man standing at the top of the staircase. He was staring straight down at you with a glare that could have killed, ifyou hadn’t already been dead.

“My Lord,” Yangyang managed to choke out, he stared down at his feet, his hands fidgeting. When you looked back away from Yangyang, the man, who you guessed was the Devil, was standing right in front of you. Blood red hair, perfect jawline, flawless skin - out of all of the good-looking men you had seen here so far, he was the most perfect.

He reached out and kissed your hand.

“Welcome to Hell, my love, my name’s Lucifer, but you can call me Taeyong,” he said.

-----------------

You woke up in a bed with some of the softest pillows you had ever felt, you sat up slowly, taking in your surroundings, not knowing how you had ended up there. The bed you were on was the only piece of furniture in the completely white room. There was a door at the far end of the room and a window that looked out onto the fire and darkness below.

You stood up carefully and walked over to the window. You could see the guards still standing by the gate and a few people fighting in the corner of the street.

A light knock came at the door.

“Come in?” You replied after a brief pause, realising that the person knocking was assuming this was your room.

The door swung open and Taeyong, Lord Lucifer, walked in. You froze where your stood by the window, even though he was standing about ten meters away from you.

If Taeyong sensed your fear, he chose to ignore it,

“I hope you're comfortable, I had one of the women change your clothes, I figured you would prefer that,” he said. You looked down, where your previous dust-ridden clothes had been was now a silk nightdress, you raised your eyebrows slightly. It was a beautiful item of clothing but slightly on the revealing side for meeting a man you didn’t know.

“Isn’t that very nice of someone who is meant to be the Devil?” you asked him. He looked you dead in the eyes and tilted his head slightly,

“If you want me to be mean darling, that can be arranged... but I would prefer if we could be civil.”

You nodded, once again lost for words. You couldn’t remember much about your life, but you were pretty sure that in life you had always had something to say. Yet since you had gotten to Hell you were more often than not lost for words.

You started to remember the events of the previous span of time, you remembered falling and meeting Yangyang. Yangyang made you feel comfortable, you had many questions and hoped maybe he would be able to answer them.

“Could I maybe talk to Yangyang,” you asked. Taeyong shook his head.

“No.” His lips rested in a firm line; you were starting to understand why Yangyang said he was someone to be afraid of. Yet with a life of torture already assured you felt you had nothing left to lose.

“I’m just gonna say it,” you began, ‘what is going on here, like what’s with the whole situation, I don’t remember anything about my life, or even how I ended up in this room, all I know is I jumped down a hole, met Yangyang, who was definitely scared of you by the way, and ended up here right now. I know that you are the all-powerful Lucifer, but you won’t let me see the one person I vaguely know or trust.” Taeyong just smirked out your outburst.

“You don’t always get what you want in Hell and I wouldn’t make a habit of trusting fallen angels” he replied.

His lacklustre reply stirred a deep sense of anger within you, you found it really hard to tolerate people who thought they were better than others.

“Is this my torture? Because if so, you guys are using weird tactics these days... like rather unorthodox if you ask me, I think I might rather just be burnt.” You instantly regretted the comment about being burnt, “But also please don’t burn me.”

To your surprise Taeyong half smiled at your comment.

“I’m not torturing you; I assure you that definitely involves classic techniques like burning people to death. In fact, I would argue that fact fate has left you lucky.”

“What does that mean?” You asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“There are worse things in death than having to marry me.”

You blinked about ten times in a row, the words gone from your mind again, blank.

“Sorry one second,” you said, holding up four hand, “can you just elaborate on that, because last time I checked I wasn’t engaged to any devils.”

“Not any regular devil, theDevil.” He corrected, before looking down at the expensive watch that was on his wrist, “I have to go and sort some things out, feel free to look around the house, just don’t leave and don’t interact with any of the staff around the house.”

You didn’t have time to formulate a reply or protest before he was gone, door shut perfectly, as if he had never even been there.

You sat around in silence for a few minutes before becoming curios about your surroundings. Your room was totally empty so you hoped the rest of the house wasn’t as such or it would have been a rather dull house tour.

Fortunately, as soon as you stepped out of your room you were faced with a very different sight. The corridor had a plush red carpet lining the floor and paintings and tapestries lining the walls.

You entered room after room, most of them just empty bedrooms, though none as empty as yours had been. As you ventured a little further into the house you began to find more interesting rooms.

There was a corridor that constituted only of studies another that had what seemed to be conference type rooms with long tables and lots of chairs. Around the other side you finally came across the dining room where there was food laid out on the table. A whole feast that you didn’t dare touch for a variety of reasons.

A man stood in the corner of the room, when he saw you enter, he bowed down just as the guards had, something that unsettled you.

“In case you wanted to eat,” the man explained, gesturing towards the table. You noticed there was only one place set for eating, at the same time you wondered if the concept of being hungry even existed in Hell. You felt your stomach grumble slightly, answering your own question.

You gave a weak smile to the man before sliding into the seat. This could be where the torture begins, you thought. It could have been poisoned food or turned into rotting flesh when you ate it, yet it looked so appetising you could hardly believe that would ever be the case.

Still unsure of weather to eat it or not you turned to the man,

“Do you know where I could find this guy called Yangyang?”

“I think we both know that I can’t tell you where Yangyang is,” he replied. You looked back to the food pressing your lips together, it had been worth a shot.

“I would be happy to try and answer any questions you have instead, my name is Yuta, I am a personal assistant of sorts,”

“Another archangel?” you asked. Yuta shook his head.

“Nope, just a demon.”

Yes, just a demon, of course.

Yuta watched you staring at the food and quickly guessed as to why you are hesitant,

“It is perfectly safe to eat; you are an honoured guest of hell.”

“That is exactly what someone who wanted me to eat the torture meal would say,” you replied accusatorily. Yuta laughed to himself slightly,

“If you don’t want to eat it that’s also fine, you will starve for eternity but that is, what as this other demon Johnny often says – not my problem.”

You still wondered if it was reverse psychology, but the hunger pangs had really started to kick in, so you decided to eat the food regardless.

You quickly realised that it wasn’t poisoned and that it was actually some of the most delicious food you had ever eaten.

After you had eaten for a while you looked back at Yuta who was still standing there watching you.

“How come I am allowed to talk to you and not Yangyang?” you asked.

“I don’t make the rules,” he replied. Yuta followed the word of Taeyong just as much as everyone else did, the devil really did seem to have a lot of power.

You stood up from your seat, as you did the dishes and food vanished at a click of Yuta’s fingers. Demon magic. When you headed towards the door Yuta remained where he had always been, unmoving.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose, I’m y/n by the way.” You said just before you left.

“I already knew that,” Yuta grinned. Everyone you had met in Hell acted weirdly, both in general and specifically towards you. You couldn’t figure out why there was no torture or why you had supposedly ended up engaged to Taeyong.

You had thought about asking Yuta more questions, but it seemed like Taeyong didn’t want you to know the answer to your questions and therefore none of his buddies were ever going to tell you, so you didn’t bother.

You went another three weeks before you saw Taeyong again, or anyone else for that matter. The only person you had seen was Yuta who watched you eat every day, would enter into general conversations with you about himself, and tales of demons but would never answer any questions you had or explain anything useful.

“I really need to talk to Taeyong,” you asked him, pretty much pleading at this point.

“Not an option,” Yuta replied.

“Where is he?” you asked for the ninth time that day.

“Hell,”

“Yeah very funny bud. I am not marrying him, I’ve only met him once and then he fucked off, not really the kind of behaviour that would make him a good husband.”

“He will return soon,” Yuta said, clearly trying to hide his own laughter, as a Demon he thrived on your suffering ever so slightly.

“You are annoyingly vague.” You sighed, “Can we not just break the rules, like this is hell can we not just sneak out and go and do something, this house is boring there is nothing to do and I would still really like to talk to Yangyang.”

Yuta pressed his hands together before speaking,

“No, we cannot just ‘break the rules’ Taeyong is all powerful I would rather not piss him off. It is very unboring here, I still have two million years’ worth of top-quality stories lined up, not all of them mine, I will admit. You only met Yangyang like one time, no need to make it twice, furthermore he will not answer your questions either, he too fears those who should be feared.”

You banged your head against the table repeatedly.

“This is definitely Hell!”

“You are rather dramatic y/n.”

You could see Yuta out of the corner of your eye and though he was laughing you could tell he also felt sorry for you.

“I will see what I can do,” he relented. You stopped hitting your head, got up and ran over to Yuta, throwing your arms around him.

“Thank you!” you said in earnest.

At that moment the door on the other side of the room opened and Yuta froze.

“It seems I have been gone too long, my fiancé is turning to other men,”

You let go of Yuta and spun round.

“She was hugging me because I offered to find out where you were…” Yuta tried to explain but you cut him off.

“Yeah well I have only been stuck in this boring house for a whole month with only him to talk to so if we are close that is your own fault.” You shouted at him.

“Don’t shout at him, that’s not gonna end well,” Yuta whispered to you aggressively.

“I am just a little bit angry, no, a lot angry and seeing as I cannot have any friends or meet any people, I will be voicing them to the only two people I am allowed to talk with.”

Taeyong said nothing, he strode over to where you were, grabbed your hand and dragged you from the room.

Yuta looked alarmed as you left. Taeyong led you down several corridors until you reached one of the grandest offices you had seen yet. He let go of your hand and slammed the door behind you.

“I would appreciate it if you were not rude to me in front of the people who work for me.” Taeyong said.

“I would appreciate it if you weren’t such an elusive dickhead.”

“I had … work to attend to,” he said, hand running through his bright red hair.

He was standing only a few feet away from you causing you to notice just how good looking he was for the first time. He had a cut in his eyebrow and a jawline that was stronger than anything.

“Whereas I was stuck here, doing nothing. Yuta is nice and all, but his stories get kinda old after the first thirty. I just don’t understand why I can’t talk to anyone or leave this house, why I can’t know anything about hell.”

“I…” Taeyong almost started to explain but then shut his mouth again, leaning with his hand against the door.

“What are you afraid of me finding out?” you asked him.

Taeyong sneered.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be a secret.” He paused for a moment before walking towards you. “I can’t decide,” he said, “whether to risk falling in love with you.”

“So, you have a bad relationship past?” you guessed. Taeyong said nothing so you assumed you had hit the bullseye.

“See, now we are getting somewhere,” you said, “if you explain things to me life is a lot easier and I won’t resent you as much.”

Taeyong continued walking towards you and you walked backwards away until your back was pressed up against the wall.

“We aren’t alive.” He corrected, you could feel his breath on your face, he was inches away.

Taeyong’s face looked pained, confused.

You don’t know why you did it, maybe it was the lack of physical contact, or the slightly sexual nature of some of Yuta’s stories but you felt like it was the right choice.

You place your hands on Taeyong’s cheeks, pulling his face down towards yours, lips together. You had only meant for it to be an innocent kiss at first, just a few seconds. You didn’t know Taeyong, but you wanted to take away the pained look on his face for just a second.

But as your lips touch you felt a deeper desire, your lips moving against his with a slight sense of urgency. Taeyong’s hands moved to your waist pulling you closer towards him, his grip like iron.

After a minute or two you pulled away, realising that you hadn’t breathed, that you didn’t need to breathe, a surprising perk of Hell. You opened your eyes to see Taeyong staring down at you, the pain still in his eyes, but now mixed with something else, something more positive, you didn’t know quite what.

“I’ve never had a girl kiss me first before,” he remarked. You smiled at him slightly.

“Well I just…” you couldn’t really explain why you did I, you didn’t know, because you still resented this man quite a lot., “It doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you assured him.

Taeyong leaned down and placed a final peck on your lips.

“You have made my choice for me though, there is no way I can avoid falling in love with you now.”

“Yuta are we friends,” you asked him.

“Why do you ask, please don’t ask me you break you out again you know I can’t,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry.

“I just mean if I told you something personal because I needed advice you wouldn’t need to tell Taeyong right? As long as it’s not my plan to break free. I have no girls here to talk to, or even any other boys, you’re my only hope,”

“I don’t see why I would have to tell Taeyong something like that no, so you can count me as a friend on this one.”

“I kissed Taeyong.” You blurted out the second he finished speaking. Yuta blinked a few times, nodding his head slightly.

“Did I really need to know that?” he asked.

“Do you know why I would have done that?”

“This, is the single worst question you have asked me yet, how would I know how your brain functions?” Yuta joked. You sighed, picking up your spoon and placing it in the ice-cream in front of you, that even with demon magic was fast melting due to high temperatures.

A few minutes later you walked back out and started searching the house for whatever room Taeyong was in.

You walked through room after room, to the point where you were not even sure which way was back anymore.

Eventually you came to a room with a door that must have been made out of gold. The door had a picture carved into it of an angel falling from heaven into the fire below. Your feet stopped. It had to be the room you had been searching for.

You knocked loudly but there came no reply, so you pushed the door open slightly, peeking into the room. At first it seemed empty, just like yours had been. There was a wooden bed with a canopy, that looked like one you would see in a period drama. It was ornate and stylish with two bedside tables either side.

Those three pieces of furniture were the only ones in the room.

You felt bad about intruding into someone else’s space, but it didn’t stop you, if you had been a better person you wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

You walked curiously over to the bed and sat down on it, the bed was perfectly made, not even a crease as you ran your hands across the bed covers.

You stared down at the bedside table, something you didn’t have in your own room. The one on the left side was empty, not even a dust particle to be seen.

You rolled over the bed to the other drawer, expecting it too to be empty.

You pulled it open to see a few things inside. There were a few letters which you felt like you shouldn’t read, a pen, a picture of Taeyong and Yuta and at the back of the drawer a small red book.

It wasn’t something you were proud of, but you couldn’t help but peek into the book. The first page was inscribed with a verse:

And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

So, the stories were true. But as you flicked through the pages you only became more confused, some were written in a language you didn’t understand or even recognise, some were filled with cursive handwriting recounting stories, much like the ones Yuta had told you, but it was the final few pages that confused you the most. There were paintings of five girls, each on a separate page.

Each had their name written underneath, a date and a timespan. The first 120AD - 3 months up until the most recent 1827 – 2 months.

In the last entry to the book you saw your own face. It was a picture of you sitting in a café in the sunshine, it had to have been from your life. You were drinking iced tea and laughing like nothing could have stopped your happiness. The date 2020 but no time span.

You didn’t understand what it meant entirely but you weren’t stupid either, you realised you were not the first girl who had ended up here.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the book was snatched away from you. You stared upwards to see Taeyong, eyes dark and unforgiving.

“What gives you the right,” he began through gritted teeth, “to look through other people’s personal items.”

He placed the book back in the drawer.

“I would say you can’t come into this room when I’m not here, but I assume you have already seen all there is to see,” he laughed darkly.

“Who are those girls, what do those dates mean?” you asked, still curious and somehow still unafraid, even though the man in front of you looked ready to kill.

Taeyong said nothing. You placed your hand over his lightly.

“I can only become close to you if you let me, and if we are to get married for whatever mysterious reason of fate, we should be close.”

Taeyong moved his hand back and looked away.

“We don’t need to be close; all that book proves is that in this cursed place, fiancé does not mean future wife.”

“Would you stop being so damned elusive for a fucking second?” you said. Taeyong lifted one eyebrow smirking.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“Yeah I don’t understand if you don’t tell me.”

Taeyong’s smirk faded until he just looked sad. He looked over at you and smiled slightly.

“You can leave the house if you want, make some friends, just don’t leave the city, it’s not so fun outside the walls of Dis, its where the real sinners go.”

You were surprised, freedom wasn’t what you expected to gain from your trespass into his personal space.

“Why now?”

“Because even though you probably won’t choose hell in the end, I at least don’t want you to resent your time here.”

You walked round the bed to sit closer to him but as you sat down, he stood up.

“I think it is easier for both of us long term if what happened yesterday… doesn’t happen again.” He looked down at the time, “I have some rogue demons to chastise, I’ll get Yuta and Yangyang to show you around town.”

Five hours later you were drunk at a vodka bar in hell where Yuta had disappeared with some girl about an hour previously and you were left laughing with Yangyang until your stomach hurt.

“You have way better stories than Yuta,” you joked as Yangyang recounted a mishap between him, a goat demon and a man who had been sent to hell mostly for his obsession with stealing collectable plates.

“and you,” he replied, “are much more fun to be around than any of Taeyong’s previous ladies,” he said, covering his mouth as soon as he said it, “well fuck,” he finished off.

“Do not fear young fallen angel for I already know of these previous ladies, as in I know they exist and nothing else.”

Yangyang breathed out a sigh of relief.

“If I had let that secret go, well I would probably have been stung by bees for the next couple hundred years, every day at three o’clock.”

“There must be worst tortures?” You prompted. Yangyang shook his head.

“Don’t ever underestimate hell bees,” he said in a statement that sounded like he had his own history with said hell bees and that you shouldn’t press further.

“I know of the ladies and I guess that’s what makes him act weird towards me, but I don’t understand what happened.” You explained.

Yangyang looked around to see who was looking before motioning you to come closer.

“I can tell you, but you never heard it from me,” he said, “I must be drunk to be telling you this. Basically, Taeyong is cursed, not by God that’s just this whole hell thing but in a personal argument with an angel named Taeil. Taeyong once stole Taeil’s fiancé back in heaven, so when he was cast down to hell Taeil vowed to take revenge. Ever since as soon as a girl dies, who is someone Taeyong would definitely fall in love with, Taeil make sure they are sent right to his door, calls them the brides of hell. Well with the first one Taeyong didn’t realise it was Taeil, he just thought he had found his soulmate. Yet three months later Taeil shows up at the gates of hell und summons her fourth, Taeyong following close behind. He offers the girl a chance to go to heaven to have everything she ever wanted, that her going to hell was just a mistake and she is meant to marry him in heaven. And the girl agrees. Because as much as she loved Taeyong she wasn’t willing to give up the idea of eternal paradise for him, same for the next four girls… and now you. With the last one he didn’t even try. He didn’t talk to her once he just kept her locked up until Doyoung came. When she left, she said she hated Taeyong, which hurt him just as much as when he was betrayed.”

You took another shot of vodka.

“Well that… is a story and a half,” you remarked. Yangyang shrugged.

“Did the first girl really love him?” she asked. Yangyang nodded.

“They were happy together, Taeyong isn’t a bad guy to the people he loves, he’s not the same person he was a couple hundred thousand years ago, he’s not a great guy by any means but he was kind to the girl and they loved each other, the first betrayal is still the worst.”

“How could she do that to him if she loved him,” you asked him, you had only known Taeyong a short time and for most of that you had resented him, but you had started to understand him.

“Heaven isn’t something you refuse,” Yangyang said simply.

Before long you were both back to laughing and drinking, increasingly incapacitated. An hour later Yangyang was dragging you back to the steps of Taeyong’s house. He knocked on the door, lazily calling out,

“Taeyong, come and get y/n! I want to go to bed!” he said.

Taeyong appeared at the door a few moments later to see you lying on the ground semi-conscious, cocktail umbrella still in you grasp.

He leaned down and picked you easily, something you welcomed after Yangyang’s drunk drag.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he said. You shook your head laughing.

“No!” you protested like a stubborn child, “I want to sleep next to you, in your room.”

Taeyong looked somewhat shocked.

“I already explained it would be better if we just kept out distance,” he began before you cut him off. You put your finger over his lips to silence him.

“Starting today,” you said, “I am going to stay with you forever, starting right now, in your bed.”

Taeyong sighed, continuing on to your room before placing you down in your bed, he tried to leave but you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please don’t leave me alone again,” you asked him quietly, “I don’t like being alone in this place.”

Taeyong’s eyes soften, his resolve defeated, he sat down next to you in the bed.

“I really won’t leave you, I won’t go with that mean Taeil guy,”

“Yangyang is so dead,” Taeyong said.

“We’re all dead silly.” You lay back in the bed, pulling Taeyong’s arm so he fell down to lie facing you.

“And you will leave, they all do,” Taeyong explained. You blinked a few times.

“I’m not them, I’m y/n, I’m my own person. And anyway, I bet none of them ever kissed you first.”

“Why did you kiss me?” Taeyong questioned thoughtfully.

“I really don’t know I just suddenly felt like it was the right thing to do in that moment, like fate had been leading up to right then and there.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Taeyong sighed, “we are all just puppets of people like Taeil.”

“For someone who has power over a whole dimension that is a very defeatist attitude.” And before he could protest anymore you placed your hand on his cheek, your fingertips brushing a few strands of his hair,

“Am I really not different to any of those other women? Maybe their choice wasn’t wrong, maybe they just weren’t right for you, maybe I am,”

“I’m scared of you in particular, I have watched parts of your life on earth and I could see myself with you more than anyone before, and that terrifies me,” Taeyong admitted.

“I cause fear in the devil, what a powerful woman I am,” you joked grinning at him, “Don’t underestimate me.”

Taeyong brought his hand up to cover yours that was still rested on your face.

“You said you hate being alone here, why would you ever choose to stay here?” he asked.

“Because I wouldn’t be alone, I would have friends like Yuta and Yangyang and I would have you, Taeil chose me because we are a perfect match, right? Well then we will always be happy, also Yuta assures me he has a few million more stories lined up and I can’t miss out on that.”

Taeyong’s eyes stared into your soul, he licked his lower lip slightly before moving so he was positioned over you, resting on his forearms.

“I really hope that what you say is true,” he said before bringing his lips to meet yours.

A few weeks passed, you didn’t see Taeyong very often, he was still very busy, but he had made your life in hell become somewhat enjoyable. You spent most of your days playing around with Yuta, Yangyang had work to do, and getting to know the city. When you did see Taeyong he still somewhat guarded, but he was a lot more genuine with you.

You were just coming back from a game of throw the devil with Yuta when you noticed a bright white letter sitting on the doorstep, Dear Taeyong was written on the front in cursive writing similar to that of Taeyong’s.

Yuta grimaced at the sight of it. You didn’t have to ask who it was from because you knew it was from him, from Taeil.

“Well it was fun to get to know you,” Yuta said, holding out his hand for you to shake, “I wish you all the best in heaven, it sounds like a great place.”

“I’m not going,” you said. Yuta snorted,

“No one would ever give up that chance, especially not for someone they barely know, you’ve talked to Taeyong, what three four times, you might be crazy but there is no way you’re that crazy.

You looked up at the orange sky above, wishing more than ever that you could remember your past life, so you could understand what choice you would have made when you were alive.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, maybe I suffered permanent brain damage when I fell down that hole on the way here… but I just have this feeling, a feeling that tells me that I belong here, with Taeyong, with you, with Yangyang, that this is my fate.”

“Don’t suffer a harsh fate just because you feel sorry for the devil,” Yuta exhaled deeply.

“How is this fate harsh?” you asked, “maybe for most people hell is the worst, but I have only had good experiences here, I may have complained about your stories, but they weren’t that bad,”

“Any fate is harsh in comparison to perfection.” Yuta mused.

“It’s almost like you want me to leave,” you joked. Yuta looked at the letter with envy.

“If you want to stay here that’s your choice and I will be happy not to see you go, but it’s not the choice I would make.”

You pushed him slightly on the shoulder to ease the tension.

“You would be bored after five seconds up there,” you said opening the door and kicking your shoes off into the hallway.

You both went to eat and were wrapped up in conversation but neither of you could ignore when you heard the front door slam loudly and Taeyong scream out a list of profanities even from the other side of the house.

You gave Yuta a small smile before hurrying downstairs to try and find Taeyong. He was kneeling in the hallway staring down at the open letter on the floor that was set alight, the pages burning until there was nothing left but ash.

You tried to sit near him to comfort him, but he pulled away.

“I won’t go with him,” you said quietly. Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you fucking will, no matter what you say humans are all the fucking same, you’re not special.”

You were taken aback. You had known the letter would upset Taeyong, but you hadn’t expected him to act with such anger.

“I don’t need your stupid fucking pity,” Taeyong hissed, the venom in his voice not something that could be faked, “I may want to love you but at this point I hate you at the same time and I will hate every girl that comes after.”

Your eyes narrowed and you snorted slightly.

“I didn’t pity you before Taeyong,” you said, “but this is pathetic.”

You picked up a vase that was next to you and smashed it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong said standing up, alarmed at your sudden violence.

“I don’t remember my life on earth,” you began, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t an angel. I do know who I am now though, I commit petty crimes with Yuta for fun, I am attracted to a man who tortures people for a living, and I broke your vase just because I can. That doesn’t make me evil but I’m not a saint and I certainly don’t see a reason to go to heaven. Call me a narcissist but at least here I’m special, at least you will love me and for whatever reason my brain seems to value that more than eternal glory or whatever.”

“I’m a difficult man and this is a difficult place, I’ve just sheltered you from it so far.” Taeyong said.

You stepped closer to him until your lips were right by his ear.

“Then show me,” you whispered, “show me hell,” you stepped back, “show me what life here is really like and then I can make an informed choice, I can’t chose you if you don’t even give me a chance.”

“That seems fair, you can at least be Queen of Hell for a day” Taeyong agreed.

Which is how you ended up hours later back on the lift out of the city. This time you had no broken bones and you instead wore a dress of fire, courtesy of Yuta’s demon magic.

Taeyong led you through the circles of hell, through all the punishments, betrayers frozen in ice; tyrants and robber forced to swim in boiling blood; the eternal combat of the wrathful sullen and lazy and the lustful caught in the endless violent wind to name but a few.

“Hell is a horrible place for a lot of people, the city of Dis is the exception not the rule, to live there you have to live with that.”

