#Reception seating for small spaces

[shalin-designs]

How to choose the best design of Waiting Room Furniture for 2024?

In the dynamic world of interior design, the waiting room serves as the gateway to a client’s perception. It is not merely a space for idle moments but an opportunity to make a lasting impression. As we step into 2024, the significance of innovative and comfortable waiting room furniture cannot be overstated. The evolving expectations of clients demand a seamless blend of functionality, aesthetics, and cutting-edge design. As furniture manufacturers and designers seek to redefine waiting spaces, the utilization of 3D furniture design services emerges as a game-changer, unlocking unparalleled possibilities in the realm of waiting room design.

The Power of 3D Furniture Design:

Shalin Designs: Transforming Concepts into Reality:

Amidst the plethora of 3D furniture design services, Shalin Designs stands out as an industry leader. With a commitment to innovation and a keen understanding of the evolving needs of clients, Shalin Designs brings a unique blend of creativity and functionality to waiting room furniture design. Leveraging advanced technologies, Shalin Designs ensures that each piece is a masterpiece, tailored to elevate the waiting room experience.

Statistics on Waiting Room Furniture Trends:

To make informed decisions in 2024, furniture manufacturers and designers must stay abreast of the latest trends. According to recent market analyses, there is a notable shift towards eco-friendly materials, modular designs, and multifunctional furniture in waiting room spaces. Incorporating these trends not only aligns with the growing emphasis on sustainability but also caters to the demand for flexible and adaptable seating arrangements.

Choose best design of Waiting room furniture for 2024

Comfort and Ergonomics: Research indicates that comfortable seating significantly impacts the overall satisfaction of individuals in waiting rooms. Prioritize designs that balance aesthetics with ergonomic considerations, ensuring that the furniture supports the well-being of users.

Customization Options: The ability to tailor waiting room furniture to specific preferences is gaining traction. Manufacturers and designers should offer customization options, allowing clients to express their brand identity through personalized design elements.

Durability and Maintenance: In a bustling waiting room environment, durability is paramount. Opt for materials and finishes that can withstand daily wear and tear while maintaining their aesthetic appeal. Easy maintenance also contributes to the longevity of the furniture.

Conclusion:

In the quest for the best waiting room furniture design in 2024, the synergy between innovation and functionality becomes evident. 3D furniture design services, epitomized by industry leaders like Shalin Designs, pave the way for transformative creations. As furniture manufacturers and designers navigate the evolving landscape, the key lies in staying attuned to trends, embracing technological advancements, and prioritizing the comfort and satisfaction of those who enter the waiting room. How will your design leave a lasting imprint on the waiting experiences of the future? — share with us

[studioeisa]

still keeping up with you 🎤 vernon x reader.

he knows you’re not doing well with the distance, knows you’d rather have all of him or none of him than whatever this is. ⸻ ikaw mula noon anniversary series 🎵 sabay, never the strangers

word count: 1.6k · includes: angst, hurt/comfort, they are on a break!!!, actually so very sad and tender. owch

The weekend starts like a poorly worded Reddit post. 

You know the type. The ones where there’s an obvious answer to the question being posed. The situations that have you sighing in exasperation, because you cannot fathom how somebody could ever get themselves into a bind like this. 

AITA for still taking my ex-boyfriend to my sister’s wedding because I didn’t want to go back on our RSVP? 

Vernon doesn’t like that—the term ‘ex-boyfriend’. Time and time again, he’s reminded you that it’s not a breakup. It’s a break. A cool off with a looming deadline, one where the two of you are supposed to reconvene and figure out if this is still something you want to figure out. Like a fucking merger. 

He can call it whatever he wants, but it doesn’t take away the fact that his side of the bed feels colder with his absence, that the yoghurt you got him is well past its expiration date, that you find yourself waiting for him to come up in conversation just so you could say something. 

Not anything bad, not any sort of passage of blame. God, no. You just want to be able to say something like That’s Vernon’s favorite or Vernon said something like that once. A thinly veiled reminder that you still know him, even if he no longer sends you dozens of TikToks in the middle of the night. 

You still know Vernon. You know he’ll forget his antihistamines even though the wedding reception is a warzone for his allergies. You know he’ll ask for a mint at some point in the day, probably halfway through the mass. And so you bring your pocket First-Aid Kit, and you keep the tin of Mentos in your purse, because to love someone is to anticipate, to preempt, to know.

“I told you to bring a sweater.” 

Vernon’s dry voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You shoot him a heatless glare, pulling his suit jacket a little tighter around your shoulders. The reception is in full swing—tuxedoed children hurtling in between the tables, tipsy aunties trading secrets behind cupped hands, fairy lights acting as dupes against the starless sky. 

“And I told you,” you shoot back, “that it doesn’t fit in my purse.” 

Vernon shifts in the seat beside you. He has a wry sort of smile on his face, because this is precisely the kind of petty argument you’ve had time and time again. It often ends with Vernon swaddling you in whatever hoodie he’d worn for the express purpose of loaning it to you later on. 

“You’re going to freeze to death one of these days,” he jabs. 

You want to say, Not when you’re around, but you bite the words back in favor of burrowing a little more into his coat. He doesn’t press, doesn’t comment on the flicker of an expression that passes over your face. Vernon had always been a better person than you when it came to things like this. 

The reception unspools around the two of you like a film reel. Everything had been picture perfect today. The ceremony. The speeches. Your sister’s first dance with her now-husband.

Vernon played his part well. You hadn’t told your family yet that you were on a break. Hell, you thought this winter period would be over before the wedding. Vernon didn’t fault you when you had to sheepishly admit the truth to him. Just raised an eyebrow and asked if you knew where he could rent a suit.

He did everything expected of him. Kept a hand at the small of your back throughout the night. Smiled politely while fielding questions about marriage plans. Called you ‘babe’, looked at you like he still loved you. 

He still loves you. He does. 

That’s what he said, anyway, when he brought this whole arrangement up. He just—needed some time apart, needed space to breathe. To be. 

Vernon nudges your side with his elbow. “I can hear you thinking,” he teases, though not unkindly. 

Your lips purse in a tight smile. “What’s on my mind, then?” 

He looks at you like he knows. Of course he knows. He knows you’re not doing well with the distance, knows you’d rather have all of him or none of him than whatever this is. 

He spares you, though, and instead says, “You’re thinking about getting McDonald’s after this.” 

A weak laugh escapes you. “A single black coffee,” you say. 

“And absolutely nothing else,” Vernon adds. It’s an inside joke, one that needs no explanation. 

You’re forgiven for not wanting to divulge to the rest of us. Some things are too intimate to be shared, to be said out loud and made real. 

Like how a piano rendition of that song strikes up. You know the one. The track that reminds you of endless roads, of Friday evenings and Sunday mornings. It fills the spaces of your drives and reminds you of what it means to be alive. 

You sit up a little straighter. Vernon notices. 

“Your favorite,” he hums. 

“Favorite is debatable.” Your response is more technical than anything. You don’t want to definitively call anything your favorite, not when there’s a whole world of choices for you to still make someday. You haven’t gotten to know all of the things that you could love yet. 

Vernon rolls his eyes. And maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s that moment of something so familiar, so fond, that gives you just the right amount of courage to ask, “Dance with me?” 

A beat. One that sits low, twists a bit, has damage in it. 

The affection on Vernon’s face has crumpled into something closer to pity. You hate it. You want to hate him. He says your name all careful and quiet like, fracturing your heart that’s already cracked in all the places that matters. 

“Nevermind,” you say. Too fast. Like you’re trying to get the words out before you can sob. “That was stupid. We—it’s not like we dance, anyway.” 

Not in public, at least. The two of you waltz in kitchens during midnight, shimmy down empty grocery aisles, hold mini-concerts in shared showers. You’re both terrible at it, but at least you were terrible together. Now, you can’t even have that. Instead—

“Okay.” 

Vernon’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s firm. Unwavering. The pity on his expression is gone, replaced by the certainty of a man who believes in certain truths. 

You open your mouth to protest, to deny him of giving you this consolation prize. But the reality is that you’ll take what you can get. You take his hand as he holds it out to you. You double back to leave his suit jacket on the back of your chair. You wobble a bit as your heels hit the ground, and Vernon holds you steady. 

Nobody bats an eye when you and Vernon hit the dance floor. Some of the other guests make room, even, shooting the two of you looks full of goodwill and well wishes. You can imagine what they’re thinking, what they’re wanting. For the next wedding to be yours. 

You bury the thought behind the feeling of Vernon resting his hands at your waist. You wind your own arms around his shoulders, taking the excuse to press against him in the way that you’ve missed. You haven’t held him like this in what feels like weeks, and it’s a touch so comforting you think you could sob. 

“Think you can keep up?” he jokes. 

Despite yourself, you smile. “You know I will.” 

You don’t. 

You try. But you’ve got no sense of rhythm, and Vernon is twice as bad. You step over each other’s feet. He steers you into another couple; you lean a little too close and bump foreheads. The entire while, you try not to giggle, but when you hear the pffft of his own restrained laughter, you let the joy break from the back of your throat. 

It crawls out, spills into the space between you, lightens the weight on both your shoulders. You aren’t somebody who declares favorites, but this—this has to be your favorite part of the night. 

You keep flailing even when the song changes into one you don’t know. Even when it slows into something treacherous, something that demands heart. Your sister and her husband join the crowd of dancers; she throws you a wink, and you force yourself to smile as your hands tighten at the back of Vernon’s shirt. 

“Do you want to sit back down?” he asks delicately. 

No, you want to say. I want to dance with you forever. I’ll let you step on my toes and I’ll snap my ankles a thousand times over if it means having you here, with me. 

Instead of saying all that, you throw the question back. “Do you?” 

Vernon doesn’t miss a beat. “No,” he says, hands sliding down to your hips. “I like it here.” 

Plain and simple. I like it here. Here, being this wedding. Here, being your arms. Here, being with you. 

Here, as he pulls you to his chest and presses his lips to the top of your head, like he never left at all. 

Vernon has never lied to you. And so you want to believe him. You have to believe him when he tells you this break is not something final. Not a period that ends things.

A comma, maybe,

for a story that will go on, and on, and on—

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ⸻ i doubt i’m going to do this for all of the songs/fics, but this is one of my all-time favorite songs (for my very first svt bias), so i wanted to provide a translation for sabay. enjoy. ‹𝟹

I need some time To breathe In case I don’t reach you And you’re gone before I get there

Even if our feet fall differently I’ll still keep up with you

Dizzy from all this spinning With no one to lean on You’re the one who can stop This body of mine 

Even if our steps don’t match I’ll still keep up with you 

It doesn’t matter if we trip or go sideways I’ll still keep up with you 

It’s hard to stay above water When the current sweeps you up I can’t forget Can’t get away from you From you 

[moo-blogging]

Nothing in my head but with Levi after a wedding.

It was your friend's wedding, and you were the maid of honour. You were up since 5 in the morning. Making sure the wedding went on smoothly was challenging, but getting the wedding dinner ready was a nightmare.

The decoration company missed the red carpet, and they had to go back and get it. The catering people came in too early, the food might get cold too soon. The dessert bar person-in-charge was running late. You were pushing and pulling tables around to make sure there was enough space for the bride and groom's first dance. You went through the guest list again and again, crossing out names and qriting names again and again. 2 more people coming for table 3, another person from table 14 can't make it, a baby chair for table 8, vegan meal for table 9, and Mary from table 7 is lactose intolerant.

You paced around putting door gifts on each seat, making sure there was enough glasses for each table, replacing dirty napkins with clean ones. You even worked on the sound system with the DJ.

All this while, Levi was trailing behind you like a little duck. Helping you whenever he could. Table 5 and table 6 were too close together? He pulled them apart. Baby chair for table 8? He got it from the store room, and even wiped it down. Decoration company struggling with the red carpet? He got on his knee and helped with it.

Levi was there at the reception when you had to do your makeup before the dinner started. He ticked the names on the guest list, directed them to their respective tables, and gave out extra door gifts to children. When you stepped out of the powder room, Levi had seated almost everyone.

During the wedding dinner, photoes and videos of the bride and groom were shown on a big screen. Tears and laughter shared in the hall. And one of the bridesmaids caught the bouquet. You were tipsy at the end of the event. Drinking nothing but beer and wine as old friends kept toasting for whatever small reasons. You insisted on staying to help, but the bride and the groom ushered you home as they said "you're drunk, y/n, go home! You've done enough, and we can't thank you enough!"

As you walked, arms linked with Levi, stumbling barefeeted toward the lift. He was holding you steady and carrying your bag of trinkets (you said "just in case someone needs a nail clipper, or a bandage, or an extra pair of socks!") with your shoes dangling on his fingers. He helped you into the lift and pressed "G" at the bottom of the buttons. The doors closed, with only you both alone in the lift.

With your eyes closed, you leaned onto him. "What a busy day. Thanks for putting up with me, Levi." You turned your head, inhaled his scent of a mixture of sweet wine, salty sweat and clean shampoo before placing a kiss on his ear. You meant it for his cheek.

"Sad I didn't catch the bouquet," you pouted.

Levi snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you in. You fell onto him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You giggled at the sudden movement. "Levi!" Playfully, you slapped his arm softly. Your eyes locked, and you could see a clear determination in his silvery blue eyes.

"I will marry you, Y/n. I will marry you even without the bouquet."

The lift was quiet. You were breathing in the air he breathed out. You knew he meant it. And when he kissed you, you kissed him back. Fiercely. Passionately. Your palm on his cheek. His hand on the back of your head. You tasted him. You tasted his love. You tasted his promise.

And when the lift reached and the doors opened, you walked out, feeling like you just got married.

[fyuyushia]

Have we met before? Maybe in another time I loved you, maybe you're the one that I would run to, don't know why it's all a blur. I think I know you. - "Have we met before?"

Graphite stains the pristine white sheet of paper, making a soft hum as friction allowed for writings to appear on your notebook. Music played faintly in the background, ears plugged with earphones which blasted your favorite tunes for only you to hear.

The ambient light of the library helped you focus on studying. Scanning through the contents of the math textbook you borrowed from one of the sections of the library, you eagerly skimmed through the contents, determined to learn every bit you hadn't understood about the subject.

The entrance exams for the college you were shooting for drew near, and, out of sheer love for the university, you buried your nose in the books for days on end. Frequenting the library near your home, the people by the reception began to recognize you for your visits that happened for long hours, starting from 12 pm sharp to the library's closing time.

Today wasn't much different. Like routine, you arrived at the library at 12, took out a book, a notebook, your pen, and a dream. You waste no time slaving away to the lessons, meticulously understanding each and every one in hopes of reaching your dream job and by extension, your dream life.

Your wrist moved rhythmically, jotting down notes, attempting to solve formulas by your lonesome. How much lead did you use? Last you counted it was 10, by now, you had probably spent a whole pack.

This goes here and, you grab your calculator, rechecking your answers to ensure that you did them right.

"Excuse me," interrupting you in the midst of solving a problem, was someone coming up to your table (which was stacked with books) and calling for you.

You don't notice it the first time. Only responding when he calls for you the second time, when he does the added motion of leaning down to put his face in your periphery. Snapping out of your immersion, you peer up at him and blink.

You took off one of your earbuds and sat up straight. "Yes?"

The man-you noticed was a real looker—flashed you a small smile. "Is this seat taken? Would you mind if I sat here with you?" He pauses, eyes darting towards your surroundings. "There's no other seats available, you see. I promise I won't be a bother."

"Ah, of course!" Snapping out of your daze, you caught yourself before you could fall prey to his charms and become one of his (no doubt) victims.

Pulling your scattered books closer to you to make space for the man, you urged him to sit down on the seat across you. He gratefully accepts and allows himself to sit on the non-occupied seat.

"Thank you," he says, to which you respond with a nod.

You swallow thickly, shaking your head to rid yourself of your lecherous thoughts. Shifting your focus to the problem at hand, you plug in your earphone and hit play, resuming your own business and letting him do his.

Scribbling solutions on your scratch paper, you rest your head against your free hand. The stranger settled on the space in front of you, taking out his own textbooks and studying as well.

Admittedly, your eyes would occasionally drift towards the man. You took in his dangerously charming features. A tall man with a well built physique, a mature look and an air of mystery provided by his dark choice of clothing(which, in your honest opinion, suited him well). Had it not been for the fact that he was studying the same coverage as you, you would've thought he was older by a few years.

But most importantly of all, he felt familiar, somewhat. There was this certain tug in your heart, feeling nostalgic when you caught sight of him. It was weird, you were certain that if you did encounter someone so goodlooking you would remember them well. But you didn't, and yet you felt somewhat bittersweet as you observed the man.

"I'll give you a future you deserve. Please trust me in this, I'd do everything just to make you smile."

A foreign whisper echoes in the back of your mind, overriding the music that played in the background.

Much to your chagrin, the stranger suddenly looked up from his book and met your eyes, catching you in the act of staring. He sends over a polite smile your way; you flinch and avert your gaze in turn.

You clear your throat, pretending like you weren't just caught staring at him. Growing finicky, you tighten your hold on your mechanical pencil and hastily write down your answers.

He laughs, his shoulder shaking softly as he takes in your panicked act. Though you couldn't hear it due to the loud music blaring through your earbuds, the sight of his amused grin alone had your heart racing. It wasn't often you could see such a looker out in the open, you reasoned to yourself.

Sparing one last glance at him—just to make sure he wasn't bothered with you staring—you find him still staring at you instead. You nearly jump in your seat, but managed to keep yourself still for the most part. Nonchalant, just like you wanted to be.

He points at your ear, tilting his head a bit in question. Taking notice of his gestures, you pause the music and take them off once more.

"Did you say something?"

"Ah," he repeats the motion, pointing to his ear. "Your earphones. The music's leaking out."

Your lips part in a 'o' shape.

"Oh."

Your cheeks flush, flustered by your blunder. "I-sorry, I didn't notice."

"It's fine, I was just worried about your hearing. Playing it on full volume will hurt your ears, you know?"

"Oh, oh it's fine! Thank you though, for the concern, I mean."

He gives you a shut eye smile. Idly tapping his fingers against the wooden desk, he hums. "[Band name], right?"

"I like that band too." Keeping the conversation going, he leans slightly forward in a futile attempt to get a bit closer. "The one you just played, in particular's my favorite."

His eyes narrow ever so slightly when he sees your eyes sparkle. Glad to see a kindred soul, you pushed your phone to the side and engaged in a light conversation with him.

"Really? I didn't expect to find a fellow listener so conveniently! Especially since they're more of in the lesser know side."

"Right?" He chuckles, his deep baritone making your heart experience an earth quake in real time. "I was introduced to it by a friend."

You don't miss the way his voice grows laced with a melancholic tone. "Oh? That friend of yours has good taste. They've been one of my favorites since they first debuted!"

"Debuted? That's an awfully long time." The man feigns a shocked expression. "What's your favorite song then, and why?"

Your lips parted into a smile. He was asking all the right questions, allowing you to talk to him about your fondness for the band. "Well, you see, I-"

He nods as you chatter away, lips pressed into a smile. Giving small nods and hums to let you know he was listening, you happily talk away with him your passion for the band, only pulling away when he looks at you too softly for your comfort.

"Oh! Sorry, I was talking too much, wasn't I?"

If you were to be truthfully honest, then you'd say that reason you just spouted was not the reason you stopped yapping. If you were, again, to speak truthfully, then you'd say it was mostly because of the certain way he looked at you. Yearning for something, a certain look of fondness glimmering within the irises of his grey hues. The way that he directed such soft gaze at you had your head spinning, and though you tried desperately not to fall into his trap, you found yourself charmed hook, line, and sinker.

He laughs-the sound, a pleasing melody to your ears-his head perched atop his palm. "No, not at all. By all means, do continue."

"No, no, it's fine. I've said all I wanted to say anyways." You scratched your cheek, hoping he wouldn't notice just how warm your cheeks have gotten.

The stranger hums, pausing as he feels the silence stretch and slowly envelope the two of you on its bubble once more. You part your lips, looking away from him, hesitating, wanting to talk more to the fellow fan but scared of sounding weird.

"You sure have a lot of books stacked up."

You shift your gaze towards the stack of books that rested beside you. "Oh, yes, well, I'm aiming for one of the bigger universities so I have to put in this much effort if I want to get in."

He nods, idly drumming his fingers against the table. "Which one are you trying to get into?"

You answer with your chosen university, a shy smile on your lips. The stranger lights up, donning a pleasantly surprised demeanor once he hears your answer.

"Really? That's the university I'm trying to get into as well." He laughs, "what a coincidence. Do you think it's fate?" What bullcrap.

You chuckle as well, amused by the coincidence. "So it seems. It's nice to meet a fellow soldier here."

His smile quirks up a bit higher than before. "Indeed. Say, what's your name?"

You easily tell him your name, answering with a chirp in your voice. You've gotten comfortable with this odd man, for whatever reason, he just seemed trustworthy despite a part of your head judging him harshly and betting on the fact that he was a playboy.

"What's yours?"

The man—you now learned had the name of Jinwoo—answered. He offered a hand, you accept it and give it a short shake.

"Best of luck to us, the name's Sung Jinwoo."

And, like a lock falling apart, the gates to a knowledge kept hidden opened slightly. Brief glimpses of a past you couldn't recognize living through in flashed against your eyes.

Gates, hunters, and most importantly, Sung Jinwoo.

Short flashes of whispered confessions, wordless exchanges of affection-the once blurry figure suddenly painted Jinwoo's features, giving you both a name and a face.

You tentatively pulled away, retracting your arms from his hold.

His quirks up a brow then curls it in worry. "Is something wrong?"

Your brows crease, conflicted. What was that just now? It felt like the memories were yours but it also felt like it wasn't. You never lived through such a life, only met him now.

"No, nothing's wrong! Just that..." You trail off, hesitant to ask. "It feels like... Have we met before?"

The man, Jinwoo, freezes at your words. For a moment, you could see a glimpse of pure shock written on his face. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened just a smidge before returning to its usual pokerface.

Your cheeks flush when silence overtakes the two of you. You scramble to correct things, worried that he might have seen you as a creep or that you were flirting with him.

"Oh! Uhm, nevermind-that sounded weird right? I didn't mean it in that way I just-"

"We have."

"No no I'm sorry I-" you stop. "We have? When?"

Jinwoo recovers from his initial surprise. Tilting his head a bit to the side, he conjures up a teasing smile. "Want to know when?"

You swallow thickly, trying to not mind the fact that he looked so pretty doing that-making that particular face.

"Yes, if you'd be willing to tell me."

Crossing his arms and resting them against the table, he leans closer to you.

"Then, first, can I have your number?"

Pt.2 in the making... I should really focus on capture target series but attention span go brr hehe

[zrvllya]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐄

pairing - remus lupin x fem! reader

heart — "it should have been us. everything about today—the flowers, the music, the vows—it's what i promised you."

warnings - alcohol abuse, angst, past relationship, unresolved issues, lycantrophy references, war themes, sexual references, emotional infidelity, toxic communication

word count - 10,000+

──────────

"and i know—because i’ve lived without it—that what you two have is the closest thing to magic that exists. i know what it’s like to lose something like this. so hold onto it. please.“

the words hang in the air like abandoned ghosts, cold and unwelcome against your skin. remus stands at the microphone, amber eyes glazed with something that exists in the shadowy space between rage and despair. his fingers curl around the stand as though it's the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"when james told me he was in love with lily in our second year, i laughed at him. i told him he was mad." his voice cracks slightly, the sound of something fragile splintering. "but standing here today, watching the way he looks at her... i know he wasn't mad. he was just ahead of the rest of us in understanding what matters."

he isn't looking at james or lily. he's looking at you. straight through you, actually, like you're made of glass and he can see all the broken pieces scattered on the other side. every jagged edge, every shard that still bears his name.

"love isn't always easy. sometimes it's messy and painful and it asks more of us than we think we can give." his knuckles are white against the microphone stand, bones pressing against skin. "but when it's real—when it's the kind of love these two share—it's worth fighting for. it's worth protecting. worth sacrificing for."

you wish you could look away. you wish your eyes weren't locked on his, that your heart wasn't beating so loudly you're certain the entire room can hear its desperate rhythm. the champagne in your glass has gone warm, bubbles long dead. marlene leans over, whispering something about how drunk remus is, but you can't respond. you're too busy drowning in amber eyes that used to look at you like you hung the stars.