“Then who are the people wondering around, in the villages outside the city?” you asked, not really wanting to dwell on the torture.

“The pain of torture dulls after a few thousand years and those people become free, everyone here is free because of that. After a few thousand years you can just get up and walk away and live a life again. I burned in fire for three thousand years until one day I just walked away and found the demons in the city,” Taeyong explained.

“So, the torture ends?” You asked him. Taeyong nodded,

“Pain has no power if you have experienced 1000 lifetimes of it, it just becomes normal.”

“Then I can live with it.” You said.

Taeyong looked surprised.

“It probably makes me a bad person but then I suppose that justifies my place here but if the torture ends then I can justify within myself living here, marrying you.”

“If I chose to stay, do I have to suffer the thousands of years?” you followed up.

“Does that change your answer?”

You didn’t know. But you didn’t think so, you just didn’t ever want to say something you weren’t totally sure about.

“But no, you wouldn’t, every millennium I can pardon someone, I have saved that for the chance someone ever choses to marry me,”

“Not the pessimist I always thought then,” you giggled. Taeyong laughed,

“It wasn’t optimism, it was fear… though the pain ends, I still didn’t want anyone who had made a choice to stay with me to have to experience it, because while it normalises after a thousand years the first couple hundred really are torture.”

“Well then I can’t really have any objections to hell then, or to such a thoughtful devil as you.”

“Would you like to sleep in my room tonight,” Taeyong asked suddenly.

“I knew there were other perks to Hell,” you joked.

“Well you’re a beautiful girl and I’m certainly no saint.”

When the sky turned from orange to blood red you were in Taeyong’s room. He was sitting up in his bed, shirt unbuttoned slightly, making the room feel even hotter than the inferno it already was.

You fiddled slightly with the bottom of your shirt before pulling it straight off, to reveal the lingerie that had been left in your drawer by Taeyong since day one. Taeyong smiled to himself dragging his finger over his lip slightly.

You continued, pulling down your shorts to reveal your panties, stepping ever closer towards Taeyong, who had begun to take his own shirt off as well, revealing his chest underneath.

You reached back and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the ground as you crawled onto the bed, towards Taeyong, fuelled by new confidence given to you by the look the devil. His eyes burning with lust.

You had barely touched him before he caught your arm and flipped you over, once again resting on his forearms above you but this time he kissed your neck.

“I’m the king of hell, I’m in charge here,” he said, bringing his hand up to massage your breast as he marked your neck, causing you to illicit a moan, any plans you had slipping away.

You watched him grin as he pulled away,

“You’re beautiful,” he noted. You noticed the same thing about him, it was clear he used to be an angel, but the scars on his chest, a product of hell somehow only made him more attractive. As you both paused your eyes travelled down to his underwear, where a wet patch had already formed at the tip of his dick.

Taeyong caught you staring,

“Wanna suck?” he asked and so you nodded but Taeyong stopped you as you leaned down to touch him.

“I want to hear you say it, I want to hear the sinful words, worth of the Queen of Hell.”

You had no problem obliging, you didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for this man at this point and you still weren’t a hundred percent sure why.

“I want to suck your cock, I want to choke on it” you said to him with a small smile, before once again leaning down and pulling at his waistband. Taeyong was pleasantly surprised by your own addition to the statement,

‘I didn’t realise you were such a good slut,” he grinned a grin that quickly turned into a moan as you took him into your mouth, pushing your head down until you felt him against the back of your throat causing you to gag before moving back up and down again. As you sucked you looked up at Taeyong, tears forming in your eyes, never breaking eye contact.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he said. It didn’t take long until Taeyong’s breathing got heavier and you swallowed his warm cum that burst into your mouth, not missing a drop.

He recovered quickly and before you realised it, he was kissing you again, his hands wasting no time in removing your own panties, that were already soaked.

“I’m glad I have this effect on you,” Taeyong smirked as he chucked them across the other side of the room. Taeyong’s fingers stroked over your wet entrance but before he could slide a finger in you grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Not today, I just want to feel you inside me,” you asked, and he was happy to oblige, just as you had been.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded. When you were ready you could feel him rubbing his dick over your wet folds, teasing you.

“I’ve gone months without sex down here because of you, just fuck me, please,” you begged. Taeyong immediately thrust his full length into you, but despite this initial urgency, he kept a slow torturous pace.

You whined in complaint which had no effect on Taeyong’s actions.

“This is what you get instead of a thousand years of torture baby, and also you feel so good, so tight around me, I want to savour it.” He said.

You moved your hips back to meet Taeyong, trying to get him to increase his pace.

“I’m sure Taeil would fuck me harder,” you teased which was all it took.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” Taeyong smirked before pulling out completely. Before you could even complain about the loss Taeyong thrust back into you again in tandem with a smack on your ass.

“You’re a bad girl, and bad girls get bad treatment.” He kept one hand on your hip and one hand grabbed your hair as he pumped into you hard and fast, your moans getting louder each time.

“If you don’t shut up Yuta will here you,” Taeyong complained, “but I bet a naughty slut like you would like that wouldn’t you,”

You moaned in agreement.

“I want to hear you say it,” Taeyong said, smacking your ass again.

“I’m a naughty slut who wants Yuta to hear me fucking you.” Taeyong groaned at your sinful words, his dick beginning to twitch inside you.

A few seconds later you felt his cum inside you and Taeyong continue to fuck it into you, which was enough to push you over the edge.

“Fuck!” you screamed out as Taeyong kept fucking you through the aftershocks, before pulling out and getting you to kay down next to him.

“I love you y/n,” he said, his eyes filled with affection, “even if you are a naughty girl.”

Two days later Taeil appeared at your door. It was 3pm in the afternoon when he knocked. Taeyong answered the door and went outside first, you didn’t go until he called you a few minutes later.

“Hello y/n, I am Taeil, Angel of Heaven.” He introduced himself.

“I am aware,” you replied curtly. You could see the fear in Taeyong’s eyes, and it made you want to cry, you couldn’t believe he still thought you would leave him.

“I am here to give you the chance to come to heaven, where you can have everything you ever wanted and live in perfect peace, instead of a tumultuous eternity in hell.” He began but you cut him short.

“I am fine here actually but thanks for the offer.”

Taeil didn’t look phased, maybe it had taken a while before the others agreed.

“I can give you everything, memories of your life on earth, the chance to meet your family again, here you will endure years of pain.”

You remained resolute.

“That’s a no thank you, have a nice day,” you said grabbing Taeyong’s hand and moving to head back inside

Taeil stopped you, his arm placed in front of you. He reached into his pocket and played a scene into your mind.

It was what you guessed was heaven and all you could feel was an immense sense of peace, you saw people around you smiling and cheers of laughter not screams.

“My answer is still no,” you said. Taeil looked perplexed.

“No one who has seen heaven has ever turned it down, what could be better than the everlasting peace?” he asked.

You looked up at Taeyong who still looked frantically worried and smiled. You saw Yuta hopping from foot to foot behind a bush with Yangyang to eavesdrop what was happening.

“Everlasting love,” you replied, “Everlasting friendship,” you continued, “and besides I reckon hell must be more fun anyway.”

Taeil took a few steps back, something close to anger appearing on his face.

“If you turn this offer down, I will never give it to you again,” Taeil asked. You shrugged.

“Have a nice flight back,” was all you said before leaning up and giving Taeyong a kiss on the cheek.

“I won’t want what I can have because I have all the things I need, and that is my peace.”

Taeyong wrapped his arms around you grinning,

“You really are one of a kind, kissed me first girl,” he remarked. Taeil scoffed.

“Have fun being damned together,” he said before heading back out the gate.

“Being damned never looked so good!” Yangyang called from behind the bush. You laughed, sure at that moment you had made the right choice.

Even if you hadn’t Taeil came back every year for the next thirty years, despite promising it would be the last each time, unwilling to accept that he had lost. Each time you found a creative way of telling him to get lost. Each year Taeyong looked less and less scared that you would leave him until he finally realised you never would.

“Get lost Taeil!” He called out, “My wife isn’t interested in your schemes and she never will be,” he shouted before he proceeded to make out with you in a very non-PG way causing Taeil to cover his eyes and run. After that he never returned.

A hundred years later you sat with Taeyong under the orange sky and smiled.

“Do you believe in fate now?” you asked, rubbing your thumb on the outside of his hand.

“I believe in my love for you, be that fate, the end to my torture or just sheer luck. Whichever it is I’m thankful for it, because hell is lonely but when you have someone with you, it’s just a very warm place with a lot of alcohol and screaming.”

Maybe the second part wasn’t so eloquent, but it was right. Hell wasn’t something to be feared when you had someone by your side. Because for Taeyong being alone had been more torturous than the fire.

At that moment Yuta’s demon child ran into the garden and set fire to the tablecloth and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Yuta then threw the child about a mile, probably a demon throwing high score.

The afterlife you had chosen wasn’t what most people had chosen, most people didn’t even get a choice and so when Taeyong kissed you in the darkness lit up by flames you felt like someone who was lucky. You didn’t know why this was the afterlife you lived or why Taeyong had ever meant so much. But you final realised that you didn’t need to know. That sometimes things could have vague answers and that was okay. As long as your love for Taeyong was clear, then so was the choice you had made.

As you had once shouted at Taeil whilst chucking a demon at him,

“What’s so good about resting in peace anyway,” you found resting in chaos much more entertaining.

#nct #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct scenarios #taeyong smut #taeyong imagines #nct smut #nct imagines #nct 127 #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #nct fluff

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Seven): Flying Towards An Early Grave

Notes: Still posting my little backlog, I will warn in advanced, the next chapter is the heist (finally) AND IT IS A CHONKER, but for now have a little appetizer with some fun times, smut, and foreshadowing!~

Word Count: 10860

Chapter Warnings: heavy foreshadowing, food, blowjobs, groping, protected vaginal sex, car sex

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V’s body is heavy as she gets to her apartment door, ready to curl up into bed and call it a day. She’s exhausted with adrenaline gone. She presses her thumb to the panel. The little intercom doorbell is also the lock, scanning and searching for SID validation. It takes a moment to scan, it seems to be lagging more lately.

Calling.

The intercom says it’s calling, why is it calling? She can hear the automated ringing and her lights inside are probably flashing. It only does this if the SID doesn’t match the apartment owner’s, assuming them a guest. V presses again.

Calling.

She presses harder.

Calling.

She tries her entire hand.

Calling.

She kicks her door, a heavy sound as her boot collides with it. That doesn’t help with the lock, but it makes her feel a little better. Just what she needs; bloody, sore, and locked out of her apartment for who fucking knows why? Her stomach growls as she pulls up the number for building maintenance.

“Megabuilding Maintenance, how can I help?”

“I’m locked out of my apartment,” V signs, her choker translator on.

“What do you mean?”

“The lock isn’t recognizing my SID.”

“Can I get your name and apartment number?”

V gives them the details and they say they’re sending a maintenance guy. All of the services floor is nearly shut down at the late hour, her stomach growling. No doubt the maintenance guy will take his sweet fucking time, so much for getting some decent sleep. She gets a burrito, a Nicola, and a little thing of ketchup from the machines. Sitting on the ground near her door, dumping ketchup on her burrito as she eats it.

By the time the guy arrives she’s finished eating, drinking, and is a little unsure what’s dried blood versus dried ketchup on her shirt. She hops to her feet when she sees the guy walking up, a massive case of resting bitch face. V doubts he wanted to be dragged out at three am to help unlock a door, but it’s not her fault the tech fucked up.

“You V?” he asks, voice gruff and annoyed.

“Yep.”

“Hard day?” His eyebrow raises, gaze focused on her blood stained flesh and chrome.

“Work.”

“Ah… I see,” he nods, “so, what's the issue with your door?”

Night City is one of the few places where one can just admit to being a mercenary for a living, even if it did earn her an odd look. V presses her hand to the lock button again and it once again initiates a call.

“Doesn’t recognize my SID.”

“Hmm, you are V, right?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Who the fuck else would I be? The building has a picture of me on file for fucks sake.”

“Hey, hey, nowadays with enough eddies anybody can look like anybody.”

“If I had an identity worth stealing, you really think I’d be living here?”

“Fair enough, let’s check something,” he pulls out a holo tablet, jacking it into the bottom of the intercom lock, “this will show what the lock is reading it as, try again.”

V keeps an eye on his tablet as she presses her hand back to the lock and the projected information starts to show. And for a moment she sees herself; her face, her name, her information, and all the shit Vik had to set up for her to have SID. Then in a blink of an eye it glitches out and the information shifts. She watches her nearly mugshot like photo shift into that of a man, with short dark hair and dark eyes. V [REDACTED] becomes Robert John Linder. Birthdate shifting from November 12th, 2056 to November 16, 1988. Birthplace shifting from Seven Devils, North Carolina to College Station, Texas.

Who the hell is this old man?

“Looks like it’s reading your SID chip as someone else's, strange, any chance you’ve been spiked by a ‘runner?”

“No, even if I was, not sure why they’d want to make my SID register to some senior citizen.”

“Weird, can’t think of how else this would happen? Seems like it starts to read your chip and then changes to this guy’s. Do you know him?”

“Don’t hang around old folks homes too much, actually. Just some random dude to me.”

“Hmmm.”

“I can promise you, I’m not a ninety year old cowboy man.”

“Somehow I noticed that, actually… looks like the guy is dead.”

“What?”

“Mmhmm, scroll down a bit and there’s the date his death certificate was issued,” the guy shows her, “you’ll probably need to have your SID looked at, see what’s wrong with it. For now, I can unlock it for you and have them add whoever this guy is to registered owners, so, you won’t be locked out until you fix it.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“But that does mean if this guy’s ghost decides to pop in for a visit, lock won’t stop him,” the man jokes, offering the first smile since he’s been here.

“Somehow I’ll handle it, thanks for the help, and if it’s not too much trouble can you forward me the details of that SID info?”

“Sure, no problem,” the maintenance man’s eyes glow and she can feel the very soft warmth and whirr of her neuroplant as it accepts the file.

She gives one final thanks as he unlocks her apartment and she’s finally able to step foot inside. Thankfully her door locks behind her and she makes a beeline for her shower, scrubbing blood and sweat from her skin; finding bruises, cuts, and flesh wounds she hadn’t noticed in the midst of fighting.

It takes her a little longer than expected to wind down for the night, the merc putting in her optic contacts and playing with the bot. Looking through its eyes, she has it twist and climb all throughout her apartment, making herself dizzy until she falls out of bed and bangs her head against the floor. Finally, putting the cute spider looking tech away when she feels the knot starting to form on her head. Then, setting her alarm and sleeping for the night.

V is still tired when her alarm vibrates beneath her pillow, waking her up as the sunlight streams in from her large window, warming her skin. She checks her phone, double checks the time and that Dex hasn’t sent the car for her yet. The young merc rushes through her morning routine; showering, brushing her teeth, dressing, and taking her medication with some Chromanticore in hopes of getting some energy back.

She’s out the door and has her mask on in a matter of minutes, phone buzzing with the message that Dex’s car is waiting for her. As she comes down the steps of her building she sees the same limousine and bodyguard waiting outside of it. But this time when he opens the door for her, there is no Dex, nobody. Chills creep their way up her spine, but she gets in nonetheless, sinking into the leather backseat as Dex’s guard starts to drive them away.

The guard is quiet, doesn’t explain where they’re going or why, V has a feeling he wouldn’t tell even if she asked. So, she doesn’t. Only the radio drones on, a mixture of news and occasional pop music from bands and singers she doesn’t know or care to know; an anouncer coming over the radio to speak somberly.

“Today marks the fifty-fourth anniversary of the attack on Arasaka Tower. Fifty-four years ago a group of terrorists stormed Arasaka Tower and detonated a bomb, which forever changed the history of our dear city. Devastating the lives of millions; thousands dying in the initial attack and more perishing in the aftermath as well. Today we ask for a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives in this senseless act of violence so many years ago….:”

A beat of silence, barely a moment, then the high energy voice returns.

“Now, after this short music break, we return with the heartwarming story of Stumpy, the three legged puppy who’s gone viral after the use of veterinary cyberware has given the pup a new lease on life!~”

V rolls her eyes, sounds about right, barely a moment for something so somber. No real grief or empathy, time to move on to a cute puppy because that keeps people happy and listening. She watches the city around her change, spotting the Valentino graffiti starting to cover the buildings and that they’re entering Heywood. She sends a heads up text to Jackie, letting him know they’re not far from his house.

A short moment after, the driver is parking outside Jackie’s garage and she watches the older merc walking out. The guard opens the limousine back door and Jackie relaxes when he sees V, climbing into the seat next to her.

“Hey, V, you figure out what’s going on?”

“Was sort of hoping you had…”

“Asked T-Bug, said it’s a surprise.”

“Not sure I like Bug’s idea of surprises.”

“Hey, hombre,” Jackie calls out to the guard as he starts to drive them away, “mind telling us where we’re headed?”

They’re met with silence, because of they are. V nervously wrings her hands as she watches for signs of where they’re going based on the passing scenery.

“Has to be something to do with prepping for the job, just wish I knew what.”

“Speaking of which, you got the bot on you?”

“Yeah, brought it just in case and if Bug’s there she’ll want to take a look. Wonder if there’s any chance of keeping the Flathead after this?”

She knows Dex said it’s a single use toy, but...who knows, maybe she could somehow keep it afterwards.

“Why’s that?”

“Its cute.”

“You think a military grade combat bot is cute?”

“It's a little spider.”

“You find the weirdest shit cute, I swear.”

“It is cute!”

“It’s-” Jackie looks out the window, “shit are we in Corpo Plaza?”

“Maybe we’re just passing through?”

As if only to prove her wrong, the limousine parks outside a store on Senate Avenue, the bright sign says Jinguji. Even looking through the window, it looks entirely like a place that her and Jackie do not belong. Brightly lit, immaculately clean with fancy designer clothes on display.

“We’re here,” the guard tells them and the doors open with the press of a button.

V and Jackie share a look before getting out of the limousine, standing before the Jinguji store like deers stuck in headlights.

“Dex can’t be serious, Jinguji?” Jackie says, scratching at the shaved underneath of his hair.

“Looks…. Fancy.”

“Corp store, designer; a sock in there will cost you a few thousand eddies.”

“I know he says we need to play corpo, but… I don’t know, it feels weird.”

“I’m sure Dex knows what he’s doing. But, uh, you gotta take off the mask, chica.”

“What, why?”

“‘Cause its fucking Jinguji, they’re not gonna let you through the door looking like that.”

“You’re one to talk, you got a ketchup stain on your shirt.”

“Firstly, that’s blood. Secondly, you’re a wearing a jacket you stole off a dead guy last week.”

“Not like he needs it!”

“Jackie, V!” A voice yells out, drawing the merc’s attention into the doorway of the store, T-Bug in realspace, wearing a black netrunning suit, “would you gonks stop bickering and get in here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mercs speak and sign in unison, falling the netrunner into the corp store.

There’s a large lit up advertisement at the back of the store. Gold decor dripping down from the ceiling, plush white couches, and an ice bucket with champagne. To her surprise, there’s no other shoppers within the store. A man in a tailored designer suit sits at the desk, greeting the two mercs as they walk in.

“Welcome to Jinguji, an oasis of elegance!~”

V gives an awkward nod and wave. She’s not sure what else to do. She doesn’t belong here; she knows that much. A dirty black leather jacket under the bright lights and old raggedy boots on shiny polished floors. The merc wants nothing more than to run out of the store, some of the clothes she sees displayed are nice, if she’s being honest. A few bit tacky for her taste, but others are cute or sexy with dramatic flair, but nothing she would ever really have a reason to wear.

“Mind telling us why the fuck we’re here, Bug?” Jackie asks and the netrunner chuckles.

“To get into Konpeki, you two will have to look the part. Rather than blindly guessing what will fit, Dex is flitting the bill and getting you both some corpo threads,” T-Bug explains, taking a seat on on of the couches.

“Where is everyone?”

“Store is rented out for the next couple hours, discretion. V, did you bring the bot?”

“Got it in my bag.”

“Lemme see, got to make sure it’s in working shape.” V puts the bot down on the table, T-Bug opening the case and looking over the bot, running diagnostics that the merc can’t begin to understand,

“Right this way, you two, I’m sure we’ll find something perfect for both of you,” the man who greeted them, grabs their attention again, “but it would be easier, if I have a full idea of your features, miss.”

“Told you,” Jackie taunts and V elbows him in the side, slowly taking off her mask and she feels bare. And she knows people have seen her face before, but this is work and it just feels… wrong.

“Wonderful, so we’ll begin with the gentlemen, I think you’ll find we have a wonderful array of fine suits in our men’s department.”

The man, who’s fancy name tag says Zane, shows them a vast collection of suits. They range from slick classic black ones, deep navy blues, florals, brights, embroidered, and every color she can imagine. Its hard to imagine the big merc in any of them. She’s always seen him in muscle shirts or his favorite red and black jacket. His eyes seem to land on a red suit with gold detailing.

“Well-”

“Point is to blend in, not stand out, Jack,” T-Bug calls out, scolding him without having to even look at him or his choice in suit.

“Just black then.”

“Wise choice, sir, our tailors will get your measurements and get the perfect fit for you.”

Another employee guides Jackie to a fitting room and V feels the sudden urge to sink into the ground, Zane’s attention now solely on her. She scratches at her cheek and flips on her choker translator.

“Now, what about you? We have plenty of formal options in women’s fashion as well. A more androgynous business suit or perhaps a dress?”

She’s shown mannequins dressed in tight body con dresses with various necklines, materials, colors, and a few well fitted pants suits. Her eyes are drawn to the dresses, if she’s being honest. She has a rather small collection of skirts and dresses, for off days, but she never has a chance to wear anything more formal than a sundress or mini skirt over leggings. These dresses are dramatic, gorgeous; some with mesh inlays or cut outs.

But, like Bug said; they’re there to blend in, not stand out. This isn’t an outfit for fun but for work and if something goes wrong, the last thing she needs is this going to shit and having to battle in a tight constricting dress or too high of heels.

“I think a pants suit in black would be best; keep it simple.”

“Understood.”

V taken to a fitting room, given the chance to put on the ready to buy pantsuits in privacy. A stark white button up blouse, black blazer, and black slacks. And she knows immediately it will need to be tailored to suit her; the pants longer than her legs and the shirt loose around her chest. The tailor comes in after a moment and begins measuring, marking where things need to be taken in and raised. V left trying not to get embarrassed each time the measuring tape is wrapped around a part of her.

“Is there a way to make the blazer sleeves easier to roll up?” She signs once her arms are done being measured. The material is stiffer and harder to get tight around her elbows when trying; she wants her Mantis Blades easily used.

“Hmm, lets see, maybe it’d be best to use it more like an accessory rather than wearing it properly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could just wear it over your shoulders like a cape,” the woman drapes it that way across V’s shoulders.

“Not my thing.”

“Then you can carry it, like this,” the woman shows holding the jacket back over her shoulder with her fingers hooked in it’s collar. It looks alright, casual enough, though having a jacket and not wearing it still reads as strange to the merc.

“I’ll consider that.”

“It can also help keep you cool. Now, lets talk about makeup, hair, and shoes.”

V listens and nods as the woman gives recommendations; getting V a pair of low heeled black synthetic leather shoes. Then going into advice on hair; recommending french twist, a bun, or a low ponytail depending on how formal V wants to go. The woman recommends simple classic makeup styles and a few other tips for the merc to meet her full corpo potential. Finally, with measurements, adjustments, and everything marked; V is allowed to change back into her street clothes. She leaves the room, seeing Jackie already in his regular clothes again and sitting next to T-Bug.

“We have all the measurements down and will begin altering the clothes immediately.”

“Good,” T-Bug confirms with Zane, “remember we need them finished and delivered to The Afterlife by five.”

“I assure you, our tailors are already on it.”

“V,” T-Bug calls out when she sees the short merc, “got something for you.”

V sits down on the couch, watching as T-Bug sets out a pair of white hearing aids. They’re designed like her normal ones, just more boring.

“Hearing aids? I already have those.”

“These are special, optic camo. No corpo worth their salt has anything less than top of the line phonic implants, with press of a button or a thought, these will go invisible.. They’ll work just like your regular ones, but look like you’re wearing nothing. Try them out.”

She switches her blue hearing aids with the new ones, they fit well and she pushes the thought of turning the camo on. V catches her reflection in a mirror in the store, she can feel them, but see nothing.

“Perfect, no one will be any the wiser. This also means no signing or translator.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I know its not ideal, but it’s just the reality of it. Corpo types like this; lose your hearing, new implants. Vocal chords fried, get a new set in gold. Get paralyzed, new legs or entire nervous system. Go blind, new optics. They see you signing or using hearing aids, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

“I get it.”

“No sweat, I’ll do the talking, V,” Jackie comforts her and then turns his attention to Bug, “So, what now?”

“We’ll go over the full plan this evening at The Afterlife, you two need to be there by five. We’ll talk with Dex and you’ll be in Konpeki by eight tonight, relic in hand before midnight strikes.”

“So we get to kick back and relax until five?”

“As long as you’re there by five and ready to go, I couldn’t care less what you do, Jack.”

“Said this place was rented out, right?” V asks, noticing a dramatic purple dress that reminds her of a certain tarot card reader’s favorite color.

“Yeah, why?”

“How much longer is this place reserved?”

“Another hour, maybe two and again, I ask why?”