"james and lily never gave up on each other. through everything—every obstacle, every doubt, every dark day—they chose each other. over and over again." his voice breaks completely now. "some of us weren't so brave."

his gaze intensifies, boring into you across the sea of white linen and floral arrangements. "some of us let fear win. some of us convinced ourselves that walking away was the only answer, when really, it was just the easiest one. some of us still wake up reaching for someone who isn't there."

you feel the blood drain from your face, leaving you light-headed. around you, guests shift uncomfortably in their seats, the weight of words clearly not meant for the bride and groom settling over the reception like an uninvited shadow.

sirius is suddenly beside him, hand on his shoulder. a gentle reminder that this speech is supposed to be about the newlyweds, not the wreckage of what you and remus once were. remus blinks, seeming to remember where he is, though his eyes never leave yours.

"to james and lily potter," he says finally, raising a glass that's significantly emptier than it was when he started speaking. "may your love be as eternal as it is true. may you never take the easy way out when things get difficult. may you remember that some scars are worth earning."

the room erupts in polite, if somewhat strained, applause. you clap mechanically, your palms barely touching. remus stumbles off the small stage, and sirius guides him back to their table. he's saying something in remus's ear, something that makes remus shake his head vigorously, a flash of anger crossing his features.

"you okay?" mary asks, nudging you gently.

"fine," you lie. "just tired. it's been a long day."

"bullshit," marlene whispers from your other side. "he might as well have used your name. everyone with ears knows who he was talking about."

you take a long sip of champagne instead of responding. it tastes like nothing against your numb tongue.

the reception continues around you—a blur of white tulle and fairy lights and the kind of happiness that feels like a knife when you're so empty. the ballroom of the potter estate has been transformed into something out of a dream—enchanted flowers bloom and close in time with the music, releasing soft bursts of golden light. ivy climbs the walls, occasionally reshaping itself into the initials "j & l." tiny fireflies drift through the air, blinking in patterns that match the rhythm of whatever song is playing.

it's exactly like what remus described to you that night in seventh year, down to the last detail. so exactly that you wonder if james had somehow overheard, or if remus had shared the vision with his friend after... after you left.

"dance with me," marlene says, already pulling you up from your chair. "sitting here staring at him like you're plotting his murder isn't going to help."

"i'm not staring." another lie.

the dance floor is crowded, bodies moving in time to a song you can't concentrate on hearing. marlene spins you, laughs at something you don't register. over her shoulder, you see remus watching. he lifts his glass in a mock toast when your eyes meet, a bitter smile playing on lips you once knew better than your own.

you turn away, but it's too late. the memory crashes into you like a wave, pulling you under.

"i'm going to marry you one day." his words are hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

"is that a promise, lupin?" you whisper, fingers tracing the scars on his back, memorizing each ridge and valley as if you might be tested on them later.

"it's more than that." he shifts, looking down at you. the moonlight filtering through the dormitory window turns his eyes to liquid gold. "it's a certainty."

your heart stutters. "tell me about it."

he smiles, that soft, secret smile that only you get to see. "it'll be in spring. outside. under a canopy of flowers that change colors with the music. colors that follow the notes, blooming and fading with each chord."

"sounds expensive."

"worth every galleon." his fingers tangle in your hair. "sirius will be my best man, of course. and he'll make some horribly inappropriate speech that makes my mother faint and your father threaten to hex him."

you laugh softly, pressing your lips to his collarbone. "and after?"

"after, we'll dance until our feet hurt. and then we'll apparate somewhere no one can find us for at least a week. maybe that little cottage in cornwall we saw in the prophet."

"only a week?"

"the first of many." his voice grows serious. "i'll love you forever, you know. even when we're old and i'm even more scarred and you're—"

"still putting up with your dramatic declarations?" you tease, but your voice catches. the air between you feels heavy with promise.

"even then." he kisses you, soft and slow, like he's trying to press the words into your skin so they'll stay there forever. "especially then."

"you alright?" marlene asks, pulling you back to the present. "you look like you've seen a ghost."

"just need some air," you manage, already making your way off the dance floor.

the reception hall is stifling suddenly. too many bodies, too many memories, too many echoes of promises that died before they could be kept. you slip out onto the balcony, grateful for the bite of cold air against your flushed skin.

"hiding?"

you turn to find lily standing in the doorway, radiant in white. her dress is simple, elegant—layers of silk and chiffon that seem to float around her like she's walking on clouds. her red hair is pinned up with tiny pearl flowers, a few strategic strands left loose to frame her face.

"just needed a moment," you say. "congratulations, by the way. everything is beautiful. you're beautiful."

"thank you." she steps closer, the train of her dress whispering against the stone floor. "though i'm starting to think inviting both of you was a mistake."

you don't pretend not to understand. "i'm fine, lily. really."

"and remus?" she raises an eyebrow. "he's on his way to being completely plastered. sirius is trying to get some coffee into him, but..." she trails off.

"that's not my problem anymore." the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

lily's expression softens. "maybe not. but you're still watching him like it is. and he's still looking at you like you're the moon he can't stop orbiting."

before you can respond, james appears, wrapping an arm around his bride's waist. "there you are. sirius is about to start the games, and i need someone sober to make sure he doesn't set anything on fire. again."

lily laughs, leaning into him. "duty calls. coming, love?"

you nod, following them back inside. the air feels heavier now, charged with something you can't name but recognize all too well.

the games are as ridiculous as expected. sirius has conjured a series of magical challenges for the newlyweds—everything from finishing each other's sentences while under a partial silencing charm to a modified version of pin the tail on the hippogriff that has james blindfolded and trying to find lily in a crowd of guests all wearing veils.

you laugh at the appropriate moments, clap when everyone else does. but your attention keeps drifting, like a compass that only points in one direction.

remus is slouched at his table, tie loose around his neck, top buttons of his shirt undone. his eyes are half-closed, but you can tell he's not actually tired. he's withdrawing, pulling into himself the way he always did when things got too loud, too bright, too much. peter is saying something to him, but he doesn't seem to be listening. there's a fresh drink in front of him, amber liquid catching the light like tiny fires.

"next up," sirius announces, his voice magically amplified, "we have the newlywed game! let's see how well these lovebirds really know each other."

he conjures two high-backed chairs, facing away from each other. lily and james take their seats, both laughing.

"first question," sirius begins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "who said 'i love you' first?"

james and lily both immediately raise placards with "james" written on them. the crowd cheers.

"point for the happy couple! next question: where was your first proper date?"

they both hold up cards reading "three broomsticks," though lily has added "it was supposed to be madam puddifoot's but james got us banned for life."

laughter ripples through the crowd. james turns in his chair to wink at lily, who blows him a kiss.

"what's the most annoying habit your partner has?" sirius continues.

james writes "leaves wet towels on the floor" while lily's card reads "collects quidditch figurines and talks to them when he thinks i'm not around."

more laughter, more teasing. you force a smile, but your eyes drift back to remus. he's watching now too, a strange expression on his face—something between longing and regret, as if he's seeing a future that once belonged to him.

"if your partner could change one thing about you, what would it be?" sirius asks.

lily hesitates, then writes "my stubbornness." james, without pausing, writes "nothing. she's perfect."

a collective "aww" runs through the crowd. lily turns, her expression softening as she looks at her husband.

"i wouldn't change a thing either," she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

james reaches for her hand across the space between them, and the simple gesture—fingers intertwining, thumbs brushing over knuckles—contains such easy intimacy that it makes your chest ache with something that feels dangerously close to envy.

remus stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his drink. he steadies it with reflexes that seem too quick for someone so intoxicated, then weaves his way through the tables toward the exit. no one but you seems to notice his departure.

the music changes, slowing to something sweet and melancholy. james leads lily to the center of the floor for their first dance as husband and wife. they move together like they were made for it, like two parts of the same spell. james whispers something that makes lily throw her head back in laughter, her eyes shining with the kind of love poets spend lifetimes trying to capture in words.

the enchanted canopy above them shifts with the music—soft blues melting into purples, then pinks, then golds. exactly like remus described that night. exactly what should have been yours.

you finish your champagne in one swallow, needing something to burn away the lump forming in your throat.

across the room, remus watches them with an expression so raw it makes your chest ache. he catches your eye again, and this time, he doesn't look away. his gaze holds yours across the sea of guests, across the years between you, across all the words neither of you ever said when it mattered.

you're the first to break it, turning to mary and asking about her job at the ministry, anything to keep from drowning in those amber eyes that still know too much about you.

"...and then the whole department had to work overtime because someone accidentally released a batch of enchanted rubber ducks that kept multiplying every time they quacked," mary is saying, but you've only caught the last half of her story.

"sounds chaotic," you manage, taking another sip of champagne you don't remember getting.

the dance floor fills as other couples join james and lily. sirius leads mcgonagall in an elaborate waltz that has her fighting to maintain her stern expression. peter awkwardly sways with a cousin of lily's who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. dorcas and marlene move together so naturally it makes you wonder if there's something more than friendship between them.

"may i have this dance?"

you turn to find frank longbottom extending his hand. alice, his new wife of just three months, is busy chatting with lily's mother by the dessert table.

"of course," you say, grateful for the distraction.

frank is a comfortable dancer—not too close, not too distant. he makes easy small talk about their new house, about alice's promotion at the ministry, about the unusually warm weather. normal things. safe things. things that don't carry the weight of three years of silence.

"how are you holding up?" he asks suddenly, voice lowered.

you blink in surprise. "what do you mean?"

frank's expression is kind. "we all saw the speech," he says gently. "and the way you both keep looking at each other when you think no one's watching."

heat rises to your cheeks. "is it that obvious?"

"only to those of us who were there for the original show." he smiles, but it's sympathetic rather than teasing. "i remember seventh year. you two were..."

"everything," you finish for him, the word barely audible over the music.

he nods. "exactly."

the song ends, and frank squeezes your hand before returning to alice. you stand alone on the dance floor for a moment, suddenly unsure where to go. your table feels too exposed, the bar too close to where remus was last sitting.

before you can decide, the music shifts again—to a song that makes your heart stop.

it's the song that was playing the first time remus kissed you. some old muggle tune that sirius had been obsessed with that summer before seventh year. you'd been dancing together in james's parents' living room, everyone else already gone to bed. remus had pulled you close, his hands trembling slightly, and whispered "i can't pretend anymore" before his lips found yours.

your eyes immediately search the room, finding sirius at the band's table. he meets your gaze, and the apologetic shrug tells you everything—he requested it for remus. a peace offering. or maybe a final push.

and remus—remus is staring right at you from the entrance to the ballroom, devastation written across his features. he drains his glass in one long swallow, then pushes away from the doorframe, heading for the exit.

before you can think better of it, you follow.

you find him in the corridor, leaning against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed. he looks exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the late hour.

"running away?" you ask, the words sharper than you intended.

his eyes snap open. "look who's talking."

the barb lands exactly where he aimed it, and you flinch slightly. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?" he pushes off the wall, swaying slightly. "running away is what we do best, isn't it? you run, i chase. i run, you chase. we're so good at it by now."

"i didn't come out here to fight with you."

he laughs, a hollow sound that bounces off the stone walls. "why did you come out here, then? to make sure i wasn't making another scene? ruining lily and james's perfect day with my pathetic pining?"

"is that what you think you're doing? pining?"

"what would you call it?" he steps closer, and you can smell the firewhiskey on his breath, mingling with that familiar scent of parchment and cedar and something uniquely him that still haunts your dreams. "watching the only person i've ever loved across a crowded room, remembering everything we had, everything we lost—"

"don't," you whisper, the word barely audible.

"don't what? tell the truth? isn't that what you always wanted from me?" his voice is bitter, almost mocking. "the whole truth, even when it hurts?"

"not like this." you take a step back. "not when you're drunk and angry and—"

"and what? heartbroken?" he laughs again. "i've been heartbroken for three years, love. this is just a particularly bad night in a long series of bad nights."

you want to walk away. you should walk away. but your feet are rooted to the spot, your heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to break free, to cross the space between you.

"it should have been us," he says suddenly, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "everything about today—the flowers, the music, the vows—it's what i promised you. and watching them..." he swallows hard. "watching them get everything we should have had..."

"you had your chance to talk about all this," you say finally, your voice unnaturally steady. "you had months of chances."

"and you had yours to stay." his eyes hold yours, unflinching despite the alcohol. "but here we are."

"yes, here we are. at james and lily's wedding. which you're ruining, by the way."

he flinches like you've slapped him. "that's not—"

"it is. and you know it." your voice rises slightly. "you're ruining their wedding day because it's not us up there, remus. because you can't stand to watch them have what we lost."

"and you can?" he challenges, stepping closer again. "you've been wearing that fake smile all night, like you're fine, like seeing all this doesn't kill you as much as it kills me. at least i'm honest about my misery."

"honest?" you laugh incredulously. "when have you ever been honest? you spent months pushing me away, telling me you were fine when you weren't, insisting nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart."

"i was trying to protect you!" his voice echoes down the empty corridor. "i was twenty years old and turning into a monster every month, and i was terrified of what that meant for us!"

"i never asked to be protected." your voice cracks. "i asked to be included. to be trusted. to be treated like a partner, not a child you had to shelter from the big bad world."

he runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes your chest ache. "i know. i know that now."

"well, it's too late." the words taste like ash in your mouth.

"is it?" he asks quietly. "is it really too late for us?"

you swallow hard. "what do you want from me, remus?"

"i want..." he starts, then stops, seeming to gather his thoughts. "i want one dance. just one. in that room, under those flowers that should have been ours."

the request is so unexpected it leaves you speechless.

"at least let us attend one wedding together," he says, a sad smile playing at his lips, "if it can't be ours."

your throat tightens. "that's not fair."

"nothing about us has ever been fair." he holds out his hand. "one dance. and then i'll leave you alone forever, if that's what you want."

you should say no. you know you should walk away, go back to the reception, find mary or marlene and pretend this conversation never happened. but there's something in his eyes—a vulnerability that the alcohol has exposed—that makes you reach for his hand.

"one dance," you agree. "and then we're done."

his fingers close around yours, warm and familiar. "lead the way."

you walk back to the ballroom in silence, your hand still in his. at the entrance, you hesitate. the music has changed again, something slow and sweet. couples sway together, lost in their own worlds.

"if i ask you something," remus says suddenly, "will you answer honestly?"

you look up at him. "depends on the question."

"do you ever think about it? what would have happened if we hadn't fallen apart?"

your heart pounds against your ribs. "all the time," you admit, the words escaping before you can stop them.

he looks down at you, eyes wide with surprise. "really?"

"every day," you say softly. "every time i see something that reminds me of you. every time i hear someone laugh the way you do. every time it rains."

he swallows hard. "me too."

you step into the ballroom, pulling him with you. the dance floor is crowded enough that no one notices as you find a space near the edge. remus's hand settles on your waist, hesitant, like he's afraid you might shatter under his touch.

you place your hand on his shoulder, remembering how it used to fit there perfectly. his other hand still holds yours, and you try not to think about how right it feels. how the calluses on his palm match up with the ones on your fingers, like pieces of a puzzle.

"thank you," he says quietly as you begin to move to the music. "for this."

you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. his body is warm against yours, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. you try to keep some distance between you, but the crowded floor pushes you closer together until you can feel his heartbeat against your own.

"i'm sorry," he says after a moment. "for the speech. for tonight. for everything."

you look up at him, finding his gaze already on you. "are you really? or are you just saying that because you're drunk and nostalgic?"

"i'm saying it because it's true." his thumb traces circles on your waist, probably unconsciously. "i've been sorry since the day you walked out. i just didn't know how to tell you."

"you could have tried words," you say, but there's no bite to it. "or, i don't know, showing up at my door."

"i did," he admits. "three times. i stood outside your flat for hours, trying to find the courage to knock. the first time, it was raining so hard i was soaked through. the second time, it was your birthday. the third..." he trails off.

"the third?" you prompt.

"the third was the day frank and alice got married. i saw the invitation on your table through the window. realized you'd be there, that i'd see you for the first time in nearly two years. i panicked and left."

you remember that day—how you'd felt eyes on you during the ceremony, how you'd kept turning to look behind you, finding nothing but shadows.

"we're a mess, aren't we?" you say softly.

he laughs, a genuine sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. "the biggest."

the music shifts again, but neither of you stop dancing. your hand has somehow moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the soft hair there. his arm has tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until there's barely any space between you.

"what happened to us?" you ask, the question that's haunted you for three years finally finding voice.

remus sighs, his breath warm against your temple. "fear. pride. stubbornness. take your pick."

"all of the above," you murmur.

"i was so afraid of hurting you," he says quietly. "not just physically, but... i was getting worse. the transformations were getting harder. i was coming back with new scars every month, scars i couldn't hide. i was in pain all the time, and i was taking it out on you."

"you were pushing me away."

"i thought it would be easier if you were the one to leave. if i made you hate me enough to walk away on your own."

you pull back slightly to look at him. "i never hated you. not even when i wanted to."

something flickers in his eyes—hope, maybe, or regret. "and now?"

before you can answer, there's a commotion near the head table. james is standing on a chair, lily beside him, glasses raised. "if i could have everyone's attention for a moment!"

the music fades, conversations quieting. you and remus turn toward the voice, but neither of you step away from the other.

"my wife and i," james begins, grinning at the word 'wife,' "want to thank you all for being here today. for supporting us, for loving us, for putting up with us—especially those of you who had to endure my six-year campaign to win lily's heart."

laughter ripples through the crowd.

"but we also want to take a moment to acknowledge something else." james's expression grows serious. "we're living in dark times. there's no point pretending otherwise. every day brings news of another disappearance, another attack, another loss."

the mood in the room shifts, grows heavier.

"which is why days like today are so important," lily continues. "days when we remember that love is still possible. that joy is still possible. that even in the darkest times, we can find light in each other."

murmurs of agreement flow through the crowd. remus's arm tightens around your waist, a reflexive gesture you're not sure he's even aware of.

"so," james raises his glass higher, "we want to propose a toast. not just to us, but to all of you. to the love that brings us together. to the friendships that sustain us. to the family we choose."

"to love in dark times," lily adds, her glass joining his.

the room echoes with the toast, glasses raised, voices joining together. you look up at remus, finding his eyes already on you, swimming with emotion.

"to love in dark times," he whispers, just for you.

something shifts between you, a trembling possibility taking shape. remus's gaze drops to your lips, a question in his eyes. for a breathless moment, you think he might kiss you, right here in front of everyone.

but then sirius is there, clapping remus on the shoulder. "there you are, moony! been looking all over. mcgonagall wants a dance with the best man."

remus startles, turning to his friend. "minerva wants to dance with me?"

"well, she asked for 'the sober one,' which rules out padfoot here," james says, appearing beside sirius. "but since you're the only best man we've got..."

you step back, the moment broken. remus looks at you, an apology in his eyes, but you shake your head. "go. fulfill your best man duties."

he hesitates. "this conversation isn't over."

"isn't it?" you ask softly.

before he can answer, james is pulling him away, toward where mcgonagall stands waiting, a rare smile on her face. you watch them go, feeling strangely hollow.

marlene appears at your side, a fresh glass of champagne in her hand. "was that what it looked like?"

you take the glass, grateful for something to do with your hands. "depends on what you think it looked like."

"like you and lupin were about three seconds away from giving everyone at this wedding something to really gossip about," she says, eyebrows raised.

you sip your champagne. "we were just dancing."

"uh-huh." she looks unconvinced. "and i'm just minerva's star pupil. seriously, are you okay? you've been avoiding him all night, and then suddenly you're slow dancing with him looking like... that."

"like what?"

"like he's air and you've been drowning," she says simply.

you don't have an answer for that.

across the room, remus is dancing with mcgonagall, his movements more graceful than they should be for someone who's had as much to drink as he has. he's smiling at something she's saying, but his eyes keep finding you over her shoulder.

"he still loves you," marlene says, following your gaze. "anyone with eyes can see it."

"it's not that simple."

"isn't it?" she shrugs. "love rarely is. doesn't mean it's not worth figuring out."

the song ends, and mcgonagall says something to remus that makes him laugh. he bows slightly, pressing a kiss to her hand, and she actually blushes.

"think about it," marlene says, squeezing your arm before disappearing back into the crowd.

you finish your champagne, set the empty glass on a passing tray, and make your way to the balcony again. the night air is cool against your flushed skin, the stars bright overhead. you lean against the railing, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in your chest.

the door opens behind you, and you don't need to turn to know who it is. you'd know his footsteps anywhere, even after all this time.

"found you," remus says softly, coming to stand beside you.

"wasn't hiding," you reply.

"weren't you?" he leans against the railing, careful to keep some space between you. "you've been avoiding me all night."

"can you blame me? after that speech?"

he winces. "that was... poorly handled on my part."

you laugh despite yourself. "you think?"

"in my defense, i've been drinking since breakfast." he runs a hand through his hair. "dutch courage, sirius called it."

"dutch courage for what? publicly humiliating us both?"

"for talking to you," he says simply. "for telling you the truth. for finally saying what i should have said three years ago."

you turn to look at him. "and what's that?"

he meets your gaze, steady despite the alcohol. "that i love you. that i never stopped loving you. that letting you walk away was the biggest mistake of my life."

the words hang between you, heavy with all the things unsaid for too long.

"you're drunk," you say finally.

"yes," he agrees. "but that doesn't make it any less true."

"what do you want from me, remus?" you ask again, suddenly tired. "an absolution? forgiveness? or do you just want to reopen old wounds because you're feeling nostalgic at a wedding?"

"i want a second chance," he says quietly. "i want to try again, to do better this time. i want to be brave enough to let you in, to stop pushing you away when things get hard."

you shake your head. "we can't just pick up where we left off. too much has happened. too much time has passed."

"i'm not asking to pick up where we left off. i'm asking to start somewhere new. somewhere better."

you look away, back at the stars. "i don't know if i can trust you again."

"i know." he moves closer, his arm brushing against yours. "i know i hurt you. i know i broke promises. but i also know that there hasn't been a single day in the last three years when i haven't thought about you, missed you, regretted everything that happened between us."

the sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. "remus—"

"come back to the party with me," he interrupts. "just for a little while. dance with me again. let me buy you a drink. let me prove to you that i've changed, that i'm not the same scared boy who let you go."

you hesitate. "i don't think that's a good idea."

"probably not," he admits. "but when have we ever done the smart thing when it comes to each other?"

you can't help but smile at that. "fair point."

he holds out his hand, a tentative gesture. "at least let us attend one wedding together, if it can't be ours," he says softly. "let me have this one night with you before we go back to pretending we're strangers."

the words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. "that's not fair."

"i know," he says, hand still extended. "but i'm asking anyway."

you look at his hand, then up at his face. there's something in his eyes—a vulnerability, a hope, a fear—that breaks through the last of your defenses. you place your hand in his, feeling the familiar calluses, the warmth that's always been so at odds with his condition.

"one night," you say. "no promises beyond that."

his fingers close around yours, gentle but firm. "no promises," he agrees. "just tonight."

you let him lead you back inside, to where the party is still in full swing. the band is playing something fast now, and the dance floor is packed with people laughing, spinning, living in the moment.

remus pauses at the edge of the crowd, looking down at you. "still want to dance?"

you shake your head. "maybe later. i think i need that drink first."

he nods, keeping hold of your hand as he guides you through the crowd to the bar. "what'll it be?"

"something strong," you say. "strong enough to make me stop overthinking this."

he smiles, a flash of the old remus, the one who used to know exactly what you needed before you did. "two firewhiskeys," he tells the bartender. "neat."

when the drinks arrive, he hands one to you, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that seems deliberate. "to tonight," he says, raising his glass. "and whatever comes after."

you clink your glass against his, the sound sharp and clear in the moment of hesitation between songs. the whiskey burns your throat, liquid courage spreading warmth through your chest.

"so," you say, setting your glass down. "where do we go from here?"

remus takes a long sip of his own drink, amber liquid matching his eyes. "honestly? i have no idea. i didn't think i'd get this far."

a laugh escapes you, small but genuine. "always the planner, lupin."

"planning hasn't exactly worked out well for us, has it?" he leans against the bar, eyes never leaving your face. "maybe we should try improvising for once."

there's a new quality to his voice—something reckless, something dangerous—that sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the whiskey. his gaze drops briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"dangerous territory," you murmur.

"since when have we been afraid of danger?" his voice drops lower. "we were gryffindors, after all."

"some kinds of bravery are easier than others." you finish your drink in one swallow. "physical danger was never what scared us."

the music changes again, slowing to something soft and melancholy that makes your chest ache with recognition. it's another song from that summer, the one that played the night before everything fell apart.

remus hears it too; you can tell by the way his body tenses, the way his knuckles whiten around his glass. "sirius is really pushing his luck tonight," he mutters.

"at least it's not—"

but you don't finish the sentence because the current song fades out and the opening notes of the song—your song—start playing. the one that was playing during your first kiss, the one remus used to hum against your skin on lazy sunday mornings, the one you haven't been able to listen to since everything ended.

remus's eyes widen, then narrow as he scans the room, finding sirius by the band stand. "i'm going to kill him."

sirius spots you both, raises his glass in a toast, and winks dramatically. subtlety never was his strong suit.

"dance with me," remus says suddenly, setting down his glass. "again. properly this time."

you hesitate. "i don't think—"

"don't think," he interrupts, taking your hand. "feel. just for this song. just for tonight."

before you can protest, he's guiding you to the dance floor, finding a spot near the edge, partially hidden by a column draped in enchanted ivy. his hand settles on your waist, more confidently this time, pulling you closer than before. your arms go around his neck almost automatically, muscle memory from hundreds of dances before.

"we shouldn't be doing this," you whisper, even as you let him pull you closer.

"probably not," he agrees, his breath warm against your ear. "but it seems like we're doing it anyway."

you fall into the familiar rhythm, bodies remembering what minds have tried to forget. his hand splays across your lower back, warm and solid, guiding you with the gentle confidence that always surprised people who only knew shy, bookish remus lupin. but you know this version of him—the one who leads without hesitation, the one whose quiet exterior hides something wild and sure.

"i've missed this," he murmurs, so softly you almost don't hear it over the music. "missed you."

you don't reply, but you rest your head against his shoulder, allowing yourself this one moment of weakness. he smells the same—cedar and parchment and something uniquely him that you've never been able to find anywhere else, not for lack of trying.

the song continues, lyrics wrapping around you both like a familiar blanket, words about first love and lasting memories and the kind of connection that never really fades, even when you want it to.

"do you remember?" remus asks quietly. "the first time we danced to this?"

"sirius's birthday," you answer without thinking. "the bonfire at the potter's. you'd had too much firewhiskey and kept stepping on my toes."

he laughs softly. "and you didn't care. you just kept dancing with me anyway."

"i would have danced with you all night, broken toes and all." the admission slips out before you can stop it.

his arms tighten around you almost imperceptibly. "i know."

a memory surfaces—remus pulling you away from the bonfire, leading you down to the small pond at the edge of the potter property. dancing with you under the stars, no music except what was in your heads, his hands trembling slightly when they cupped your face. the taste of firewhiskey and chocolate on his lips when he finally, finally kissed you.

"we were so young," you murmur.

"we're still young," he reminds you. "only twenty-three. ancient by wizarding standards, i know, but..."

you smile despite yourself. "speak for yourself, old man."

he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. "fair enough. these gray hairs do add a few years."

"i like them," you say without thinking. "they make you look distinguished."

his steps falter for just a moment before he recovers. "distinguished? is that what we're calling it now?"

"better than 'prematurely aged by lycanthropy,'" you reply, the old joke slipping out automatically.

his laugh is startled but genuine. "always direct, aren't you?"

"you used to appreciate that about me."

"i still do," he says, suddenly serious. "it's one of the thousand things i've missed about you."

the song is nearing its end, the familiar bridge building toward the final chorus. you should pull away. you know you should put distance between your bodies, between your hearts. but instead, you find yourself holding tighter, memorizing the feel of him for the lonely nights ahead.

"remember what you said to me?" remus asks softly. "that night by the pond?"

you swallow hard. "which part?"

"you said, 'i don't care what happens tomorrow or next week or next year. i just want tonight with you, under these stars.' you said, 'sometimes a moment is enough to last forever.'"

the words, your words, spoken in his voice, hit you like a bludger to the chest. "i remember."

"was it? enough?" his voice is barely audible, even with his lips so close to your ear. "did it last?"

you pull back slightly to look at him, finding his eyes dark with emotion. "remus..."

the song ends, the final notes hanging in the air between you like a question. in the moment of silence before the next song begins, remus leans down, his forehead resting against yours. "just tonight," he whispers. "one more memory to last forever. and then i'll let you go, if that's what you want."

your breath catches. this close, you can see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, the tiny scar that cuts through his left eyebrow, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. details you've tried so hard to forget, suddenly in perfect, painful focus.

someone bumps into you from behind, breaking the moment. you step back, suddenly aware of where you are, of the crowd around you. the band has started another song, something faster, louder.

"i need some air," you say, already turning away.

remus catches your hand. "i'll come with you."

"remus—"

"please," he says, and there's something in his voice—a vulnerability, a need—that you can't refuse.

you nod once, and he keeps hold of your hand as you weave through the crowd toward the balcony doors. the night air is even cooler now, raising goosebumps on your bare arms. without a word, remus shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. it's warm from his body, and that familiar scent envelops you.

"thank you," you murmur.

he nods, keeping a careful distance between you now. "old habits."

you pull the jacket tighter around yourself, trying not to think about how right it feels. "very gallant."

"nothing gallant about it," he says, leaning against the railing. "entirely selfish, actually. you were always unbearably beautiful in my clothes."

heat rises to your cheeks. "remus..."

"sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "tonight only, remember? no reason to hold back anymore."

there's a new quality to his voice—a recklessness, an abandon—that you've rarely heard from him. it reminds you of the nights after full moons sometimes, when the relief of surviving another transformation would make him bold, uninhibited.

"how much have you had to drink?" you ask.

he laughs. "enough to be honest, not enough to lie."

"that's dangerously close to a riddle, lupin."

"you always did like solving me." his smile is soft, tinged with melancholy. "figuring out all my secrets, all my scars."

you look away, out at the garden below. fairy lights float among the rose bushes, twinkling like earthbound stars. "not all of them, apparently."

the words hang between you, heavy with implication. remus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "that's fair."

silence stretches between you, not entirely uncomfortable. inside, the party continues—laughter and music spilling out into the night, reminders of the celebration you're both hiding from.

"can i ask you something?" remus says finally. "something i've wondered for three years?"

you don't look at him. "you can ask. i might not answer."

"why didn't you fight for us?" his voice is soft, devoid of accusation. "when i was pushing you away, when i was being an idiot—why did you let me succeed?"

the question catches you off guard. you've spent three years wondering the same thing about him, never considering that he might be asking it about you.

"i thought you wanted me to go," you say finally. "i thought... i thought you'd stopped loving me."

remus makes a sound like you've physically wounded him. "merlin, is that what you believed? that i stopped loving you?"

you turn to him now. "what was i supposed to think? you were distant for months. you wouldn't let me in—literally, physically wouldn't let me into your flat after transformations. you stopped telling me what you were thinking, what you were feeling. and then, that last fight..."

the memory of it still burns, even after all this time. remus, pale and exhausted after a particularly brutal moon, shouting that he couldn't do this anymore, that it wasn't fair to you, that you deserved better than 'half a man.' you, screaming back that you weren't a child, that you could make your own decisions about what you deserved. the terrible, ringing silence after he said, 'then maybe you should start making better ones.'

"i was trying to set you free," remus says quietly. "the war was getting worse. my transformations were getting worse. i was terrified of what would happen to you if—when—i didn't come back one day."

"so you decided for both of us that it was better to end things?" anger flares, old but still potent. "you didn't even give me a choice."

"i know." he looks down at his hands. "i thought i was protecting you."

"i never asked to be protected." your voice cracks. "i asked to be loved. to be trusted. to be treated like an equal."

"i did love you," he says, looking up. "merlin, i loved you so much it terrified me. and that's not an excuse, i know. just a fact."

you shake your head. "love shouldn't be terrifying."

"shouldn't it?" he takes a step closer. "the best kinds are, i think. the ones that matter, anyway. the ones that change you forever."

your heart hammers against your ribs. "remus, don't—"

"i still love you," he says simply. "i never stopped. not for a single day, not for a single hour. even when i thought i was doing the right thing by letting you go."

the words hang in the air between you, too large, too heavy to ignore. part of you wants to run, to escape back into the safety of denial and distance. but another part—the part that still wakes up reaching for him in the darkness—holds you there, frozen in this moment of terrible possibility.

"say something," he whispers. "anything. tell me you hate me, tell me to go to hell, just... don't shut me out."

"i don't hate you," you say finally. "i've tried. merlin knows i've tried. it would be so much easier if i could."

hope flickers across his face. "then what do you feel?"

you laugh, a brittle sound. "everything. nothing. i don't know anymore." you wrap his jacket tighter around yourself. "i spent so long trying not to feel anything at all when it comes to you."

he nods, understanding in his eyes. "i know the feeling."

a burst of laughter from inside draws your attention. through the glass doors, you can see sirius dancing with marlene now, both of them laughing as he attempts to dip her. james and lily are still on the dance floor, lost in each other, the rest of the room fading away around them.

"they look happy," remus says, following your gaze. "like nothing else exists."

"that's how we used to look," you say softly.

"i remember." he moves to stand beside you, close but not touching. "sometimes i think sirius has photos of us from back then just to torture me. he'll pull them out when he's particularly annoyed with me. 'remember when you weren't a miserable git?' he'll say."

you smile despite yourself. "sounds like sirius."

"he misses you too, you know." remus glances at you. "they all do. you didn't just lose me when you walked away."

the words sting because they're true. after the breakup, you'd pulled away from the entire group, unable to bear the reminders, the shared history, the inevitable awkwardness of trying to remain friends with remus's friends. it had been easier to make a clean break, to start fresh.

"i know," you say. "i miss them too."

silence falls between you again, more comfortable this time. in the garden below, a couple walks hand in hand among the rose bushes, stealing a moment of privacy.

"do you ever wonder," remus begins, then stops, seeming to reconsider.

"what?"

he sighs. "do you ever wonder what would have happened if we'd met at a different time? if there was no war, no... condition. just us, meeting at a bookshop or a café somewhere, two normal people."

you consider the question. "sometimes. but then, would we even be us without all those things? they're part of what shaped us, what brought us together."

"that's very philosophical of you," he says with a small smile.

"i've had a lot of time to think." you turn to look at him directly. "three years, in fact."

his smile fades. "i am sorry, you know. for how i handled everything. for the things i said that last night."

"i know." you reach out, almost unconsciously, and straighten his bowtie, which has come slightly undone. "i said things i regret too."

his breath catches at your touch. "we were always good at hurting each other when we were hurting ourselves."

"quite the pair," you agree, letting your hand drop.

he catches it before it can fall back to your side, his fingers warm around yours. "we were good at other things too," he says quietly. "better things."

your pulse jumps. "remus..."

"i know, i know." he doesn't let go of your hand. "tonight only. no expectations."

the door to the balcony opens, and peter steps out, clearly looking for someone. he spots you both, his eyes widening slightly at your joined hands. "oh! there you are, moony. sirius sent me to find you. they're about to do the farewell thing. sparklers and all that."

remus nods. "we'll be right there, wormtail. thanks."

peter hesitates, looking between you uncertainly. "right. good. er, good to see you," he adds, addressing you with an awkward smile before disappearing back inside.

"farewell thing?" you ask.

"james and lily are leaving soon," remus explains. "sirius has arranged some elaborate send-off with enchanted sparklers. probably best if we're all there to make sure nothing catches fire."

you laugh softly. "some things never change."

"no," he agrees, looking at you intently. "some things don't."

inside, sirius is calling for everyone to gather, his voice magically amplified. "ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, it's almost time to bid farewell to the happy couple!"

remus still hasn't let go of your hand. "shall we?"

you hesitate, then nod. "lead the way."

the guests have formed a pathway from the dance floor to the main doors, creating a corridor for james and lily to walk through. sirius is distributing what look like tiny golden wands—the enchanted sparklers, presumably.

"here," remus says, handing you one after someone passes them to him. "they're charmed to create specific shapes when lit. lilies and snitches, naturally."

you take the sparkler, fingers brushing against his. "naturally."

you find yourselves near the end of the pathway, close to the doors. remus stands beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch. the contact is small but charged with everything unsaid between you.

"almost time," sirius announces, taking his place at the head of the line. "on my signal, everyone light your sparklers with your wands and hold them high!"

james and lily appear, having changed out of their wedding clothes into elegant traveling robes. lily's hair is loose now, falling in waves around her shoulders. james has his arm around her waist, holding her close against his side.

"ready?" sirius calls. "three, two, one... lumos!"

everyone touches their wands to their sparklers, which burst into brilliant golden light. tiny lilies and snitches made of sparks dance above the crowd, casting a warm glow over everything. the effect is beautiful, magical in every sense of the word.

james and lily begin their walk, smiling and thanking people as they pass. lily is crying a little, happy tears that make her green eyes shine even brighter in the golden light.

beside you, remus shifts closer, his arm pressing against yours. "beautiful, isn't it?" he murmurs.

"it is," you agree, watching as lily hugs mary, as james clasps frank's hand.

they're getting closer now, making their way down the line. lily spots you and breaks away from james momentarily, pulling you into a tight hug. "i'm so glad you came," she whispers in your ear. "and whatever's happening with you two," she adds, glancing at remus, "i'm glad about that too."

before you can respond, she's moving on, embracing remus while james hugs you, lifting you slightly off your feet in his enthusiasm.

"take care of yourself," james says as he sets you down. "and maybe don't be such a stranger, yeah? lily misses you."

"i miss her too," you admit. "i miss all of you."

james grins. "then do something about it." he claps remus on the shoulder, says something you can't hear, and then rejoins his wife, continuing their progress toward the door.

as they reach the end of the pathway, passing under an arch of particularly bright sparklers, sirius calls out, "to mr. and mrs. potter!"

the crowd echoes the toast, glasses raised, sparklers held high. james and lily turn at the doorway, waving one last time before disappearing into the night.

the sparklers begin to fade, their magic exhausted. around you, guests start to disperse, some heading for the floo network, others making their way back to the bar for one last drink.

remus hasn't moved from your side. "they look happy," he says, watching the door where james and lily vanished.

"they are happy," you reply. "they deserve to be."

"so do you," he says quietly. "be happy, i mean."

you look up at him, finding his eyes already on you. "so do you, remus."

something shifts in his expression, a softening, a yielding. "walk with me?"

you should say no. you should thank him for the dances, for the conversation, and walk away while you still can. but instead, you hear yourself say, "okay."

he leads you away from the dispersing crowd, through a side door that opens onto a small garden path. the night is cool but not cold, stars bright overhead. neither of you speak as you walk, following the winding path deeper into the garden, away from the noise and light of the reception.

you come to a small stone bench beside a reflecting pool. the surface of the water is perfectly still, mirroring the sky above. remus gestures for you to sit, and you do, leaving space for him beside you.

"i used to come here sometimes," he says, settling next to you. "when we'd stay with the potters during summers. when things got too loud inside, or when the moon was close and i needed... space."

"it's peaceful," you say, looking at the stars reflected in the water. "i can see why."

silence falls between you, comfortable in a way that surprises you. after a moment, remus speaks again, his voice soft. "lily asked me something the other day. about regrets."

you turn to look at him. "what did you tell her?"

"the truth." he meets your gaze. "that i regret a lot of things, but loving you isn't one of them. that if i could go back and do it all again, i wouldn't change falling in love with you. just how i handled everything after."

your breath catches. "remus—"

"i know," he interrupts gently. "tonight only. i'm not asking for anything. i just... needed you to know that. before we go back to our separate lives."

you look down at your hands, twisting in your lap. "what if..."

"what if what?" he prompts when you don't continue.

you take a deep breath. "what if i don't want to go back to separate lives?"

the words hang in the air between you, impossible to take back. remus goes very still beside you, like he's afraid any movement might shatter the moment.

"what are you saying?" he asks finally, voice barely above a whisper.

"i don't know," you admit. "i just know that seeing you tonight, talking to you... it's made me realize that walking away from you was the hardest thing i've ever done. and staying away hasn't gotten any easier, not even after three years."

he reaches for your hand, hesitant, giving you every opportunity to pull away. when you don't, his fingers interlace with yours, warm and steady. "what does that mean for us?"

"i don't know that either," you say honestly. "i'm not saying we can just pick up where we left off. too much has happened, we've both changed too much."

"but?" he says, hearing the unspoken word.

"but maybe... maybe we could try something new. start over, somehow." you look up at him. "if you want to."

the hope in his eyes is almost painful to see. "if i want to," he repeats, disbelieving. "merlin, do you even need to ask?"

you smile, small but genuine. "i think i do. after everything... i need to hear you say it."

he shifts on the bench, turning to face you fully. "i want to," he says, his voice steady despite the emotion swimming in his eyes. "i want another chance with you. i want to do better this time, to be braver, to be worthy of you."

"you were always worthy," you say softly. "that was never the problem."

"what was the problem, then?"

you consider the question. "fear. pride. war. bad timing. take your pick."

he nods. "all of the above."

"all fixable things," you say, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice.

"are they?" he asks, equally surprised.

"maybe not the war," you admit. "but the rest... if we're both willing to try."

remus lifts your joined hands, presses a kiss to your knuckles. the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that it steals your breath. "i'm willing to try anything," he says against your skin. "everything."

you reach up with your free hand, trace the line of that small scar through his eyebrow. "slowly," you caution. "one step at a time."

"as slow as you need," he agrees. "we have time."

do you, though? with the war getting worse every day, with friends disappearing, with the dark mark appearing over more homes—time feels like the one thing none of you can count on.

as if reading your thoughts, remus says, "i know what you're thinking. that we might not have time, that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. and you're right. but that's exactly why we should try. because if not now, when?"

the logic is sound, the sentiment achingly true. and looking at him now, in the starlight, you find yourself unable to remember any of the reasons you convinced yourself staying away was the right choice.

"i'm still afraid," you admit. "of getting hurt again. of hurting you."

"i know." he leans forward, rests his forehead against yours. "i'm terrified. but i'm more afraid of never knowing what could have been if we'd been brave enough to try again."

you close your eyes, breathing him in. "one step at a time," you repeat.

"what's the first step?" he asks, so close now that you can feel his breath against your lips.

"this," you whisper, and close the distance between you.

the kiss is soft, tentative, a question rather than a declaration. remus's hand comes up to cup your cheek, gentle as though you might break or vanish under his touch. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close, anchoring yourself to this moment that feels both completely new and achingly familiar.

when you part, he keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, as if memorizing the feeling. when he opens them, there's a clarity there that wasn't present before, the haze of alcohol replaced by something steadier, more certain.

"that," he says softly, "was a very good first step."

you laugh, the sound surprisingly light. "i thought so too."

[jeanscowgirl]

Dreaming about wedding night with Jean boy

i love this ask so much, i wrote it IMMEDIATELY

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

Yours and Jeans wedding night.

smut ahead.. MDNI

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

Your wedding was perfect. You got everything you ever wished for. The perfect dress, the perfect venue, the perfect people. All so perfect.

Your wedding party was small but consisted of yours and Jean's closest friends. Sasha and Mikasa being your bridesmaids and Connie and Eren being Jean’s groomsmen.

The wedding in general was small(ish). You didn’t want anything huge but everything you did want, you had. All of your closest friends and family were in attendance, including a reserved seat in the front row for Marco. The seat was empty but flowers were left in his honor.

The ceremony was short but sweet with the both of you in tears after your wedding vows. Most of the crowd also in tears at your words to one another.

After the ceremony, there was an intimate reception with the same guests as before. You and Jean sat at the head table but mingled the majority of the night.

Of course, Connie had to give a tear-jerking speech about how happy he was for his bestfriends to get married. Eren followed with a speech that encapsulated him and Jean’s relationship perfectly. Sasha and Mikasa also gave their speeches, leaving everyone in tears yet again.

Everyone had thought you and Jean were perfect for each other.

You had met in high school, you moved to the city with your parents going into your Junior year. Never being in this place, you had no friends. However, you met Sasha in your homeroom and she instantly took a liking to you. You met the rest of the group soon after, and high school became enjoyable for you.

You and Jean had your fair share of bickering and arguments as friends but the tension was always there and EVERYONE could smell it. Eren especially always cracking jokes about Jean needing to “get his girl”.

As cliche as it sounds, you all also attended the same University. But yet, you never got tired of each other.

Freshman year of college, you all found yourselves hanging at a local park near campus. Somehow, everyone had to leave except Jean. Leaving the two of you alone.

Within five minutes of the two of you being alone and tension filling the space between you two, he kissed you. He kissed you with no warning but you instantly fell into it.

Navigating your relationship was difficult at first but the both of you worked through it. Going through college also was not easy but you had amazing support around you.

You all graduated together and on your group's graduation trip to Europe (that had been planned since day 1 of college), he proposed.

It was the best proposal you could’ve asked for.

Jean was perfect, he loved you, you loved him.

As your wedding night came to a close, you said goodbye to all your guests and began to wrap up for the night. You and Jean shared a moment alone on the dance floor with no one but the two of you.

You arrived back at your hotel room around 1:30 in the morning.

As soon as you stepped in the door and closed it, Jean gently grabbed your face in his hands. He spoke gently, “Hi baby,”

The two of you have shared plenty of intimate moments, but this one was different.

You looked up into his eyes, still holding your head in his hands, you replied with a soft, “Hi,”

He leaned down and kissed you hard. So hard but so passionate. You wrapped your arms around his neck deepening the kiss.

Still kissing, you both made your way to the king size bed in the middle of the hotel room. Still so gentle, he lifts you and sets you down on the bed, not breaking the kiss in the process.

All you were doing was making out but it felt so special. Feeling like those college freshmen who had just discovered their love for each other.

Out of breath, he finally broke the kiss to tell you he loves you. By this point, the clothes once on both your bodies, were discarded onto the floor.

Jean slowly rubbed his hands up and down your sides, still handling you as if you’d break any second. He slowly moved his body towards your clothed pussy, white lace underwear between his mouth and your clit.

He gently took said underwear off, so careful not to rip what he assumed was an expensive pair.

He gently kissed your clit, earning a soft whine out of you, he knew you wanted more but he was taking his time with you tonight.

He licked a stripe against your cunt, multiple times, still giving you crumbs of what you could have. You started pleading with him but still he stayed at his pace.

He could tell you were getting a bit frustrated, which made him smile, he was enjoying this to no end. Some more whines later but no words shared between the two of you, he finally spoke, “You gonna tell me what you want honey?”

This earned him another whine and you visibly getting more antsy, “Please Jean,”

He added two fingers into your wet hole, “Please what darling?”

Jean was still gentle with you, moving his fingers in and out of you slowly but strategically, “Tell me baby, I wanna help you,”

“Please- I-” You couldn’t manage to get much of a sentence out before he quickened his pace of fingering you. Still slow but a little more to send you over an edge.

Feeling slightly bad for you, he began sucking on your clit, not waiting for you to fully tell him what you wanted. It was your wedding night after all, he should treat his new wife.

Your moaning got louder making Jean smile against your clit, still fingering you at a pace enough to make you squirm.

You were getting closer and your husband knew it too, he slowly eased out of what he was doing, earning a disapproving whine from you.

Jean moves back up to your face, kissing you softly, “Relax, I’m gonna take care of you love,”

He meant it, he wasn’t being his usual ‘condescending during sex’ self.

Still hovering over you, he just stared, “God, you are beautiful,” You blushed at his words and grabbed his face, pulling him back down for another heated kiss.

He pulled away from this kiss, “I love you Y/n.”