“Ow, hell that for, chica?” Jackie looks up when V kicks him in the shin.

“Call Misty, dumbass. Buy her something nice, make a date out of it before we go on the job.” V tells him, remembering Misty’s concerns from the other night. It might ease her mind a bit to have a nice afternoon with Jackie, dress shopping and a fancy lunch in City Center. Just a chance to enjoy themselves.

“Dex is nice V, but sincerely doubt he wants to pay for Misty a new dress.”

“Oh no, if only one of us had scammed ten grand off of Militech, oh wait,” V says, pulling the Militech credchip from her bag and sees the twinkle in Jackie’s eyes.

“You serious, V?”

“Should get her a hell of a nice dress, maybe you a suit, and a nice fancy lunch; play corpo for an afternoon.”

“Shit, V,” he takes the credchip from her fingers, “what’d I do without you?”

“You two are going to make me puke,” T-Bug says, rolling her eyes while Jackie is already calling up Misty.

“Just wait until Misty gets here and the constant pet names start, you’ll really lose your lunch.”

“Ugh, more reason to get out of here, I’ll be taking the Flathead with me to keep in working shape.”

“Can I ask you something before you go?”

“Got more code you need me to check?”

“Not quite, had an issue with my SID chip last night, was wondering if there was a chance I was hacked?”

“You get spiked, jaina?” Jackie asks when he finishes chatting with Misty.

“Don’t know, couldn’t unlock my door last night, reader thought I was some old dude.”

“Hmm, SID hacks are tricky, we’re going to be using one for your covers in Konpeki. But they usually only alter your ID a bit and die after so many hours. Thing is, that wouldn’t really benefit anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, I don’t think anyone would get much out of pretending I’m some ninety year old dead fuck.”

“I can jack in, see if I find anything in your soft.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

V shifts her back to T-Bug, sweeping her hair off the nape of her neck and showing her neuroports. The netrunner pushes some loose strands out of the way and slots her personal jack into V’s biomon. A few moments pass and V can feel her cheeks flushing a bit, a weird feeling to having T-Bug directly touch her and jack in to her tech. This is the first time they’ve met in person, may even be the first time Bug has seen her face.

“Everything looks clear to me, SID is registering as yours, no signs of a hack,” Bug explains, jacking out.

“Weird, maintenance guy showed last night it was showing as some dead guy.”

“Strange, must be some sort of glitch.”

“Or you’re being haunted.”

“Haha, very funny, Jackie.”

“Hello… “

A soft voice calls out and V lights up seeing Misty poking her head into the fancy luxury store, looking every bit as nervous as V had been. Jackie is up and rushing towards Misty in a heart beat, pulling her into a hug and twirling her around, kissing her head.

“You’re here, mi carina.”

“Babe,” Misty says, giggiling as she’s put back down on her feet, then steps up on her tip toes to kiss Jackie’s lips.

“Gonna puke,” T-Bug comments low under her breath and V tries not to laugh.

“V, Bug,” Misty smiles at the two, “glad I got here before you two left out.”

“What’s up?”

Jackie walks Misty over closer to them, large hand on her hip as she rummage through her purse. After a moment, she pulls out three beaded bracelets. A mixture of beads in black, gold, and blue mottled with gold. T-Bug is already raising her eyebrow and V’s not sure how well Misty’s spiritualism will go over with the runner.

“These are protection bracelets. Lapis lazuli, black tourmaline, and gold sheen obsidian. They’re all meant to help with creating a protective spiritual barrier, it should keep you all safe from negative energies and frequencies.”

“Ay, you still in knots over this, mi alma?”

“It would just make me feel better knowing you have a little more protection, babe.”

Misty slides the biggest of the bracelets onto Jackie’s wrist and he gives her a soft smile, kissing her temple before starts to give the others to V and Bug. The young merc slides it on with a smile and T-Bug takes it in hand, with a less enthusiasm.

“Thanks, Misty, I appreciate it,” V tells her and elbows T-Bug in the side, earning her a glare, but the netrunner plays nice.

“Thanks…”

“I know it’s not much, but a little protection is better than none and should keep energies bright.”

“Right….”

“Well,” V cuts in before Bug can say anything else, “we’ll be getting out of your hair, have fun you two!~”

“Thanks again, V, see you two at The Afterlife.”

Jackie waves them off, Bug packing up and V putting her usual hearing aids in their case, away in her pocket. The runner and young merc leave the store, Dex’s guard already left a while ago, so V will have to either call her car or use the public transit. Come to think of it, she’s not sure how she’s going to kill time until its game time.

“V,” Bug stops her outside Jinguji before they go their separate ways for now, “gotta ask, you really believe in that spiritual crap?”

“No, but she does and it makes her happy, so, why not?”

“I guess, if she really thinks a bracelet is going to save us from Arasaka.”

“Won’t kill you to accessorize a little, Bug.”

“Whatever you say.”

They say their goodbyes and V is left thinking again about what she wants to do to pass the time. She could do a few short gigs, but her mind is preoccupied with the heist. Ultimately, V finds herself taking the NCART to El Coyote Cojo. Mostly just because she’s bored and maybe something or someone there will occupy her time. The bar isn’t too active at the early hour and she doesn’t see Mama Welles around.

“V!” Pepe greets her when she walks through.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Same old, same old. Jaquito is still out, Senora Welles is out shopping, but Jake is taking out the trash in the back if you want to say hi.”

“I think I might go and do just that.”

Playing grab ass with one of her go to lays seems like a solid way to waste her time. V walks through the bar and out one of the backdoors that open to the alley with the dumpster. Sure enough, Jake is there tossing away a trash bag. He’s around 6’5 about as tall as Jackie, muscular, with a head of ginger hair shaved down on the shades and a thick beard.

She throws her arms around his waist, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt. He teases his fingers over her forearms, the chrome of his Gorilla Fingers cyberware sending a soft chill through her skin.

“Hey, V, new chrome?” He runs over the chrome patterns in her arms.

She hums against his back in response, not wanting to move. But, he twists in her arms. He cups her face in chromed fingers, for a moment, his browns furrow in confusion.

“No hearing aids?”

She pulls away, enough space for her to sign.

“Camouflage ones, it and the blades are necessary for the gig.”

“Oh yeah, Jackie’s been talking everyone to death about this heist you two got planned. He better be damn glad no one here’s got loose lips.” His hands drop from her face and loosely wrap around her waist, fingers starting to graze over her ass.

“Can’t blame him for being excited.”

“Hmmm and you?”

“Nervous.”

“Figured as much,” he squeezes her ass, “you looking for a distraction?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be letting you grope my ass in broad daylight, now would I?”

A low dry chuckle echoes in his chest and he dives in for a kiss. It’s quick and rough, his beard scratching over her skin before he pulls away. She can’t help but giggle as he pulls her back into the bar, hand still shamelessly on her ass.

“Pepe! I’m going on lunch break!”

“Yeah yeah, go on.”

“C’mon,” Jake guides her out of the bar, “lemme at least buy you lunch first.”

“You actually trying to be nice today?”

“Something like that.”

V settles into his passenger side seat as Jake climbs behind the wheel. They pull away from El Coyote Cojo, driving around Heywood and finding a drive in to go through, Burgers, fries, and pop bought; Jake finds a relatively empty place to park meanwhile V has already begun taking the pickles off her burgers.

“So, you wanna actually talk about it?” Jake asks, taking a bite of his burger.

“Not much to talk about,” she signs with salt covered fingers and a mouthful of fries, “biggest job of our career. Nerves are natural.”

Not to mention the shady client, the fact they’re robbing Arasaka, the fact they’re robbing Yorinobu specifically, the fact they have to play corpo, that V will have to force herself not to sign, and that every fiber of her being is screaming that something is going to go wrong. Then she has the weirdness of her SID chip fucking up on her mind as well.

“Yeah, but you overthink, so I know that little brain of yours is spinning in a billion directions.”

V shrugs, “No more than usual, so, what’s been going on with you?”

“Not much, been thinking of quitting the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, get to work the day shift so I can pick the twins up from school and spend some time with them. But, day shift in a bar basically means staring at a wall and waiting for Senora Welles to cut me a paycheck.”

“You don’t like getting paid to sit around and look pretty?”

“Not gonna lie, it’d be hard to find a boss as forgiving as Senora Welles.”

“Not every boss would let you take an hour or longer lunch just to play grab ass with me?”

“Eh, pretty sure if she knew what I was doing with her precious adopted daughter, she’d already have me fired.”

“Oh please, she’s known you longer than me.”

“Yeah, but she likes you more, you’re basically her kid and I’m her employee,” he pauses watching V roll her eyes, “you know, she’s been worrying a lot about you and Jackie, lately. She knows things are getting riskier with the merc work and-”

V quiets him with a kiss, not wanting to hear another word of this. She comes to him for a distraction. The kiss is messy and he tastes like greasy fast food, but she’s sure she’s not any better, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She cups his jaw with one hand, scratching over his beard and as he deepens the kiss, she drops her other hand into his lap. He’s already half hard in his jeans, pressing into her touch as she gropes him through the denim. Jake curses against her lips, breaking their kiss.

“You talk too much, honey,” she chastises him, a soft smile on her lips as she undoes his belt buckle, he lifts his hips, allowing space to pull his pants and boxer down just enough to get his cock out.

She pulls her legs up into her seat, on her knees so she can fully lean over the center console into his lap. V pushes hair back behind her ear and takes his dick into her mouth; not bothering to tease, swallowing around him. The taste of him on her tongue causes a heat in her center to stir, getting slick between her thighs as she bobs her head up and down. He groans as she strokes and sucks him, teasing her tongue ring along the head of his cock. The bitterness of his precum and the salt of his skin making her dizzy with need.

His chrome fingers slide across the expanse of her back, reaching out to grab her ass. He gropes and fondles her through her pants, the rough feeling of her jeans and panties being pressed against her sensitive wet folds. Jake curses as V alternates between sucking, licking, and taking him as deep into her throat as she can.

He tugs on her hair, bleached strands wrapped around chrome, pulling her mouth off him. Drool covering his cock and her lips. She pouts at him for stopping her, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. He gives her a swat on the ass, barely hard enough to sting.

“Want inside of you.”

That’s all the explanation he gives and she pulls away, thankful that the windows of his car have steamed from body heat, she begins to quickly strip off her clothes. Its clumsy as she tries to strip down in a car seat, throwing her jacket off into the back, kicking off her boots, before yanking her pants and panties down in one fluid movement. She curses herself for not wearing a skirt or something with easier access. A part of her mind recognizes how stupid she must look, still in her shirt, bra, and her socks staying on after tugging off her pants. But lust has killed her ability to think, just wanting him inside of her. Jake has rolled a condom on, but otherwise has simply watched the flustered merc strip down.

V’s easily able to jump into his lap, straddling him and having her back to the steering wheel. She steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other lining his cock up with her entrance, sinking herself down onto his dick. She’s slick enough that she takes him all in one movement, both cursing out at the feeling. The stretch of his cock inside of her and the tightness of her cunt around him. Jake digs his nails into her hips and bounces her on his cock, fucking up into her. He takes complete control, setting a brutal pace that leaves V reeling with every thrust. All she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and moan against his sweaty skin, accepting each harsh movement of him inside of her.

The tension inside of her grows tighter with every thrust, every smack of skin against skin like a strike of a match trying to grow a larger flame. She can’t think, can’t focus, every thought consumed with pleasure and a desire to be pushed over the edge. Bruises form on her hips where he hold her, where he uses her for pleasure. The chair of his cheap car creaks with each bounce and a few thrusts slams her lower back into the steering wheel, but she doesn’t care, couldn’t if she tried. She whines and whimpers against his skin, feeling her end nearing.

And then the tension snaps, orgasm hitting her fast and hard, she digs her nails into his skin, squirming and writhing as she moans out her pleasure. Mind a haze as she’s overwhelmed with her pleasure. He thrusts a few more times and she nearly chokes at the continued stimulation, the feeling of him fucking into her already sensitive cunt. Then he curses, bringing her hips down fully to meet his own one last time before he cums, spilling his seed inside the condom.

V rolls off of him and back into the passenger seat, hating the empty feeling Her skin is sweaty and flushed, as much she hates it, she needs to get her clothes back on. Fumbling to get her pants and panties out of the passenger side floorboard. Pulling them on and shoving her feet in her boots. V waits as Jake ties off the condom and adjusts his jeans, opening the car door and tossing the condom away into a nearby dumpster.

The Night City air feels cool compared to the heat of the car after fucking, she watches him light up a cigarette outside of the car and grimaces. He climbs back into the driver's seat, keeping the window rolled down and she makes a gagging sound as the smoke hits her nose.

“You coming back to the bar with me?” He asks, blowing smoke out of the window.

“No,” she signs, thankful the choker translator can survive sweat, “I’ll catch the train back to Watson.”

“Let strangers see you sweaty and fuck-dazed?”

“Well, it’s a good look for me.”

“Can’t really deny that, now can I.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs her jacket getting out of the car, walking away on still slightly wobbly legs. V takes the train back to Watson, fiddling with her holophone the entire way. The merc gets off at the stop closest to her megabuilding and makes her way to her apartment; lock recognizing her on the first try.

V checks the time and decides to get ready to go to The Afterlife. Those nerves she had managed to fuck away for a moment creep up on her all over again. She shakes her head not wanting to focus on her anxieties, she strips down and grabs a shower, cleaning off the sweat from her liaison.

The merc pulls her hair back in a small low-set ponytail and does her makeup to the recommendations of the stylist. She gets dressed and uses the new camouflaged hearing aids, she takes her mask with her too. Though she knows she can’t wear it into Konpeki, she’ll still be walking into The Afterlife. That thought alone twists her guts into nervous knots.

The Afterlife is the go to bar for the top of their game, Major Leagues mercs and fixers. It’s where the biggest deals are made, the easiest place to catch a drink and a job, but only mercs or fixers of a certain standard are allowed through its doors. Jackie brags about the place like it’s heaven for mercenaries. If they’re going to become regular fixtures of the bar after this, then she’d prefer to maintain her usual level of anonymity for fixers moving forward. She’ll drop the mask when they’re finally in corpo threads.

V slides on Misty’s bracelet as well, fiddling with the beads meant to provide some form of protection. Her mind goes back to Misty’s tarot card reading, while she doesn’t put much weight on it, her friend’s fortune telling often sticks with her. The Wheel of Fortune is sticking out to her; she could care less if the cards thinks she’s stupid or if she’s about to fall in love, the latter of which so ridiculous she can’t help but dismiss it. But the idea of conflict sticks out, fear of the heist going wrong has been heavy on her mind. Something always goes slightly wrong, no job is perfect. But this has the highest stakes she’s ever encountered.

V has new cyberware, the best possible tech and upgrades from Vik. She has Jackie, her best choom and partner in crime who’s never let her down. There’s T-Bug, her friend and brilliant netrunner who could bring half of Night City down if she wished. Their fixer is Dex, one of the best in regards to his job, he has everything to gain by having their backs covered. They have military grade tech and an inside look into Konpeki. They are going in under the best possible circumstances.

She has to remind herself, review this again and again, that if something goes wrong someone there should be able to take care of it. But, those nerves don’t fade even as she leaves her apartment.

The Afterlife isn’t far from V’s apartment, practically a hop and skip downtown. Barely five minutes pass before she’s under the roofed alley, nearing the club. Vivid cyan and purple graffiti across the wall, trash along the way.

“Porque ya tengo planes para esta noche!"

The voice is familiar, Jackie’s and V pressed her back to the side of the vending machine, he’s telling someone he already has plans for tonight. He sounds frustrated, like he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out.

“Virgen Santsima, ma! Te vas a enterar mañana,” a beat of silence, “también te quiero, ma."

The conversation ways on her, he’s talking to Senora Welles. Remembering Jake talking about her feelings, that the matriarch has been worrying herself half to death. And it sounds like Jackie has been on the receiving end of that worry for a while. V pulls her mask on and rounds the corner past the vending machine, stepping in front of the main entrance of The Afterlife. Her friend standing in the doorway under the harsh green light.

“Heh, about time, chica,” he greets, tucking his phone into his pocket, she catches the blue of Misty’s bracelet mingled with his usual gold ones.

“What’s going on?”

“Ehhh, y'know. She's worried about me - whatever. Can't help herself, y'know - checkin’ to see if I'm not rottin' in some dumpster… like most of the Welles boys. Been worse lately.”

“Why’s that?”

“Started climbin' our way up. Got more an' more knives out there, waitin' to stab us in the back. Higher stakes, higher risk. She can see that.”

“Look like you’re about to keel over.” V reaches out, touching the red blotches on his skin, stress and sweat inflaming his skin.

“Years of merc work, and yet, still sweat like a roasted pig when I talk to my ma. It's really startin' to wear on me. More tell her everythin's OK, more I feel like I'm straight-up lyin’.”

“Well, hopefully you had a nice date with Misty at least.”

“Went about as well as talking to my ma right now,” he scratches at the back of his neck, “for two women who don’t get along, they sure agree when it comes to worrying about me.”

“They worry because they love you, worse things in life than people giving a damn about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t matter none. Not anymore, Afterlife, here we come, baby!”

Jackie changes the topic and she can’t really blame him for it, rubbing his hands together and practically cheering in excitement. This is everything they’ve talked about, everything they’ve said they want. So, why does she still have a lump in her throat?

“Afterlife… we’re really here.”

“Does not get any higher, choom. And you know somethin' else? We fuckin' earned it, chica!”

“No point in standing around then, is there?’

“Ready to get your cherry popped?” he laughs leading her into the club, “Yeeeah! Come on!”

“Little late for that one, Jack,” she teases as they make their way down the stairs, a pair of double doors opening up for them. A short step down into a small hallway with mercs and fixers alike talking under the green glow of a sign bearing the club’s name.

“Place used to be a morgue - you believe that?”

“Really?”

“I know, right? Way before our time, that. When proper burials were still a thing.”

They come to another set of doors, through the small window V can see the true club main room beyond them. But a man stands guarding them, around Jackie’s height and a similar bulky build. Cyberware indented along his jawline and nose. His face is stony, eyes sharp when Jackie and V stop before him, then he puts a large hand out in front of him.

“And who might you clowns be?”

“Jackie and V,” the taller of the mercs says with a grin, “Dexter Deshawn is waitin’ on us.”

The bouncer gives them a look and V is glad for her mask helping hide her emotions. His expression is dismissive, looking down on them, making her feel all at once that she has not earned her place in this club. A baby merc, new to the city, barely six months under her belt and she’s standing at the Afterlife. How the fuck did she get here?

“Yo, Dex. Got two live ones sayin' they're here to see ya,” his optics glow as he calls Dex, “Yeah? All right, then. Says he needs a second or two. Go get yourselves drinks or somethin'.”

The doors open to a green and cyan lit club. Music louder as the barrier breaks away, people fill the room. Some sipping on alcohol and other’s puffing away on cigarettes; the smell of nicotine and booze wafting from the bar.

“Way ahead o' you, viejo,” Jackie laughs and leads the way in.

V follows him around the corner; the large bar coming into full view. It’s lit green, the same neon sign reading Afterlife at the top of it. A bartender in a blue button up slings drinks to the patrons. Floor to ceiling columns, like tubes, are places around the club each filled with water with a dancer twirling around inside with strategically place chrome clothing covering the most private parts of them. Everything is basked in that green neon light, despite being surrounded by mercs like her, she feels so completely out of place.

Jackie marches proudly across the bar floor, stride confident and unwavering.

“This is it… The heart o' Night City! That's it right there - beating. Hear it?” he proclaims as they pass by rows of half closed off booths, “Can you imagine? Susan Forrest, Boa Boa, maybe even Morgan Blackhand… All sat on those stools, fell asleep on that same bar.”

Jackie sits in one of the barstools, beaming and brimming with excitement. His eyes wide as he takes it all in, the place he’s dreamed of for all his years. V climbs into the seat next to him, placing an elbow on the bar, leaning her head onto her hand, as she shifts to face him.

“Doubt that puts us in the same league as them,” V teases, Morgan Blackhand brought down Arasaka Tower. They’re stealing a biochip, hardly the same thing.

“Oh, but we are. They just don't know it yet,” Jackie tells her with a wink and she can’t help but roll her eyes.

“We-”

V drops her hand when she realizes Jackie’s attention has gone elsewhere, an older woman walking past the two. She’s nothing unusual, older looking than most of the crowd here, sure but nothing immediately stands out to V. An older woman with long gray hair shaved on one side and a bright yellow cropped sweater, She marches her way across the bar and into a blue lit booth, moving past a guard.

“'Ey. See that old lady there?”

“Yeah, didn’t know grannies were your type,” V taunts him again, he’s always given her shit for her taste in older people, yet he’s ogling some grandma?

“Fuck off,” he playfully smacks her, but nearly knocks her from her chair, “that’s fuckin’ Rogue, best fixer in all o' Night City.”

“Thought Dex was the best?”

“Pff… Rogue was linin' up jobs when Dex was still shittin' in diapers, heh. Place belongs to her.”

“What can I getcha?” The bartender cuts in, hands down on the bar in front of them. She’s a woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a soft round face.

V doesn’t drink on the job, something she’s always stuck to. But, this is Jackie’s dream and she knows how he likes to celebrate. If nothing else, their banter has failed to undo her nerves, maybe booze will do the trick.

“You order,” she signs to Jackie and he grins.

“You drinkin’?”

“Special night, pick me something nice.”

“Two Tequila Old Fashioneds with a splash of cerveza and a chili garnish.”

“A duo of Johnny Silverhands, comin' up,” the bartender starts to put the drinks together, “somebody did their homework.”

“Guessing the dog ate mine,” V signs, confused because what the fuck is a silver hand?

“Age-old tradition. Drinks're named after our regulars,” she explains, putting the drinks down in front of the mercs.

“What’d I have to do to get a drink named after me?”

“Snuff it,” she grins, “ In mind-blowingly spectacular fashion, Mid-op'd be best.”

“Aah, what a beaut of a tradition!”

“Steep price for a drink, not going to lie,” V signs, letting her nerves speak for her, if only for a moment. Her guts are in knots, she can only hope the alcohol will untangle. All of the merc’s usual stress relieving tactics other than a weed brownie, have failed to do much of anything.

“Hey, everyone's gotta go sometime, right? Why not in style? Death’s nothing but the final flourish!”

“To hitting the major leagues,” she signs, holding her shot in the other hand.

“To becoming legends.”

She pushes her mask just up above her mouth, careful not to smudge her lipstick and they throw back their shots. Smooth but strong booze with a kick of spice from the garnish, a burn in her throat. Not her style, but she’s had worse. She pushes her mask back down, regarding the bartender, her nametag says Claire.

“So, who else can I drink here?” She still has no idea who Silverhand is, but maybe there’s a name she does recognize, reading the posted drink menu.

“All on the menu…”

“'Cept there's a spot missing. Morgan Blackhand, right?”

“Heh, true. Morgan's yet to make up his mind he's dead or still kickin',” Claire tells Jackie and V rolls her eyes.

“Think he’s still alive? It’s been years,” Jackie asks Claire.

“No way he’s still alive,.” The radio was just talking about the devastation of the tower going down, if that many folks were killed who were just near it, then there’s no way someone who was in the tower survived.

“Why not? Look at Rogue. Peeps from that era - a species unto themselves.”

“And one day we’re gonna be there too,” Jackie probably proclaims, “speaking of which, name’s Jackie Welles if you want to write down my recipe.”

“Sure.” There’s a playfulness in her tone, just going along with Jackie’s whims.

“Shot of vodka on the rocks, lime juice, ginger beer… oh, and most importantly - a splash of love.”

“Haha, I'll remember that.”

“Gag,” V signs just to see the glare Jackie levels her way, the playful smack of her arm.

“Okay, what’s your drink then?”

“Literally, the only thing I drink is like cherry cola with a splash of bourbon.”

“You know those are usually supposed to be reversed, the bourbon and coke.”

“Maybe so, but, and hear me out… cherry cola tastes better.”

“Heard you were Dex’s latest finds,” Claire tells them.

“Just biz, no big deal.”

“How'd you know?” V raises an eyebrow behind her mask.

“My job to know. Look around - how do you think meres earn their reps? Through gossip rivaling that of schoolgirls, that's how.”

“Mr. DeShawn see you now,” a booming voice rings out behind the mercs, turning around she sees Dex’s bodyguard. The first time she’s heard his voice.

“Love to hang, imbibe the vibe, but we got an important meeting,” Jackie tells Claire, getting up from his seat and V following suit, throwing some cash down on the bar.

“Break a leg.”

“This way,” the bodyguard tells them and the mercs falls in line behind him. He leads them around the bar, past the crowd and through a door towards the back of the club. The lighting shifting, more blue than green as they walk past another vending machine.

“Damn, holmes, you're huge... Work out?” Jackie asks, unable to stand the silence.

“Hmm.” A vague grunt as they pass through another door, the music fading as they get further from the main bar. But V can just hear the starting beat of some old dad rock, something about losing another day to pointless drudgery.

“Same here, y'know, in the ring. You do some kinda exotic shit? Kempo? Ninjitsu?”

Nothing as they turn another corner.

“Think you could take me, drop me?”

“Jackie…” Why must he sound like he’s picking a fight with the guy?

“In here,” the guard says, stopping and standing in front of another door.

"Este pinche tipo..."

The door opens and they’re greeted to the first room with warm lighting, though it just seems to be a storage corner. With a cabinet and vending machine. But to the left are barely see through walls of a booth that takes up half the room, through them V can just see T-Bug’s outline and leather couches.

They walk around, the front of the booth opened. A wrap around black leather couch goes around the back wall and left side of the booth. Dex sat on the back portion, talking into a holo about Excelsior and cold hard eddies. T-Bug sat to side, a table in the center of the room with the Flathead, Jinguji boxes, and shards placed on neat little index cards. There’s a small disconnect leather seat in the right corner, next to the door.

“Gotta bounce,” Dex hangs up, “well, if it ain’t Miss V.”

“Whole family in one place! Hah! Finally!”

“That’s one way to put it,” T-Bug teases and a shine of blue catches V’s eye, the netrunner wearing Misty’s bracelet. She can’t help but smile.

“A’ight, then… Set your butts down comfy,” Dex tells them. Jackie plops himself onto the larger couch next to T-Bug, comfortably spreading his arms over the back of it while V takes the smaller seat, putting her at an angle to see everyone. She stifles a laugh, seeing Jackie’s leg excitedly bounce up and down.

“Sweet booth, is it soundproof?”

“Jackie…” T-Bug scolds and V stifles a laugh.

“Now, now, Mr. Welles is right. We gon' be goin' over some sensitive material. But if it's all right with y'all, I'd like to start with a question for Miss V… Evelyn Parker - how'd you fare?”

All eyes on her, stomach still twisted in a vise, this is her chance. She’s got to tell him, but she doesn’t want Evelyn hurt. Some fixers will go to any length to get revenge on a client or merc who does them dirty. But, he’s got a right to know the shit she pulled.

“Intel was good, brain dance was exactly what we needed….”

“So, she just wanna see wha'ss good, or was there somethin' else?”

“Honestly?”

“Wouldn’t ask for anything else, Miss V.”

“She’s high risk as far as clients go. Shady as fuck, naïve as all hell, and genuinely thought she could make me another offer.”

“Another offer?” Dex’s brow raises about his sunglasses.

“Wanted me to cut you out for more cash, told her no, of course. But, wouldn’t do business with her again, if I were you.”

“Cut me out… shiiiit, now that’s rich,” Dex laughs, Jackie nervously laughing along, “Clients... never learn, do they?”

“You’re not pissed?”

“Lived in NC too long to blow my top every time some amateur thinks they can take me for a ride. Parker ain't the first and sure as hell won't be the last.”

“Fair enough,” V lets out a sigh, thankful if nothing else that Dex doesn’t seem prone to getting too mad at Evelyn. Maybe she’s being too kind, but she can’t help but think Evelyn is more naive than malicious when it comes to the offer. A stranger to the merc world.

“I do appreciate you sharin' this info, though, Miss V. You see, trust… …is essential in any partnership that's to be long-lasting and fruitful.”

“Figured you had a right to know, so, what’s the plan?”

“This.”

Dex gestures towards the shards on the table, V takes the one in front of her and slides it into her shard slot. UI and graphics lighting up her mask, a map pulling up on the tech.

“Me and Dex've already covered the fine detes. Ops wise, should be a stroll on the beach.”

“Elaborate, I wanna hear it.”

“A Delamain'll drop your asses at the front door of Konpeki Plaza,” a picture of the hotel shows, then two names, “You'll stroll right in thanks to your false identities. Then, with Bug's help, you'll breach the hotel's subnet…”

“Mine and the Flathead's help.” Images of the hotel’s interior and the bot flash by.

“Last but not least, you slip into Yorinobu's penthouse and klep the Relic,” his words bring up images of the heir and his suite.

“Goes without sayin' we do this on the hush - ideally no bodies, not a one.” The shard shows them The Relic and then blips out.

“You'll have T-Bug on comms for the duration. Time for your burnin' questions.”

“What’s our cover?” V asks, they’ve been told a thousand times they’ll be acting like corpos, but that’d be hard to do if they have no idea what their story is suppose to be.

“Hello, Ramón Victorino,” T-Bug looks at Jackie and then to V, “and you’re Hannah Conwell.”

“Ramón - yeah, OK. What do we say we're there for?”

“Biz as usual. Corpo arms deal. Case anyone asks, you there for a bogus meetin' with Arasaka's defense rep - Hajime Taki. Anything else?”

“How do we get in the penthouse?”

“Yorinobu's got barely any muscle. Hardest part'll be penthouse security. If we wanna disable, we'll need to neutralize Konpeki's dweller - elite ‘runner monitoring the hotel's subnet twenty-four seven. Only catch is there's no way to get in the dweller's den from the outside.”

“Hold on, how you want us to get inside a room you can't get into?”

“Trust me when I say whatever hitch you think up. T-Bug's solved it already”

“This is where the Flathead comes in. You'll have to get him in the ventilation shafts, guide him to the dweller and force the dweller to… take a break. Flathead'll stay there, jacked into the dweller, but thanks to that I’ll be able to roll out your red carpet into the penthouse.”

“Anything else?”

“Transports a Delamain?” She has no idea if the company has an ASL sign like most other corporations and doesn’t have time to think of one on the fly.

“Preemest cab company in all Night City… Nada mal,” hackie tells her.

“DeShawn don't ever work with anyone but the best. I consider Delamain just that.”

“Yeah, who needs creepy, nosy cab drivers when you've got a clean AI to get you from point A to point B in style?”

“And how he bags a permit to operate every year's still a mystery.”

“If everythin' goes as planned, Delamain'll drop you back here. If things get sticky, he'll head for the safe house.”

“Which is?”

“The No-Tell Motel. Quiet, no questions asked. Make our next move from there. But I'm flat certain that won't be necessary. Though, there is one more consideration for if it does.”

“What’s that?”

“Hate to put you on the spot, Miss V,” Dex explains, “but if shit goes sour, I’m gonna need to know who I’m letting into the hotel. Mask can’t go with to Konpeki, so I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what was hiding behind that thing.”

“Oh… yeah, that makes sense.”

Even if she’d have Jackie with her when shit goes down, Dex is trusting her with this heist. The least she can do is trust him to see her face and not write her off or sell her out to The Herd if the chance arised. Not that she can see that happening anyway…

“Don’t even know why you wore the thing in, V,” Jackie teases.

“Well, there are other fixers here, didn’t want to give away my face…”

V carefully pulls off her mask, feeling exposed all over again, a new set of eyes on her face. The merc knows how she looks; five feet with a head of bleach blonde hair and big gray eyes. Not the picture one conjures in their mind when they think of a capable, strong, badass merc. Sprinkle in her disability and the reactions to her deafness; most people think she’s not a threat, weak.

“That what you’ve been hiding behind that mask? All that fuss, for what?” Dex laughs.

“Hard to take,” she stumbles over her English trying to sign at the same time, “be taken- seriously sometimes when you’re five foot nothing, deaf, and look like…”

“Gutterpunk Barbie,” Jackie cuts in to tease, earning him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Fuck off.”

“Trust me, Miss V, you pull off this job; ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna underestimate you”

“That’s the hope...”

“Any other questions?”

“I got a question. When do we get to the real reason we're all here?” Jackie asks, shooting a wink V’s way.

“Now's a good a time as any. Fresh talent gets thirty percent always, but I'm willin' to make an exception in your case. I'ma cut you a nice, juicy forty as a bonus for your honesty, V.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Ka-ching baby!~”

“Last thing, Konpeki's got a strict no-iron policy. Security gates, the works. So you dawgs'll leave your lead-spitters in the ride, take the Flathead inside in its case.”

“Got your suits from Jinguji on the table.”

“¡Chido!”

“Thanks, Bug.”

“So, not to count chickens, but when'll we see our eddies?”

“All depends how Ms. Parker unrolls herself or her role, but a week, two tops is my guess.”

“And what do we do in the mean time?”

“You sit tight, heads down, 'cause ol' uncle Arasaka be watching. Now, as that ol’ Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either,” he tells them as he leaves the booth, “Your chariot awaits outside.”

“My cue to delta, too. Gotta prep to jack in, be there when you come on comms. Any other issues, now's your chance,” T-Bug tells them, shifting her feet and something catches V’s eye. Delta V emblazoned on the netrunner’s boots, was that there before?

“Plan - your take?” V shakes the thought from her head, must be a brand or a runner thing V doesn’t know.

“Enough, I hope, to put me in a luxury Creton Villa from which I'll never set foot in cyberspace again.”

“Send me a postcard?”

“No offense, but I'm gonna burn any and all bridges - need a clean break.”

“Gonna take Misty’s bracelet with you?” Jackie teases, grinning because he caught it too.

“Shut up,” she tells him, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, just realized something, what’s gonna happen to our clothes? I don’t want to lose my mask…”

“No worries, put them in the boxes, we’ll have ‘em sent back to your places.”

“Alright then, lets get this show on the road.”

“Let's get to work, go ahead and get changed, Delamain is parked out front, uh, okay-”Bug starts to trip over her words when the two mercs start taking off their jackets, “you can use the bathrooms.”

“Eh,”

Jackie and V shrug their shoulders, the outfits are right there. Not much point in dragging them out to the bathroom. The pair shared a bedroom for the better half of six months, a room with one bed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty, boundaries destroyed a long while back.

“Why do I bother,” T-Bug rolls her eyes and leaves the booth, letting the pair change.

V kicks off her boots and takes off her socks, Jackie tugging off his jewelry first.

“So, you’re nerves still going crazy?” Jackie asks her as she tugs off her shirt, his own tossed off.

“What do you mean?” She tugs off her pants, both mercs soon standing around in their underwear.

“Can’t hide that shit from me, chica, been giving me twice as much hell as usual. You’re freaking out.”

“High stakes, Jack, of course I’m a nervous mess. Means I give a shit.”

She pulls the slack on and tugs on the white blouse, buttoning it up. The two of them putting on the corpo clothes, similar in look. Black slacks, white button up tops, black suit jackets, and Misty’s beaded bracelets for protection. Each perfectly tailored for their body types.

“Don’t sweat it so much, V, we got this.” He sticks his fist out.

“Sure fuckin’ hope so.” She bumps her fist to his.

Their street clothes are packed away in the boxes, V puts in her optic contacts and slide on her heels, then they start to make their way out of the booth. But, Jackie stops her with a hand on her shoulder and he taps his throat. She catches on taking off her choker translator, neck feeling bare and odd without the tech. With that they leave out through the club, Jackie carrying the Flathead case and the smaller merc keeps her head down as best she can. Her stomach still in knots as they spot the Delamain in the parking lot.

Her life is about to change forever; hopefully for the best. She’s on the cusp of having everything she’s wanted since she’s come to the city. The verge of earning the respect of everyone in this city and finally feeling like she’s someone, like she’s done something.

So, why does she feel like she’s about to puke?

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #jackie welles #t-bug #dexter deshawn #female v #aidan v becker #aidan becker #original female v

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httpteddybear · 5 years

Text

Cherry | Harry Styles

SUMMARY; After Harry gets his heart broken once again, he swears off love, until Y/n and her dog bring him a delicious gift and their friendship along with it.

WARNING(S); Cursing, disgustingly adorable fluff, a v cute cameo from my real dog Peachy!! (send her some kisses), slow burn, angst if you squint

WORD COUNT; 7.8k

AUTHORS NOTE; Hey, this is for @tiostyles Fine Line challenge, give her a follow! Also, this is my first time publishing my writing so I’m so so sorry if it’s terrible. Forgive me if it's written badly. I wrote this on Tumblr so sorry if it looks funny or anything. Also pls give all the love to my dog peachy she loves attention. (thanks to @lostincalum @h0tsos for reading a bit of this) Happy Reading!!

“I don’t know what to say to you except I’m sorry.”

Harry was everything but okay. He’d just found out that the girl he had pined over for months obviously didn’t feel the same. Now Harry was a smart man. He knew the ins and outs of his career and who he should and shouldn’t let into his life, which is why he was so baffled that he’d chosen the wrong person to let into his heart. She’d met Gemma and Anne, even a few of his cousins, and they’d all loved her. It was quite heart wrenching because even though she’d just told him the number one thing that would end a relationship, he still loved her.

“J-Just don’t call him baby, okay?”

—

It’d been almost two months since he’d seen Camille and his life wasn’t really alright. He wasn’t fully over her, she was incorporated into his daily life. His clothes, his thoughts, his eating habits, his favourite tv shows, everything. Somehow everyone found out within a matter of days what had happened, so he got an earful from Jeff. Then he got the sympathy from his family.

The only thing worse than both of those was the pity. When he went to get coffee the barista said she “hoped he was okay.” While giving him his coffee, and then Harry had seen a group of fans and the first thing that was said to him was “you poor baby.” That had set him off. Because even though it was tough, he was not a baby. He could do his own laundry and make his own food. He was not dependent on Camille for any of that, it was just nice to have someone by his side in a non-platonic way. Don’t get him wrong, he still put on a smile as they belittled him a bit. It was what he did.

So currently Harry was sitting on his couch, watching Disney movies. He felt more comfortable in his London home than the one in L.A. so he gathered his essentials and hopped on a plane. He was in a big knit sweater and some sweats. He felt content as ever. He had sort of swore off love when the Camille situation happened, so this feeling of contentment was nice. Inside his home he didn’t really have to worry about prying eyes or people judging him, so wrapped in large clothes looking very small was okay. It was okay outside of home too, but he always had a knack for looking somewhat presentable. He liked to be pretty. As did everyone but it made Harry feel like he was on top of the world. If he had the courage to wear a dress he damn sure would.

As Harry was finishing up he’d decided it was time for a cat nap. So that’s what he did. He didn’t bother to take off his clothes, just lazily pulling himself up the stairs and into his room before crashing down on his bed, pulling the duvet over his feet and up to his neck before rolling to his right side. He’d always been a side sleeper. From what his mom said, at least.

—

“Peachy! Who’s my good girl? Who’s my best girl?”

Somehow peach had found the other shoe Y/n was looking for, and that warranted some love. Y/n smiled as the Samoyed licked her happily. They were about to go on a walk to explore the new neighborhood. Y/n had judged moved into an adorable two-bedroom, one-bath, yellow house. Y/n was the epitome of someone you’d find living in that type of house. With her vanilla perfume, big fluffy Samoyed dog, and overall happy personality, the homeowner thought she was the perfect candidate to rent to.

Going on her way, Y/n decided she’d take a walk somewhere she hasn’t driven through, her best option was essentially a rich community, but she didn’t care. Her dirty shoes hit the pavement alongside Peach, watching as her dog sniffed everything in sight. Turning the corner, she found the cutest little bakery, and her excitement showed. Walking up to the brick building, she’d immediately seen the sign in bold. “NO DOGS.” Frowning, Y/n looked around. She started to walk to the pole she was going to tie peach too, but then she heard squeals.

“Mommy! Doggie!”

It didn’t bother her, so she rerouted.

“Hi miss, is it okay if my dog loves on your little munchkin? She’s very sweet and I’ve heard your child’s excitement.”

The mother smiled at how kind the girl was before nodding. Y/n brought peach over, and she was overjoyed to see the tiny child immediately clutching on.

After a few moments of her chatting with the mother, her stomach decided to make itself know. So she politely excused herself cursing at her stomach for ruining an adorable moment. Tying peach to the grey pole, she trotted inside the bakery. It was mostly empty minus the couple sharing a moment by the window and the assumed college student typing away.

“Hi, welcome to Wall Street Bakery! What can I get you?”

Y/n had to scan over the menu, they had everything from cackle to scones, so it was a difficult choice. But she’d finally agreed on a cup of whipped cream, for peach, and a half a dozen cupcakes. She didn’t know what she’d do with the extra, but she’d figure it out. Pulling nineteen pounds from her purse, she told the girl to keep the change, and she was on her way.

Peach had, as expected, ate all the whipped cream from the medium size cup. Y/n had a single cupcake before she was stuffed, in her defense, she had four slices of pizza, so this was just a tiny snack for her. She didn’t know why she ordered six, but she knew she’d find something to do with the remaining. She and peach started to walk again, taking all kinds of turns and twists, but not enough to lose their tracking. Suddenly Y/n came to a beautiful White House. It looked elegant, so she stopped to admire.

In her mind it wasn’t really creepy, she was just admiring the luxury. The more she looked the clearer everything became. Including the figure in the window of the second story. He sat idle, maybe reading or listening to music, she couldn’t quite tell. He looked dainty, fragile even. So Y/n knew where the five cupcakes would go. She swiftly pulled out a sticky note and a pen and got to work.

‘Hopefully, this sweetens up your day!’

-Y/n :)

—

Harry was listening to music. Mainly Stevie Nicks if we’re honest. He’d decided that today was going to be a relaxing day, which means that going to the studio was out of the agenda. Jeff was okay with it, stating that he had to have a meeting with someone else anyway. So Harry had a fully free relax day. So social media, television, and laziness were his full schedule. Harry had almost gotten caught up with his timeline then his stomach rumbled. He got up, going downstairs. He walked through the living room, still hearing Disney Channel from the tv. Finally getting to the kitchen, he started looking.

Now, after countless walk between the cabinets and the fridge, Harry just gave up. He decided to be a tiny bit productive by getting the mail. Harry slipped his feet in the weirdly angled slippers by the door and walked outside. Harry looked like a proper dad right now, clad in pajama sweat pants, a robe with no shirt under, and fuzzy slippers. As soon as he got outside he saw a pastel pink box with a yellow sticky note on it. Harry wasn’t crazy, but maybe this was something from Camille. Maybe a box of his favourite red velvet cupcakes that her mom made, or maybe a truce. He tried not to get his hopes up. He also wasn’t stupid. So there was no way he was opening that box inside. Just in case.

So, carefully, he grabbed the sticky note from on top of the box. His eyes scanned the letters as a small smile came to his face. Whoever this was, seemed nice and trustworthy, from what he could gather from the tiny paper. So he opened the box, just having to take the small piece of tape that was on the box. Inside we’re a mix of vanilla and chocolate cupcakes, and while it wasn’t red velvet, they looked pretty promising. Again, Harry didn’t know this stranger, and he was a bit of a skeptic when it came to random gifts on his doorstep. But for an unknown reason, he felt inclined to just trust his gut. He was getting far too hangry to worry about death.

He picked up a chocolate cupcake and bit off about half in one bite. Trust and believe that he moaned at the taste. When you deprive yourself of sweets for a healthy diet, a bite into any kind of sweet felt like you were on acid in cake land. So Harry forgot all about the mail and swiftly took the box inside, kicking the door closed with his foot. Now he was almost one hundred percent sure that his whole day would be filled with the sweet-savory taste of these cupcakes.

Harry was very grateful for y/n the cupcake giver, whoever they may be.

Y/n felt like she was doing well in life, not astronomically good, but well. She didn’t have any major issues, she was generally acceptable by society. Well, her generation society, cause, of course, some piercing, tattoos, weight, and anything seemly not normal to grandmas around the world was a sin. She got okay grades in school and had a nice job. She had enough money for a tiny yellow house, a dog, and of course herself, so in her mind, she was doing more than good. but for some reason, not having a significant other was the biggest problem for anyone who found out. Y/n had boyfriends, girlfriends, flings, she dabbled in just about anything she felt, but for the past three years, getting her and her pet a life was the most important thing at the time. Now, y/n wasn’t opposed to having someone around. Maybe the cute girl at the coffee shop, her curly hair, dark skin contrasting against striking blue eyes, and pearly white smile was enough to give y/n butterflies as she finished her scone that day. Or the cute boy in the window, there was just something about him. Y/n liked him enough to give him five beautiful delicious cupcakes, so that should say something.

Pop culture was something that y/n was very interested in. Every now and then she’d find herself drooling over Calum Hood on her feed or staring at a paused shot of Zendaya in Euphoria for twenty-three minutes. She loved seeing people grow and she could even say that she was a fan. In fact, if you showed her the music video for Best Song Ever, she’d probably burst in your face with “Niall, do the shimmy, do the shimmy, do the shimmy, and Zayn pirouette and Louis do the splits, and Liam you stay exactly where you are because you are PERFECT,”

Y/n loved things like that, it was amazing to see people get credit when they deserve it. Sure she was heartbroken when My Chemical Romance broke up, maybe she cried for two hours when One Direction broke up, but she got over it. She could proudly listen to Welcome to the Black Parade without crying and she even kept up with Niall and Harry, not like she used to, but she tried to like a picture every now and then. Y/n was a go with the flow kind of girl, she moved on from things quickly and saw the good in things. which is why she was very confused seeing #camillerowecancelled all over her timeline. it was hard to not click on it, but y/n was having a good day and she did not need to indulge in things like that, she left that behind when she deleted Wattpad in 2014.

“Ma’am?”

Y/n nearly forgot that she was at a pet store, social media does that.

“Oh! Yes, hi. I was just looking to see if you guys had any Huskies or Pitbulls?”

Y/n was on a mission to get Peach a friend. She felt bad that the 6-month-old puppy had to be all alone while she was at work, so the only option was getting another dog to keep her company. Peach got on well with just about every dog, so it wasn’t a life-changing decision, she just had to find a dog that Peachy would get on well with.

The worker showed her and Peach to the dog area and just left, for that she was thankful. She had always talked to Peach and she intended to ask her about the dogs she got excited about but she was sure the worker would’ve thought she was crazy. So she walked around a bit, looking at dogs and talking to Peach. Then, she nearly dropped her phone. She ran to the glass swiftly, looking at the tiny pup. It was a Husky-Chow Chow mix, and she knew she already loved her, she had no name yet either. Peach saw y/n get excited and started wagging her tail. soon enough, a puppy was on in front of her and peach couldn’t be happier to see the mini bear-like dog.

“She’s only about eight weeks old, and a lot of work, are you sure?”

Y/n couldn’t believe the audacity of the question. Of course, she wanted a tiny bear scampering around, going on adventures with her and peach. So she signed about thirty papers as quick as she could. She came to the name paper and the question hung in the air. What did she want to name the tiny bear? With Peach, she got a few days to be creative, and the samoyed was just peachy, so she named her Peach. Y/n searched her brain for names until she couldn’t think anymore. Then she squealed. She does that a lot.

Now, Y/n was on her way home, little Pipkin in her lap, peach sat in the passenger seat as she jammed out to Lana Del Rey. Pip seemed to be having the time of her life, happy to be out of the confined cage. Y/n was, as you’d say, living her best life. She really didn’t have a care in the world. No one could really blame her. Y/n was pretty sure she just scored the cutest dog in all of London.

“Summertime and the living’s easy!”:

Y/n made it home in record time, she's pretty sure she was speeding, but Peach seemed very excited so she wanted them to be able to interact. She put Pip’s tiny leash and harness on, which was proved to be useless. Pip just kept tangling herself in Y/n’s legs and nearly got trampled by Peach. So, Pip got off scot-free just being carried. Peach was sniffing the tiny animal as soon as Y/n stepped in the door.

“Peachy, hold on I promise I’ll put her down in a sec.”

After getting settled, Y/n carefully set Pipkin on the ground, going to the couch to watch the two dogs interact. Peach sniffed Pipkin and vice versa, both faces have been in the butt of the other in addition to their own. They ran around the house for a bit, then the yard. They ate together for the first time, Peach even tried to share her food. They got on well, just like Y/n had predicted, so she decided it was time for a group walk. Y/n put a pastel hoodie over her tiny black camisole crop-top and exchanged her slides for converse, then they were out the door.

Pip seemed to walk better with Peach as Y/n helped guide. She went the same way as yesterday, finding she liked the scenic route even if it was longer. She walked passed the coffee shop, even smiling at the cute curly-haired girl. She passed the bakery this time, she wasn’t feeling sweets today. She walked quite a bit, even taking a few selfies of all three of them. Y/n was excited. She and Peach had a new companion. It might also be the rush of the fact that she's pretty sure the cute window boy is out in his lawn. She tried to keep cool, even almost went to the other side of the street but peach wasn’t gonna let that happen. It seems already Pip has become a rebel because she stayed with Peach. Y/n trained them, but they weren’t like Army dogs, so she let them practically pull her until two houses before his. She fixed herself up a bit, checking that her posture didn’t resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame.

She got closer and she could already feel the butterflies swirling in her tummy. Peach and Pip must’ve felt it too, because closer they got, the closer to Y/n the dogs got. Especially Pip, but I’m sure its just cause she’s very tiny compared to the man, his hand could probably fit Pip in its palm. Y/n contemplated talking to him, which she did until she was nearly up in his face. When she saw him clearly, oh boy. Butterflies were an understatement. it was like a swarm of fuzzy bumblebees was tickling every part of her tummy. Y/n can definitely confirm that curly hair and bright eyes were essentially her type as of now.

“The boy from the window!”

If Y/n wanted to die before it was nothing compared to now. she literally wanted London to swallow her and her dogs until they were in the middle of nowhere with no proof of their existence. Pip and Peach weren’t bothered, sitting idle in the sun. The gate blocked out a bit of Y/n’s beet-red face, not as much as she would have wished.

Harry had decided to go outside. It was a pretty nice day for London, the sun was even out. So after copious amounts of sunscreen, some more presentable clothing, just in case of a fan, and some slides, he was on his way to his larger than the normal front yard. He planned on being out for a bit, so he brought snacks and drinks too. His mother taught him the habit. She always had some sort of snack in her purse and she almost always had those mini water bottles.

He lived in a pretty secluded part of London, but he still wanted to be prepared if a fan came up to him. Harry didn’t want to sound like an ass but more often than not, he didn’t want to take pictures. He was all for living in the moment. After always having a camera on you for about six years, you’d get sick of it too. It's not that he didn’t like meeting fans, he loved it. They made him who he was, but almost every one of them wanted a picture to document that they met him. It's albeit sad, the fact that if you just said that you met him, everyone would ask for proof. Trust does get a bit tainted from fame.