“I love you Jean Kirstein,”

He made his way in between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit as he angled himself inside perfectly. He was still so gentle, pumping in and out of you.

“Fuck Jean, please,” You clawed at his back as he hit a spot in you that made you see stars.

He brushed the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, still fucking you, “Gotta tell me this time sweetheart, what do you need from me,”

“H-harder” You barely got the full word out before he slammed into you again, harder.

Jean always knew what he was doing, he was great at sex.

Your moans and whines got louder, tears of pleasure brimming at your eyes.

“You’re doing so good baby,” he tells you, wiping the stray tears falling down your face. “So perfect, you’re so perfect,”

He was starting to lose himself as well, both of you overwhelmed with the feeling.

“Jean, fuck, I think I’m close” He quickened his pace, losing his gentle demeanor.

The both of you blurting out ‘I love yous’ as you get closer to the edge.

You cum around Jeans cock, him not too far behind, still pumping in and out of you as you both ride out the orgasm.

Eventually he pulls out of you, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

He lays down next to you for a moment, both of you just looking into each other's eyes. He tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles, “I love you, I’m so glad I got to make you my wife,”

You tear up at his words, still slightly overwhelmed from your recent orgasm. Through slight sniffles, you tell him, “I love you Jean,”

He sits up on the bed, “Come on, lets go get cleaned up,”

He carries you to the bathroom where you both shower and clean yourselves. He helps you take your tear streaked makeup off and helps you wash your hair. Afterwards, he dries you off, brushes your hair, and helps you change into pajamas.

The two of you fall asleep shortly after your shower, holding each other.

You slept pretty late into the next day, the both of you needing the rest.

Your wedding was perfect. The day was perfect. The night was perfect. Jean was perfect.

The best husband you could ever ask for.

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

who else can agree jean is usually a condescending meanie when you usually fuck. however, i just know on your wedding night, he turns into the biggest softy on the planet. #yearnerjean

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Nine.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Ten. The Playlist. Series Masterlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky are holding it together. Until you aren’t.

Pairing - DadsBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. hospital setting. talk of illness/health issues. panic attack.

Word Count - 3k

Authors Note - I probably sound like a broken record, but… thank you all so much for your patience and support. couldn’t do it without you. can you even believe that next chapter will be chapter ten? thanks for sticking with me. sorry for this rollercoaster of a chapter. there is still more to come - don’t worry!! <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You don’t remember the journey.

One minute, Bucky’s grabbing your hand and bundling you into the passenger seat of his truck, buckling you in as your hands shake. The next, he’s undoing your seatbelt, telling you that you’ve arrived as he puts the car in park. You don’t recall speeding across town and into the city. You can’t even think back to the roads flying past in a blur as your thoughts run at a hundred miles an hour.

The only thing that’s on your mind is your Dad.

You and Buck take the stairs two at a time, hands clasped together tightly. When you reach the reception desk, you try to speak, but nothing comes out. Your words have dried up, dissolved and evaporated into thin air. Your soulmate saves you, once again.

“We’re here to see a family member in cardiology. Can you tell us where to go, please?”

The receptionist looks up at you both, before nodding her head in the right direction.

“Follow that hallway, then through the double doors and up the stairs. Go left, and you’ll see the sign.”

You’re on autopilot, heading straight towards the doors. Bucky follows you quickly, throwing a chaste but genuine thanks to the lady behind the desk as he goes.

“Baby,” he calls after you when you reach the top. “Baby, hold on.”

You spin around, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Your bottom lip quivers as he tucks some hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek gently.

“Take a breath, please. You’re gonna faint before you get there.”

You inhale as deeply as possible, your lungs only filling to half capacity. You grab onto his hand for a second, squeezing as hard as you can.

“Okay. Breath done. Let’s go.”

You take off down the hallway, leaving Bucky to jog after you. Finding the big blue sign that reads Cardiology, you storm through the doors, looking around frantically. You spot Room 4 and head straight into it.

The room is all white, clinical and clean. There’s sunshine beaming through the window, but it doesn’t seem to warm the space. It’s cold, almost ominous. It makes it hard to breathe.

The bed is empty, crisp sheets tucked tightly into the plastic sides. Your Mom is sat in the chair beside it. She looks small, swallowed by the blue material.

“Mama.”

You don’t recognise your own voice. It’s choked and strangled, foreign to your ears.

She practically jumps up, striding across the room to wrap you in her arms. Inhaling the familiar scent of home, you hug her back as tightly as you can.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in surgery.”

You breathe a half sigh of relief. You’d feared the worst, when you’d walked in and seen the empty bed.

“What happened?”

Bucky’s been leaning against the door frame, watching you both carefully but giving you space. The tone of his voice is calm, collected. He’s holding it together for you.

“I honestly couldn’t understand it all. They were telling me so much information so fast.”

She sits down in the chair while you and Bucky perch on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“It was supposed to just be an appointment, wasn’t it?”

She nods.

“They did the EKG and weren’t happy with the results, so the nurse put us in this room while she waited for the Doctor. Then the Doctor burst in, talking about blockages and bypasses and emergency surgery.”

Her hands are trembling, neatly manicured nails being picked at repeatedly. Bucky reaches over and links his fingers with hers, all grounded and reassuring.

“They put him in a gown,” she continues, “and all of a sudden they were wheeling him away. I can’t even remember what I said, or if I said goodbye or I love you.”

“Mama, you will have said I love you. I promise you that.”

“She’s right, Lori. You will have said exactly the right thing. You always do.”

She squeezes his hand gratefully, taking a deep breath.

“The Doctor said he had a blockage, and they were worried about blood clotting. That’s why they rushed him in. The nurse said she’d update me when she knew anything, but I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You know what Jack’s like,” Bucky laughs. “He’s the toughest guy I know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, freshen up a little. Call me if a nurse comes in, won’t you?”

You nod, clasping her hand tightly for a moment.

“Promise, Mama.”

She stands up carefully, inhaling before leaving the room. Your posture instantly crumbles, faked bravado leaving you as soon as she’s out of view.

“I’m so scared,” you whisper.

Bucky hears it clear as day.

He slides closer to you, wrapping both arms around your frame. Pressing a kiss into your hair, he runs his fingertips up and down your spine gently.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re allowed to be scared. But everything is going to be okay. I know it will be.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you mumble into the cotton of his shirt. “It should, but it doesn’t. That scares me, too.”

Bucky traces the features of your face gently with his thumb, his ocean blue eyes never leaving yours. He dances his finger over the slope of your nose, your cheekbones, the curve of your lips. His skin is warm and calloused against yours, polar opposite to how cold you feel.

“I’m your soulmate,” he murmurs, “but I’m not a miracle worker. Fuck, I wish I was. There are gonna be some things that I can’t fix for you, no matter how badly I want to. We just have to ride them out together, sweet girl.”

You nod, leaning in to rest your head against his pounding heart.

It still beats to the rhythm of your name. Even after all this time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You don’t jump apart when your Mom walks back in.

Upon first glance, the picture is simple - a girl being comforted by her Dads best friend. A hug. Reassuring words.

If you look closer, the image becomes a little more complicated - her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. His hand cradling the back of her head. Familiar lips softly pressed to her temple.

Any other time, someone might question the sheer intimacy of the moment. But not now.

Now, all focus is drawn to the nurse in sky blue scrubs that appears in the doorway.

“You’re all Jack’s family?”

You all spin to face her, nodding frantically.

“Thought so. He’s out of surgery, and he’ll be brought up here shortly.”

“Is he alright?” your Mom asks, standing up. You can physically see the tension rising in her body.

“He’s doing okay. The Doctor is going to come up and talk to you a little about some… complications. But he’s okay.”

The reassurance at the end of the sentence doesn’t make any of you feel any better. You’re stuck on the word complications.

As if on cue, your Dad is wheeled in, all laid up cosy in crisp white sheets. He has oxygen tucked up under his nose, tubes and wires attached to his hands. He looks fragile, which is a state you’ve never seen him in before. Usually, he’s larger than life, braver than a bear, with a booming laugh that can make anyone smile. In this current moment, he looks like a little boy again, put to bed softly by his mother on a school night.

They get him situated as the Doctor approaches the three of you, huddled by the chair to stay out of the way.

“The surgery went well. The blockage has been fixed, and hopefully shouldn’t reoccur. We’ll put him on medication for the future, blood thinners most likely, to prevent anything further.”

Your Mom nods, lips pressed together.

“The nurse said there was complications?”

Bucky’s voice is low and careful, the timbre of it reverberating next to you.

“We ran into some trouble with the anaesthetic. We struggled to wake him for quite some time, and then his blood pressure completely bottomed out. We managed to get him steady again, but it was a little touch and go for a minute.”

Your Mom sits down slowly, holding onto the arms of the chair with taut knuckles.

“Your husband is going to be just fine, ma’am. We’ll manage any future worries with meds. Some people just don’t respond well to anaesthesia, especially if they’ve never had it before. We’ll monitor him over the next few days, keep him under observation just in case. But it looks positive. I assure you.”

She inhales, leaning back and exhaling the breath.

“He’ll probably just sleep it off for the rest of today, so don’t worry if he’s barely conscious. His body has been through a trauma, and he needs some time to recover.”

You all nod, Bucky’s hand reaching out to squeeze yours momentarily. He subtly presses a kiss into the nape of your neck, as if to melt the tension away.

You all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“If you need anything, there are always nurses walking around on this floor. They’ll call me if necessary.”

She smiles before leaving, picking up her clipboard as she goes.

“Thanks, Doctor!” Bucky calls after her, making both you and your Mom laugh softly.

The three of you remain still for a while, scared to make any sudden moves. Eventually, Bucky stretches his legs.

“I’m gonna grab some coffees. The usuals?”

You both nod at him.

“Be right back. Call me if you need anything.”

You can’t take your eyes off him as he leaves. You miss his warmth instantly.

“He’s a good guy,” your Mom whispers to you from the chair, where you’re perched on the armrest. She’s watching him go too.

You hum in agreement.

“He looks out for you.”

You hum in agreement once again, albeit this time a little quieter.

“You guys are close, these days.”

You inhale calmly.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He’s got my back.”

“He likes you a lot.”

Before she can continue, your Dads eyes flutter open slowly. You both jump up, standing on either side of his bed.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh lighting.

“How you feeling, tough guy?”

He smiles softly, and the relief that fills your body is so overwhelming, you feel as if your legs might give out. You hold onto the metal bars of the bed for support, praying you stay upright.

He groans a little, throat hoarse.

“Water?”

Your Mom puts the straw in his mouth, nodding in approval as he sips.

“I’m good,” he croaks. “Got my girls with me.”

You both laugh.

“Jack, as much as I’d love to be your girl…”

Bucky is stood against the doorframe, keeping a careful distance from the family moment. Your Dad chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re the prettiest one, Buck,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. You all can’t help but laugh even more.

“How you feeling, honey?”

“Fine. Tired, though.”

“The Doctor said you’d most likely just sleep it off all day. Go back to sleep, if you want to. We’re right here.”

He nods, closing his eyes instantly. Your Mom settles back in the chair as Bucky hands her a coffee. He goes to give you yours, but you place it down on the side table.

“I’m gonna get some air. Be back in a minute.”

He gives you a look that says are you sure?, but you’re already out the door, not glancing back.

“She doesn’t like hospitals.”

Bucky nods in recognition, but can’t focus on anything except the severe levels of rising anxiety in his chest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You can’t find your way out, and it’s making you panic more.

You’re throwing doors open, running down sets of stairs. Eventually, you see an exit, and barge through it with no regard for your surroundings. You’re at the front of the hospital, somehow making it to the main entrance.

Your lungs feel like they’re burning, white hot heat filling them with each weak inhale that you manage. The world is turning, suddenly, the entire axis of the Earth shifting on its head. Gasping, you grab onto a railing, desperate to just take a full breath and calm down.

The more you try to breathe, the worse things seem to get. It feels like the non existent walls are closing in, claustrophobia settling into your weary bones. Your legs buckle as your surroundings spin.

You don’t even register the impact of your knees hitting the ground, nor feel the pain that follows. You’re only minutely aware that you’re even on the floor because you can feel the warm tarmac underneath your palms.

Suddenly, there are two strong arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into a solid chest. You relax against it, tired of fighting.

“It’s me, baby. Shit, it’s me.”

The voice is panicked, almost frantic in the way it hits your ears. There’s a hand stroking over your hair, strumming over your cheekbone, squeezing your shoulder. You wonder for a second if anyone has ever died from something like this. You feel as if you’re pretty close.

“You’ve got to start slowing your breathing, honey. Can you hear me?”

You think you nod. You assume you do, because the voice continues.

“Put your hand on my heart,” he says as he does it for you. “Just like that. Can you feel the beat of it, underneath your palm? It sounds like a drum, right? One two, one two, one two. Can you focus on it?”

You try to hone into the sound. You think you might be able to distantly feel it, where your hand meets his shirt.

“How about if we create a pattern together? And we’ll both follow it? Like this.”

The voice tilts your chin upwards, so you’re looking into his eyes.

“Bucky,” you choke out.

“Breathe when I breathe, okay? In, and out,” he inhales and exhales. “In, and out. There we go, atta girl. In, and out. You got it.”

You stay collapsed on the sidewalk for what feels like hours, breathing when he tells you to. You focus your vision on his ocean blue irises, finding your home in them. Eventually, you feel like you’re somewhat filling your lungs, and the world stops spinning.

“There she is.”

You drop your head onto his chest, warm tears soaking into the material of his shirt.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You finally let yourself relax, sagging against his body as he holds you close.

“Fuck, you scared me. Are you hurt?”

You don’t even know the answer to that question yourself.

Bucky starts checking you over, looking for any visible injuries. When he reaches your knees, he inhales sharply.

“Shit, baby. We’ll have to get some antiseptic on these grazes of yours. You’ll have some badass bruises tomorrow, tough girl.”

You realise, slowly, where you are. You’re on the sidewalk outside the hospital, sat on the floor, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. You try to stand up too quickly, and wobble backwards.

“Woah, easy. There we go. Come sit over here with me.”

There’s a wooden bench not far from the entrance, tucked in between a hedge and a flowerbed. You take a seat, surveying the bloody mess of your knees as you do.

“They look worse than they are, baby. Promise. We’ll fix them when we go back upstairs.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you and tugs you into his side.

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

“Don’t like hospitals,” you whisper. “Never have.”

“Is there… any particular reason? Or is it just one of those things?”

“Spent a lot of time here when I was younger,” you admit quietly. “I was kind of a sick kid. Had my own set of issues. Lots of appointments and stuff.”

Bucky nods against the top of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“You never mentioned anything.”

“Didn’t think it was relevant.”

He hums.

“I’m sorry,” you confess. “For causing a scene. Being dramatic.”

“Honey,” he scolds. “You’re not dramatic. We’ve all got our fears, the things that make us tick. I promise you, no one thinks you’re dramatic. You feel how you feel, and that’s okay.”

You sigh in defeat, pulling your knees up under your chin.

“I think I was holding it together until I saw he was okay. When I knew he was fine, I just… crumbled.”

“That’s a perfect reflection of your character, you know. Keeping it together for everyone else.”

You chuckle dryly.

“Maybe. I suppose.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you sit outside for a while longer, breathing in the fresh air and revelling in each others embrace.

“We should probably go back up. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

You go to stand up, but Bucky pulls you back down onto the bench.

“Honey, wait. There’s something we need to… talk about, before we go.”

You turn to face him, and instantly tense up. He looks worried.

“Buck, what is it?”

“I… I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. Or how we’re meant to handle this. I really, really don’t know what the best angle is here.”

“You’re scaring me,” you say as you cradle his face. His scruff tickles your palm, and any other time, you both would have laughed.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

tag list part one

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[massiv3tr33p3rsona]

Hidden | Terrance X Wynnie (Black Fem OC)

Hidden Part I.

Pairing: Terrance (Foe) x Winona ‘Wynnie/Wyn’ (Black Fem OC)

Summary: Years after escaping her ex-husband’s cult and getting him locked up, Wynnie arrives to OuterMore after being selected for their two year space program. She is assigned to Terrance, who begins to get to know her on a much deeper level in order to prepare for the mission.

Warnings: MINOR DNI!, mostly buildup, fluff, sexual tension, PTSD (fem), mentioning of grooming/abusive behavior/trauma, emotional feelings, fear, cursing, smoking, non-canon

Dividers Made By: @cursed-carmine @thecutestgrotto

Parts: II • III • IV • V • VI • VII • Epilogue

A/N I: Excited to write about Terrance again as I had a series on my previous account. This is a little different from it, but a remake of that one is coming later on.

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT.

April 2065

Pulling up to a spot at the OuterMore Headquarters in Des Monies, Wynnie, a 5’6 brownskin woman, parks the car and turns it off, looking around the area.

In the middle of a grassy area, the building and its launch site stood tall. The sunlight shines brightly, which triggers something in her as she begins to breath harshly.

She looks down and closes her eyes, squeezing the steering wheel as she begins to attempt to calm herself down, tears running.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeated the chants, feeling it work.

The memory of her ex-cult leader husband being verbally abuse to her doesn’t play this, making her sigh in relief.

“Thank god.” as she wipes away her tears.

Getting out her car and locking it, she adjusts her white ruffled dress, hair and matching tote bag before walking to the building, her pace picking up with each step.

Entering the building, she takes in the four floor level spacious lobby.

The OM logo being on the carpet, the windows behind the reception desk showing the inside of the lab and the spaceship she’ll be riding in two months from now, spacesuits, and group photos of past missions on the walls.

“Welcome to the OuterMore headquarters, where we go better to be further.” greeted the female receptionist as Wynnie walked up.

“I have an appointment with one of your agents.” she said in a shy tone.

“Alright, and what is your name?” as the woman taps on her tablet.

“Winona. Or Wynnie. Have no idea which name is listed.”

The receptionist nods as she scrolls, looking for her name. She clicks on something before looking up, sending her a small smile.

“You’re all checked in. Have a seat. Your agent will be out very soon.”

Wynnie nods before walking to find a seat in the slightly vacant lobby, examining.

Feeling very anxious with sitting around someone, she chooses the seat in a slightly dark corner. As she waits, she begins to fidget with her sunflower ring on her point, which the charm spins, helping her relax a bit.

This particular flower reminds her of a positive time from her childhood. Well, the only thing she can remember after years of cruel treatment from the cult she was forced into.

All of this goes back to when she was 14 years old: her grandmother, her only legal guardian, unexpectedly died. Despite leaving her with a savings account and a few other things, she was put into a foster care as none of her family members were willing to take her in.

She remained there for the rest of her teenage years until she was adopted by this middle-age white couple three months before her 17th birthday. They treated her nice and lovingly, which is something she has always wanted from people who actually care about her.

But all that will come crashing down and she didn’t realize until it was too late.

On her birthday, she and her parents drove to West Virginia, where she was told that there was a special gift they had waiting for her.

As they pulled up to a random house in a rural area, she is handed a white robe and mask, being told to put it on as this is part of the surprise. She obliges and they walk in, with them helping her as she couldn’t see much out.

As she was waiting, she gets snatched up by a stranger, thrown into a random room, where the door locks on the outside, making it very hard to escape. As she banged on the door, begging to get out, she realized that no one was coming to save her, giving up.

The door opens, with masked members walking in, forming a circle around her.

Then, a man wearing a red shawl and a demon designed mask walked in, bowing to her. He reveals himself as the Adonai, leader of Tolons, a new religious group whose ideology focused on a new modern balance that people should start aligning themselves more to save themselves: conspiracy theorism and spirituality.

He stated that she was selected to be the new Adonica, his new wife as the current one was not fulfilling her duties that he required anymore, stating that she will be trained to be obedient and remain pure as he wanted.

She refused, said that her parents won’t let this happen, which is when he revealed the actual truth: he planted those parents into adopting her, ordering them to find them someone that was not only what he required, but had something he wanted, which was more money.

During the training, she was taught to: wear a covering anytime she had to go somewhere in public as not wearing one would be violating his trust, any form of light she sees without dark is a sign that evil is around her, and being pure is something he demands as her innocence is something rare to find in today’s world.

A.k.a., using this as a manipulation tactic to groom her and brainwash the rest.

Along with this, she was verbally abused by him and many members that he had on a higher level, forcing herself to accustom to these conditions to survive.

She and the Adonai wed on her 18th birthday, which was a birthday she’ll never forget, refusing to tell anyone what happened that day, but assures that he didn’t force himself on her, not even during the next three years she was there.

She thought her life was officially over, believing there was no way out of this since they were watching her every move.

Until the day she finally escaped.

While out with a few Tolons members, the van they traveled in broke down, making everyone get out. As they waited for someone to get them, Wynnie saw this as her only chance of freedom, running as fast as she could away from them.

She hid for a few days before going to the local police, telling them who she was, what was going on in Tolons, and how they need to believe her as she wasn’t making any of this up.

Which they did.

Turns out, they and the Feds have been building a case of taking them down as they are occurring looking for a wanted, man who has numerous of charges across a lot of states, ranging from fraud to attempted murder. They swooped in and arrested him, revealing his real name as Alfonso.

As the trials occurred, Wynnie found out that they were never legally married as Alfonso wasn’t even divorced from his first wife, making the marriage invalid. Not only did he steal everyone’s money, he took out numerous loans in everyone’s name for financial gain, including her, which leaves her with endless amount of debt and having to enroll into a government assistance program.

Now 26 and far from the media frenzy after the trial concluded with him being sentenced to life in prison, she is looking forward to figuring out the next step in her life, regaining memories, things, and abilities she was good at, while also balancing the long-term effects of PTSD coming out randomly.

Which is why she’s here as she was selected for the upcoming mission, ask to come in person since she doesn’t have an actual address listed under her.

She’ll be part of the Group 70 mission, which will launch after Group 46 returns in two months.

The sound of the doors barging open startles Wynnie, making her jump up.

A group of scientists and engineers walk out, having conversations among themselves as they pass her, making her sit down and lay back.

A pair of footsteps is heard, making her look over.

She sees a tall, black man walking to the reception desk, greeting the receptionist with a smile as he grabs a folder and begins reading it, intrigued by what he sees.

Wynnie takes in his looks, noticing how he looks quite different from the engineers and scientists she saw.

Wearing a pinkish brown polo shirt, light brown dress pants, and brown dress shoes, he is a slim but chiseled man, with arms showing some veins, rocking a low fade with a scruffy beard, sharp jawline, slight brown skin tone, baggy eyes were a mixture of a blueish-green color, and dark pink curved lips, whoever he is.

Wynnie found him attractive.

But, she felt insecure as she doesn’t think he’ll ever go for someone like her due to her issues.

He looks up, locking eyes with her, making her turn away.

Shit! He saw me, she said, cursing herself.

She looks back a bit to see if he was standing there. Instead, he was walking to her, which made her scared.

“I can’t do this.” she utters, getting up quickly to leave.

“Winona, wait.” said the man, a British accent coming out, standing in front of her so she doesn’t move.

She looks down immediately, which confused him.

“Um….Is there a reason you’re not looking at me? Understandable if it’s a medical condition, but I’m a little lo…” he said, trailing off with the last word.

Wynnie lifts her head up, showing her face. His eyes, which were glowing green under the bulb they were under, softening a bit.

“….do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar?” he asked, examining her face.

Suddenly, a reflex takes over as her mood suddenly changes, with her now looking visibly distressed.

“BACK UP!” she yells, holding her hands up in defense.

That scared him as he stepped back, holding his hands up as he tries to calm her down.

“Woah. I didn’t do anything to you.” he replied.

“But you were about to!”

“Lower your voice.” as he stepped closer.

“Or what? You’re gonna drag him in here to threaten to harm me in some way?!”

The man looks at her very confused, not understanding where she’s getting this idea from as he sees security coming over, but motion them to stop.

“….drag who in here? It says you don’t have no one in your file.” as he holds up her folder.

“Alfonso. Adonai. Whatever he wants to call himself. Him.”

“Ok. What is he to you?”

She was about to say something but pauses, closing her eyes for a second. When she opens them, she’s back to her usual self, as if nothing happened.