Harry was almost ready to go inside, he was near sunburnt, and if he didn't get inside his mom would scold him. Now some people might think that he's an adult and that he doesn't need to listen to her. Harry thinks different. His mom is such a kind soul but if you make her mad enough to scold you, oh she’ll scold you. Harry didn't like the feel of the cold aloe vera either. He’d kept it in the fridge, it was mean to cool you down and soothe you, but that's maybe a five minute cool. His had been in the fridge for about two months. Then, he saw a fluffy cloud walking alongside a very tiny bear, so he stayed. Even to just get a closer glance at the dogs.

Now imagine this, you’re on your lawn, waiting for two dogs to pass by, but they stop at your gate. You’re curious and, in this case, you think it might be a fan. what would be the face you made if the first thing that person said was,

“The boy from the window!”

It took him a minute to even process the words the girl just spoke, he was on autopilot walking to his gate and unlocking it. He went up to the girl, she looked sweet, she was very pretty and looked like she could model but also like she had just run three miles, her face was very red. Harry didn’t mention it. Instead, he said,

“Pardon?”

He couldn’t tell who was redder. that was an idiot thing to say, he could see it now if this angel really was famous, the headlines would probably be at his neck, making jokes about how he had shit pickup lines, but he did. That probably warranted cheating in his mind.

Y/n couldn’t believe she was about to explain that she was being a creep but she didn’t know what else to say, she couldn’t just let the silence sit but holy shit, she was talking to Harry Styles. Her stomach said barf on his feet but her mind said to play it cool, she chooses the latter.

“I, uh, yesterday, I saw you sat in the window, and you looked a bit sad, at least from where I was standing, so I left five cupcakes at your doorstep. I’m Y/n.”

Y/n saw his face shift, but his eyes showed immediate confusion.

“How’d you get through the gate?”

Way to go y/n, you trespassed. You finally meet a boy, well, see a boy, and you fuck it up by trespassing? yay.

“I- It was actually open a bit and you looked sad. Listen, I'm sorry but please don't send me to jail. Pip and Peachy need me to feed them and I need my tiny house I beg you just like punch me instead I sw-”

Y/n couldn’t help herself. From her perspective she made a damn good case, cause no one could take the person who has two dogs to jail, Well, they could, but morally? yeah right bitch.

“Hey, don’t worry, yeah? just let me pet your dogs and we’ll call a truce.”

Y/n didn’t think this could get any better. She met Harry Styles, and he likes her dogs. Not gonna lie, Y/n thought he was a cat person, sure he could be a ray of sunshine, but he had major resting ‘step a centimeter too close to me and I’ll kill you’ face. Her need to scream right now was a ten on a scale of one to nine. Sure she kept her composure and would until she got comfortable, but if she was alone, she’d break a glass. One Direction among, various other artists, shaped her taste in music all through high school. She listened to No Control pretty much every day of freshman year, it was on her morning playlist.

Y/n zoned out, caught up in her thoughts, but when she did come back from the wave of nostalgia, she saw possibly a once in a lifetime moment. Her dogs, snuggled up into harry, as he sat there in all his handsome glory.

“I completely forgot to introduce m’self. I’m Harry.”

he held a kind smile, it didn’t fully reach his eyes, but it was genuine.

“I know who you are, congratulations on the new song, by the way.”

He didn’t miss a beat before asking,

“Would you like a picture?”

Y/n honestly didn’t know what to do. Would saying no be too rude? ‘Cause she did not have the energy to pull out her phone.

“Oh, no thanks, actually.”

He seemed, almost relived? It was confusing. Y/n didn’t meet celebrities on the regular, but she was almost one hundred percent sure that he would have thought she was rude.

After talking and letting Harry pet her dogs a bit more, she, unfortunately, had to go. She let him know, they exchanged hugs, and she said a sorrowful goodbye to Harry. It was weird, sometimes she forgot that people she looked up too were just like her at some point. maybe playing with a Tamagotchi or beating one of their friends at BopIt. It truly was a ‘rags to riches’ story for so many famous people.

Y/n finally got home, after taking a few pit stops, letting Peach and Pip do what they needed to do. She was relieved to see her tiny yellow house, it held a lot of character for one, Y/n even went as far as naming it Lanana. It was a dumb combination of lemon and banana, re; her house colour. Second, her feet were pretty much throbbing. Pip was acting like she was dying from walking and Peach immediately lied on the floor. Y/n also found the rug to be pretty comfortable as she lied on it, staring at her surroundings.

Her cacti seemed to be doing well, probably cause it was fake. It seemed fairly clean, so she didn’t have to worry about that tomorrow. her tapestry of corgis seemed to have come down on one side, but other than that her walls looked genuinely okay, she has yet to put a hole in them. and her books on the coffee table were still unmoved. Y/n didn’t really read them, but who has books on their coffee table that they actually read? The ceiling was pretty bland though, maybe she’d buy something to put on it.

Y/n rolled over and pulled out her phone. her eyes were probably going to hurt later. Whenever she started scrolling, it didn’t matter which app, she had trouble stopping. But she’d get up eventually, if not, Peach would probably maul her if she didn’t get her peanut butter covered meds. Y/n debated going on twitter, but she didn't really want to see anything on there, opting for Instagram, she got into a comfortable position and started scrolling.

Harry was very, very frustrated. He had gotten a sunburn and that scold from his mom. Anne went on for about fifteen minutes about how he’d get skin cancer and how he’ll feel like leather by the time he’s fifty. She had good intentions, but Harry had thin patients. He did keep it under wraps, he had too. It’d be a whole other scolding if he got snappy with his mum. He actually talked to her for ten minutes, more or less, about what was going on in his life and etcetera before his mum called it a night.

He kept thinking about you, well you and your dogs. Sure human interaction was appealing, puppy interaction was essential. Had you been anyone else, excluding his mum and a few friends, Harry would have called security. He just chose to trust his gut and the dogs that you were with.

It was a rare feeling that harry got around dogs. Not like the love you give your significant other, it was less intimate. More like the love you give a child or someone you love very much. Harry almost considered getting a dog. Big or small the creatures were loyal, always waiting for you to get home and following you through the house. They were very reliable and dependant on their owners. Harry thought that was something he needed. Someone to depend on him, keep him grounded and let him know he was wanted. He had wanted a dog up until he realized that he was too busy. He was always busy now. Getting ready to release a new album, having to give his all for it to be what he imagined. He barely had time to himself, a pet would be too much to handle.

Had Harry realized a singing career would jeopardize his opportunity to get a dog, he would have never auditioned in the first place. Harry always had a love for animals. Now, when you hear that you take into account people's fears, with Harry, you didn’t have to. By the age of three, he was trotting up to garden snakes, helping to untangle them from whatever twig they were stuck in. He helped spiders outside and whatever you can think of that someone would fear, he’d do it. Not because he was brave, because if you told him to try and run over a tiny stream in-between the grass, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you no and throw a fit. Harry was just gentle, in a lot of aspects.

He was gentle when he broke up with people, he was gentle when his bunny was getting ready to pass away, he was gentle when his sister was stressed looking for colleges, he was just gentle. which came with a lot of selflessness. Everything was Harry’s fault, in the sense that he blamed himself for a lot of things. He still blamed himself for Camille. Her falling out of love wasn’t his fault, she made that clear, but he couldn’t help but nitpick his flaws. The was he sometimes zoned out while she talked, or when he had a meeting but she had an off day, he felt terrible leaving Camille alone. Harry was off.

He wasn’t broken, he felt okay, there was no metaphorical hole in his heart. Harry was fine. Except for when he wasn’t. The nights of alcohol and screaming led to nothingness. No more screaming, no more soft cuddles in the early hours. Harry was indifferent about it. On the one hand, he was glad. He had calm peaceful nights and his liquor cabinet was almost always full again. On the other hand, his bed felt awfully empty. He still slept on his side, it felt like she was still lingering. Even with the million times, he washed the sheets, she still felt like she was right there.

Harry hoped he’d get over her.

Y/n was running detrimentally late. She’d gotten the best job interview and guess what? She got up an hour too late. By the eighth time she snoozed, she realized she had to be up. So she did some shitty ‘natural’ makeup, threw on a blazer, a cami under it, and the matching pants. She still looked bomb, Y/n would never doubt that. Especially when her confidence needed to be high. So now that Y/n was pulling up to get coffee, she’d regretted getting up so late.

The drive-thru was packed, everyone getting their own coffee. Y/n opted to go inside, coffee was like her push to get through the day and a Trenta should be enough to keep her somewhat lively. She still had to wait in a line inside, but this one was shorter. She tapped her thigh and scrolled through Instagram until she was at the counter. The barista was cute, having cool dyed hair was something Y/n gravitated towards, she could never get her hair a crazy colour, having to work serious jobs all the time. She always had to stick to somewhat natural. She’d rebelled at some point in middle school with bright, neon red hair. Then she’d stuck to natural colours, neon didn't look that good on her.

–

She picked up her coffee, taking a sip before starting her journey to her car. Well, she was, then the universe decided she needed a cute cliche.

“Oh! shit, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking an-”

–

“and I just bumped into you, I’m sorry oh god.”

Harry recognized Y/n, and he wanted to say hi. Apparently, his version of hi was coffee spilled all over her shirt. He didn’t mean to, but the profuse apologizing was kind of cute.

“It’s fine love, saw you ‘nd thought I’d say hello.”

Harry caught Y/n blush at that. Albeit she got flustered over the tiniest things. She was quite cute now that Harry wasn’t distracted by dogs. She had a very nice style, besides the fact that there was now a stain on her camisole. She nearly matched the cafe chairs with her pants and blazer. It was cute.

She was cute.

–

To say Y/n was shocked was an understatement. For once a cute guy wanted to talk to her and she didn’t have to pine over him for months first. It was nearly a miracle. Y/n was a nice girl but confidence wasn’t always her strong suit. She couldn’t just talk to people, no no, she usually had to make an idiot of herself first. With the looming failure over her head and her heart racing, it made it very hard for Y/n to make new friends.

“Oh, for sure, uh I’m in a bit of a sticky situation.”

He held a finger up, signaling her to wait. He was discouraged she’d think he was weird and leave. But after coming back outside, a hand full of towelettes, he saw she was still there. Y/n took the damp fabric, wiping her blazer a bit, the only place the stain was visible was her blazer. Thank god for her camisole being black otherwise Harry would be able to tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Sure she likes attention but not wearing a bra was solely hatred. Primarily Y/n had underwire bras, they were like hell around your boobs. So she opted out, it wasn’t like she expected to see Harry. He’d probably already noticed, it’d gotten considerably cold. He hadn’t said anything though, so there wasn’t much to dwell on.

Y/n patted herself down, thankfully getting most of the coffee stench out of her clothing. She’d forgotten all about why she was wearing a blazer or her interview. Y/n had her priorities all off, of course, Harry was more important than her interview, logically no, but Y/n wasn’t thinking with her head. Who would?

Harry was trying to decide whether or not he should ask for her number, was it too soon? What if he looked too desperate? The press would eat that up, he could already hear a tacky headline being typed. Y/n didn’t look like the type of girl that would care about that type of stuff. Desperate was surely socially constructed. Harry was obviously in too deep, who cared about any of that? he was gonna go for it.

Y/n was starting to see a difference in her blazer as the stain dried. Harry seemed spaced out, literally. He looked like he was on Mars. Harry looked like he was gonna say something, as he looked Y/n in the eyes for the first time.

She was gorgeous. Sure he’d dated models and beautiful women, but this was like home-brewed, authentic beauty. Her hair looked so soft, it was the type of hair that matched a lions mane, one he could imagine all over the pillow next to him. He liked Y/n, she was cute. After seeing her a few times Harry was almost drawn to her. She had an expensive personality. Not the kind of snobby, rich expensive, but rich with delicacies. She was kind to strangers she spoke to, and her dogs fit right with her, almost giving her a throne of cute, fluffy, kindness. The music in the coffee shop was heard outside, Harry swayed his body a bit to the beat.

“So, since we’ve run into each other a few times, I guess the universe thinks we’re soulmates.”

Harry didn’t need to rip off the bandaid, Y/n had just done it for him. Her smooth words flowed to him like silk, sure maybe Harry was getting a bit stalkerish, but it was all with good intention. If Y/n could be confident enough to say that and smile on, surely getting her number shouldn’t be that hard.

“So, ehm, I was wondering if I could ‘ve your number?”

Y/n was properly freaking out. Who wouldn’t? Harry looked at her with the most adorable gleaming eyes and just how could Y/n ever say no to that? He was her type but elevated. He had the bad boy vibe, but a heart of gold. Y/n liked to think of him as a milk dud oddly. But he and the mild dud alike had a hard, chocolate exterior, but sweet, chewy, caramel insides. He was ethereal.

“Yes, yeah absolutely.”

It was now about a month after that. Harry and Y/n were going strong in the friend zone. Every time Harry asked Y/n out she was busy and vice-versa. Somehow the universe had gotten them together, but now it was like it vanished. All the work was now in their hands. It wasn’t as if having a date with one another was work, it wasn’t. Frankly, they really did enjoy each other's company, even through texts. But it was their literal work.

Y/n couldn’t get a day off to save her life. Her boss was a bit of a dick. On top of it, most days off were spent graciously on the couch, feet propped up, and two dogs cuddling into her, all three intrigued by SpongeBob and Squidward arguing. Harry was in the middle of finishing up his album, so most of his time was spent at the studio. His days off were spent in L.A. It was rare that he was in London, sometimes he had to beg for a break. Thankfully he had jeff who sort of understood. So sure breaks were rare, but Harry spent so much time trying to work his hardest that he was keeping himself from it at this point.

Harry had done enough waiting. Y/n seemed right up his alley. Her personality wasn’t too overbearing or too happy, she was a perfect state of nirvana. A calming aura came where ever she went and Harry could almost feel it through his screen. He and Y/n texted about anything. It could be a meme she sent him at three am, in turn, he’d laugh but tell her to get to bed. Or he’d send her minuscule things, like the stuff he sees in his everyday life that reminds him of her. Was Harry fully over his ex? No, but he’d get there. For you, Harry would at least try. Everyone had understood he was hurt but Anne pushed him to be happy for him, so that's what he was doing.

He’d texted Y/n about setting up a little get together, he didn’t want to call it a date, thinking maybe he’d scare her off. Y/n was persistent though, responding with ‘So it’s a date.’ It wasn't even a question, she’d just said it out in the open in hopes that Harry would be okay with it. He was. If Y/n could’ve seen his face when he read it she’d probably get a good laugh because as soon as he processed the text his lips curled up, bringing his mouth into a toothy smile. It felt nice to have someone paying attention to him again. He’d seen a few fans on his drive, waving as one cried, she immediately apologizing for being an ugly crier. There was something about finally getting a date and talking to the fans that put him in a fantastic mood.

He was currently sitting in traffic, just coming back from seeing his mum. The surroundings were a bit bleak, all the houses were either White, Gray, or Black. Harry loved colour. He loved being able to express himself with pleasing ones that coordinate. Sure when he was little he’d throw on a raincoat but put shorts on, but having a stylist most of his life helped. His style was like a grandpa in a twenty-year-old’s body. Not that he cared, but it was a bit of an improvement from young British bloke who thinks he’s cool. Traffic started moving and Harry took his foot off the break, shifting gears to get moving. What was he doing? Well he, was on his way to get a particular bubbly nirvana girl. He and Y/n had planned the date about a week ago and agreed that they’d do something as soon as he got home. She insisted that he went home and relaxed, but Harry was stubborn, assuring her that he’d be fine.

They had yet to plan where they were going, Y/n had talked about just going out and figuring it out when they ‘cross that lightbulb’ and he agreed. He neared the street that Y/n had given him and his mind was getting the best of him. Not every girl was the same but what if? There was always a possibility that it could happen again. Was his heart ready to risk it? Not fully, but one date couldn’t damage him that much. Harry always had a strong heart. When someone pushed him off the slide in primary school he’d said he fell. In Secondary school when his crush Rachel traded him for someone older, he’d let it go. He was strong and he could handle this. Y/n didn’t seem like she was like that.

He pulled up outside of her house, smiling at the bright colour. It was very her. Her windows were bright and open, he could see a small succulent on the ledge inside. She had a well-kept yard and the grass was as vibrant as ever. Considering it was London it could be hard to maintain a yard or even a garden, the weather was always temperamental. He heard the door open, watching as she stepped out from behind the white door. She looked beautiful, clad in some spandex shorts that fit her bottom nicely and a big sweater. It looked like a merch sweater of some sort.

Y/n had a cute little bounce in her step, her hair bouncing a bit too. She and Harry had been on the best terms. They texted almost every day following him getting her number. She got to know him a bit better. She paid attention to a lot, she was an observer. The way he typed and formed sentences was very pleasing to the eye, at least he didn’t have terrible grammar. She reached the car, giving him a smile as she got in the car.

“How are y’love? Hair looks nice.”

Y/n smiled, attention to detail was always nice. They had also joked multiple times about her secretly being a lion cause she’d sent him a selfie after a particularly long day at work the day before. You could see the tangles and how frizzed it was. Harry thought it was adorable.

“Thanks, I’m good, at least it's brushed this time, right?”

He laughed. It was a nice sound.

“Any thought to where you’d like to go?”

Y/n hummed, thinking a bit.

“I was thinking ice cream, it’s rare that London has had this many sunny days, I’m wondering if we should be scared.”

They both laughed, agreeing on ice cream.

“Y’want the aux?” Harry offered.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Y/n hooked up her phone, going to Spotify and smiling as Hey Jude played through the speakers. She and Harry sang along ridiculously off-key and talked the entire drive to the tiny ice cream shop. Harry stopped the car and got out. So far, Y/n wasn’t bad. In fact, she was great. Her happiness radiated through the car, he bets it's hard to be in a bad mood around her. She’d opted for no makeup and Harry liked that. He loved girls with and without makeup but it was a gesture he appreciated, even if it wasn’t for him.

Y/n looked up at the options, she didn’t particularly care for a lot of it, she didn’t want to eat something that had too much sweetness, she’d get a tummy ache. Harry had ordered Moose Track ice cream while Y/n ordered Ben and Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake. This was typically her go to unless she was sad, then she buried her sorrows in Cherry Garcia.

They didn't even sit down before they were chatting. Conversation flowed easily between them. They could go from talking about their day to talking about childhood. It was nice, there was no pressure to come up with a topic. If there was silence as they at it was comfortable, the ice cream shop wasn’t very full, it is on the outskirts of London, so they didn't have to worry about paparazzi. They talked about their favourite bands, people they looked up to, fashion choices, just about everything that came to mind. It was nice, Harry and Y/n singing to their heart's content to the Queen flowing through the shop, Y/n even getting up and using her spoon as a mic. Harry hadn’t felt this nice in a while.

“Then he turned and there was a garden snake and I’ve never heard a fifty-year-old man scream at a higher pitch than him.”

Y/n finished off her story, she and Harry had been laughing their asses off for about an hour, they’d been there for about two.

“This is nice, love hanging out with you.”

Harry’s words held sentiment that made Y/n’s heart burst.

“Same.”

Y/n replied, laughing as he made faces at her. This was easy. No pressure, nothing was forced, it was genuine first date bliss.

“Oops.”

Harry smirked as he took his spoon, putting a bit of chocolate on her nose,

“Harry.”

Y/n whined dragging out his name. He laughed, leaning forward. He kissed the ice cream off her nose watching as her cheeks tinted pink, it was adorable.

“You asked for it.”

next thing Harry knew there was ice cream on his nose now too, except she didn’t kiss it away, opting to take her finger and wipe it. bringing the finger to her mouth she laughed, making a face resembling the grinch as she licked her thumb. They didn’t want to leave, Harry would pay to have time freeze and keep this moment present forever. Sadly he couldn’t. They got up, going to the register.

“I’m paying.”

Y/n stated, dismissing Harry’s protests.

Harry had dropped Y/n off, and there was no doubt he wanted to keep her around. He had his doubts but the small time that they had in the ice cream shop was phenomenal. Was Harry fully over his ex? No. But that was okay. He didn’t have to rush, he’d be just fine getting over her with Y/n’s help. He didn’t need a therapist or a new girlfriend, he needed someone to show him that he could have better. Y/n was better. As long as you two kept talking Harry was sure he’d be over it in no time.

y/n; so plans for our next date? ;)

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withcolebrock · 4 years

Text

Dead Girl Walking

Summary: Colby walks in on Y/N singing

Requested: yes

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive language

Word Count: 788

Author’s note: helloooooo hi so this piece makes me laugh also, dead girl walking is one of the only good songs from heathers, @ me I dare you. I’m sorry its so short :( also the person who requested this idea I'm sorry I didn’t use the song you had asked, I just wasn’t familiar with it, I’m sorry:/ any who I hope you guys like it! This is my gif!!

The past couple of months have been the best couple of months of her life. About four months ago, Colby and herself finally started dating after over a year of having secret feelings for each other. For a long time they were always flirty friends, but it turned out what they had was something more. It only took Colby to have one too many drinks at pizza night for him to finally confess his feelings.

Ever since then, they have been spending almost every single day together. Whether that was hanging out at his apartment, going out together, or hanging out at her apartment. Tonight was no different. Y/N and Colby had planned to have a dinner and movie date at her apartment. Colby had picked up a shared favorite of Chipotle to eat, while Y/N had picked the movie. Definitely one of their favorite things to do together.

Colby exited the elevator leading to her apartment at the end of the hall. He clicked open his phone to check the time, noticing he was earlier than he said he would be. He shrugged it off as he walked up to the door, putting his phone in his back pocket. He quickly knocked on the door before pushing it open. He peeked his head into the apartment looking for her, yet she was not in the main living area.

He placed the bag of food onto the kitchen counter alongside his keys. His face scrunched as the echo of music played in her apartment. He stood still as he heard Y/N’s voice rang loudly. It was a song he didn’t really know, but he’s heard her play it before. He leans his body against the counter as he listens in. He has never really heard her sing super seriously before in front of him.

Obviously, he knew that’s what she did for her job. She would sing in clubs, on social media, and she has been auditioning for different shows. But he never truly paid much attention, until now. Hearing her sing stunned him in place, he was shocked. Her voice was strong as the lyrics left her lips, “But I dont’ own a motorbike, wait, here’s an option that I like, spending these thirty hours getting freaky,” Colby face suddenly reddened as the lyrics left her lips, he brushed his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Sorry I really had to wake you, see I decided I must ride you until I break you, cause Heather says I got to go, you’re my last meal on death row,” As the lyrics sang from her lips, Colby’s eyes widened. He took in a sudden breath as his heart began to race. He lifted his hand from the counter and wiped his face nervously. He had never heard those words come from her before. Sure, it was lyrics to a song, but they were definitely making him feel all bothered.

He took in a long breath biting his lips nervously as her voice started becoming closer. “No sleep tonight for you, better chug that Mountain Dew, Get your ass in gear, make this whole town disappear. Slap me, pull my hair-” she stopped suddenly as she opened her eyes to see Colby leaning against her kitchen counter a smirk toying to his lips. Her mouth falls open as she turns her head away while crossing her arms over her chest. “Colby, you’re early,” were the only words able to leave her lips.

His mouth agape as he watched her avoid his eye. He smiled brightly as he let out a chuckle. He pushed himself away from the kitchen counter and slowly started walking towards her. “Why don’t you sing for me more?” he whispered as he rested his hand onto her arms shifting her attention towards him. She shrugged her shoulder absentmindedly. He frowned and reached his hand up and lifted her chin up. “You are fucking amazing,”

She smiled up to him as he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers briefly. He held her chin in place while he took a small step closer to her. As he pulled away, he opened his eyes slowly. “Just so you know, I’m more of a Mountain Dew Code Red type of guy, but I’m willing to uh do whatever you wan-”

“Colby!” she scolded as she pulled her body away from him. He threw his hands up in defense as he watched her walk towards the kitchen counter. “Way to ruin a cute moment,” she sighed as she opened the bag pulling out her burrito bowl. He chuckled as he sat down onto the barstool.

“Hey I wasn’t the one singing a song about getting freaky!”

168 notes · View notes

fischerfrey · 4 years

Text

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

fandom: harry potter: hogwarts mystery

pairing: mc/merula snyde

word count: 2.2K

summary:

A party in the Slytherin common room leads both Verna and Merula to confront some things about themselves...

“You don’t know shit,” was what Merula spat back at her and Verna didn’t know what she said wrong this time. “You prance around like you own this school and think you’re so damn special!”

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, merula being mean

author’s note: no proof-reading, we die like men! aka i wrote this thing at 3am in my notes app and english isn’t my native language.

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

“I’m not sure about this,” Ben Copper said and caught up to Verna. He had been tailing behind her and Charlie for the past several staircases. “Maybe I should’ve stayed in the common room studying with Rowan…”

“Cheer up Ben, this is gonna be fun,” Charlie attempted but Ben still didn’t look convinced. He had been trying hard to step out of his comfort zone with varying degrees of success.

“Hush the both of you, we’re almost there.”

The three of them were approaching the Slytherin common room entrance in the dungeons and the utmost care was needed. Parties in Hogwarts were notoriously difficult to organize if you wanted anyone but your own house members to attend. This one had coordinated times at which someone from Slytherin would let students belonging to other houses in. Barnaby had agreed to open the door for Verna, Charlie, and Ben at 9.30.