“What’s going on?” she asked, confused on why he’s standing there.

“……Winona. Who’s Alfonso?” he asked, a worrying look on his face.

She looks at her hands, putting them down instantly as she realizes she once again overreacted and looks around, seeing people watching them.

“Oh my god…” she whispered, collapsing into her seat.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as the man kneels in front of her, gently squeezing her hands.

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.” he said, mimicking the inhale-exhale motion.

She follows, squeezing his hands back as she begins to calm down, looking down as she begins to cry.

“No, no.” he whispered, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her.

She takes it and begins wiping her tears, feeling him rubbing her hand as he sits next to her.

“Don’t feel ashamed.” he added, motioning to everyone that he has it under control.

“It’s hard not to.” she replied, clearing her throat.

“How come?”

“….that’s just how I am. After being in a cult for a while. Easily scared……afraid of light��..being caught talking to another man.” she said, sniffling.

The man looks at her folder, rereading her notes as he slowly tried to piece together the information she just gave him.

“…..oh wow.” he said, a apologetic expression on his face.

“We didn’t realize you were the one who escaped Tolons and got everyone locked up, including……your husband.” he added, a slightly irritated tone on the last word.

“He wasn’t really my husband since he wasn’t even legally divorced from his first wife. That hasn’t changed what he did to me and others who suffered.” she said, lifting her head.

The man nods, feeling bad for asking her who he was to her.

“I do apologize.” he said.

“It’s not your fault. You probably won’t be the last to not realize who am I. I do live a pretty quiet life away from everyone else.” as she looks at him.

“And we just met.” she added, watching a small smile appear on his face.

“Well, if you’re not comfortable with doing the space program at the moment, we can always put you on the waitlist and contact you.” he said as he got up.

“No, I’m fine!” she said loudly, immediately clasping her mouth in embarrassment.

He laughs a bit, holding his hand out.

“I think this conversation should be had in private. You might feel more comfortable instead of being out here.” he said, staring at her.

Wynnie looks at his hand, questioning if she should go or not.

Hesitating a bit, she grabs it and helps her up, grabbing her bag and handing it to her.

“Atta girl.” he mumbled, gently removing his hand.

He motions her to follow him to the doors, in which he opens one. He watches her walkthrough it before following, closing the door behind him.

Wynnie in the spacious hallway, with the massive windows showing the inside of the lab.

“I’m….Winona by the way.” she said shyly, looking at him.

“I know.” he nodded, smiling a bit.

“I’m Terrance. I’ll be your agent throughout this whole experience.”

She nods as she walks up to one of windows, looking down at the floor inside.

With the rocket being on the right, the floor was filled with groups of engineers and scientists working on different things, from running tests on the spacesuits or oxygen to building items that are needed.

Feeling the lights become overbearing the longer she stood there, she closed her eyes, feeling her head beginning to hurt.

She hears a click sound and looks up. The blinds begin coming down, covering the windows, which dimmed the light a bit.

“Much better?” asked Terrance, leaned up against the wall where the button was.

Wynnie nods, smiling a bit.

He walks to a door, typing a code in before opening it.

“This is my office. Come in.” he said, motioning her to walk in.

She looks back at the window before walking forward, heading inside with Terrence following behind.

Hearing him close the door, she takes in his office’s area, which is beautifully decorated in black velvet furniture.

“You can have a seat in front of the coffee table. We’ll get started soon, just let me settle in.” Terrence said, pointing at the table.

Wynnie nods before taking a seat, still looking around.

A picture of him with a group of other people in spacesuits, with a sign that says ‘Test Group’ standing in front of them.

His degrees with MIT frames around it and certifications hanging up on the wall. A small United Kingdom flag in a cup of writing utensils on his desk, along with a Jamaican flag.

“Thirsty?” he asked, heading to his fridge.

“Just a water.” she replied, squeezing on her handle.

He replied with ‘mmhm’ as he opened the door, taking out two bottles of water. He walks back over, placing a bottle in front of her before taking the seat in front of her.

“What brought you over here to the states?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Terrance looked up as he picked up a box and placed it on the table, opening it.

“Got offered full ride scholarships to a lot of schools, but MIT was the one who had the best program to me. So, came over here and spent six years studying while getting to know much about the culture here.” as he takes out a bracelet, tablet, a box with four dots, and a recorder.

“Graduated with my bachelor’s in aerospace engineering, with a minor in astrophysics and my associates in astrobiology.” he added, a small smile on his face.

“And you came out here?” she asked, watching him laugh.

“OuterMore was amazed with my essays and the idea of cloning while the real human lives in space for a few years to bring the grand opportunity of everyone relocating up there when earth starts deteriorating even more, so I got hired immediately to develop the program after graduation.” he replied, turning on a switch as the machine began to run.

She nods, impressed with his resume as he stood up, motioning her to hand over her wrist, which she obliges.

“This is a bracelet that detects how much water you have in your body.” he said as he snaps it on.

“What’s in the box?” she asked, looking over.

“A machine we use on all clients to detect their oxygen, heart, and other vitals. Just so we have accurate information to write down and put into the other you.” as he grab the box and take off the cover.

“Using these.” he added, showing her the dots.

He takes one off and hands it to her, which she grabs.

“Where does this one go?” she asked.

“Over your heart. Wasn’t sure if you’re comfortable with me putting it on there, so…there you go.”

She nods, placing it over her heart, and watch it light up as he moves behind her, taking out two dots.

“The next two goes behind your ears, which helps us connect to your nervous system. Can you lift your hair up a bit?” he asked.

She does so, lifting up her curls as she feels him placing the dots on, gently pressing down to keep them in place.

He removes his hands, walking back into her view, as she lets go of her curls.

“And the last one is up to you to where you wanna place it.” he said, handing her the dot.

She grabs it, examining it as she looked at her legs, thinking about where she wants to put it. She placed it on the top of her fibula, watching it light up as Terrence sits back down, adjusting some of the buttons in the box.

“What’s the recorder for?” she asked.

“Our conversations are going to be recorded in case I miss something or it will help with developing your clone’s capabilities.” as he points at it.

“Anything you say to me will be kept strictly between us and no one else will have access to hearing it, unless I include it during the process of making you.”

“You swear?” she asked, looking at him.

“I do. As long as you’re fine with it.” he replied, a committed tone in his voice.

She held his gaze for a bit, slightly relaxing as she nods, placing her bag on the floor.

“Let’s start, shall we?” as he hits a button on the recorder, watching the red light come on.

He picks up his tablet and types on it, pulling up a list of questions as Wynnie watches.

“What’s your name?” he asks first.

“Winona. Or Wynnie, with a ‘Y’, to some people.”

“When your birthday?”

She hesitated for a bit, trying to find the answer in her head.

“August…..August 15th.” she replied.

“Mm.” he said, smiling a bit.

“Did I say it wrong?”

“No, no. You are right.” he assured.

“Just I never had a client whose birthday was the day after mines.” he added, amusement in his tone.

“Well….I’ll be turning 27 while in space, so I’ll have something *fun to look forward to this year.” she said, smiling a bit.

“28 for me.”

“You don’t look it.”

“…I look older or something?”

“No.” she said, shaking her head.

“You look younger than most of your colleagues here. And I mean it as a compliment.”

Terrance pauses, trying to not blush as he moves on to the next question.

“Where you coming from?”

“Iowa City.”

He exhales in disbelief.

“That’s a two hour drive from here. You driving that far?”

“Well, that’s the closest motel I can afford right now with assistance.”

His face softens, apologetic now.

“My apologies.” he said.

“Just doing the best I can right now.” she said shrugging.

“What kind of a car do you drive?”

“A 2010 Subaru Impreza.”

“Wow.” he whispered, typing in her answer.

“The program unfortunately doesn’t include coverage for self driving cars yet, so….yeah.”

“You’re not worried about it breaking down one day?”

She begins fidgeting with the sunflower charm, which he notices and makes note of.

“I have a bag of clothes, toothbrush, and other things just in case I get stuck somewhere. Hopefully there’s a shelter or something near that I can stay in.” she replied, looking away.

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen at all during this as it gets really hot over here.” he said, laughing a bit.

She nods, not amused by his response. He clears his throat before continuing.

“Where were you born?”

“I….um don’t know.”

He looks up, confusion on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I do know. It was, um…somewhere on the East Coast.” she added.

He nods, typing it in before she cuts him off.

“Sorry. It’s probably not helping, but I did lose my documents during my time in the cult.”

“Ahh. Makes more sense.” he replied.

“Yeah. They are sending me the copies of them. Should be here very soon.”

“Well, that saves me from asking the next…..” as he’s scrolling. “20ish questions then.”

“Damn, you need all that to know about me?” she asked, surprised at the amount of questions.

“It helps with making sure the other you is following the same mind you got going on. Even if you move away from some of it.”

“So…..this is also like a therapy session.”

He thought about it, almost wanting to counter-argument her, but realize she’s actually not that far off.

“You can say that.” he said, nodding in agreement.

“Figured.”

“Next question: what was it like during the three years of being in Tolons?”

She squeezes her hand close, feeling a little hesitant with answering as her heart begins to beat fast.

“Besides witnessing and going through the harm he caused, I lost the ability to write.”

“How?”

“I was the Adonica. He didn’t think it was necessary for me to write anything at all because “that’s not what a wife does.” Really, he was worried that if I written everything I saw and thought of, that would be evidence for the Feds to come after him and use.” as she rolled her eyes.

“And I’m gonna assume his followers were backing him up.”

“Yes. Because they know that he’s telling the “truth” since he knows how to talk to spirits, who exposes the secrets *they don’t want you to know about.”

“…..who’s they?”

She points at him, shrugging a bit.

“Exactly my point.”

Terrance nods, typing in her answer as she adjusts herself in her seat.

“So yeah. Because I did not get to write at all, I am forced to teach myself how to write again.” she begins to say.

“And how’s that’s going?”

She chewed on her lip a bit, fidgeting with her charm.

“…..I’m on the letter ‘M’. Writing in both print and cursive in my workbooks I use. Wrote some words in a journal I have, even if I don’t want to.” she replied, a little bit sad.

“Because of him haunting your mind with his taunts?” he asked, watching her rub her eye.

“More so of it being a bit humiliating that I’m almost 30, having to relearn things I grew up being taught on because of him trying to break me.” as she looks at him.

“I should be living a great life somewhere with the savings my grandmother left for me. In my dream career of……” she said, trailing off on the last word.

He waited patiently, hoping wherever she was going to say, comes out but she sighs, looking away.

“Don’t know what I wanted to do. Now I can’t even do that now.” she whispered.

“It’s never too late to start over. Even if you don’t want to.” he said in a caring tone.

“You gotta have something to do that. Unfortunately, I don’t. No diploma, no GED, no experience. Nothing.” she replied.

“You don’t have to beat yourself over it.”

“It’s hard not to when you had so much trust in people who you thought wanted to be your parents. Even in that short window.”

Terrance says ‘mhm’ quietly as Wynnie takes a sip of her water, seeing him focused on her movements.

“….are you noting how I move?” she asked.

He nods, fixing his shirt.

“Helps with accuracy. We want to make sure other you is still you while you’re away, so we have to apply with precision with the movements.”

“Including my face?”

“Especially that.”

She licks her lips, wiping her face a bit.

“Guess I have to relax it or she’ll look a bit older than what she actually is.” she mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like you aged at all.” he said, making her look at him.

“You’re saying that to be nice.”

“I’m not. I’m being serious, Winona.”

“Yeah, okay.” she replied sarcastically.

Terrance shrugs a bit as he moves onto the next part.

“Was not writing the only thing you lost? Sorry if I added onto the question.” he asked.

“You’re fine. Just doing your job.” she replied, coughing a bit.

“But when he wanted to be nice to make sure I’m obeying, he gave me some privileges if I did well.” she added.

“Like what?”

“Playing the piano. I was trained very well, thanks to my grandmother. Guess he found that out from my adopted parents.”

“So on a random night of his choosing, he took me out, wearing the covering over my body, to some….music store. He knew a guy there, who I’m pretty sure got fired after the trial.”

Terrance chuckled, but stopped, feeling like it was big inappropriate to do that.

“You can laugh. It’s not like he’ll get his job back after being a contributor.” she said, reassuring him.

“Right.” as he nodded.

“But yeah. He let me play on the piano for two hours. Played all kinds of songs that I knew and he wanted to hear. Until I spoiled it all and he cuts the session.”

“Spoiled it?”

She laughs, a memory of him getting upset playing in her mind.

“Whenever I get done playing what’s always the last song, he always praised me, then adds a comment about how our children will be loved with the sound of my playing accompanying them as they grow up. And I ruin it by saying “it will be a cold day in hell before I let you coming anywhere near me with that rabble wight he calls a dick.” each time.”

“You found another term for unwashed thing?” he asked in an impressed voice.

“Had many ways thanks to the dictionary. Soiled slob, polluted shrimp, even churned dick because he fucking smelled like rotting fish and moldy cheese.” she responded, watching him laugh loudly.

“What, he hated washing?!” he asked in the midst of his laughs.

“He believed washing our bodies is how the government gets close to controlling us…..as he and others paid the water bill and was drinking it.”

They both laughed in unison, in awe at how stupid that sounds as she drinks more of her water.

“Wow. You went through hell with that man.” he replied, drinking some of his water.

“Yeah, I did.” as her smile faded a bit.

“I did.” she repeated, looking down at her ring.

“What…” as he looks at his tablet, trying to think of a calm way to ask the question.

“What was his…..reaction like? Was it the same with anyone who did something he didn’t lie or different for you?” he asks.

Wynnie closes her eyes tightly, feeling an attack coming as Terrance leans forward, about to get up, but she holds up her hand, stopping him.

She breathes in and out softly to subdue it, feeling herself relax as she opens her eyes, seeing him watching with a concerned look.

“We can skip the question if you want.” he said softly.

“I think I want to answer it since you asked.” she replied quietly, feeling tears forming.

He nods, sliding a tissue box to her, which she grabs as she wipes her eyes, sniffling a bit.

“Alfonso. You would think he was just a nice man, looking to do things for his family on a budget and very caring on the outside when you meet him. But no.” as she shook her head.

“His rage was……something I never seen before. Very violent, harmful. Having you worried that he might get you while you’re sleeping.”

“What did he do if you don’t mind me asking.” he asked cautiously.

“He never physically assaulted me. Gotta make that clear every time I have to talk about him. But he did hit others around me, didn’t matter if they did something or not. He was verbally abusive though. Threatening to harm me if I didn’t do something he requested, calling me a bunch of things but a child of God, insulting my intelligence or when I’m right about something, hated when I talked to some of the male members, just full on angry.” she replied, exhaling loud.

“It was worse when it went to emotional. He used tactics to scare me into not ever wanting to leave him as long as I was there. He beat on someone to a point they are badly hurt, self harmed himself, or whipped out a gun and threaten to shoot someone because I didn’t follow an order. He did this mostly to the women.”

Terrance looked away, feeling very sick about the details he’s hearing as she cries a bit.

“The worst part? Everyone who didn’t see an issue with it followed behind because they wanted to be like him. Why? He’s just a man who has unresolved issues, spreading shit he believes to be true in order to get money and control over people!” she yelled, anger consuming her.

She wiped her tears away roughly, her face slightly red as he watches, seeing her pain coming out.

“How he got away with it for so long? I still don’t know. And I don’t care to find it out either.” she added.

“……they failed you.” he said, exhaling loudly. “They failed the other victims as well.”

She nods slowly, letting the tears pour down as she sees him walk over, kneeling in front of her.

“But you shouldn’t let that linger in you for the rest of your life. It’s tough, but it’s not worth reliving it in your mind.”

“It’s hard not to, Terrance.” as she looks at him.

“I can be having a great day, doing….whatever. But as soon as I go to sleep, the night terrors start and it always gets worse that I have to literally sleep with some light over me. Even that ends up not working sometimes.” she added, shaking her head.

“…..what did your room look like?” he asked.

“…..no windows. Black walls. Just a lamp and a nightstand. Kept my personal things on my bed as the floor was filthy.” she replied.

He nodded, standing up and pressing pause on the recorder, confusing her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, seeing him pick up the tablet.

“What motel are you staying at?” as he types something.

“Um…..Starland.” as she wipes her face.

“What’s your room like there?”

“Um, blue and white walls. A decent looking bathroom and furniture. A lamp that doesn’t work. My own desk and vanity. A tv I don’t use as much besides for some movies I pay for. AC doesn’t really work, so I bought a fan.”

“You know the address?”

She looks down, reaching into her bag and grabbing her phone, unlocking it. Pulling up a file, she hands it to him, which he takes, sitting down.

“I am going to send you a sound machine.” as he types in the address.

“A sleep lamp. And two coolers. Should be coming tomorrow after our second session.” as he hands back her phone.

“What I want you to do is try to get a good sleep schedule. We want other you to have a good mind and relaxed body while you’re gone. Don’t worry, she’ll still have the same emotions most humans have. Journal everything that happens when you wake up and if you notice it’s getting better and better, it’s working.”

She takes her phone, confused as he hits the play button, resuming the recording.

“How can I pay you back?” she asked.

“You don’t need to. I got enough and can make it back easily.” he replied, adjusting his seat.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll try another way. We got two months. I don’t want you giving up. You came too far for it to end like that.”

She smiles a bit, liking his comforting manner.

“Anyone ever said you have a nice voice?”

“Would be the richest man in the world if I got paid hearing that a lot.” he replied, smiling back at her.

A loud knock comes in, startling Wynnie as she jumps up, running to a corner in his office.

“Go away!” she yells, scaring Terrance.

She immediately drops to the floor, going into fetal position by hiding her face into her knees, hearing her breathing loud.

“…..loud and hard knocks is another one, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at her position.

“Yes.” she said quietly.

“Noted.” as he stood up.

“Probably just a co-worker dropping off something.” as he walks to the door.

“Make sure.”

He unlocks the top lock, before opening it, seeing his mid height, blonde hair, blue eyes co-worker, Lance, standing there with a file folder in his hands.

“Hello, Lance.” greeted Terrance in a low tone voice.

“Hey, Terrence! Sorry if I’m interrupting something, but Mel wanted me to drop this off.” said Lance, handing him the folder.

“Thanks.” as Terrence takes it.

“Not to be nosey, but….. did somebody scream in there after I knocked on the door?” he asked, trying to look inside.

Terrence blocked his view, making sure he doesn’t see Wynnie hiding on the floor.

“Yeah, my new assignment I just got assigned to. She has PTSD, so she’s a little sensitive to certain things.”

“Damn. Always getting the crazy ones around here.” he said, laughing a bit.

Terrence eyes him down, not amused by that comment as he steps back, grabbing the door.

“She’s not crazy. Just needs a little more help with healing before she goes up.” he replied, turning away.

“Have a good—“ is what he heard Lance say, but cut him off by closing the door.

“Asshole.” Terrence whispered as he reads through the folder while walking to Wynnie.

As he walks by the table, he presses the square button on the recorder, which stops the recording, watching the tape pop out.

He continues his journey, sitting down carefully in front of her, which makes her look up.

“He didn’t sound nice.” she said, watching him smile a bit.

“He’s a little bit of a dick that got reassigned here because no one else wants him.”

“Where is he supposed to be at?”

“Homeland Security. But don’t listen to him. He doesn’t…quite understand why I get assigned the special ones.”

“You can’t say you made this program from the bottom to him?” as she sits up, laying her legs out.

“Nahh. I just don’t pay him no mind.”

She nodded as he sits the folder next to him, leaning back a bit.

“How do you feel about me ending the session a bit early?”

“But we haven’t hit an hour.” she replied, pouting a bit.

“Well, most of the questions are in reference to things you don’t have at the moment and the rest are a bit getting deeper into your past and questioning your future plan after this is over, which I don’t wanna go to.” he said, a slight grimace in his voice.

“I do. It’s best we get it out of the way instead of me leaving now to go drive back two hours. And we’re not behind before the launch.”

“…..how about a break then? An hour or less. You did cry for quite a bit. I know your head slightly hurts.”

As soon as he said that, she felt a slight sting come into her head, making her rub it a bit.

“…deal.” she replied, blinking slowly.

He nodded before standing up, helping her afterwards before grabbing the tablet off the table.

“Have you eaten today?”

“…..you don’t have to buy me lunch. Your gift from earlier is just enough.” she said, waving her hand to decline.

“Well, I’m asking cause most of the places doesn’t take assistance program as payment.” he said, looking up.

“Why am I not surprised?” she said, sitting down.

“Still didn’t answer my question.” as he sat in the chair next to her.

“……only a muffin and a water.” she replied quietly.

“How do you feel about sushi? I know a great place that makes them and delivers to here.” as he types in the place.

“Never had it.”

“Ooh, you’re missing out.” as he hands her the tablet.

“Here’s the menu so you can take a look. If you don’t want that, we can get something else.” he added, a small smile on his face.

Wynnie takes it, reading through the menu carefully as Terrence watches, scanning over her face.

He takes note of her curved plumped lips, her thinned eyebrow, almond shaped eyes, curly brown hair, and subtle button nose with a hooped nose piercing as she looks up, seeing him staring.

They both hold each other’s eyes for a bit before she hands him back the tablet, looking away a bit.

“….the rock and roll & spicy tuna ones sound delicious.” she said, breaking the silence.

“They are.” he replied, adding her order to the cart before adding his.

“Did you also want a drink or you’re fine with the water I gave you?”

“I’m okay with the water.”

He nods before placing the order, sitting the tablet on the table.

“Should be here in 15 minutes. While we wait for it, let’s continue with some of the questions.” he said, pressing the button to begin recording again.

She nods, turning to face him as he begins asking the question.

They spend the rest of the day answering questions while eating the sushi, in which Wynnie was impressed with the taste and texture of it.

Noticing it was getting a bit late as the sun was setting, he ends the session and walks with her to her ca, making sure she’s safe.

Placing her bag and leftover sushi in the passenger seat, he walks over and helps her get in, adjusting her legs.

“Oh you don’t have to…” she begins to say, but is cut off by how warm and comfortable his hands felt against her skin.

He looks at her, seeing her eyes flutter as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve something.

“If anything happens…” as he hands her a folded piece of paper.

“Call me.” he added, watching her take it.

“Even if I’m two hours away?” she asked, reading it.

Terrance kneels, waving at some of his coworkers passing him before looking at her again.

“Even if you’re two hours away. Don’t like that you’re alone out there, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Wynnie nods, watching him close her door before stepping back.

“See you tomorrow, Terrance.” as she starts up the car.

“See you tomorrow, Winona.” he replied with a tender smile.

He waves as he watches back out carefully and drive away, seeing her exit at the end of the long road.

“Get home safe.” he whispered as he turns back to the building.

Two hours of driving on the dark roads later, Wynnie arrives to her home: the Starland Motel.

It sits a few minutes outside of downtown Iowa City, surrounded by a lot of street lights and one level homes.

She grabs her things before locking up her car, making sure everything’s fine before walking to the stairs.

She hears a door swinging open, making her stop and look to her left.

Seeing small clouds of smoke come out of the reception room, there stood the hotel manager and her landlord, Berlinda, a small Caucasian woman covered in tattoos, smoking a cigarette.

“Evening, Berlinda.” said Winona, waving at her.

“Thought that was you who pulled up.” Berlinda replied, coughing a bit.

She didn’t see Berlinda that much as the woman is always running around, fixing something around the motel or arguing with a customer who claims the wrong was up to what they expected.

However, when it came to her, she was always nice, having empathy for her as she recognized her face from the coverage of the trial, and never told anyone else about it.

“I been waiting for you to come back all day. I know you went to OuterMore, but you did get something in the mail.” she said, retrieving something from the room.

She pulls out a big envelope and walks up, handing it to Wynnie, who takes it, examines it.

“It feels a little thick, so I’m gonna assume it’s—“

“My missing documents.” said Wynnie, cutting her off as she smiles happily.

“Yep. Glad you finally have your stuff again.” said Berlinda, turning to walk.

“Oh, wait.”

Berlinda stops, turning back to face Wynnie.