“Why are we even going to a Slytherin party…?” Ben asked as they reached the entrance.

“Because Barnaby invited us and I can’t say no to him, it’d feel like kicking a puppy,” Verna answered and glanced around to make sure no one else was in the corridor. “Besides, I think all of us need to let out a little bit of steam.”

“You are aware that most Slytherins think we’re the worst?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the fun,” Charlie said as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open.

“Verna! You guys made it!” Barnaby greeted them with open arms, spilling a bit of the contents of his pint.

“Well Ben almost stayed behind to study but I’m very persuasive!” Verna announced and dragged both of her friends inside past Barnaby.

“Don’t say the S-word Verna, it’s forbidden,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh shit, sorry.”

They had all been extremely tied up with studying for their O.W.L.s for the past weeks and it did sound appealing to just forget the exams for the night. The common room was dark and illuminated by a green glow. Verna wasn’t sure what its source was, but it did create certain menacing flair for the party. The music was loud, and many of the attendees were dancing to its beat.

“So, where’s the fire whiskey?” asked Charlie and Barnaby pointed them to the direction of the drink selection before going off to talk to some of his friends.

“See, Ben, no worries, there are plenty of people from other houses in here,” Verna said observing Tulip and Tonks chatting with some 6th year Slytherins, as well as Penny and André sitting on a couch, heads close together, obviously deep in conversation.

“Is that… a thing now?” asked Charlie.

“Last week I asked André if he was seeing Penny and he said no,” Verna muttered.

“So, you think it’s a new thing? Or is André just full of shit?”

“Guys… I hate to interrupt your gossip club but…” Ben yanked Verna’s sleeve to get her attention. She turned to look where Ben was glancing. Merula Snyde was walking towards them, looking like a storm cloud.

“Oh, here we go…” Charlie whispered, and Verna gently punched him in the arm.

Merula stopped short in front of Verna and glared at her. She seemed taller somehow and Verna noticed she was wearing platform shoes. “What the fuck are you doing here, Malinda?”

“I came to party.”

“Nobody wants you and your loser friends here.”

“Barnaby invited us,” Verna said simply and waved at Barnaby, who waved back, smiling.

“Lee couldn’t read a room if it punched him in the face with a book made for toddlers.”

“Don’t be rude Merula, we’re just here to get drunk and hang out with our friends.”

Charlie saw this as an ample opportunity to poke the hornet’s nest and added: “At least we have some of those.”

Merula snapped her death glare to Charlie. “Shut up Weasley.”

“Anyway! We were just about to go talk to Penny, so I’ll be seeing you Merula!” Verna interjected, handed Ben and Charlie drinks, and ushered them towards Penny and André. “Just pretend I don’t exist, if you can,” she added with a wink, grabbed a drink for herself and followed her friends. When she glanced back, Merula was still standing there, staring daggers at her back. Verna couldn’t help but be amused.

It turned out both André and Penny still vehemently denied being involved with each other romantically in any shape or form, so Verna let it slide. They spent a good couple of hours drinking, talking, and dancing. Verna hadn’t realized how much she needed a night off until she finally got one. Between her studies, detention, and trying to find the Portrait vault, her free time was sparse.

“Vernaaaa… can you bring me a glass of water?”

She was called out of her thought by Penny, who had, to be fair, downed quite a few drinks by then.

“Sure, sit tight,” Verna got up and navigated to the table filled with various drinks. Penny had not been herself ever since her sister got trapped in the portrait and Verna knew she was frustrated by how long it was taking to break the curse.

As she was filling a cup with water, she heard a familiar voice behind her: “Water? That’s weak.”

“Hi Merula…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor,” Merula mocked as Verna turned to face her. Her makeup had smeared just a little in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not for me,” Verna tried to move past Merula. The latter stepped in front of her to block her path.

“Maybe you should take Haywood to sleep, she looks like she’s about to pass out any second now.”

“Maybe you should mind your own damn business,” Verna suggested and started to feel annoyed.

“What? I’m just worried about my fellow students.”

“You’ve literally tried to kill me.”

“Bygones,” Merula smirked and took a sip of her drink.

“Maybe after you apologize.”

Merula had the audacity to laugh, she truly was infuriating. “Don’t hold your breath, Malinda.”

Verna had had enough and pushed her way past Merula, ignoring her grunt of protest. She was beginning to think Merula enjoyed pissing her off.

“Did Merula give you trouble?” asked André once she got back.

“No more than usual.”

“Maybe we could curse her hair to fall off or something,” suggested Charlie lazily, having taken up most of the couch for himself, leaving just a small spot for Penny to sit in and sip her water.

“Chaz, as much as I would love to do that, I think we’re better off just keeping away from her tonight. After all, I’m actually supposed to get along with her for professor Rakepick’s sake.”

“Aren’t the both of you prefects…?” André asked, amused.

“Well yes, but that doesn’t really mean anything, I mean Merula is a prefect too!” Charlie protested.

André shook his head and returned to his conversation with Ben. Something about his gobstone collection.

“Guys… I feel a little sick…” came a quiet voice from Penny’s direction.

“Shit, don’t throw up on me,” Charlie quickly sat up and pulled away from Penny’s immediate vicinity.

“Okay, maybe you should call it a night,” Verna said and set her drink down on one of the tables. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back to your common room.”

“Oh… you don’t have to…”

“Shush, it’s no trouble… c’mon,” Verna took Penny’s hand and pulled her up. She swung on her feet for a second or two but seemed to be able to walk at least a little bit. “Charlie, can you tell Barnaby to let me back in in like… 10 minutes?”

Charlie saluted her and said: “Sure thing.”

That meant there was approximately 50% chance he’d forget and Verna would have to miss the rest of the party.

Getting Penny to walk in a straight line was a bit more difficult than Verna originally thought, but they managed to get out of the Slytherin common room and headed towards Hufflepuffs’.

“I don’t think I should have gone to that stupid party…” Penny mumbled. “I feel guilty enough as it is doing anything other than researching the vaults…”

“We’re doing everything we can, Rakepick is trying to find a way to break the curse right now,” Verna said, trying to sound confident but honestly, she wasn’t sure which one she was trying to comfort, herself or Penny.

“You don’t understand, Bea is all alone…”

Verna bit her lip. She knew Penny was taking this hard. “Penny, I get it. My brother is missing, I want to find the Portrait vault just as much as you.”

Penny let out a stifled sob. “Merlin, Verna I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“I know, I know it’s okay…”

Verna managed to get her friend safely to the Hufflepuff common room and started to make her way back to the party. She felt a little bit drunk and, being absolutely honest with herself, she would’ve preferred to feel a lot drunk. Before she could make it halfway back, she heard another pair of footsteps in the silent hallway. She was expecting to see other people heading to bed from the party, but instead it was Merula Snyde, who rounded the corner.

“Are you following me, Snyde?” Verna asked.

Merula’s face transformed into a scowl. “Stop flattering yourself, Malinda.”

“Well, I just think that you mysteriously run into me a lot these days…”

“Shut up.”

Verna lifted her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Suit yourself, can you let me back into the party since you’re out here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I despise you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is that what you have to say?” Merula asked and her hands balled into fists.

“I don’t really care, honestly. You’ve been on my case for four and a half years, I know you hate me,” Verna explained. She was fed up with Merula’s constant provoking.

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

Merula blushed and that made her even angrier. “I don’t do that anymore!”

“Sure, but you used to, while I’ve always just wanted to mind my own business.”

Merula took a few quick steps closer to Verna. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

“That’s so not the point.”

“Then what is the point? Please enlighten me, illustrious Verna Malinda.”

“The point is, that you’re mean. And arrogant. You go out of your way to make people feel bad,” Verna made sure to stress each point, so they’d maybe sink in. “I’ve tried to be your friend more than once.”

Merula let out a mocking laugh. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“The what the devil do you want?”

Something blazed in the purple of Merula’s eyes at the question, and before Verna could react, the other girl had pushed her against the wall. Vaguely, Verna thought about how easily she could free herself from the grasp, but she found herself not really wanting to. Oh.

“Merula what- “

“Shut up,” Merula grumbled. “Just shut up, you’re ruining everything!”

Confused, Verna studied Merula’s features. The colovaria-spell keeping her eyes purple had started to fade out the littlest bit and if you looked closely, you could see specks of brown. Merula had tiny little freckles dotted across her cheeks and nose that Verna had never noticed before (If her gaze also dropped down to Merula’s lips, then that was neither here nor there).

“I don’t want to fight,” she told the shorter girl. Merula’s expression remained unchanged. Verna sighed. “Just let me back into the party, I promise I won’t bother you.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll go to bed then, this isn’t worth it.”

That seemed to change something for Merula again, because she moved, grabbing Verna’s shirt to pull her closer. Verna tried to ignore the excitement in the bottom of her stomach, but it turned out she didn’t have to, because Merula didn’t hiss out any more thinly veiled threats or insults. Instead, she kissed her. There was something ferocious and hungry about the kiss that made everything inside Verna twist into knots. She pulled Merula closer by her waist and found herself not giving a damn if someone happened to walk by right then. For a blissful moment, Merula had her hands in Verna’s hair and was kissing her like she actually wanted to be there with her, and then just as quickly as it started, she pulled back again. The girls stared at each other in the silence of the corridor. Verna’s heart was beating its way out of her chest.

“Barnaby’s gonna open the door for you,” Merula only said and then turned her back to Verna, hurrying to the opposite direction along the corridor. Verna stood there for several seconds, dumbfounded. She raised her fingers to her lips and wondered whether she’d just imagined that. Slowly she forced her jelly-like legs to walk back to the Slytherin common room.

Like Merula had said, Barnaby was there to let her in, as cheerful as ever. Verna went back to her friends who had migrated to talk to Tonks, Tulip, and Liz. Charlie handed her abandoned drink back and assured her no one had messed with it. Verna wasn’t feeling particularly up for the party anymore. Her mind kept wondering to the dark corridor, messy mascara, and hot, fire whiskey-laced breath on her skin.

fin.

if you read the whole thing i’d love to hear what you think! this is the first time i’m actually publishing any of my fics, despite having written them for years so this is kind of like a moment for me, personally :’)

#hphm #hphm fic #hogwarts mystery fic #merula snyde #mc x merula #verna x merula #verna malinda #*my writing #i'm TERRIFIED #i've never published any of my fics before but apparenty that's #gOoD fOr YoU or whatever #so here i am #im rly sorry about the nonexistent british 80s slang i rly didnt even try #*oneshot

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thesassenachswiftie · 4 years

Text

Lover - Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12

Summary: Claire and Jo go Christmas shopping; Claire gets a call at work that Lamb’s in the hospital in Boston where she fears she will need to spend the holidays without Jamie. In short: angst, but make it festive.

" This won't go back to normal, if it ever was It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because 'Cause I have to

Ooh-ah, you'll get better..."

CW: cancer, hospitals, illness of a loved one,

Notes: First of all, if you’re still here, thank you for reading, and thank you for bearing with me as I took a small hiatus. Hopefully I will be getting back to a more regular posting schedule, but work is really draining right now and it’s hard to find enough hours in the day to do everything.

As you know, each Chapter of this fic is based off a Taylor Swift song by the same name. This one was particularly difficult to write/approach because I actually haven’t listened to this song in over a year. In early Summer 2019, a tumor was found on my grandfather’s brain. This was also the summer I discovered Outlander, and the summer Taylor Swift released Lover. The day after Lover came out, I broke down sobbing in my apartment listening to this song and thinking about my grandfather, knowing his condition was worsening. That night, I recieved the call that my grandfather had passed. He was the kindest, purest soul and I write this chapter in part as a tribute to him. Many of the experiences Claire and Lamb share are based on my own experiences with my grandpa that summer, and this version of Lamb is very much based on my Grandpa Jim.

That being said, you may want to grab a box of tissues before reading, but hopefully not all your tears will be sad. I’m hoping to post again before Chistmas, but in case I don’t Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--and Happy Hanukkah to any Jewish readers I may have--here is a Hanukkah present for you!

Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”

“All I want for Christmas is yooouuuuu” the sounds of Mariah Carey rang out throughout the small boutique gift shop in the heart of the village of Northport.

“Good God, we’re only a week into December and I swear I’ve already heard this song three hundred times. I’m not exaggerating either. Two hundred and eight-four at the very least.” Jo scoffed exasperatedly.

“Are you complaining?” Claire asked in reply. “It’s a great song--a classic really.”

“Do you know how many incredible, amazing, beautiful, jolly Christmas songs there are in existence?” Jo was gearing up for one of their famous rants, “Yet, the radio stations only ever play the same eighteen songs, I swear!”

“It must be more than eighteen.”

“Fine. Twenty. Take this song for instance: Ingrid Michaelson has the most hauntingly beautiful cover of it--do you ever hear it? No! You only ever hear Mariah!”

“I, for one, like Mariah!” Claire interjected, playfully defensive.

“Who doesn’t? But she’s not the only powerhouse female vocalist out there! I’d just like to see a little diversity in my holiday music, is that so much to ask?”

Claire giggled. Her best friend always had an opinion on everything and she loved them all the more for it. “Do you think Jenny would like this candle?” Claire unscrewed the lid a locally-made jar candle, taking a sniff before placing it under Jo’s nose. It smelled like Lavender and Sage with just a hint of Eucalyptus.

“Does Jenny keep a lot of candles around, with all those children?” Jo chuckled back. “It does smell nice though.” Jo had only met Jenny a couple times when visiting Claire, but they had a knack for reading people and Claire was glad to have them along as a shopping partner.

“I suppose candles aren’t really her thing. Jenny seems very practical, but I don’t know what she would need that she doesn’t already have, and Jamie’s been no help!”

“I think you’re on the right track with the self-care/relaxation vibe, but maybe not something the children can use to burn the house down. What about an artisanal lotion set?” Jo inquired, gesturing at a nearby display.

“Oh that might work!” Claire took a squirt from the bottle labeled ‘tester’ inhaling deeply as she rubbed it between her palms. “Ooo that’s nice, I would appreciate this if I were a hardworking mother.”

“If things keep going the way they are with your man, LJ, you might just be before you know it” Jo made a lewd gesture with their hands, raising their eyebrows to make it clear exactly what they were implying.

“Jo! You’re terrible” Claire shrieked, smacking her friend playfully on the arm. Besides, not much of that happening these days if you haven’t noticed, Jamie is literally across the ocean.”

“Well, at least you can’t get knocked up from phone sex,” Jo replied. “What are you getting him anyway? I’m thinking something lacy and strappy, with little bows on it of course, to be festive. There’s a place down the street that might have something like that.”

“Hmm” Claire exhaled. “We’ll see.” Claire knew lingerie was definitely going to be part of Jamie’s Christmas gift, one she would be most excited for him to unwrap. God, she missed him. It had been over a month and they were settling into a routine, video chatting every night, sweet texts back and forth throughout the day, the occasional phone sex when they were both sick with desire for one other--but nothing was the same as the feel of their bodies pressed against each other in the heat of the moment, chasing each other’s climax. Claire couldn’t wait to be reunited with him in every way.

It was two days before Christmas break, only a few days left until Claire would find freedom for the next ten days and, most of all--the comfort of Jamie’s arms. Claire was sitting in her school nurse’s office, inhaling deeply during the first quiet moments she’d had all week. There was an uptick of student visits in the past couple weeks--a few were legitimate concerns tied to cold and flu season: students whose parents sent them to school when they weren’t quite well enough, overachievers who wanted to maintain their perfect attendance dragging themselves to school despite their bodies protestations. Most of her patients however, were suffering from something much more insidious: the eagerness to start their winter break early by skipping their classes. This time of year the air of the school felt different, students and teachers alike were burnt out, apathetic, and ready for a break. This attitude in the students fed into the teachers’ attitudes--overworked with the end of the marking period, trying to squeeze in Christmas shopping and decorating between grading. Claire did not envy Jo nor any of the other teachers during this time, but their exhaustion was so palpable in the air of the school that she was starting to feel it too. By tomorrow, most teachers would be shutting their doors and playing a holiday film, giving up on instruction all together--hopefully that would make for a quiet day for Claire. Really, if she could just get through the rest of the day it would be smooth sailing until Christmas--until Jamie.

Her silent musings were broken by the blaring sound of her office phone. She was expecting a teacher, calling to send a student down, but instead it was the school clerk, Glenda. “Hi Nurse Beauchamp, we have an outside call for you, it seems like it may be a personal call so if there’s any students with you we can send someone down to watch them if you’d like to take it privately here in the office.”

Claire's heart sank to her stomach. What could it be? She took a deep breath and swallowed to brace herself before replying “last student just left.”

“Alright, I’ll transfer you now.” The click of the call transferring sounded through the phone.

“Hello, this is Miss Beauchamp”

“Hello Miss Beauchamp, I’m Tammy, a nurse at Mass General we’re calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for Quentin Beauchamp” a nasally voice croaked through the phone speaker--the voice was impersonal like that of a cashier saying “have a nice day” for the thousandth time, not fitting of a potential harbinger of death.

“Yes…” Claire replied, nervously, questioningly.

“Mr. Lambert was admitted this morning after showing signs of cognitive distress. An initial cat scan shows a mass on his brain. He’s currently undergoing testing to see if it’s cancerous.”

Claire’s lungs felt like they were about to collapse. Lamb had been diagnosed with prostate cancer several years ago, but had been able to live with it through treatment. Claire also knew that cancer was insidious and could spread throughout the body rapidly and without warning. She knew it was very likely that the mass was cancer. She tried to find her medical professional voice, but a diagnosis was different when it was someone you loved. Instead, she croaked out, “when will you know?”

“We should have the results by tomorrow. He’ll stay here overnight for monitoring and we’ll decide whether to admit him long term from there.”

“I’m on Long Island, should I drive up?”

“I’m afraid it’s too soon to tell, it could be nothing, but--” Claire cut her off, knowing exactly how bad it could be.

“I understand. I’ll drive up this evening.”

“Alright, he should be back in his room by then, he’s out getting his tests done now. It’s room 713 when you get here.” Claire wrote the number on a bright blue sticky note on her desk as the nurse spoke. “Have a nice day Ms. Beauchamp”

“Hmm” was all she could reply, as if she could possibly have a nice day. She hung up the phone, and finally let the deluge of tears she’d been holding back free.

She allowed herself to cry for a few minutes to get it out, but she knew she had to get to Boston as soon as possible. She picked up the phone again and dialed the main office.

“Hi Glenda, it’s Claire. I need to take the rest of the day off--I have to go to Boston, my uncle…” she couldn’t say it out loud for fear of unleashing the tears again “Is Principal Gowan there, I need to let him know.”

“Oh Nurse Beauchamp, I’m so sorry to hear that, let me know if you need anything. Mr. Gowan’s in his office, I’ll transfer you to him now, if he doesn’t answer just pack up your things and go, I’ll take care of it”

“Thanks Glenda, I really appreciate it”

----------

After getting the ok from her kind and understanding principal, Claire rushed back to Jamie’s apartment, hastily packed a bag (likely forgetting several things), informed Jenny where she was going--which was met with sympathy and genuine concern--and hopped back in the car for the journey to Boston. She entered the hospital doors several hours later, the buttons of her coat were tangled in her hair as she rushed, breathless, to the front desk to receive her visitor’s pass.

When she arrived at Lamb’s room, he was asleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to let him know she was there before settling into the armchair beside him to await his awakening. He looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, not at all like the strong, spirited man who had raised her. He had left the television on--some sports channel was playing a highlight reel of various golfing moments. No wonder Lamb fell asleep. Claire was staring at the screen, but her thoughts were elsewhere: worried about Lamb, wondering if she’d remember everything when she hastily packed, wondering what the future held. Would she have to spend Christmas in this hospital room? A golf ball soared across the Scottish Highlands on the screen. Jamie. Jamie was coming home Christmas Eve, she was supposed to pick him up from the airport, supposed to spend her holiday break with him, experience her first Hogmanay with the Murray family, be surrounded by love and laughter and family. Lamb was supposed to be fine, he was supposed to take the train down, spend Christmas with them. Every plan they had made was shattered into a million pieces. Would she even be able to see Jamie? She thought about the presents she’d bought for him, not yet wrapped, piled in the closet but definitely not hidden, especially considering it was his apartment. Of course he’d understand--she could tell him where they were, but the magic of unwrapping would be lost, it would feel entirely unsentimental. It was bad enough that she felt her gifts weren’t sentimental enough--what could she possibly get him to show how special he was to her? How could she communicate that with an object? If she were a painter she would paint him a painting, if she were a songwriter she would write him a song, but she was simply Claire, and practical gifts were all she knew. She had purchased a cozy blue sweater to match his eyes and keep him warm in the brisk London winters, a cool multi-tool the size of a credit card that would fit in his wallet and help him solve a variety of problems, a protective case for his phone, and a box of artisanal beef jerky. She had also procured a complicated piece of lingerie with a big red bow across the chest for him to unwrap the night of Christmas, which she knew he would enjoy. Everything was thoughtful enough and mostly practical, but she longed to be able to give him something truly special--a grand gesture to match her feelings for him. Claire glanced back at her uncle and immediately felt guilty being so selfish. I hate to make this all about me. Lamb always had a knack for helping her realize what was important when life’s situations overwhelmed her. She needed him for perspective, but how could she talk to him about this? How could she tell him how she felt? She knew it was wrong, but she was mad at him for getting sick so close to Christmas. Who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do if there’s no you? The tears were welling up in her eyes as she watched her most beloved uncle sleep--hooked up to machines, pale and listless in the hospital bed.

Claire slipped into the adjoining bathroom to try to compose herself--she didn’t want her uncle to wake up and see her upset, she knew he would try to comfort her, to be the rock he always had been for her. She was here to be his rock this time, she needed to stay strong for him. She looked at herself in the mirror, telling herself it was going to be ok--her uncle was strong and he’d been fighting a long time--he’d continue to fight. Soon you’ll get better. She had to convince herself it was true, pretend it wasn’t real, it wasn’t so bad. She knew it was a delusion, she could see it all over her glass face when she looked in the mirror. She was genuinely afraid that this could be when she lost him, if not physically right away, he could be lost mentally. She’d been hoping for years he would get better, but now it seemed he’d taken a turn for the worse. She took a few deep breaths and offered up a prayer. She wasn’t usually religious, but they say desperate people find faith, so she decided it was time to try. God? Jesus? Whoever is up there. I know I don’t much deserve anything from you, I’m not sure I’m exactly on good terms with you, but I’m inclined to believe you care and you are good. Besides, I’m not really asking anything for myself, not really. I just pray my Uncle is ok, I pray he gets better. He has to. Please don’t take his brilliant mind away from him. Please let him be ok. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever it takes to help him. Just please, please, don’t take him away from me. I need him. Please let him get better. Please let him get better. Claire continued to repeat the words like a mantra as she returned to her bedside chair. She stared at the collection of orange bottles on the tray table. Please let them help him get better. Please let him get better. Please, please, please let him get better.

Claire had no idea how long she sat there, repeating those words to herself, but her silent appeal was interrupted when a nurse entered the room to check her uncle’s vitals.

“Hi, I’m Brenda, I’ll be the nurse on duty tonight.” Brenda erased a name on a small whiteboard in front of the room and replaced it with her own.

“I’m Claire, I’m his niece.”

Brenda had made her way over to the other side of the bed and was checking the monitors beside the bed, making notes on the chart in her hand. “I hate waking them up, but I’m going to have to.” Claire was glad that she was much kinder than the nurse she had spoken with on the phone earlier—had that really been earlier? It seemed much longer since that phone call. “Excuse me, Quentin? Sir?” Brenda gently nudged his arm to awaken him. Lamb’s eyes fluttered open and he looked disoriented, Claire watched him carefully hoping that his disorientation was solely from being awoken mid-sleep and not from any neurological damage.

“Hi Uncle Lamb” Claire stammered, hoping she sounded cheerful anyway.

“Claire! My girl! You came all the way to see your old uncle!”

“Of course I did! How are you?” she replied warmly.

“Oh, I’m fine, they’re taking good care of me here.” Lamb’s voice sounded genuinely content and Claire felt comforted for the first time since the hospital had called her earlier that day.

“Hello sir, my name’s Brenda, I’ll be your nurse tonight. I just need to ask you a few questions and check your vitals.”

“What is your name?”

“Quentin Lambert Beauchamp”

“Good. When is your birthday?

“March 23th, 1939”

“Good, and who is the president?”

“Well, unfortunately…” both Claire and Brenda giggled at how Lamb began his sentence. Claire was well aware of Lamb’s opinions of the current president of the United States, and was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sly sense of humor or his disdain for the man. She was also glad he knew who the president was, hopefully his mental capacities were more promising than the worst-case-scenario her mind was conjuring.

----------

Claire stayed by her uncle’s side for the rest of the night, only leaving the room twice, once to find something to eat from a vending machine, and once for her nightly call to Jamie. She allowed herself to break down when talking to Jamie, sobbing over the phone. Jamie did his best to comfort her through the speaker, desperately wishing he could be there for her in person. Claire wished the same, longing to curl up in his strong embrace, and bury her swollen face in his chest. She couldn’t bring up the fact that she might have to spend Christmas in Boston. She was enough of a mess without facing the reality that they wouldn’t see each other, and when Jamie promised they’d see each other soon at the end of their call, Claire hung up quickly as another wave of emotion overtook her and she buried her face in her hands to cry some more.

The next morning, the doctor came in with Lamb’s results. Claire grasped Lamb’s hand, unsure of who was holding onto whom for comfort as the doctor explained that the mass on Lamb’s brain was in fact cancerous, but it was still relatively small and had been caught early. He explained that they could operate on it and remove it, however there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t come back or that they’d be able to get it all out. It was moments like these where Claire desperately wished she was already a surgeon, that she could feel in control of the outcome--though could she operate on her own uncle? Would she be able to hold her hand steady enough to do a good job? No, perhaps it was best left to the veteran surgeons in Boston.

After discussing all the details and options with the doctor’s, Lamb decided to go through with the surgery. It was scheduled for the day after Christmas and Claire resigned herself to the sobering fact that she’d be spending the holidays in the hospital. As the florescent hospital lights lit the room with an unnatural glow, Claire couldn’t tell him she was scared. She had to stay strong, she had to keep it together and remain positive and supportive.

----------

Claire spent the next few days devoted to her uncle, rarely leaving his bedside. Lamb had forced her to spend the nights at his apartment, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t sleeping well to begin with and the recliner at the hospital was only making matters worse. Claire was present and doting on him from morning to night though, helping her uncle order his meals, assisting him when he needed to use the restroom, adding and removing pillows and blankets as needed, or anything else he needed or wanted. Lamb had been moved to the cancer floor, and the window of his new room had a nice view of the Boston skyline. Lamb was making the best of a bad deal, he bragged about his ‘luxury accommodations’, he cracked jokes often, he liked the nicer nurses, he ordered extra dessert with all his meals and was in generally pleasant spirits. Claire could see the cracks in his cognition though. Sometimes he would change the topic he was discussing mid-sentence, and he couldn’t seem to keep time straight. Whenever anyone would mention Christmas, he would act surprised to know that it was coming up, and at one point he hinted at Claire that she might just get those roller skates she wanted for Christmas, a gift she had not asked for since she was eleven years old. He didn’t seem to know what year it was or how old Claire was. He did know who Claire was though, and for that she was thankful. He also knew who the president was whenever the nurses asked, always beginning his answer with a short preamble to make known his disdain.

Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve and Claire couldn’t hide the sadness she felt on her face. She was glad to spend the evening with Lamb, but she had been looking forward to her first big family Christmas. She had filled in Jamie about Lamb’s condition and her subsequent stay in Boston over the course of their phone calls that week. She had also describe the Christmas gifts she had purchased for the Murrays, Jo, and Lamb, so Jamie would know the rest were for him. Jamie had agreed to put the Murrays gifts in gift bags and distribute them for her. They were meant to exchange family gifts that evening, the morning being reserved for Santa, and Claire was heartbroken to be missing out. In a matter of hours, and for the first time in two months, her and Jamie would be on the same continent, yet they wouldn’t be able to see each other. There was no way Claire could get into the Christmas spirit under these conditions. The hospital, despite being modestly decorated, was not the most festive atmosphere. Even a troop of Girl Scouts caroling their way through the hospital halls did nothing to assuage the weight of losing everything Claire had been looking forward to for the past two months.

“What’s a matter, my dear?” Lamb asked, showing genuine concern for his niece.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine, I promise, I’m just wishing things were different today.”

“Why today? Is it something special? I can’t seem to remember.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. You were supposed to come to Long Island and meet Jamie. We were going to spend the holiday with his family.”

“Yes, I remember, that’s today? Oh dear, I haven’t gotten your gift yet I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine, Lamb, I’m afraid I left your gift at home, so we’ll have to do that part later. We can take a raincheck on gift exchanging. I was just really looking forward to you getting to know Jamie.”

“I’m sure I’ll meet the lad soon; he seems really special to you.”

“He is; I know you’ll like him.”

“I already do.” He patted the top of her hand and turned his attention back to the sitcom on the television, providing humorous commentary to try to cheer Claire up.

----------

It was late Christmas morning. Uncle Lamb was napping again and Claire had switched the television to the Hallmark Channel--usually her guilty pleasure this season, today it was simply reminding her of how her Christmas was proving to be less than magical. For her there would be no Christmas kisses, no magical snowfall, no saving the small town family business or learning to love Christmas again. All that awaited her this Christmas were fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, and nurses visiting every 6 hours to check her uncle’s vitals. This Christmas would be decidedly the most un-magical she had ever experienced. She had had her share of unconventional Christmases in the past, in fact, she never really was a Christmas person, but it had started to feel special to her when she was living in New York. This Christmas though--this was one she was looking forward to more than ever before. Claire spent most of the morning crying, grieving over all she was missing. She should have spent the morning curled up in Jamie’s arms, watching the children open presents. She could picture the Murray’s living room, trashed with colorful wrapping paper from end to end, each child in their own private world fascinated by their latest favorite toy, Jenny and Ian beaming through tired eyes.

Claire was surprised Jamie hadn’t called her to fill her in on the details yet. He had called yesterday when his plane arrived--groggy and jet-lagged, his communication skills were not the most eloquent, but he tried his best to make her feel better. She hadn’t heard from him at all this morning though, not even a Merry Christmas text. Surely the jet lag would have woken him up as early as the children, and they must have been done opening presents by now. Claire tried to rationalize that Jamie was just spending time with his family, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt and ignored. She thought she was important enough to him that he could take a moment away from his family to at least text her, or to find some way to make her feel included from afar. Had his feelings changed in their months apart? Did coming home to a messy apartment turn him off? Did she find his Christmas gifts and come to think she didn’t care enough to get him something more thoughtful? She thought about calling him, but a mixture of pride and fear kept her from acting first, not to mention she couldn’t stop crying over these sappy Christmas movies.

Suddenly, a voice from the doorway rang through the room, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Claire looked up in confusion, momentarily unable to comprehend her surroundings and the disruption that had just entered them. Santa? No. The tall figure filling the door frame was dressed like Santa, beard and all, but the unmistakable Scottish burr gave away his true identity. If Claire hadn’t already been crying, she certainly was now. Jamie was standing in the doorway, dressed in a Santa suit, carrying a large, blue IKEA bag overflowing with wrapped presents and what appeared to be Christmas decorations.

“What?” Claire could hardly believe he was there, she rose from the chair and the couple met in the middle of the room for a hearty embrace. Claire buried her face in the soft, fluffy suit covering Jamie’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps the setting wasn’t a snow covered street in a small town, but this was her own Hallmark movie moment--and to be honest, those Hallmark guys had nothing on James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Jamie held her close, and tight, planting kisses in her curls and whispering softly to her.

“I’m here, mo nighean donn.” He caressed her shoulders with his thumbs, not releasing his embrace in the slightest, breathing in her scent, trying to absorb her fears and pain.

All of the commotion had awoken Uncle Lamb and after witnessing the couples’ embrace for longer than was comfortable, Lamb loudly cleared his throat to remind them of his presence in the room.

“Uncle Lamb!” Claire unfolded herself from Jamie’s embrace, keeping one arm around his back. Jamie sheepishly pulled the fake beard down around his neck to reveal his face and removed his Santa hat, clutching it tightly in the palm that wasn’t holding Claire. “This is Jamie, my Jamie. Jamie, this is my Uncle Lamb.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad it’s not Santa Claus, or we’d have a lot of explaining to do to the lad!” Lamb chuckled back.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” Jamie reluctantly released Claire from his grasp to step beside the bed, extending a firm but gentle hand to Lamb. “I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

“Pleased to meet you as well, lad” Lamb replied, patting Jamie’s hand with his before releasing their handshake. “And don’t you worry about me, I have the best nurse there is taking care of me.” Two sets of proudly smiling eyes met Claire across the room.

“Oh I dinna doubt it for a second. Your niece is a rare woman.”

“Glad to see we’re in agreement. Now what’s all that?” Lamb gestured towards the large tote discarded near Claire’s feet.

“Aye, I thought I’d bring you two a bit o’ holiday cheer.” Jamie pulled a large cardboard box from the bag and extracted a small tabletop Christmas tree from it, unfurling each branch carefully and placing it on the countertop across the room, plugging it in to reveal fiber optic lights changing colors dreamily. “I usually insist on my Christmas trees being more, well, alive, but under the circumstances this’ll have tae do.” Jamie and Claire spent the next half hour or so festooning the room in garlands and placing tiny ornaments on the small tree. Claire tried to ignore that more than half of the bag was filled with brightly wrapped gifts, not sure whether she was hoping they were all for her, or hoping that they weren’t. After all, she didn’t have anything to give him and she didn’t know if he had looked through his gifts yet nor if he had appreciated them.

While they decorated, Jamie filled Claire and Lamb in on the events of the last few days. Jamie had called Jenny to tell her not to bother picking him up from the airport. He had planned on renting a car there and driving straight to Boston. Claire could hear Jenny’s voice loud and clear through Jamie’s imitation “ya clotheid! Have ya gone daft? Yer barely able to form coherent sentences amidst the jet lag from yer Christmas Eve flight, and ya wanna drive five hours tae Boston in that state!?! Claire willna appreciate ya ending up in a ditch on the side of the road as a Christmas present ya eejit!” Jenny had made a fair point, and Jamie had agreed to sleep at home and left shortly after he awoke that morning, staying only long enough for the children to open their stockings, and to watch their faces alight with surprise at the sudden appearance of piles of presents under and around the tree.

“I’m glad you took Jenny’s advice, but most of all I’m glad you’re here.” She embraced him again. “You didn’t have to do this though, Jamie, I know how important your family is to you.”

Jamie stepped back and lifted Claire’s chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes. “You are important to me, Sassenach.” he replied, with a sincerity that penetrated Claire’s heart. Claire responded by kissing Jamie chastely on the cheek, knowing her uncle was only four feet away--politely trying to ignore them and watch the television which he had flipped to an all-day marathon of A Christmas Story on repeat. Jamie’s welcome intrusion broke up the monotony of hospital life and seemed to give Lamb a better sense of what day it was.

“Now that we’ve got the place looking good and festive, I believe it’s traditional to exchange gifts on Christmas day.”

“Jamie, it’s too much, I--”

“Oh? Thought they were all for you, didja Sassenach?” he teased. Claire blushed. Of course; she hadn’t really--but who else would they be for? Surely Jamie wouldn’t spoil Lamb, a complete stranger to him, quite so much, and no one else was there. She looked dumbfounded as she tried to come up with a defense but Jamie stopped her. “Dinna fash, Sassenach, Jenny wrapped your gifts for me and Lamb before I could see and I bought them along too. She thanks ya for the wee lotions, by the way.”

“God bless Jenny! That woman is a Saint.” Claire also silently thanked God that she had left the present she was planning on wearing for Jamie that evening in her dresser drawer, that was not a gift she wanted Jenny to see, and was definitely not something she wanted him to be opening in front of her uncle.

The three exchanged gifts, save Lamb, who had nothing to give but smiles and approval for the young couples’ thoughtful gifts. Jamie was genuinely appreciative of Claire’s gifts, although she kept insisting that she hadn’t finished shopping and there was more to come; to which Jamie humbly rejected, claiming it wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s gifts to Claire were thoughtful and meaningful, the most touching ones being a print of a painting of the rose garden he had ordered from the Botanic Garden’s gift shop and a bracelet engraved with the words perennis amor, which caused Claire to tear up and embrace him tenderly in spite of her uncle’s presence.

The three enjoyed the rest of the day thoroughly. A Christmas Story played in the background and they laughed and shared stories with one another. Jamie was a born storyteller and Lamb was elated to have a fresh audience to recount his many adventures to, so conversation flowed naturally between them, with Claire occasionally interjecting. Claire mostly just sat back and admired the two men who were most important to her, filled with joy that they were getting along, that Jamie was there, that it was Christmas. For the first time in several days she had hope and peace. She was surrounded by love in that hospital room as well. She had all the things Christmas was said to bring, and for that she was grateful. Jamie had made her greatest Christmas wishes come true without her even asking and she felt lucky to be alive.

The hospital staff served their version of Christmas dinner for the small family, and while Claire was sure it paled in comparison to whatever Jenny had made, it was quite delicious, especially considering it was hospital food. Jamie ate in the armchair next to Lamb at Claire’s insistence, since the two were deep in conversation, and Claire sat in the chair on the other side of Jamie, taking in her magical Christmas scene, better than any Hallmark movie could depict.

After dinner, Jamie was fading fast, listening to one of Lamb’s stories with heavy eyes. She took one of the spare blankets and covered Jamie. “Looks like you’re still not over your jet lag”

“Hrmmphh, I ‘spose not.”

“Do you want me to go get you a coffee? I doubt the cafe downstairs is open today, but there’s a cappuccino vending machine a few floors down that isn’t terrible.”

“Aye Sassenach, that’d be bonny. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, my love, I’ll be back soon.” Claire squeezed his hand before leaving the two men alone.

Jamie listened to her footsteps down the hall, and waited until he heard the ding of the elevator before he cleared his throat to speak frankly to Lamb. He sat up straight in the chair to ward off the sleepiness, having a few important things he wanted to say before Claire came back.

“Lamb, I need you to know, Claire is the most important person in my life. I love her sae much and I’d do anything for her.”

“I’m glad to hear that, I can see how happy you make her. She lights up when you’re around, it comforts my old heart to see.”

“I need you tae know, I’m very serious about her. I ken we haven’t been together that long, but I know--I know deep in my wame that I’m meant tae be hers. I want ya to know that I intend on spending the rest of my life making her happy, and while I havna bought a ring or ennathing yet, I wanted to ask yer blessing” Jamie paused for a moment before adding, “just in case.”

“Of course you have my blessing, son. I couldn’t be more glad to know that Claire will be so well cared for after I’m gone, truly.” Both men looked somber, knowing full well that this could be their last conversation, hoping dearly that it wasn’t. Claire returned with three cappuccinos in hand, surprised by the mood in the room.

“Everything alright, gentlemen? Don’t tell me Ralphie shot his eye out!”

“Och! Everything’s fine, Claire! I’m just tired is all, I’m sure this wee cappuccino will cure me in no time!” replied Jamie, eagerly taking a cup from Claire as she set another on Lamb’s tray table. The rest of the evening was quiet as Jamie took a nap, while Lamb and Claire watched A Christmas Story more intently then they had all day. Claire didn’t want to leave him alone so early on Christmas so she let Jamie nap until Lamb was asleep soundly for the night. The sense of joy she had felt all day was still present, but the nagging worry she felt about Lamb’s coming surgery was starting to settle in as well. Claire woke Jamie gently and Claire whispered softly to Lamb that they’d return in the morning, squeezing his hand before the couple quietly left the room.

----------

They walked out to Jamie’s car, since he still had his stuff packed in it, but Claire drove them back to Lamb’s apartment where she’d been staying. The cappuccino was helping Jamie stay coherent, but he was in no state to drive. They were quiet on the drive home, but kept their hands locked between the seats, grateful just to be in the presence of one another.

When they arrived at Lamb’s apartment, Jamie was so tired, he didn’t even want to brush his teeth, let alone do any of his usual nightly routines. However, he had spent the morning sweating in a polyester Santa suit over his clothes, and although he took it off shortly after his surprise arrival, he felt in need of a shower. Claire showed him where the bathroom was and made sure he had everything he needed, and got herself ready for bed.

Jamie showered quickly, not bothering to wash his hair, and only cleaning the parts of his body where any stench would be most concentrated, figuring the water would take care of the rest. A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, ready to collapse into bed, but not before embracing his sorcha. He scooped her into his embrace and she buried her face in his bare, firm chest, warm from the shower. He smelled clean, and fresh and most of like Jamie. “I’m so happy you’re with me, Jamie. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here.” the emotions of the day hit her again and her voice caught at the end of her sentence as tears filled her eyes once again. Jamie kissed her forehead softly, down to her nose, and landed on her lips, giving her the firm, passionate kiss they’d both been longing for all day--and for months before that.

“Mo cridhe.” Jamie breathed when they separated. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll no’ leave you alone when ya need me.”

“Oh Jamie” Claire was still crying, “I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to stay strong for Lamb, but I feel like this won’t go back to normal--if there ever was a normal with him. I’m scared he’s going to get worse, or--” her sentence dissolved into a fit of sobs, which she tried to stifle on Jamie’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay strong when you’re with me. I’ll be here to help you shoulder the burden. I’ll be here to soak up your tears. There’s two of us now, Claire.” He pressed a kiss into her curls. “You can feel your feelings now, mo cridhe. Lay your cares on me. Come now, let’s get ya tae bed. I’m no’ sure how much longer I can stand myself.”

Claire fell asleep wrapped safely in Jamie’s embrace, free to be herself fully. Free to be vulnerable she felt safe, she felt loved, she felt comfortable, and most new to her--she felt she had the hope and strength that she could carry on, no matter what was to come. She slept better than she had in weeks, secure in the embrace of her eternal love.

End Notes: Thanks again for reading!! By the way, the Ingrid Michaelson song Jo mentions is hauntingly beautiful and you should listen to it. Also, I hope you liked Jamie's surprise. This was going to be a lot more angsty of a chapter but Jamie refused to let Claire suffer and had other plans. I know this was full of a lot of emotional ups and downs, and hopefully we can all find some comfort in the fact that just because Christmas/the holidays may look different for a lot of us this year, it can still be special, and there's still light, joy, love, hope, and peace to be found in the midst of the darkness.

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

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Deja vu pt4

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Who’s ready for 19 pages of Remus angst? If you’re new around [Here] is the first part, and [Here] is the previous chapter for those who want a refresher!

(To that one person who asked if Remus’s vision would get any clearer: I am so sorry.)

Summary: Remus has been able to see the future since he was eight years old. He thinks that maybe his mother would have loved him a bit more if he hadn’t. (aka, Remus calls home.)

Words: 7879

TW: attempted suicide, blood, death, bad parenting

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

By the time he’s twenty one and four months, Remus is no stranger to cross country traveling. He’s been all over the country, all over the back roads, the main roads, the highways and the interstates. He’s had paper maps from greasy gas stations stuffed in his go-bag since he was eighteen, and keeps souvenirs of his travels in the form of pins and buttons he’s clipped on the shoulder strap.

He had made it a habit to never travel with a plan. He had chosen directions on a whim, following signs when he felt the need to sleep somewhere, and picked up cars from dealerships when he had been too lazy to use his casino-breaking powers to get the cash to pay for it legally.

Travelling is something Remus has always been familiar with. The freeing feeling of pressing his foot to the floor and blowing through endless cornfields, of burning more gas than strictly necessary, of getting himself lost on backroads without cell service-- He loves driving with the windows down and the long distances. During the billions of times that he had slept in whatever car he was using, he had enjoyed climbing on the hood and staring up at the stars until sleep dragged him away again.

Travelling with Dee, however, is something else entirely.

At first it had been different just because there were two of them: the presence of another person made him feel the need to talk to fill the silence, made him actually have to answer the “where are we going” question, made him unsure of if what he was doing was the right thing to do.

(Not the morally right thing-- no that he knew the answer of. He meant the right thing as in the thing that Dee wanted him to do. He imagined in those first few weeks he acted a lot like a pet dog, always checking back to Dee to see that he was doing good, and wagging his metaphorical tail whenever the Shapeshifter gave him that delicious validation.)

Travelling with Dee almost means the death of sleeping in the car they were using. The Shapeshifter believes him when he says that they aren’t gonna be attacked in the night or the police aren’t going to come knocking on their windows, but Dee, as much as he tries to pretend he’s new to riches and money, is a fucking elitist.

“Why sleep in the backseat when there is a hotel with a bed and breakfast right there?” He used to ask, sometimes still asks, never needs to ask anymore. “Why act like a ruffian without a home when I can live like a king?”

And, well, Remus had looked into his eyes for too long and gotten lost in the depths of them. Dee was pretty, you see? And Remus’s stubbornness was a learned trick that Dee knew how to circumnavigate.

Travelling with Dee means hotels with beds and fake names in a log book. It means showers with mini bottles of shampoo and crisp covers freshly cleaned and watching the stars from the balconies while Dee smelled his money (again). It means complimentary breakfasts that aren’t super great, but they’re something that Remus hadn’t had in a while and sharing a room with another person who didn’t trust him not to run off with all their money, counting the near silent inhales and exhales, and trying not to think about stupid things like “family vacations” or “Just share the bed, Roman, its one night!”

It means no more stealing cars, because Dee rations out and puts aside money in the most atrocious order-- something that he won’t describe to Remus beyond “you’re cute, but not that cute” no matter how many times Remus asks, or when he asks. Somehow he always has the money for a new car and food and a hotel room and anything else they saw and wanted for whatever reason.

(“Not that one,” Remus had said, grabbing Dee’s arm before he could even look in the direction of the car in the lot. And Dee blinked but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t pick out any other silver sedans and Remus managed to make it all the way to the bathroom before vomiting his guts up. Funny, isn’t it? That he can still see blood on a bumper and hear the screams of ambulance sirens thirteen fucking years later?)

Some things are the same, though.

Remus takes note of them as he drives calmly through the evening, like he used to in the four years where he had between running away from everything he’d known and running into Dee’s arms. The air still feels nice with the windows down, his eyes still burn when the opposite traffic forgets to turn off their high beams, the radio is still soft and soothing and plays along to his heartbeat. Dee’s still curled up in the passenger side seat, wearing a fresh pastel peach button up tucked into black dress pants and dress shoes bought straight from the rack.

He’s still cute like this, vulnerable, with scales on display and his seatbelt imprinting a line on his opposite cheek. There’s a duffel bag of stolen money at his feet, all counted and tagged in his pocket notebook that he never lets Remus flip through. In the backseat are two more duffel bags with just Remus’s atrocious half of the money and another couple of suitcases that contain their material possessions.

Something stirs in Remus’s gut at the sound of Dee’s soft snores. He really is asleep, really does trust Remus not to drive them into a guard rail or off a cliff or into another car. He really trusts that Remus hasn’t been hiding a switchblade in his sleeve, just waiting for the right moment to plunge it into Dee’s throat before making an abstract art masterpiece out of his blood. He really trusts Remus not to park somewhere on the shoulder and take all the money they have between them and disappear in the night without a trace.

He trusts Remus.

And he doesn’t have a clue how much that means.

Well, maybe he’s guessed a little. After all, Remus still gets that surprised look on his face when Dee actually listens to him, still finds himself rolling that purple coin from the Basilisk Casino that he’s kept, still gets a little shaky when he tells certain futures because this is it, this is gonna be the time where Dee says he’s stupid and crazy and dumb and he’s not gonna listen--

Trust was a hard thing to come by after Remus turned eight. How can you trust the crybaby that starts sobbing every time someone gets a little scratch? How can you trust the psycho kid who needs medication to go to school? How can you trust Roman’s Weirdo Brother when he says he can see the future like some sideshow circus attraction?

But Dee trusts him enough to keep travelling with him, enough to keep robbing banks with him, enough to let down his glamour and show his real self while he’s sleeping.

It's all well and good and fine.

Remus wishes he trusted himself the way Dee trusts him.

The music playing is still something that Dee had picked out hours before, classical and Remus doesn’t hate it necessarily, but he did turn it down so slow that the engine is louder than those stupid violins. Remus has an appreciation for people who find the screeching strings pleasant rather than just annoying, he swears. But the rumbling of the engine, the bump of every uneven bit of road, the slow winding turns is a familiar comforting melody.

Home, Remus knows, is more of the road than any building he’s ever been in. It’s more of the feeling of Dee’s hand in his over the console, more of the smell of pine tree air fresheners mixed with new car, than any concrete solid place he’s ever been.

Which is silly, maybe. Remus thinks if he squeezes his eyes closed really hard he can still picture the layout of the house he and Roman lived in. (Not “home”, not “the place he grew up in” and he definitely didn’t grow up in there-- because it wasn’t until he was seventeen and sleeping in gas station bathrooms in two hour spurts that he learned how the world really was.)

His mother really tried, Remus thinks. She really tried to be a good person, a good mother, a good role model. She made sure they cleaned their rooms and taught them how to do the laundry. She made sure he brushed his teeth and was fed and healthy and smil--

Listen when he--

Helped him take his med--

She tried, okay. Remus thinks that if he had been a normal child he might have grown up happy. He thinks that if she had had any other son to twin with Roman she would have been a fantastic Mom. He thinks that if he hadn’t gotten his power at eight fucking years old he would have been able to articulate what the fuck was going on and they might have had a chance.

Then he wonders what the hell they would have had “a chance” at.

And then he gets angry about himself even thinking about it and---

---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---

---drives his car directly----

And Remus keeps driving on the quiet road, switching lanes so he’s in the middle lane rather than the side one.

Its not a good night.

Well in all honestly it hasn’t been a good day either. They had spent most of it driving and Remus hadn’t meant to be quiet, but his thoughts had been so loud he forgot that not everyone could hear them. They felt like screams, like a blow horn directly into his ear drums, like his brain was being torn apart with each and every fire of a neuron.

Thinking hurt. He hated to do it.

Dee must have picked up on it, must have taken note of his change in attitude since that morning when he had grabbed the car keys off the dresser and hoisted their bags into the car. He had asked once, Remus thought, maybe. It would have been out of character for him not to ask what Remus was doing with the keys, but if he had asked he had only done it one time.

And Remus hadn’t answered it and Dee hadn’t asked again.

He also hadn’t asked where they were going. Remus thinks that was blessing, a mercy, a silent kindness that he was too selfish to even say thank you for. He didn’t know where he was driving to, just that he had blown through a full tank and a half and somewhere over ten hours of driving and that they had crossed timezones again.