“I’m going back there tomorrow. While I’m gone, a package my agent ordered for me is supposed to come. I don’t know how big it’s going to be, but can you watch out for it, please?” asked Wynnie.

“You bet your ass I can! You always good with me when it comes to your mail, don’t you worry. Now if this was Ms. Watkins’ nasty chitlins eating ass, it would be a different story.” said Berlinda, inhaling her cigarette before blowing the smoke out.

“Thank you. Good night.” she said, walking up the stairs.

Belinda nods before walking back into her room, leaving the door half open.

Wynnie walks along the hallway before stopping at a room with the number 15 on it. She takes out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing the door open.

Turning on the lights, she takes in the small room she told him about, noticing nothing has changed since she left.

“Home sweet home.” she utters as she puts her stuff on the table, walking the sushi to her refrigerator.

She does her nightly routine, which consists of washing her face, applying her skin care, brush her teeth, showering, and writing a bit in her workbooks before climbing to her bed.

She turns off the light, feeling her nerves rise a bit as she lays down, looking at the curtain covered window as she slowly falls asleep, hoping the terror isn’t too bad.

Wynnie wakes up in a very dark room, confused with how cold it was.

No windows.

Filthy floor.

And her stuff on the bed.

Immediately recognizes it as her old room from when she was still in Tolons.

She stood up, trying to find the exit, but keeps going through an endless loop, giving up.

Suddenly, she hears an uneasy sound of loud hitting and groaning filling in, making her cover her ears immediately.

“Please God, no.” she whispered, kneeling into a position.

It continued for a while, until it was replaced by evil laugh from a man, making her slowly look up.

Standing in front of her was a man wearing a red shawl and a demon designed mask with a grizzly smile, looking down at to her.

She noticed blood was pouring out of the mouth part, which made her crawl back until she hits something hard.

She looks up and sees another one looking down at her, blood pouring excessively out that it hits her, making her scream as she tries to get up.

However, she looks down, seeing that she sinking into the floor, which is now a pool of blood, struggling to fight her way out as the evil laughter grows louder.

“Don’t fight it, Wynnie.” she hears Alfonso say darkly, making her look up to see him sitting in a king styled designed chair.

“You’re home.” he added, getting up to walk to her.

“No, no, please!” she yells, feeling herself sinking lower and lower.

Alfonso stands in front of her, with the masked men standing behind watching her struggle, covered in their blood.

“Here. Let me help.” he said, kneeling down.

She tries to lift her arms up, but fail he places his hand over her forehead, pushing her down further as she screamed loudly. She feels something hot coming out of his hand, burning her horrifically.

Wynnie wakes up quickly, panting very violently as she tries to calm herself down, doing the method she does.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeated, emotions taking over.

After a few minutes, she’s calm down, rubbing her head as she looks at the windows, seeing the sun is out.

She looks at the clock, which reads 8:15.

She gets up, heading to the bathroom to start the first step in her morning routine: showering.

She follows with brushing her teeth, washing her face and applying skincare, doing her hair in a updo-sidebang, applying bodycare and putting on her outfit.

Wearing an off-shoulder purple tie blouse, blue flared jeans, white platform sandals, she applied her favorite red lipstick before adding final touches, taking one last look in the mirror.

Grabbing the envelope and placing it in her bag, she leaves, making sure the door is locked before heading downstairs to her car.

Two hours of driving with coffee and a donut later, Wynnie walks into the building, seeing Terrance already standing there, waiting for her.

He’s in a white dress shirt, black business casual jacket, black dress plants, and black shoes, starting at her as she got close.

“Morning, Winona.” he greeted, a big smile on his face.

“Good morning to you as well.” she replied, sending a small smile back.

“You look….” as he looks at her outfit, taking it in.

“You look great.” he added. “Purple suits you well.”

She nodded as he begins walking to the doors, with her following behind him.

Entering his office, she places her bag on the table, taking out the envelope.

“When I came home yesterday, my landlord told me my documents came in the mail.” as she hands it to him.

He said ‘ah’ as he takes it, impressed that it’s here already.

“Did you take a look?” he asked, placing it on his desk.

“Not yet. I’m, um….a little nervous on what it contains.”

He nods, grabbing her folder before walking to the door.

“That’s normal. But we can talk about it after we go to the lab.”

“The lab?” as she raised her eyebrows.

He chuckles a bit as he raises his hands in reassurance.

“It’s nothing crazy. Just we have to get your measurements and body scan.”

“Oh. Is it going to hurt?” as she relaxes.

“No. It’s a quick and easy process.”

He opens the door, waiting for her to walk out.

“Plus, I want you to meet a good friend of mines. Come.” as he tilted his head towards the hallway.

Wynnie walks out, with him following, closing the door.

They walk to the door at the end of the hallway that leads into the lab, with him typing in a code on the pinpad, hearing it unlock before sliding open.

Heading down the stairs, Terrance leads the way as Wynnie takes in the busy floor, from one group making a liquid to print out the skins to another building parts of the bodies as another group works on coding in facial expressions on some heads.

“Very grip as you see.” said Terrance as he looks back, watching her look at everything.

Wynnie looks at one particular one, where the face, belonging to a short haired brunette white woman, was very still-like and eyes closed.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open and mouth stretches open, showing a haunting expression you would see in a horror film that it scared Wynnie, causing her to bump into Terrance very hard.

“That’s what I meant.” he whispered, gently moving her to the front.

“We’re almost there though.”

They walk into a direction where there is an area called SCANNING in the corner, surrounded by a few scientists and other people, in which Wynnie assumes are her fellow Group 70 members.

“Still working hard, I see?” as he walks up to a tall darkskin black woman, causing her to look up.

The woman laughs before dapping him up, beginning a conversation with him that Wynnie doesn’t hear as she takes it her looks.

Wearing a short sleeve black shirt, black jeans, black and white sneakers, she was very fit and muscular, has dimples each time she smiled, locs with gold cuffs in them, a massive dragon tattoo who’s head started on her hand and wrapped around her arm while her other arm was covered in a vine-like tattoo with different plants, she was a sight to see.

She wonders if her and Terrance had a thing with how close they are as he looked over, motioning her to come over.

“Winona, This is Mel. A good friend of mines since our MIT days who’s good at accurately, getting the correct measurements and scans of everybody’s other you. She’ll be doing yours.” he said, stepping to the side a bit.

“Nice to meet you.” said Mel with a bit of a twang, holding out her hand.

“Nice to meet you as well.” Wynnie replied, shaking it.

“You from DC?” she asked immediately, surprising Mel.

“See? Someone can recognize my accent, Terrance!” said Mel, nudging him in his chest.

“I didn’t say that!” he replied, rubbing the spot.

“I said you sound like a Southerner.” he added, making Mel chuckle.

“Whatever, tea boy. You from out there too?” as she looks at Wynnie again, watching her shake her head.

“No. I’m from somewhere on the East Coast, but I can recognize your accent real easily for some reason.” she replied in a shy tone.

“You don’t know where you’re from?”

Wynnie stops for a bit as she comes up with a sensible answer.

As she was about to reply, Terrance leans into Mel’s ear, covering himself with the folder to tell her something, watching her face change from confused to apologetic.

“My bad. Forgot about that part of your file.” she said.

“It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean no harm.” said Wynnie.

Mel nods as she takes the folder from Terrance, grabbing her lab coat behind her.

“Follow me this way so we can begin and I can send you back his way.” as she begins to walk.

“He doesn’t come along?” asked Wynnie.

“Oh no.” said Terrance, looking at her.

“When it comes to this, we assign the same sex scientist to do this part so the client doesn’t feel uncomfortable with their agent if of opposite sex does it.” he added, smiling a bit.

“Makes the process much easier.” said Mel.

Wynnie nods, watching her walk into a room, standing at the entrance to wait for her.

“You don’t mind if I take a look at your envelope while I’m waiting?” he asked.

“That’s fine.” she replied, sending a small smile.

She holds his gaze for a few more minutes before following Mel, walking past her to enter the room.

Mel waves at Terrance, who waves back, before clicking a button that slide the door closed. He looks around the floor before heading back to his office.

Inside the spacey silver swirled room, Wynnie sees a big machine hooked up to different wires as Mel sits the folder next to the clipboard on the table against the wall, putting on her coat.

“Okay, so first thing I’m gonna do is take your measurements and ask some questions before we do the scanning. Is that okay with you?” asked Mel, looking at her.

Wynnie nods as she watches her unravel the measuring tape, kneeling down and pushing her left pants leg. She wraps around her calf, tightening it a bit.

“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked, letting it go before standing up and writing on the clipboard.

“8.5.” Wynnie said softly.

“Same as your ring size?”

“No. My ring size is a 6.”

Mel says ‘mm’ before turning back to her, looking her up and down.

“Stand straight for me, please.”

Wynnie obliged, watching her place the end of the tape on the top of her waist before pulling the rest down her leg, stopping at the top of the foot.

“Are you vaccinated?” she asks next.

“Just re-upped last month.” said Wynnie.

Mel nods before writing down the numbers on the clipboard. She moves behind her, placing the end at the top of her head.

“Close your legs for me.”

Wynnie followed, feeling her pull the rest down her back, over her ass before stopping at the bottom heel of her foot, holding it for a few seconds.

“Any tattoos or scars?” as she steps into her view.

“And hold your arms out like this.” she added as she holds her arms out horizontally.

Wynnie followed, stretching her arms out as wide as she could, watching her lay the end in one hand before pulling to stretch the other.

“Four scars. Two tattoos. One covers the scar on my left hip, the second one covers the one on my right wrist. And the two others are the same. Just one is on my left rib and the other is on my back.” said Wynnie, watching her write it down.

Mel wraps the measuring tape around her chest, feeling it jump a bit.

“You know your cup size?”

“D.” she replied instantly, making her laugh.

“That was fast.” as Mel lets go, wrapping it around Wynnie’s waist.

“…you seemed curious.” as she looks up at her.

Mel’s eyes twinkle a bit, letting go of the tape as she walks over to the clipboard.

“I see why he’s taken a huge interest in you.” she said as she was writing.

“What do you mean?” asked Wynnie, a confused look on her face.

“Normally, Terrance doesn’t talk about the assignments in a thrilling way. Only your typical “he’s boring, but his background is interesting” conversations.” as she looks at her.

“I noticed a new dynamic in him after you went home yesterday” she added, an amused expression on her face.

“It’s like…you awoken something in him. Something I haven’t seen since we went to space as the test group.”

Wynnie was stunned, not noticing Terrance was out there waiting for her early on purpose.

“He told you this?” she asked.

“Hasn’t stopped talking about you since. And after one day? That’s rare of him.”

She smiles a bit, but drops it fast as she remembers Mel is in front of her.

“….hopefully I’m not coming between something that you and him have.” said Wynnie.

Mel’s eyes widen, shocked by what she said.

Then, she lets out a humorous laugh, covering her mouth so no one hears her.

Wynnie watches in confusion, trying to figure out if she said something funny.

“Winona.” as Mel catches her breath. “That’s the funniest shit you ever said.” with a laugh following.

“…so you’re not seeing him?”

“Absolutely not.” as she shook her head. “We’re best friends. Taught him a lot about this country that he wanted to know about. But he’s not someone I would go for personally.” as she walked towards the machine.

Wynnie followed behind, watching her go up to a switch box, flicking everything up except one and the machine turns on.

“Not that anything is wrong with him.” as Mel looks back.

“Just men are not my type.” she added.

Wynnie stood there, taken a back by that reveal as Mel laughs.

“But, you’re fine.” as she opens one of the doors.

“I also don’t go after any female assignment OuterMore picks for the missions. That’s a rule I set with myself when I got hired to develop the program.”

She goes up to the wall, typing something into an invisible pinpad and the door unlocks, sliding open as she steps inside.

Wynnie looks away, processing the new information she’s learning right now, feeling a bit tense.

“..are you saying he would date an assignment?” she asked, watching Mel walk out with a stack of folded clothes.

“That’s the thing: he doesn’t. Not even the widowed or divorced ones.” as she sits them on the table.

“But, he might just break that rule for you.” she added.

“How do you know he’s not just trying to score?”

Mel takes out a gown and hands it to her, watching her take it.

“He’s an introvert who rarely goes out on dates or parties. And treats women nicely. He does his job with delicate gestures and if you feel him feeling awful about something you say, it’s genuine.” as she smiled.

“Change into that, by the way. Keep your underwear on and remove jewelry if you have any on.” as she pointed at the gown.

Mel turns around, hearing Wynnie remove her clothes and ring, placing them on the table as she puts the gown on.

“All done.” said Wynnie, watching her turn around.

“Alright. Step inside the machine and I’ll explain what you have to do.” as Mel points towards it.

Wynnie walks up, anxiety building up as she gets closer.

She stops at the entrance, looking inside the glowing green room before looking at Mel, who was standing by the door, holding the clipboard. She nods, gently motioning her to walk in, in which she does.

“I’m gonna close the door a bit. Just so you’re covered and I can’t see you.” said Mel, grabbing the handle.

Wynnie nods as she hears the door close, hearing it creak.

Okay, so what you are going to do next is remove your gown and align yourself on the outlined feet in the middle of the platform as Mel leans into a mic so she can hear her.

Wynnie hesitates as she slowly removes the gown, tossing it out.

Staring in all of her glory and a thong, she looks at the blinking cameras in front and behind her, taking it the different flashing colors each one has.

Mel examines while adjusts some of them, using a switch box. She enhances the one pointed at the left side of Wynnie’s hip, seeing a much clearer view of the banquet of sunflowers tattoo over the jagged line scars.

“Okay, so for the next step, I need you to stand on the outline and straight.” she says, pushing a button to close the door.

Wynnie stands on it, adjusting her body as the light dims.

In a few minutes, you’re going to see a flash of white light hit you. That’s the first scan being done. Then, it’s gonna flash twice, signaling the second scan. The last one is going to shine a bright red flash, signaling the last one, she spoke into the mic, making Wynnie look up.

Mel flicks another switch, adding more darkness around the green lit room.

Throughout this, you need to be in an A frame pose and be still as it’s going to happen very, very fast. It’s okay if you blink after the first one because it is a bit bright, but be careful with blinking after the first one in the second scan, she said, looking at the screen.

Wynnie looks forward as she gets into that pose, seeing the cameras adjust a bit. The air gets a little hot, making her sweat a bit as a countdown begins.

3..2..1.

Suddenly, a quick FLASH of white light hits her, blinding her a bit, which makes her blink.

“Fuck.” she whispered, rubbing her eyes a bit.

Second one is coming in less than 30 seconds said Mel, watching the first scan prints appear on the monitor next to her.

Wynnie repositioned herself, blinking very quickly as she hears the countdown begin again.

3.

2.

1.

Another quick FLASH of white light hits her, with another countdown following.

3.

2.

1.

The second FLASH hits her, completing the second scan.

Wynnie rubs her quickly, the sting being a bit overbearing as she hears some of the cameras move rinto the center, all pointing at her.

Alright, last scan is coming in one minute. This one will shine a bright red, which will be the outer layer of other you. Don’t be freaked out at all of the cameras staring at you, Mel added.

The light in the room turns red, which made Wynnie uncomfortable, feeling heat growing inside of her.

“Please don’t.” she whispered, knowing that familiar feeling.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as the room darkens, with the countdown beginning.

Keep your eyes open, said Mel.

Wynnie widens her eyes, feeling them slowly tear up as 10 seconds is shown in a fast pace.

3..2..1.

A FLASH of red light hits her, completing the final scan.

And you’re all done, as Mel gets up, hitting a switch.

Wynnie collapses to the ground, rubbing her eyes fast as the attack comes over, making her squeeze her eyes and say the chant quickly.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeats, shaking a bit.

The door opens, with Mel coming in with her gown, startled by the scene.

She rushes over, wrapping the gown around her as she kneels down, comforting her.

“Breathe. Breathe. It’s over, you’re okay.” she said, feeling Wynnie relaxing a bit.

She softly blinks, looking over to see Mel next to her, feeling slightly embarrassed about what just happened.

“Sorry about that.” she said quietly.

“Don’t be. It’s perfectly fine to have that reaction.” said Mel, a small smile on her face.

The women get up, exiting the machine. Mel begins locking it up as Wynnie puts back on her clothes, feeling the cool air returning.

Sitting in his office again, Wynnie hears a snap, making her look back. She sees Terrance standing there, holding up a camera.

“For photo references.” he said, smiling a bit.

He snaps a quick picture of her before she looks forward, spinning her charm as he hits the recorder, sitting behind her.

“So, I looked into your envelope. It contained a lot of documents, from your birth certificate, your passport, to the last address you lived at. It also had a lot of photos and a few items you might be able to recognize.” he began, sitting a stack in front of him.

“I’m going to ask you some questions and hand you some of the items to explain to me. Is that okay?”

Wynnie nods, looking up as she hears him move again.

“First question: what is your mission group’s number?”

“70.” she said, adjusting herself.

Terrance takes out the first paper from the stack, handing it to her by gently tapping her shoulder. She takes it, reading it.

“What does that document say?”

“State of Maryland, Certificate of Live Birth.” she replied, reading over the words.

“My birth certificate.” she added, smiling a bit.

“What city does it say?” he asked as he types, moving the recorder closer to her.

“Columbia. Howard County.”

“Is it bringing back any memories?”

“A little bit. I know it’s between DC and Baltimore, but I can’t remember much.”

“What about the weather?”

“Oh that’s easy. Winter was hell due to how cold it gets. Summer too because of how hot it got. Fall and spring was okay, just not a fan of the bugs.” she said, hearing him laugh.

“How bout this?” he said softly as he hands her the next one, which she takes.

She looks at it, which is a photo that shows a woman in the hospital bed, holding a newborn baby as an older woman that looks similar to her stands near, both smiling. A man in an all white Navy uniform is at the end of the bed, holding a bouquet of flowers, that were a mixture of baby breath and lavender, and a huge “Its A Girl” Teddy Bear, making her get teary.

She recognizes this photo very well.

“The little baby is me.” as she points at herself.

“That’s my mom, who’s holding me. My grandmother, her mother, next to her. And my dad is the man.” she added, tears falling.

“I thought I lost this photo forever.” she said quietly.

“What were their names?” he asked, handing her the tissues.

She takes one, wiping her eyes as she sniffles, catching her breath.

“Mom’s was Dahlia. She was named after a rare flower that was growing in my grandmother’s garden. Had a need for growth since she bounced between jobs.”

“Clementine, or Tine, was my grandmother’s name. Got that name because when she was born, she had ginger hair, which was as bright as that. Was a florist and made money off selling flowers from the house since she couldn’t afford a shop. And why I like flowers a lot.” as she smiles a bit.

“She grew all types?” asked Terrance, watching her nod.

“Anything she could find to growing from the plant shop she went to. Was well respected around the community.” she replied, looking at the photo again.

“Cyrus was my daddy’s name. Don’t really know much about his personality or life other than him being in the Navy. Think this is the only photo of him I ever saw.” she added, tracing over his face.

“Why’s that?” he asks, a somberly look in his face.

“About a few weeks after I was born, he passed. Leaving my mother a widow and me without a dad. From what I was told, one of the ships he was working on caught on fire. He and I think, 20 others, got trapped. Died the same way my grandfather did.”

Terrance paused, exhaling loudly as she turns the photo around, seeing writing that said Baby Winona 8:15 AM MD.

“Did it..did it affect your relationship with her growing up?” he continued.

“I think it did.” as she nodded.

“I was a baby, but when I got older, my grandmother was the only one raising me. My mom wasn’t doing drugs, but she wasn’t mentally stable at all and my grandma couldn’t allow her to take me much longer.” as she laughed bitterly.

“Last time I remember seeing her was when I was 7. So, I have no idea if she’s even alive now.”

“Do you want to know?” he asked.

“No.” she answered quickly. “If she wanted to see me, she would’ve been there when the trials happened. Sounds selfish, but.” as she shrugged.

Terrance nods, reading the next question on his list.

“What’s the significance behind the sunflower ring?”

“My favorite flower. The one I always saw in the garden whenever I see her planting them. Even with the bad things, I’m always taken back to growing up with her and the house on that road. Felt like those were my happy days.”

“This house?” as he hands her a picture.

She takes it and looks at it, seeing a three story bricked house, a couple and their toddler daughter sitting on the steps, and a goldendoodle next to them.

“Yeah.” as she nods. “Had a garden full of them hidden in the back. Which made thieves interested.”

“Is that why she also got that dog?” he asked, hearing her laugh.

“No. When her and my granddad got married, they couldn’t figure out what kind of dog they wanted for their first house. So, they went to the pet shop that was in town and saw that he was the only different one since the rest were Dalmatians. Adopted him and called him Sunny since his fur shined brightly under the sun.”

“Did you get to meet him?”

“No. He died when my grandfather passed. Lived a long life. But he left behind 7 newborn puppies, so they adopted one of them, a girl, and named her—“

“Sunna?” as he hands another picture, which she looks at.

This time, its her as a toddler, her grandmother, and Sunna, wearing a sunflower collar, next to them.

“Yeah. Sunna.” she quietly said, smiling.

“My little ole Sunna, she always said. Was by her side from the moment she was born to the moment she passed.” she added, comparing both photos.

“And had her daddy’s eyes.” she added, smiling.

Terrance slowly gets up, moving to her left, but not enough for her to see him.

“What happened to the both of them if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair.

She exhales loudly, closing her eyes as she squeezes her hands close.

“She didn’t know she had epilepsy. There was a storm coming while everyone was sleeping, which is normal since it was the summer. So the storm went on like it always does. Hard rain, thundering, and lightning.”

She opens them, looking at her grandmother’s face in the picture.

“I guess the loud thunder woke her up and she was trying to go back to sleep. But, the lightning struck a few times and it was very bright, so it…scared her straight into that.”

Terrance looks away, wiping his eyes as she puts the photo on the side, looking at the background.

“Thought it was a little strange that she wasn’t up when I woke up. Didn’t know I was gonna find her lifeless.” as she laid back.

“As for Sunna, had to give her up since she’s not a service dog before I went into foster care. I cried very hard when I left, just holding her collar in my hand.”

“….you’re talking about this one, right?” he asked, holding something.

Wynnie turns around, seeing him with a bag that had the same exact collar from the picture. She snatches from him, surprising him as she looks at it, shocked that it was still existing.

“They had this?!” she asked loudly, looking at the tag, recognizing it’s the real things

“Yeah. They actually had a lot of your stuff. Guess they kept it in their facility after the raid.” as Terrance looks back at the rest of the things he laid out.

“….I didn’t mean to snatch it out of your hand like I did.” she said in an apologetic tone, looking at him.

“You’re fine.” as he smiled. “This is what I want from you. Be happy instead of dwelling on the bad stuff.”

Wynnie nods, looking at the collar again, smiling happily.

“I can show you the rest of what was in there if you want.” he said, adjusting his shirt.

She nods, getting up and sitting next to him as he pulls some documents and photos closer, seeing her eyes light up and admiring each one.

They spent the rest of the day looking at the stuff, with her wanting to avoid talking about some of them as she wasn’t ready, which he understood.

After departing in the parking lot again following the end of their session, when he reminds her about tracking her sleep, she drives back to Starland, parking the car and getting out with her stuff.

Entering her room, she notices the packages inside, confusing her as she wonder how they got in. Until she sees a piece of paper attached to one of them, making her grab and read it.

Hey Winona,

The packages came, but because I was gonna be gone by the time you came back and I don’t trust Bert to keep an eye on your stuff, I just put it in your room myself so you don’t have to worry.

- Berlinda :)

Wynnie nods, thanking her for thinking ahead to avoid her going down there and asking why he was in here.

She unboxes them, setting the coolers up on each side before putting the lamp and sound machine on her nightstand.

She does her nightly routine, but this time, does a journal entry of what she’s feeling like before sleep, noting sleepy and anxious.

Afterwards, she chooses the wave sound on the machine before dimming the light on the lamp, slowly falling asleep to that and the sounds of the cool air blowing on her.

The next morning, she wakes up very peaceful and relaxed. No night terror this time and she’s up before 8.

Terrance’s suggestion actually worked. She does feel a little better and excited for the day as she gets, heading to her journal to write.

May 2065

Dear Diary,

Today is May 19th. I been in Iowa for about a month and a half now. And in about 32 days, I’ll be heading to living in space for the next two years.

I thought we wouldn’t be anywhere close to done with making other me, but we about 90% done. They move hella fast, but I’m proud of how far I’ve grown.

My sleep schedule has improved a lot. The sound machine, coolers, and lamp have been helping with not having to relive Alfonso’s terror every night. It’s still not fully gone, but I haven’t freaked out since the second week.

I been getting very comfortable with being around Terrance too, letting him inside of what I’ve been reluctant to show him without the fear of betraying coming over. It also seems like I’ve been trying to get to know more of him as well.

Every time he asks me about something, I answer. But then, I ask a follow up question that was similar to it. I expect him to shut it down by telling me it wasn’t my business, but he answers it.

Like for instance, he asked me about what do I expect when living out in space. I answered with a very long answer, but I know I said something about seeing Saturn. I asked him, and even Mel, about what was it like within those two years of living in space, being alone and all?

To be fair, I didn’t say the last part to Mel, but I accidentally said it to him, which made me feel bad. He laughed a bit, which made me nervous cause I wasn’t sure what he was gonna say. But, he said it’s hard, but you’ll start to get over it the more you look at the atmosphere around you that makes you appreciate space a little more and help you with what you want to do next when it’s over.

Which speaking of that…I been thinking about him a lot more than I should in a way I can’t explain. And I think he feels the same too.

I noticed lately that he takes a lot of pictures of me, even when he thinks I’m not looking. Even when he was noting my daily routine, he always looked at me in an amazed way, like whatever I was doing had him feeling lovey dovey?

Or maybe I’m reading it all wrong just because he’s nothing like Alfonso, so I’m not used to someone who genuinely likes listening to me answer their questions, watching me do something I like or I’m struggling with and they don’t shame me over it.

He likes taking care of me too. Buying me food, making sure I’m stocked up on things I need, and even checking up on me by texting or calling. Even when I don’t want to talk.

Am I in love with him? Is that what this is?

I was hidden from everything against my will during those dark years. And here comes this man, who is working with me to make my clone as I go to space, sweeping me off my feet with his ways that I never felt before.

I hope I’m right.

Wynnie is in the bathroom, curling her hair when she hears a knock on the door, making her pause.

Grabbing a bat she had hidden in the kitchen, she walks towards it cautiously, looking through the peephole to see who it was on the other side.

It was a man scrolling on his phone, who looked very familiar to Wynnie, but she couldn’t see his face. She opens the door carefully, holding the bat behind it.

The man looks up, revealing himself as Terrance, who smiles immediately.

"Oh, it’s just you.” she said, putting the bat next to the door.

“Good afternoon, Winona.” he replied.

She nods, looking at his outfit he’s wearing. A suede brown jacket, a button up white shirt, brown pants, and light brown shoes.

“You’re not hot?” she asked, watching him laugh a bit.

“I’m used to it. It’s a normal thing we do back home, so the heat doesn’t phase me.”

Wynnie says ‘hm’ as she looks at his shiny skin, which makes him look like he just got done working on a construction site, watching him lick his lips.

“Sorry, do you mind if I come in” he asked, breaking her gaze.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” as she steps to the side, watching him walk in.

Closing the door, she watches him look around the room, taking in the space before turning around to look at her.

“Nice place.” as he sat on the couch.

“Thanks.” she replied.

He looks at the table, seeing some of her workbooks sitting there open, which makes her feel slightly embarrassed as he picks one up, examining it.

“Your writing is getting better.” he said, looking at some of the words.

“Thank you.” as she smiled a bit. “Wait, how did you find my room? I never gave you that.”

“Well. Your very..enthusiastic landlord pointed me to the direction. After I showed her proof that I was your agent since she didn’t believe off word of mouth, of course.” as he puts it down.

Something Berlinda would do.

“Right. What are you doing here? Its Saturday. You guys are off the weekend.” as she sat down in one of the chairs in front of him.

“Well, I came out here cause Mel mentioned to me that there was a flower show being held at the convention center.” as he leaned forward.

“Yeah, I heard about it. Very expensive to get in too.”

“Which is why I’m here.”

She watches him with confusion as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out two tickets, placing them in front of her gently.

“I want to take you to it.”

Wynnie looks at him slightly surprised, picking one of them up to read.

“Since you leave in a month, and this runs til July, I thought it would be a nice opportunity for you to go and see it. Maybe indulge more of your inner child.” he added, watching her look a bit conflicted.

“I don’t know, Terrance…”

“What’s holding you back?”

“..myself. Feels like I’m taking advantage of everything you’re doing for me without doing anything for you.” she replied, placing it back on the table.

Terrance exhaled before getting up, causing her to look up. He walks up and kneels in front of her, seeing her look away instantly.

“Wynnie. You’re not taking advantage of me. You haven’t been. You been listening to my advice on how to heal from him and that cult, which you have done greatly on. I’m proud of you.” as he turns her face to him.

She looks at him, feeling him touch her hand before he squeezes it.

“You’re not used to someone doing nice things for you. I get it. It’s hard to get comfortable with that. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel bad about it if the person isn’t tripping about it. And I’m telling you I’m not.” as he stares at her.

“It’s my job to make sure you’re perfectly fine, whether I’m far or you’re asleep. That’s why I was assigned to you because they know I can transform you into a more happy and stable person. Everything you tell me, I come up with things I know you will love cause I see the way you instantly react when you see it. That’s what I’m looking for, Winona. A happy you ready for space.” as he smiles softly.

Wynnie blinks, not trying to cry as he takes out a handkerchief, wiping them away.

“So for the next few weeks we have left, I want you to accept the good things. Fuck the bad things, they don’t exist anymore. Just continue progressing for me. Can you do that?” he asked, looking at her.

She nods, smiling a bit as he got up, grabbing the tickets off the table.

“I’ll be downstairs while you get ready. Should be there in less than 15 since it’s not near the highway.” he said, walking to the door.

“I should be done soon. Just curling my hair.” she replied, seeing him nod.

“Alright. Don’t be too long, love.” as he opens the door, waving before he walked out.

Wynnie exhales, biting her lip as she feels her stomach flutter with butterflies over what he said.

Goddamn, he has her sprung.

10 minutes later, Terrance, leaning against his car, hears a door close, making him look at the stairs.

He sees Wynnie walking down, fixing her gold pendant earrings. Wearing a white milkmaid long dress with gold pattern, white sandals, and a brown straw bag, she looks perfectly dressed for someone attending a flower show.

“Atta girl.” he said as she walks towards him.

“Is it too much?” she asked, looking at it.

“No. I’m just underdressed.” he replied, making them both laugh.

He taps on the side of the car, which lifts the door up, hearing the car start. He helps her in, adjusting her dress before climbing it, watching it close.

“Do you not get worried it’ll malfunction and slice something off one day?” she asked, looking around the interior.

“No. We update these cars yearly to make sure it doesn’t happen, even if we stop making them.” he replied, tapping the car to move.

The car pulls out, jumping on the road and begins driving them to the convention center.

30 minutes later, they arrived and got their tickets scanned, beginning to walk through the doors, which was surrounded by walls of different flowers.

Wynnie’s eyes beamed, amazed by the different arrangements of each exhibition, from statues of people to dresses made of flower to the one built to hang like chandeliers from the ceiling.

“This is your first one?” asked Terrance, walking beside her.

“In a while. Used to go to the one in DC a lot when my grandma was still here.” as they passed rows of different colored Daffodils.

“Did she ever compete or they had requirements?”

She chuckles as she look at the pond filled with mini people wearing different petals as clothes or hairstyles, intrigued by the woman with jasmine as her dress and lavender as her cornrows.

“She did. After I begged her five years straight to do it. But they tried to play her when she first tried to enroll.” she replied, seeing him look at the exhibit below.

“What they do?”

“Because she didn’t belong to a shop or had a popular business outside of Columbia, they tried to charge her a seed fee, which is something unknown people had to pay to compete.”

“How much? $200?” he asked, thinking it couldn’t have been a lot.

“Add an extra zero.” she replied, seeing his eyes widen.

“$2,000?!” he yelps, accidentally making people turn to look at him.

He sends an apologetic smile, waving a bit, which Wynnie found cute as she looks at the next exhibit.

“They believed since the seeders’ exhibits are not going to come nowhere close to the experts and well respected, they should pay a lot of money for even submitting. She wanted to give up, but this guy, who used to buy flowers from her when he was a kid, heard about what happened, and not only did he pay her fee, he offered to build whatever design she was thinking of for free since he owned a construction company.” she replied, looking at the mini houses made with yarrows.

“So, she decided to do one based on the galaxy, but it was gonna be made out of night sky petunias since they were the closest ones to resemble it. Spray painted some sunflowers petals a glittery silver to make the stars.”

Terrance listens to her as she explained the different flowers used to make the planets and how she convinced them to see it when its dark as it would give it a luminous effect, watching her act very passionately as they walked through each exhibit.

“So, she showed it. It was sparkling in the darkness. The audience cheered. The judges took some notes without showing their true reactions and told us they’ll make their final decision when they finish looking at the rest.” as she sat on a bench.

He sat next to her, following her gaze at a portrait of Mona Lisa, made out of flowers.

“Those were the longest three days of my life. I thought she was getting played, assumed they already chose a winner before seeing hers. But she told me to be patient, and that she’s fine with whatever result comes out.” she continued.

“And she was proud to do this, accomplishing something I wished for her to do. Which is why she won, shocking everyone including me. Said they loved the determination in perfecting the details and how much support she had from the community that knows her, which made her a perfect underdog.”

She looks down at her ring, feeling some joy seeing the memory play in her head.

“What did she win?” he asked, making her look at him.

“$20,000 that went into my savings, her name on the trophy, a flower encyclopedia of that year’s edition that I cherished a lot, and free entry to the yearly flower show for life.”

“You had a lot of fun.” he said, a little smile on his face.

“I did. I did.” as her smile faded. “Now all of that is lost and in the past.”

He looks down, feeling bad as she got up, fixing her dress.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” she said, walking off.

He follows behind, watching her look at the art they’re passing.

A few minutes later, they are walking inside a room that is showcasing black women made of different flowers.

Wynnie is looking at the one where the woman is lying in a field of sunflowers, playing a guitar made of multicolored water lilies as some of them sits in her hair, amazed by it.

“What’s the significance with the sunflower and black women?” asked Terrance, coming next to her.

“Hm?” as she looks at him.

“Noticed every time I see the sunflower, one of you is associated with it. Is it a cultural thing?”

“I say so.” as she shrugged. “It can mean many different things to a lot of us. Which I always found interesting.”

“Like what?” as he leaned forward.

“Happiness due to its look. Good luck charm. Spirituality. Even helps build great relationships with people you feel like you can trust.”

“Is that why you choose it?”

“Actually, no.” as she turns to him with a little smile.

“I was actually a moonflower girl when I was first starting to knowing about the flowers in the garden.” she added, watching him be surprised.

“Little Wyn was not always a sunflower girl?” he asked in shocked tone, seeing her laugh.

“I was in love with the design and the concept of it glowing at night. So, I thought by blending that with the sunflower in a section, they would be the brightest flowers ever glowing at night.” as she moves down.

“Wow.” as he looks with delight, seeing her touch one that was allowed for the public to do.

“It was still the same, but I didn’t care because they looked cute together. Overtime, I started to become even more attached to the sunflower because of its yellow color. Drawing it, wearing it on my clothes, even had a little song I used to play on the piano.” as she picked it up, handing it to him.

He takes it, examining its petals and shape as she watched, seeing him gently touch its head.

“It’s almost like it’s delicate.” he said quietly, moving to its stem.

“It is. Needs its sunlight if you want it to last a while. And protection from the bad.” she said.

“Almost like you.” he utters, closing his mouth tightly after realizing what he said.

Wynnie looks at him, chucking lightly as she leans in, keeping her gaze.

“…You too.” as she touches his hand, feeling him jump back.

Terrance doesn’t say anything, smirking a little as he puts the flower back, gently grabbing her hand to walk, which takes her aback.

“So yeah.” as she coughs. “That explains why I like them so much.”

“It’s your symbol. Your…escapism.” he replied, feeling her squeeze his hand softly.

“Is that normal to have?”

“Of course. That defines you as a person who wants to get away from the bad.”

She smiles down as they went into another exhibition, with him leaning down to her ear.

“Just don’t let no one take that away from you again.” he whispered.

Wynnie nods, feeling him adjust his stance and pull her closer as they look as the huge display of glitter roses in a heart hanging up in front of them.

They spent the rest of day looking at more exhibits, with them catching each other’s looks, feeling the growing tension getting thicker and thicker.

Even when they were in the gift shop.

As Wynnie was looking at mini statues of flower people, she felt someone gently touching her, making her look back.

She saw Terrance there, looking at the mini plants in front of him as he was on the phone, talking to Mel while his hand traces over her arm.

He looks at her, realizing what he was doing and was about to pull away. She stopped him, bring his hand to her face. She rubs it against her face before placing soft kisses on it, hearing him softly groan as he watches, his lips twitching.

A sudden glass breaking on the floor broke them apart, making them go back to doing whatever they were doing and pretend that nothing happened. She bought nothing while he bought some things before they left, heading to the car.

Pulling into the parking lot of the diner, Terrance helps Wynnie out of the car, adjusting her dress before they walked in.

A soft 70s R&B song is playing as they walk up to a woman standing at the CHECK IN stand.

“Hello, welcome i—“ the elder black hostess began, stopping as she looked at Terrance.

“Terrance?! My OuterMore Guy I haven’t seen in three years?!” she yelps, watching him laugh as she hugs him, with him hugging back.

“Good to see you too, Ms. Gladys. Hope you’re holding up well.” said Terrance, looking at her.

“Always! You know they like working my ass as if I’m the only one here.”

He and Gladys laugh as the latter looks at Wynnie, who shyly waves back.

“Who’s this pretty woman you brought in here?” she asked gleefully.

“This is Winona. She’s my current assignment I’m helping with going to space soon. we’re just coming from the flower show.” he said, looking at Wynnie with fondness.

“Hello.” said Wynnie, watching Gladys nod.

“Ahh yes. I remember you explaining that program when you first started coming here. Congratulations on the big success, by the way.” she said happily.

“Coming here?” asked Wynnie, looking at him.

“Oh, let him explain it more when I sit y’all down so I don’t hold y’all up much longer.” as she grabbed menus from her stand, walking to the back.

They follow her to a table that is near the sign on the window, placing the menus on it.

“While y’all get settled in, may I get y’all something to drink?” she asked, taking out her pen and pad.

“I’ll do a Shirley Temple.” said Terrance.

“A Diet Coke.” said Wynnie as she sat down.

She shivers, in which he noticed. He removes his jacket, wrapping it around her, which she thanks him with a smile as he sits in front of her.

“Coming right up.” said Gladys, eyeing Terrance cheerily as she walked away, making him shake his head.

“So, you used to come here?” asked Wynnie, grabbing a menu.

“Yeah.” as he did the same. “Used to live out here since Iowa City had the rent price I could only afford when I first started with OuterMore.”

“This far?” she says sarcastically, remembering him being shocked at her, living out here from their first session.

“Yeah.” as he laughed. “This diner was my favorite place to go to for breakfast when I was leaving and dinner when I didn’t feel like cooking coming home.”

She nods, looking over the endless options as Gladys came back with their drinks, placing them in front of them.

“There you go.” she said, taking out the straws.

“Thank you.” both said in unison.

“Did you guys get a chance to look at the menu and figure out what you wanted to?”

“Oh, I already know what I want since it hasn’t changed. You ready, Wyn?” he asked, looking at her.

“Um…you can go ahead. I’m just debating between two dishes that sound good.” she replied.

He nods, looking at Gladys, who’s watching with a grin.

“I’ll start with the sample platter. Just incase she wants to try some of it.” he said, watching her write.

“What’s on that?”

“Chicken fingers, onion rings, and mozzarella sticks. Comes with honey mustard, ranch, BBQ sauce, and marinara. Pretty good.” said Gladys.

“Ooh. That does sound good.” she replied before resuming her reading.

“And then, I’ll do the cheeseburger deluxe. Same order: Swiss cheese, spicy mayo, no onions, and no pickles. Side of fries and broccoli. Medium.” he said, hearing Gladys laugh as she finished writing.

“Never forgot.” as she takes his menu. “And for you, Miss Winona?”

“I’ll do the honey barbecue chicken strip melt. Instead of the cheddar cheese, can I do provolone instead?” asked Winona.

“Sure, but that will be a $1.25 charge for the cheese change.”

“Oh. Then, I’ll just ke—“

“That’s fine with me.” said Terrance, cutting her off, which she looks at him surprised.

“Terrance, you don’t have to pay extra cause of my tastebuds.”

“And why not? It’s not like I can’t make it back the more time I spend with you.”

“Bu-“

“But nothing. Remember what I said earlier, pretty girl.”

She smiles humorously, trying to not show that him calling her that was adding to her growing fervor.

“…was that before or after you touched me?” she asked slyly.

Terrance looks at her surprised, biting his cheek a bit as he took a sip of his drink, beginning to feel hot as Wynnie watches with excitement.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Gladys, looking at them back and forth.

“No.” they said in unison, looking at each other.

“Well then.” as she laughed. “What did you want for your sides?”

“I’ll do french fries and broccoli as well. Can I also get honey mustard on the side?” said Wynnie.

Gladys nods, writing it down before taking her menu.

“Alright. Food shouldn’t be too long since we ain’t *that busy right now. Be back to check on y’all just incase.

They nodded, watching her leave before turning the attention back to each other, their need growing.

“You look good wearing my jacket.” he said, looking at her seductively.

“Don’t get us in trouble.” she said, sipping her drink as he laughed.

“Like you didn’t just allude to me touching you in a different way in front of Ms. Gladys.”

“I know you wanted to. Since you couldn’t stop sneaking pictures of me while we were walking.”

“Its for your file. Not for personal use.” as he looked out of the window.

“…you also look adorable being in your comfort zone.” he added, feeling her eyes looking at him.

“Thank you.” she said quietly.

He looks at her, taking in her subtleness as she tugs on his jacket flap, watching her hair bounce.

An hour passes and they’re laughing over their food, discussing a funny memory of Terrance and Mel during their MIT days.

“I cannot picture you running down the streets of Boston streaking.” she said, holding in her laugh.

“I did cause I lost that bet to Mel.” as he chuckled. “The Kings let me down with letting the fucking Nets sweep.”

“That’s on you for being a Kings fan.” as she bit into her melt.

“I’m not. I like the Thunder.”

“Even worse.” as she was chewing.

He chuckled as he ate some of his fries, watching her softly eat the broccoli. They ate in silence for a few minutes before she stopped, watching him eat.

“Can I ask you something? It’s a little personal.” she said, watching him stop.

“Go for it.” as he leaned back.

“…do you miss London? Like do you ever feel a bit lonely out here?”

He thought about it, feeling her presence luring around him as a song and conversations from other people fills the room.

“I’ll say this: I don’t really think about it as much as I would for reasons I don’t want to talk about.” as he leans forward.

“However, I do miss my favorite cousin, my favorite aunts, a few uncles and other cousins. I miss the meals, the laughs, and the banter we always had together. And I do regret not going to my grandmother’s funeral when she passed.” he said, feeling sadness coming out.

“But because I couldn’t put my issues aside for that, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Nor hear her say how proud she was of me accomplishing my dreams of running this program. That’s all.” he added, seeing her have a gloomy expression on her face.

He continues eating, ending the conversation as she gently rubs his hand, feeling bad for asking.

“Sorry for your loss.” she said, seeing him look up.

“Don’t be. We all have or had to deal with it. It’s always up to you how you want to move on.” he replied, wrapping his hand around hers.

She smiles, feeling him relax a little more before looking out the window.

They got their food packed into to-go boxes as he paid, said goodbye to Ms Gladys, and got into the car, taking them back to Starland before he headed home.

Walking up the stairs to her room, he watched their area both ways as she unlocked the door, opening it.

“Well. Thank you for today, Terrance. I really appreciated it.” as she turns to look at him.

“Anytime, Wyn. Especially with the little we have left.” he replied, staring at her happily.

She nods as she turns to walk in, but is stopped by him grabbing her arm, making her look back.

“Yes?” she asked with a raised brow.

He brings his other arm from behind, revealing a medium-size paper bag in his hand.

“Here.” he said, handing it to her.

“What’s this?” as she takes it, placing her food and bag on the tv.

“Some things I think you might like. Open it.”

She smiles as she takes out a book, which was the new edition of the encyclopedia of flowers, her eyes lighting up instantaneously.

“There’s more in there.” he said, pointing at it.

She squints at him before reaching back in, pulling out three small rolls of paper, with him grabbing the bag to hold.

After placing the book against the wall, she unwrapped them one by one. The first one was a sunflower haired black woman figurine, which looked similar to her. The second one was a moonflower dress young girl with pigtails figurine. And the last one was a piano figurine, made out of bearded irises.

Joy and appreciation all over her.

“Thank you.” as she hugged him tightly.

“No problem.” he replied, hugging her back.

“But I still feel bad though!” as she playfully nudged him, watching him smile.

“I feel like I haven’t given you anything so far.”

“You don’t have to give anything I don’t already have. You’re already doing that by letting me be around you. Trusting me with everything we’ve done so far. That’s something at least.” he said, giving her reassurance.

“…even the unspoken?” she asked cutely.

Terrance smirks as looks her up and down, noticing her slight blushing.

“That too.” he whispered.

She nods before placing the figurines in the bag and taking it, putting it on the tv before stepping closer to him.

They look at each other shyly as he steps closer, closing in the distance between them.

He traces over her face, taking in her small little freckles as she looks at his eyes, which are shining a brownish-green color under the hallway lights.

Wynnie gasps softly, not used to a man being gentle with his moves as Terrance pushes her hair behind her ear, leaning in a bit.

He hears her breathing slowly as he does the same on the other side, feeling her lean against her door as he stops at her lips, looking at her.

He crashes his lips onto hers, hunger slightly taking over him. She wraps her arms around his back, fighting back with her tongue as he cups her ass, squeezing it a bit.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at her as they both pant hard, lips a little red.

She begins kissing him again, rubbing his neck as he lifts her up, carrying her inside and closing the door with his foot.

Laying her against the bed, he pushes her skirt up as he rubs her legs, laying in between them as she moans, rubbing her hands under his shirt over his abs, hearing his groan.

“You got me hard right now, you know?” he whispers as he breaks the kiss again, grabbing one of her hands and putting it over his growing member.

She squeezes it gently, shocked at how thick it was for someone as slim he was. She kisses him again before pushing him onto his back, getting on her knees as he watches with a lewd expression.

She grabs his belt and begins to unbuckle it, gently pulls his pants down and stops at his member moving a bit in his underwear. She plays soft kisses around it, hearing his breath hitch.

As Terrance was enjoying seeing this side of Wynnie, he started to feel a huge wave of guilt coming over, feeling like he shouldn’t be doing this with her as he shouldn’t be stepping over his boundaries.

She wraps her hands around the waist band, beginning to pull them down when his hands stops her, gently removing them as he sits up, making her look up in confusion.

“Sorry. But I can’t let this go further.” he said, helping her to the bed before standing up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, a worrying expression on her face.

“No.” as he pulls his pants up, buttoning them.

“I did. I crossed the line by kissing you when I shouldn’t have.” he added, seeing her look away.

“You’re my assignment. I’m suppose to be helping you for space and other you, not…going for my own needs.”

Wynnie feels heaviness coming into her body, feeling stung by his sudden decision to stop.

“….but I have needs too.” she said, sadness in her voice.

Terrance looks down, feeling awful for what he did, but felt like it was a good decision to make.

“I know. We both do. But it’s best we keep them hidden and maybe wait until after you come back.” he said, stepping back.

Wynnie nods, looking up as he opens the door, stepping out.

“Good night, Winona.” as he looks back at her.

She doesn’t say anything, looking down as tears fall down her face, her pain slowly coming out.