And the concept of timezones had made him angry enough to slam his foot to the floor and nearly run a blue minivan off the road entirely.

He switches hands he’s steering with, flexing and stretching his digits to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

There’s four hours now.

And Remus knows this because even if he hadn’t graduated highschool he knew how to read a clock. Which was what he had been doing all day: watching the speedometer and watching the clock and watching his blood pressure rise with every mile he drove.

There’s four hours between them now. Which means nine o’clock for him, which means the dim sky, which means the peaks of the faint stars through the grey cloudy sky, the closed mom-and-pop shops and the dwindling number of other cars-- which means that everything around him currently is not the same thing for someone who is four hours behind them.

Dee is asleep, shifting tiredly, when Remus, grinds his teeth together so hard and violently and angrily.

His skin feels wrong, too tight, too small. It feels like someone else and he’s only borrowing it. It twists around his lungs, constricting around him like a python and stealing every breath from his chest and getting smaller with every inhale.

His legs burn with a restless energy and his eyes hurt from driving for so long and he’s hungry.

The radio fuzzes as he drives, as they reach the end of the station's signal range, as the violins finally die and leaves them with just static. The noise is grating in a way that Remus can’t quite place, something more annoying than the screeching of his own thoughts that won’t shut up. He reaches blindly for the power button, trying not to take his eyes off the road because he doesn’t want to plow them into the back end of the SUV they’ve been trailing behind for the better part of fifty miles.

The radio goes off.

Remus’s thoughts do not.

The cloudy sky makes it darker than it actually is, making him turn on his headlights and make him growl at the lane reflectors he comes across every so often. The words on the signs might as well be written in Greek because Remus doesn’t bother reading them at all.

Mostly.

He tries not to.

But there’s one that spells out “RESTSTOP” and it gouges its phantom fingers in Remus’s brain, refusing to leave him alone after he sees it. He drives and he tells himself it's because they haven’t eaten all day, because Dee probably needs to use the restroom, because he needs a stretch. Dee hasn’t complained at all, you know? Remus owes him a little bit of a stop. Maybe they can look for a fancy hotel with a penthouse edition and get himself drunk on the minibar delights.

That’s all.

It hasn’t nothing to do with the four hour time gap.

Dee doesn’t wake even when he pulls into a well lit parking spot. There’s a handful of other vehicles in the lot: a deep green hatchback with two bikes strapped to the top, a jeep with no doors and a lot of mud, a group of sixish motorcycles and the owners of them standing nearby talking quietly. He counts at least seven eighteen wheelers resting for the hour all with a collection of name brands and graffiti on the backs.

Remus puts their own car in park and sits back, taking it all in.

He’s no stranger to travelling, hasn’t been for a long time. At twenty one years and four months old he’s no longer scared of the dark and certainly not scared of going to a public restroom. The signs clearly mark eating areas, restrooms, the dark, creepy, not-at-all well lit path into the woods for those who need to stretch and want to be murdered by psycho crazy forest clowns. There’s vending machines that take credit cards for sodas and packaged foods and Remus even spots one selling cheap portable phone chargers.

There’s a payphone booth.

Three actually.

None of them are in use, currently.

Remus looks back at the clock in their car-- its a quarter past nine-- and wishes that he couldn’t do math so well in his head. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to count he would have been able to take the stupid urge by is scrawny neck and throw it out the window while he drove right on by. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to keep track of days so well he would have been able to ignore the date. Maybe if he hadn’t been so great at counting he could have been better at something else, anything else, something normal.

She had tried, hadn’t she?

So Remus should have been thankful, grateful, happy at least about that, right? It was his fault that he hadn’t been able to figure out that his visions were telling the future until a year later, until the doctors told him it was all in his head, until his own mother had decided he was making it up. She had listened to him those first few times, listened and reassured him, and held him close when he couldn’t breathe from the crippling fear that Roman was going to die. She had weathered each of eight-year-old Remus’s breakdowns with the patience of a saint.

And he still hadn’t been able to be that perfect son for her.

“Take your meds, Remus,” She had still told him when he was sixteen and had stopped crying when he watched her cross the parking lot without looking. “Take your meds and you’ll get better.” She had said even though that wasn’t what the meds did for people who actually took them. The meds hadn’t been the glue to piece him-- or anyone-- back together. They just reminded people of how their pieces fit without scratching and breaking and shattering even more.

And Remus hadn’t even needed them back then, because his problem hadn’t been like anyone else's.

It hadn’t been delusions and hallucinations in his head. It hadn’t been him going crazy, it hadn’t been him losing himself.

She had tried though. To be a good mother. To love him and all his….quirks.

“I don’t need you!” Roman had said. Very loudly, very openly, very angrily. And Remus thinks about that day a lot, often, all the goddamn time. Because they had been arguing all the way up the stairs, had been fighting verbally and their mother, their mom, Mom, had been just below them in the kitchen making dinner-- or maybe it had been a dessert, baking? Or just messing around in the kitchen. She had been there.

And they had gotten in trouble for arguing much quieter before.

Remus thinks about that day. He thinks about the vision of Roman dying by his own hand, of the blood and the gore and then fluttering pulse and the concept of a soul leaving the body. He thinks about how his parents would have come running the moment they heard Roman scream in pain.

He thinks.

Maybe he thinks too much.

And maybe one day he’d get the courage to ask himself the big looming question: Had she loved him? Or had she loved the concept of him?

Today wasn’t, hasn’t been, isn’t that day.

It’s nine thirty, here, at this rest stop somewhere in Oregon, where Remus is clawing his fingers on his thighs and letting his unevenly chewed nails catch on the holes in his fishnets. Its nine thirty here on the day where Remus is twenty one and four months old and staring at a payphone like it was about to ring all by itself. Its nine thirty one and Remus is thinking too much, too loudly, not enough.

It must be around five thirty for her. Right in the middle of dinner. Or after. Maybe she’s doing the dishes under scalding water that boils her hands right off. Maybe the dinner was poisoned and she’s clawing at her throat right now. Maybe she went out for the evening and got hit by a car when crossing the street.

Remus knows he could check. He doesn’t.

Because his skin is already itching and his breath is too hot and he wants to cry but he’s too old to be crying over things like this, just like his mom has said a thousand times over.

He wonders if she would believe him if he told her how many times she had cried over Roman, how many times she had frozen at the sight of her precious baby boy going still and silent, how many times she fell to the ground and clutched at his body screaming her sobs like there was a chance any god out there would hear her anguish and give her son back.

Like she had only one to love and cherish.

She had tried.

Remus wants to laugh so badly it hurts. The urge itself rips through his body, shredding his organs with a razorblade and filling his lungs with fluids followed and squirming its way up his throat inch by inch with a determination Remus hasn’t seen in himself since that gas station four years ago where he saw himself jump in front of an eighteen wheeler and felt his insides go splat! for the first time.

Remus wants to laugh, because she had tried, and it hadn’t been enough and Remus still---

He still---

Remus pulls the keys out of the ignition and throws them in the cupholder next to the sleeping Dee. He exchanges it for his wallet, which had seen far better days and been handled far nicer, but that’s beside the point. His driver’s license is overdue but nothing short of a nuclear bomb will get him back to the state he had once lived in-- he skips over it and the various rechargeable cards he had picked up over the years (Starbucks, Seven-Eleven, a Techron Advantage Card he got for fun and never actually used because Dee always paid for gas) and goes straight for the cash.

They’re all large bills. He takes a fifty.

Dee murmurs softly as he unbuckles his seat belt and flies into a wide blown panic when Remus opens the door. Quicker than Remus thought was possible for a guy to move, he springs over the dividing console and grabs Remus’s arm with-- OW FUCK DEE -- claws.

Remus yanks back on instinct, throwing himself against the already open door and tumbles into the empty parking spot next to them. His arm howls with pain, with an agony, with a cacophony that drowns out all his other thoughts for the moment.

The blood is red.

Remus is twenty one and four months old and his body wracks with such a vehement hatred for the color it makes the rest of his blood, the blood in his veins, the blood in his body, his blood boil. Its red, and he hates red, has hated red, will forever hate red.

Because red was the color of Roman’s favorite jacket when they were eight, the color of Roman’s shoes that he left out on the stairs too many times, the color of Roman’s blood too.

Red had been the color staining the bumper of a silver sedan, the color of a broken snow globe hitting the carpet, the color of Remus’s insides on the freeway, and the underside of an eighteen wheeler, and the bottom of the motel bathroom tub.

“Remus!” Dee yells from inside the car, morphing, changing, panicking in a way that is not like him at all. He clambers into the driver's seat looking too pale for a guy whose skin tone could be any color he wanted it to be. “I’m sor-- I didn’t know we ha--- Oh my god I’m sorry!”

He grabs all the napkins they have squirreled away in the crevices of the car, then the half empty tissue pack from the last time Remus had decided to check to see if the line in McDonalds was going to be long, then a scarf Dee had bought before he remembered that it was warm enough to cook eggs on the sidewalk in most of the places they went to. He spills out of the car even less gracefully than Remus had, bubbling up apologies like his mouth was a fountain. There’s an emotion wafting off him, something that taints the air and makes the hair on Remus’s neck stand on edge.

“It’s okay,” Remus whispers.

“You’re not okay!” Dee frantically responds, turning a stripe of his hair blonde and completely missing the part where Remus did not say he himself was okay.

Dee’s fingers feel like bugbites up and down his arm, like cigarette ends being jammed into his flesh, like he was the cake and Dee was placing enough candles in him to make up for every birthday his mother had missed celebrating.

“Its okay,” Remus says, tugging his arm away before Dee can turn him into a house fire that burns down the whole block.

“Remus--”

Remus stands up. “I need to make a phone call.”

Remus doesn’t need to make a phone call. He probably shouldn’t make a phone call.

“Remus!” Dee says standing up too. He’s taller this week, today, now, than he’s been before. He’s got an inch on Remus, and he uses that inch to look down at him and breathe like every inhale might be his last. There’s blood on his hands from trying to mop up where Dee had clawed him. Remus can feel the warmth of his blood trailing down his fingers even now.

“What the hell is up with you right now!” He demands in a way that makes Remus’s stomach churn, that makes his knees weak and his throat feel all lumpy in all the wrong places.

He should be mad. Dee should be furious at him for ignoring him all day, for driving them through a handful of states, for not pausing for bathroom breaks or any type of food, for not waking him when he stopped at the rest stop. He should be so angry he can’t see straight, so enraged that he stood up and grabbed the keys and drive the fuck away from here. He should be mad.

So why does he sound so scared?

“Is this about the Mall?” Dee asks, “I can do better, Remus, please! I’m sorry!”

He’s babbling like a brook, about things in the mall that Remus barely remembered because it was a day and a half ago and three, four, five states gone. He’s talking about the Mall the same way that eight-year-old Roman had been apologizing for name calling, while Remus was three sheets in the wind during a tornado on his own thoughts.

“No,” Remus says, which is about as effective as shoving his finger in a hole in a dam.

The parking lot lights make Dee look like he’s standing in a spotlight on stage. Remus hates the sight, hates the feeling that they’re putting on a production for someone else's entertainment, hates that he should know his lines by now and because he doesn’t he's ruining everything around him.

Dee moves like a clockwork mannequin with rusted gears. Remus thinks he can hear each individual gear screech as his back straightens and his weight shifts back and Dee looks more like Roman than he’d ever know.

“N--n--” Dee repeats, “No?”

As if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“Like….no I can’t do better?”

-- “Like, No Get Back in the Fucking Car, Dee!” Remus explodes.---

--“Like No, Leave me alone for five seconds!” Remus erupts.---

--”Like No, Its not your fault I’m a fucking mess!” Remus chokes.---

--- “Like No, Its not your fault. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”--

-- “Like No, I’m making bad decisions and I’m sorry and I don’t know what to do and I know that you don’t really love me the way you think you do because no one ever loves me that way. Like No, this is a future that I’m not going to choose but I wish I had because keeping this all in my chest hurts like a little bitch, Dee. It hurts so bad. Like no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m going to have such a nose bleed from this one, and because you’re you, you’ll know that I’ve been bullshitting my way through this for a good while. My power’s broken, Dee. Don’t you see? And once I tell you what's going to be left for you to stay?.”---

“Like No,” Remus says, defeated. “I don’t even remember what happened at the Mall.”

Dee stares at him with stolen sapphire eyes, with an emotion he can’t place, with wordless questions Remus doesn’t want to answer.

He doesn’t know what time it is.

A drip of his blood leaks down his lip and lands on the asphalt at his feet. That’s okay.

He breathes in the dry air, feeling it scratch down his throat and butcher his lungs with each inhale. “I...need to make this phone call.”

“Why?” Dee pleads, and Remus thinks that if even Dee can tell it will end badly, he should know better than to go through with it.

But Remus has been thinking too much lately, about too many things. He’s been trapped up in his own head, and the last people he tried to let help him gave up on him.

And he still can’t give up on them.

“It’s her birthday,” Remus says with a smile that borders on deranged, “And she tried, you know?”

He doesn’t know. Remus can tell by the look on Dee’s face. But that’s okay. They made a pact after all, after that first night, that they wouldn’t get personal, that discussions of feelings were off the table. And Dee had said in a future that hadn’t happened that Remus was an investment that will pay out one day. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know.

“Remus,” Dee says, controlling the stage like he was born to do it. “What will she say?”

Remus shrugs and turns away because he’s never been able to make it past intermission of any production he’s watched. The fifty in his hand has splatterings of blood, his arm aches and whines as he uses it to smear away the waterfall from his nose. At least a couple of the sidewalk lights are broken so he doesn’t scare every single normal person chilling at the rest stop as he walks up.

Remus is twenty one and four months, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t waste forty seven dollars on snacks from a vending machine just to get the change in quarters to call cross country. He’s not hungry but he peels open a Cliff bar and takes a bite anyway. The rest of the food he leaves on the patio floor around the vending machine for whatever comes by, be it the kids he can hear yelling or the raccoons watching from the tree line.

He glances back at the car, their car, Dee’s car. Just to make sure its still there. That Dee didn’t drive off without him.

Dee hadn’t, didn’t, doesn’t. He’s sitting in the driver's seat with the door wide open, half in half out, and it looks like he was fiddling with the radio again.

Remus tosses the other half of the bar into the trashcan and walks the last three steps to the payphones.

She had tried. Remus puts the phone to his ear and tries to remember how to breathe.

The buttons are stiff. Remus’s knuckle leaves behind traces of his blood as he dials. The back of his throat tastes like his inside of his stomach. There’s a gritty feeling along his teeth and the bottom of his mouth from the Cliff Bar. He’s knees tremble to the sound of the ringing, leaving him swaying in the too-long silences, in the bated breaths, in the calm before the hurricane.

“Hi! It's the Regis Family! We’re not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you!”

Remus’s mouth tastes like blood. He swallows it down, breathes through the rest of the message, the beep and another moment where his chest just aches with a billion words he doesn’t know how to say.

“H….hey.” His voice is raspy. Why is his voice so raspy? He clears his throat. “I, uh...I was calling to say, Happy Birthday. Hope it was a good one. That’s all. B--”

“--Hello?”

Remus’s jaw clicks shut at the noise, the words, the voice. Because even four years later Remus knows it like the back of his hand, can still imagine it screaming his name in the store, of it laughing as she brushed through his curls, of it whispering softly that everything is fine, everything is okay, I’m right here, Remus.

“Ha, Hi! Sorry about that, you caught us just as we were getting back to the house! Oh, this is embarrassing… Who is this? Our caller ID isn’t working…”

She trails off.

Remus thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

She sounds out of breath, flushed and happy and excited in a way that he doesn’t remember her ever being before. His vision tunnels through memories, through scenes in his head where she’s smiled and laughed and giggled the way she’s doing right now. He’s coming up blank.

He grabs the wall to keep himself steady.

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” Remus croaks.

She’s different now. So is he. Everything is different and the world seems to stop at that mind blowing statement.

“.....I’m sorry,” She says, “I really need to know who this is, now.”

Remus should hang up.

Remus needs to hang up.

He laughs, like he’s on death row, like the barrel of a gun in on his temple, like his foot just left the ledge.

“What?” He asks, “Can’t a mother recognize the sound of her own son's voice?”

There’s a breath. A moment. A second. Remus feels it. Like it's tangible, palpable, real. Like all the clocks in the world decided to stop. Like a tick without a tock. Like the past and the present and the future didn’t exist at all. There’s a breath, and Remus thinks that she had tried once, maybe she could try again.

They both could try again.

“Oh my god. Is that...Baby, is that really you? I’m so sorry for what I said. You were right.”

“Wait--”

“You’re always right. And I’m sorry about-- about everything. Please let me make it up to you?” His mother says and Remus gets a sinking feeling in his chest.

“What--”

“Or at least talk about it? Can we do that?” His mother says and Remus should have hung up.

“Mom--”

“Can you come back home, Roman?” His mother says and Remus sees red.

Because, of course, she thought he was Roman. Of course.

Red is the color of Roman. The color of his jacket and his shoes and the ball Remus should have thrown into the road when they were eight. The color of a past Remus can’t get rid of because every time he does anything he can only hear Roman’s voice in his head or picture his mom with her red lipstick telling him to take his pills and stop being so abnormal. It’s the color of a future that he can’t reach because every time he gets a little bit of hope he’s reminded that he’s unnecessary and forgettable.

Red is the color of Remus’s blood that looks just like his twin’s but somehow has always been valued less to their mother.

He squeezes the handle of the phone so hard his fingers go numb from the pain, and the scarf around his wrist turns scarlet. His body trembles and bubbles and boils like its housing a volcano ready to erupt, or a thousand termites are trying to chew their way out of him, or every atom in his body is trying to shake themselves apart.

Remus is twenty one and four months old and he hangs up the phone so hard that it pops right back out of the slot and swings to the ground by its cord.

He doesn’t fix it. In fact he doesn’t even see it because he’s too busy seeing red. Too busy seeing Roman’s head collide with the bumper of a silver sedan, too busy seeing Roman’s neck break when he falls off the swingset wrong, too busy seeing Roman’s body on the ground of his carpet surrounded by the shattered remains of a snowglobe, too busy seeing all the things he should have done or let happen or helped happen.

Too busy knowing that hindsight is 2020 and Remus’s insides suddenly want to be outsides and his arm hurts and he wants to--

He wants to--

--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”---

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.---

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.

But by then Remus is already dead.---

But no that’s not right.

He doesn’t want to die.

His mouth tastes like metal, and he’s so sick of the taste of metal, of the smell of blood, of the sight of red on his clothes and on him. He’s so sick of being the weird twin, of being the one everyone wants to forget, of being gifted with a power that's so shitty it his own body rejects it. He’s so, so sick.

And tired.

And angry.

That he spent all day trying to figure out what to say to his mother and she doesn’t even remember him. That his family pushed him away and now he watches himself jump off buildings or into traffic or off tables at a rest stop. That his skin feels too small and his mind too big and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him but everyone still treated him like there was.

“Pardon me,” A voice says to his left. “Hello? Sir? You seem to be bleeding...”

It belongs to a guy with glasses, big thick blocky glasses that match every other part of him: his sharp jawline, his stiff spine, his set shoulders. It belongs to a guy with hair so dark it might as well have been a black hole, with eyes swirling with so many blues they looked like nebulas, with skin so pale it might as well have been the surface of the moon. It belongs to a guy that reaches out oh so carefully and touches Remus’s shoulder to check that he’s alright and---

-- “A stick in the mud?” Logan suggests sourly as they walk. The rain speckles his glasses and plasters his hair to his head.

“I was gonna say prude, but that works too,” His younger brother shrugs, sipping loudly from his drink. “Girl, you really just need to loosen up. You’re always so stressed!”

“I do not need to loosen up,” Logan counters, “In fact, if anything, I need to tighten up my interactions with people more. You saw what happened to the baristas at the Starbucks.”

“Yeah, and it was Awesome!” His brother motions to the drink in his hand, “Free drinks!”

“Will it still be awesome when they get fired and lose their source of income because they unwittingly gave away merchandise to customers?” Logan asks. He tugs his jackets around him tighter, hunching his shoulders and wishing that between the two of them they had thought to bring at least one umbrella.

His brother rolls his eyes because the rain doesn’t bother him anymore than the slight chill or the cars passing dangerously close to their sidewalk. “Honey,” He says, “Its two free drinks. It’s not gonna kill the infrastructure.”

Logan grunts, dismissing the rest of the argument as he was prone to do more often these days. “Remind me again why we’re here.”

“That prince dude is supposed to be around here today!”

“You mean, Princeps,” Logan corrects. “Assumedly named after the swordsmen from Roman armies pre-Marian reforms. Which does not make any sense considering that he does not carry a sword and his perceived power does not--”

“I wanna get his autograph!”

Logan squints back at his brother. “You want the autograph of a man who is running around the country in tights? You don’t even have anything for him to sign.”

His brother shakes his mostly empty drink and points to the spot right below where the barista had scratched out his own name, not that Logan can see it, or anything. “Duh.”

Logan shakes his head, as his brother prattles on about Princeps face, his biceps, his thighs. And as much as Logan enjoys listening to his brother talk about things that interest him, he wishes that it was something other than men that thought “superhero” was a stable dayjob. He sighs and removes his glasses and to clean them as best as he can with the raindrops being the nice of dimes.z

He hates the rain, hates that he couldn’t ever see more than three feet when it so much as sprinkled, hates that his brother has no such problems at all and can continue walking without a care in the world.

“LOGAN!” His brother yells.

And Logan has just enough time to feel his stomach jump straight to his throat, before he walks blindly into an open manhole. His forehead slams on the outer rim so hard he sees actual stars in the corners of his blurry vision. And he fumbles and flails and falls and...

And the empty air catches him, covets him, carries him off. Because he’s dead as soon as his head hits the concrete floor ten feet below---

Remus inhales like he’s been drowning for the past four years, and hasn’t been able to find the surface. He stumbles back from the stranger who had approached him, from the man who has a younger brother, who doesn’t like superheroes, who’s name is Logan. He stumbles back and feels the whole Earth roll under his feet, turning the solid ground to an uneven puddy.

Logan jerks back as well, be it shock or surprise or something in between and equally bad. He looks at Remus, the way that the first dealer from the Basilisk Casino had, the way that the new freshmen at their high school had when the older kids told them to steer clear of the guy who looked just like the theater star, the way that Roman had when he had first seen the orange bottle of pills that were supposed to make Remus not cry all the time.

“My apologies, you seemed to be in distre--” Logan starts.

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says quicker, louder, angrier. Because Logan doesn’t know that he’s going to die some day in the future, that its going to be a stupid sudden death, that his brother that he actually loves and whom loves him back is going to witness it. Because Remus doesn’t know why he knows either.

His skin blisters and bubbles and itches in a way that tells him he needs to take it off. His arm burns from the scratches, his blood is making his hand and wrist all sticky and his head feels a bit like cotton. His mouth tastes like Starbucks Hot chocolate and ash.

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says again, because he feels radioactive and can smell petrichor in the air and everything about it is wrong. If he says anything else he thinks he might throw up or cry or both and he doesn’t think anything other than more blood can come up.

Remus turns and runs.

“Remus?” Dee asks, when Remus throws himself into the passenger seat the way he should have that morning.

Remus shakes his head. And keeps shaking it because if he stops his thoughts will catch up and then they’ll really be in trouble.

“Drive,” He manages between his inconsolable gulps for air.

“Where?” Dee asks.

“Don’t care.”

He doesn’t. He just needs to be somewhere other than here.

Remus is twenty one and four months and he’s no stranger to travelling without a destination. Dee buckles his seat belt and pulls out of the parking spot without another word. Remus brings his knees to his head and counts, and counts, and counts. If he closes his eyes he thinks that he might see the silhouette of Logan standing next to the payphones staring at his hand still so he doesn’t close his eyes.

“That’s just what I’m saying, John.” The radio says, “All these new people with what can only be classified as “superpowers” and what is the Police doing about this? Nothing!”

“Hotel,” Dee says, “We can order some food there and actually look at those marks on your arm.”

“Whatever,” Remus says.

“Well what do you expect the Police to do?” The radio says, “Their answer to everything is “shoot it.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the police shooting at a kid who just so happened to be able to make lightning. You heard about that incident in the Idahoan Mall didn't you? Times are changing. It's up to the people to police themselves now.”

Dee sticks his tongue out ever so slightly, like a snake smelling the air.

“You’re encouraging the actions of people like that dragon guy from that incident? The child from that event is in the hospital right now.

“So is the man that had been robbing the store. Which is better than him being the morgue. I’m not saying that I think that putting children in the hospital is a good idea! I’m saying that only protecting the lives of “good” people is telling everyone to become judge, jury, and executioner. The Idaho Mall Incident could have been handled better-- in fact I think if the new guy, the one around the east wearing the white? You know the one I’m talking about, Karen.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Prince? I think he called himself Prince.”

“Yes. If the Prince had been the one who had handled the Idaho Mall, it could have been handled completely peacefully, without either parties having ended up in the hospital.”

Dee grips the steering wheel, tightly.

Remus reaches out and turns the radio off.

[Part 5]

#Deja vu AU #remus sanders #Janus Sanders #sanders sides #Logan Sanders #roman sanders #tw:blood #tw:suicide #Remus is not having a good time #Demus #Oh look!! A wild Logan!!#And a peek at what Roman has been up too #oooh its almost like....Roman has a power too #ooooo #remus angst #this boy needs some therapy I'm so sorry #Anyone else really hate Remus's mom?

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