He leaves, closing the door behind him.

Rubbing his face in humiliation, he walks down the stairs and gets into the car, looking up at her hotel room window. He lays back as the car pulls off, with rain beginning to pick up.

Wynnie collapses onto the bed, her cries filling the room as she lays in a fetal position.

She doesn’t know if she hates him for leaving her like this, or she understands why he stopped before he went too far. What she doesn’t know for sure if everything is going to be normal when she sees him on Monday for their next meeting.

Wynnie is sleeping in her bed peacefully after what happened last night with Terrance.

Suddenly, she is awoken by loud banging on the door, making her jump up. She looks at the clock, which read 7:15, annoying her.

“Who the fuck…” she began to say, marching to the door.

Grabbing the bat, she quickly unlocks and swings the door open, ready to fight whoever it is behind it.

She hold herself back when she notices Berlinda standing there, guilt over her face.

“Berlinda? What are you doing here so early? You don’t usually come in till 9:30.” she said, confused.

“I know. Bert called out, so I’m working his shift as well.” replied Berlinda.

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“You’re good!” she exclaimed. “So good. How was your date to the flower show?”

Wynnie scoffed loudly, surprising her.

“Oh, it must’ve ended bad.” she replied, watching Wynnie shake her head.

“No, no. It wasn’t a date. He just wanted to take me cause I like flowe…” she began, noticing an envelope in her hands.

“What’s that?” she asked, worry come across her face.

“Sorry I have to do this, but I couldn’t let it happen without you knowing.” Berlinda began in a somberly tone.

“Have to do what?”

“You have to be out of here by 6:30 tomorrow night. There’s a new immediate change the policy and unfortunately, Starland can no longer take any government assistance program as payment.”

“What?!” said Wynnie, anger all over her.

“You have to be joking. I just paid y’all Friday!” she added, with Berlinda shaking her head.

“Trust me. I was surprised myself when I got the email. Especially with the timing because we have a dust storm that’s about to hit us soon.” she said, watching Wynnie’s eyes fill up.

“They can’t do that. It has to be illegal to evict someone after getting their payment.” she said softly.

“I checked and checked to see if maybe you can somehow get a case out of this. Unfortunately, you can’t as Iowa doesn’t have a law or it violates something like that. I’m sorry, Winona.”

Wynnie exhales loudly, now having to spend the day packing her things and figuring out what she’s gonna do for shelter after she sees Terrance tomorrow.

Berlinda hands her the envelope, in which she takes. She immediately opens it, seeing the money she’s giving her for the last month being in there.

“I’m not supposed to give you that back, but I just couldn’t let you go without returning it because I don’t know what you’re gonna do after tomorrow since it’s very last minute.” said Belinda.

Wynnie hugs her tightly, crying a bit as the latter hugs her back.

“Thank you, B. I’ll be fine because I’ll always figure it out. You been very good to me these two months I been staying here.” she said, smiling a bit.

“You’ll always have my help, Wynnie. Even if I’m far.” Berlinda replied, smiling back.

“Well, I’m gonna start packing so I don’t have to drive back to grab my things after tomorrow.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need extra boxes.”

Wynnie nods, seeing her walk away before closing the door, locking it immediately.

Suddenly, her breathing becomes pitchy, but this time, she lets it happen, letting out a heartbreaking scream as she collapses to the floor, crying.

Last night’s ending was already bad, but this morning is already starting off worse.

How the hell is she gonna find somewhere new to stay approximately 36 hours before the dust storm hits Iowa?

A/N II: I do apologize for it being a little slow, but i like to build up as Terrance is quite an alluring character. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984 @turbulentvoids @fadingcherryblossompeach @angryflowerwitch @amethyst09 @motheroffae @cerya @thatitbitch @darkfairymoon @j0ysyndr0m3 @blaqueberryk @theogbadbitch @megamindsecretlair @zillasvilla @kumkaniudaku @that-one-anxious-mango @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[harrywavycurly]

There’s No Rush: Pinky

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, mentions of drinking, mentions of anxiety and reader is very shy.

A/N: I made the decision to make this into an AU of sorts, where Niall is still an artist he just isn’t super famous and Harry works in the music industry but as a songwriter. I hope y’all enjoy this series it’s going to be fun!🎶

Tag List: @isinpfortvdmen @cumuluscranium @justagirlthatlovedtoread @secretisme4 @sweetmoonlove0214 @jerseygirlinca @christianaevans @purplekimijks @thislilmindofmine @jane-blogs04 @latedirectionerera

Summary: You run into Harry while preparing to give a speech at your bestfriend’s wedding and he introduces you to his Irish friend Niall🎶💕

As you scan the reception space you begin to regret agreeing to being in the bridal party. The amount of people sat at the long tables being washed in a warm light coming from the thousands of tiny fairy lights wrapped around the tree branches above is enough to have you breaking into a light sweat at the idea of having to give a speech in front of them. But of course you’ll still do it, Ginger being one of your oldest and dearest friends you’ll do just about anything for her but that doesn’t mean you won’t freak out about it first.

That’s how you end up at the bar mindlessly stirring your drink as you mentally go over the speech you’re due to give as soon as Ginger and Allen take their seats at the small table in the front. You close your eyes and let out a deep breath before you open them and raise your glass up so you can take a sip of your drink through the straw. Suddenly a loud laugh filters its way to your ears making you become aware that while you were consumed with trying to calm down your nerves two men have made their way to the bar. You watch as one of them with short curly brown hair, who you swear seems extremely familiar downs what looks to be a shot of some sort of clear liquor while the one with short brown hair laughs at his friend’s reaction to finishing the shot.

“I don’t know how you convince me to do things like that.” The man with curly hair says revealing his British accent that makes your shoulders drop in relief as you recognize who the voice belongs to, Harry Styles. He’s been a close friend of Ginger’s since she met him in a music theory class back in college, but you didn’t meet him until a few months later and since then he’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has become a very good friend of yours as well. It comes as no surprise that the first time you see him tonight is at the bar, he’s always been quite the party animal.

“Oh right like you needed a whole lot of convincing. Yer arse is the one who dragged me to the-”

“Is that Pinky I spy over there?” You’re too lost in the deep Irish accent coming from the short haired man that you don’t even notice that Harry has taken a step towards you with a playful smirk on his face while the man he’s with steps up to the bar and orders a drink.

“Fuck off Harry you know she hates that nickname.” Allen’s stern voice knocks you out of your trance, bringing you back to reality as you look at Harry who offers you a dimpled grin. You feel a hand on top of your shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze, you know Allen has always seen you as a little sister so he doesn’t hesitate to try to put an end to things he knows make you upset, such as the nickname Harry has been calling you since you met him nearly six years ago at a college party Ginger dragged you to.

“Oh come on we all know she doesn’t mind it.” Allen sends Harry a glare from his spot behind you. “Besides I personally adore how pink your cheeks are all the time.” Harry explains as he takes two small steps so he’s standing right in front of you, blocking your view of his Irish friend, you feel your face get hot as Harry shoots you a wink. “Come on Pinky get in here.” His voice is soft and sweet as he opens his arms up for a hug and against your better judgment you put your drink down and allow him to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you into a tight embrace.

“It’s nice to see you Harry.” Your voice gets lost in the fabric of his dress shirt as he begins to gently rock you back and forth while his hands rub up and down your back. You wonder for a moment if he can tell your nerves are through the roof and that’s why he’s doing these little things to calm you down or if he’s just a bit more handsy and clingy due to the shot he just took. But either way you find yourself melting into his embrace, something that always tends to happen with him as if he just knows exactly what to do to get you to relax.

“How’ve you been love?” He asks as he pulls away just enough so he can get a good look at your face making you instantly look down at the cross pendant that hits him right in the middle of his chest, not fully ready to look him in the eyes just yet.

“Uhm I’ve been go-good. Yeah I’ve been-been good.” You stumble through your answer making Harry nod while a small chuckle makes it way through him.

“What’s going on? What’s got you all wound up?” His voice is hushed so only you can hear him as his hands run up and down your arms. You let out a sigh as you slowly lift your head so you can look him in his emerald colored eyes making a smile stretch across his face once your eyes find his.

“Sorry I’m just a little nervous about my-my speech.”

“Oh that reminds me-” You turn to look at Allen over your shoulder as Harry drops his hands from your arms but doesn’t move from his place in front of you. “Ginger said you’re due up there in like ten minutes.” You know he can see the panic take over your face little by little as the words leave his mouth. “Don’t stress it okay? You’ll do great.” Is all he has time to offer you in terms of reassurance before he turns and grabs his drink from the bartender and heads towards his table.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.” Harry mumbles and before you can reply you’re suddenly being pulled into his side by the arm he somehow managed to drape over your shoulder without you even noticing. “Don’t worry about your speech Pinky you’re gonna smash it and besides half these people are drunk anyway so they won’t even-”

“Jesus H is this s’posed to be a pep talk?” You feel Harry’s arm drop down to around your middle as he turns the two of you towards the man with the Irish accent.

“No it’s better than a pep talk. It’s the truth.” Harry says with a playful wink sent your way when he glances down at you before looking back over to his friend. “Oh where are my manners? Pinky this is Niall Horan. Niall this is Pinky she’s the one who I told you used to crack into the campus records and change my D’s into B’s.”

“That’s-that’s not true I ne-never did that.” You shake your head and fumble with your words as Niall looks from Harry down to you with a warm smile that you would return if you could manage to look at him but instead you just decide to look down at his shoes as your whole face feels like it’s on fire as soon as you feel his eyes on you.

“She’s just being modest.” Harry gives your side a soft pinch, something he knows will get a little giggle out of you. “She’s a wiz on the computer that’s why she works in a dark little corner office for some cyber security company and gets paid to try to hack into things to find holes in their security systems.” You want to crawl into a hole as Harry tries to make your job sound way cooler than it is when in reality you’re just an accomplished computer nerd who gets to spend her days in peaceful solitude while typing away at the keyboard and staring at her monitors.

“Really? That’s so cool.” Niall’s voice doesn’t hold an ounce of sarcasm instead it’s full of awe as if he’s actually really impressed by your job, and you’d be able to really tell how impressed he is if only you’d dare to look up at his face but you’re not ready yet.

“Oh thanks but it’s actually not that cool.” You say in one long breath as you begin to mess with the ring on your index finger, trying your hardest not to let your awkwardness ruin the mood. Moments like this make you wish you were more outgoing and not so anxious and shy when it comes to meeting new people, but you can’t help it sometimes especially when your mind is elsewhere instead of trying to focus on forming complete sentences in front of an Irish dude named Niall Horan.

“Looks like you’re being summoned.” Niall’s words have you finally looking up from his feet and that’s when you get a real glimpse of his face. You feel your mouth go dry when you notice just how handsome he is and his eyes, you don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so blue before.

“Pinky? You still in there or did you leave us?” You blink a few times as Harry waves his ring clad hand in front of your face.

“What? Sorry did-did you say something?” You stutter as Niall tries to hide the smile that wants to take over his face at the fact he caught you staring at him by bringing his drink up to his lips to take a sip. Harry laughs and shakes his head as he turns you around so he can lead you towards the front of the tables where you’re meant to stand to give your speech.

“Take a few deep breaths okay? I really meant it when I said you’ll be fine. This room is full of people who either don’t know you that well so they won’t really be listening or people who absolutely love you so you’re gonna kill it.” His hand is on your lower back as he maneuvers you around people that are heading off to their assigned seats at one of the many tables.

“Thanks Harry.” You whisper as the two of you finally make it to the little set up for the entertainment that’s set to go on after the speeches and toasts. It’s nothing more than a wooden stool and a microphone with two guitar stands and a piano all being lit up by warm fairy lights that are wrapped around some fake trees that blend in with the rest of the decor of the reception.

“I’ll be right over there.” He points towards the bar making you nod as you swallow down the nerves that are beginning to creep back up. “So if you feel like you’re about to panic just look at me okay? It’s the oldest trick in the book. Just pick something to stare at in the back of the room and you’ll be fine.” He grabs your hands as you stand next to the microphone, making sure he has your full attention as he bends his knees a bit so he’s eye level with you. “Deep breath Pinky come on.” You follow his instructions and take in a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose making him smile as he gives your hands a nice squeeze.

“I think-think I’m good now.” You say with a smile making Harry grin as he stands up and lets go of your hands. “Just please don’t tell me if it sucks.” Harry laughs as he leans over and places a quick kiss to your cheek before he turns to head towards the bar.

“So you and uh Pinky seem close?” Niall doesn’t want to come across as suspicious but he can’t help it with the way he saw Harry treat you, he knows his friend is a very touchy feely person but he hasn’t ever known him to act like that with people he isn’t at least sort of interested in.

“I’ve known her for years.” Harry answers with a shrug all while never taking his eyes off the stage area as he leans back against the bar, Niall copies his movements after placing his half empty glass down on the bar top. “I don’t see her as often as I used to when we were in college because she doesn’t really get out much.” He adds as he runs a hand through his hair while Niall turns his focus towards the stage just in time to see you mess with the microphone stand trying to adjust its height.

“She seems-”

“Shy? Anxious? Awkwardly adorable?”

“Honestly? All three.” That answer makes Harry look over at Niall who is staring at you with a soft expression on his face making a smile tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth because he can tell Niall is at the very least intrigued by you.

“She doesn’t like large crowds or meeting new people. That’s especially tricky for her. When I met her at a party back in college it was because I accidentally bumped into her and when I went to apologize I swear her whole body turned pink she was so embarrassed as if it was her fault I ran into her.” Harry laughs at the memory of meeting you back in his wild party days when he had long hair and walked around with an attitude that made it seem like he didn’t have a care in the world, you’d argue that the only thing that’s changed about him is his hair is shorter now.

“And you managed to get her to want to be friends with you?” Niall questions with a quirked brow as he turns his attention away from you and over to Harry who shoots him a glare.

“I didn’t really give her a choice. She made me nervous to leave her alone after that because she just didn’t seem comfortable and I was worried someone would be an asshole about it so yeah I just forced my friendship on her and eventually she gave in.” It all starts to click in Niall’s mind as Harry divulges more details about his friendship with you. You’re someone he feels protective of and that seems to be a common thing among your friends, they all want to make sure you feel comfortable and safe.

“Uhm hello how is everyone?” Niall and Harry both turn their attention towards the stage as your voice hits their ears, amplified by the microphone you have a death grip on. “Incase you don’t know me I’m the maid of honor.” Niall smiles as you introduce yourself and he finally gets to hear what your actual name is.

Harry watches you like a proud older brother as you start in on your speech, his eyes are glued to you as he watches you look around the tables at all the people sitting and staring at you. Only when he sees your cheeks get flushed does he being to slightly panic that you’re about to have a moment where your nerves get the best of you making you stutter and stumble over your words. But to his surprise you seem to have taken his advice, he watches as your eyes shift over towards the back where he’s stood leaning against the bar but it’s not his eyes you’re staring into it’s the sapphire blue ones that belong to his friend that’s standing right next to him.

Everything happens in what feels like a blur and suddenly people are clapping and the best man is walking up towards you so he can begin his speech. Offering you a warm smile and a quick hug before he takes the microphone from you, whispering his praises for the kind words you spoke about Ginger and the happy couple in your ear making you blush. You give a few small waves to your friends and blow a kiss to Ginger and Allen as you pass them on your way to the bar so you can get something to wash your nerves down with.

“That was a lovely speech Pinky you did so good.” Harry’s voice is full of pride as he approaches you with open arms right before you reach the bar. “I’m so proud of you.” You smile as your arms wrap around his middle while his go around your shoulders pulling you into a warm hug.

“It didn’t suck?” You ask quietly making Harry laugh as he gives you a squeeze.

“It was perfect.” He answers as you pull away and look up at him. He leans down so his lips are close to your ear. “Niall was quite impressed as well. Couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole time.” He whispers making your heart feel as if it could burst out of the chest with how fast it’s beating.

“Oh uh really? I didn’t-didn’t notice.” Harry just laughs as your face gets warm and you stumble a bit trying to get your words out in a rush.

“Is that so?” You know he’s teasing you as the two of you pull away but Harry keeps a hand on your arm. “You didn’t notice he was staring at you while you were also staring right at him?” You feel your eyes go a bit wide at Harry’s question, you didn’t even realize you had been staring at Niall until a little towards the end of your speech when you looked away from him and towards Ginger and Allen. “Don’t worry I’m not jealous or anything.” He jokes as he gives your arm a squeeze before leaning in and placing another kiss to your cheek.

“Keep a seat open for me okay? I don’t want to be stuck at the losers table.” You roll your eyes as he drops his hand from your arm and steps around you towards the stage area where the best man is still giving his speech.

“My table is for the bridal party Harry you can’t sit with me.”

“I know the bride and I know how to party so that sounds like the exact table I should be at.” You laugh and shake your head at his response, not bothering to argue with him because you know he will just work his charm on an unsuspecting bridesmaid and end up sitting at the table anyway. With a final wink and grin sent your direction Harry is off leaving you able to finish the short walk to the bar so you can order a drink.

“Sparkling water with lots of lemon please.” The bartender just smiles and nods before working on your very uncomplicated drink order.

“Aren’t you missin somethin with that order?” Niall feels a twinge of guilt hit him when he sees you jump at the sound of his voice. “Sorry didn’t meant t’scare you.” He quickly apologizes as he takes a small step towards you just as you get your drink handed to you.

“Oh you-uhm uh did-didn’t scare me.” You want to curl up in a ball at how dumb you sound trying to get an extremely simple sentence out but you just blame it on the post speech jitters and try to move on. “And uhm I don’t really drink but I like-like the bubbles and it looks like a cocktail so no one notices.” Niall nods along as you explain your drink choice to him, feeling a small bubble of pride grow in his chest at the fact you’re sharing a personal little fact with him.

“That’s brilliant.” He can’t help but smile as he leans his hip against the bar so he is now fully facing you, he doesn’t mind that you haven’t looked at him yet he knows you’re shy and honestly he is enjoying the freedom of being able to look at you without the worry of being caught. “Your speech was great.” He catches the way your cheeks get red and a smile takes over your face as his words hit your ears.

“Thank you Niall.” The way your voice sounds when it says his name makes Niall wants to hear you say it over and over again because it makes his heart flutter a bit in his chest. “So are you uh here with Harry?” You finally find the courage to turn your head to look at him, or at least down at his hand that is wrapped around a glass of brown liquid with two ice cubes that he has resting on the bar.

“M’actually the entertainment for tonight’s festivities Harry got me the gig so he’s gonna be my guitarist for a few songs he helped me write.” Niall takes a moment to let his eyes roam over your figure as you continue to just look at his hand that is now gripping the glass with a little more force than he was a moment ago.

“Oh I uhm didn’t know Harry played guitar.” Your words snap Niall out of his only slightly inappropriate thoughts as his eyes find yours. If he didn’t have such good control of himself he would’ve been startled by you suddenly deciding to look him in the eyes but instead he just stares right back at you, matching your intensity.

“Ah well then yer in for a treat tonight. He’s actually pretty decent at it.”

“And you-uhm you-”

“Sing? Yeah I sing and play the piano as well as the guitar.” He finishes your question for you making you give him a soft smile as a silent thank you because it lets you know he can tell you’re a little flustered but he isn’t making a big thing out of it like some people tend to do.

“I’ve always wanted to learn the piano.” You tell him as you look away, needing a moment to regather your thoughts and get your heartbeat under control.

“I could teach you.” Niall tosses the offer out there in hopes it’ll give him an excuse to get your number but when you look like a dear that’s been caught in a set of headlights he regrets how casual he made it sound because surely you’re probably assuming that’s a line he uses all the time but it’s not. Niall honestly hates teaching people how to play instruments especially since the last person he taught how to play something was Harry when he begged him to teach him the guitar, but for you he’d make an exception because he just wants to spend more time with you.

“I uh don’t-”

“We have a situation.” You feel a hand on your shoulder taking your attention away from Niall and over towards Heather, a bridesmaid and Allen’s younger sister.

“Oh okay what’s wrong?” You try not to panic while a few dozen scenarios begin to play out in your mind of what the situation could be as you turn so your back is facing the bar.

“Harry is trying to add a seat-”

“I’ll get him.” Niall’s voice makes both you and Heather turn to look at him, he downs the rest of his drink setting the empty glass on the bar before he heads off towards the curly haired man causing havoc at the bridal party table.

“Who is that?”

“Niall Horan.”

“He’s cute.”

“Oh I uh yeah if you’re in-into that kinda look.”

“And Irish.”

“Is he? I didn’t-uhm didn’t notice.”

“Right.” She drags out the word while giving you a knowing look as your eyes land on Niall as he grabs Harry by the shoulders and begins leading him off towards the stage set up.

“Harry you’re gonna get us kicked out of your own friend’s wedding for Christ sake get it together.” Niall whispers harshly in Harry’s ear as his grip on his shoulders tightens.

“Oh relax I was just checking if any of the bridesmaids needed anything.” Harry says with a laugh like him trying to squeeze himself in at the table wasn’t that big of a deal, he shrugs himself loose of Niall’s grip and sends him a playful smirk. “Besides you’re the one who would get us kicked out with how much of a poor mess you’re making Pinky over there.” Niall stops in his tracks the moment Harry mentions you, not following Harry up onto the stage.

“What do you mean? I’ve been nothin but polite to her.” Harry grabs his guitar that’s set up on stage and turns to face Niall who looks like he’s about to have a mini panic attack making Harry laugh.

“She hasn’t been this much of a blushing and fumbling mess since-well since I met her.”

“I think it’s cute the uh way she blushes all the time and messes up her words a bit.”

“Yeah well the way you’ve got her acting like a shy little schoolgirl surely won’t go unnoticed by Allen and Ginger.” Harry explains as he begins to mess with his guitar making sure it’s good to go for the first two songs Niall has set for the evening. “Those two are like her personal security but don’t worry Ginger is a sweetheart but Allen he-he can be a real wanker when he wants to be.” Niall runs a hand through his hair as he steps up onto the stage and grabs his own guitar.

“So if I win over the bride you think I could maybe get her number? Or you think she’d freak out if I asked her for it? M’not trying to push her over the edge or anything.” Niall looks at Harry as he adjusts the strap of his guitar he has over his shoulder. Harry takes a moment to think before he gives Niall a grin and reaches for his phone in the front pocket of his slacks.

“Oh what the hell you’re a nice guy.” Niall rolls his eyes at Harry’s statement as he watches him tap the screen a few times until he finds your contact information. “I’ll give you her number.” With that Harry shares your contact information with Niall who stands there with wide eyes, shocked that Harry just tossed all caution to the wind and sent him your information without even checking with you first.

“But if you hurt her I will kill you with my bare hands.” It’s the casual way Harry threatens Niall that has him believing he really would make good on it, the way the smile leaves his face as he looks Niall dead in the eyes making Niall just swallow hard and nod his head in understanding. With that the smile returns to Harry’s face and he slips his phone back into his pocket before going back to adjusting his guitar strap.

As Niall stands on the stage and gets himself ready to start his set he feels as if someone is looking at him. So when he looks up from the guitar in his hands he quickly realizes who it was as his eyes scan the tables that are situated next to the small dance floor in front of the stage. He watches your face turn a deep shade of pink as you look down at your lap, the bridesmaid sitting next to you giggles as she leans in and whispers something in your ear making you place your hands over your face in embarrassment. He smiles to himself as he looks down at the instrument in his hands, he knows he just met you and that you don’t know each other at all but the idea of you letting him learn more about you has a sense of excitement bubbling up inside of Niall. He just hopes you don’t mind how he ended up with your number but that’s something he is willing to risk because you’re not someone he can see himself forgetting about anytime soon.

[teasemates]

AMA event stream [end] 🎥❌

Billy: As the stream wound down, Billy stretched his arms behind his head, feeling the familiar stiffness from sitting still for too long. The AMA had been far more exciting and fun than Billy had anticipated.

It was their first stream, and Billy hadn’t been sure how it would feel. He’d been nervous, the setup feeling strangely intimate—just him and Steve, alone, talking about personal stuff in front of an unseen audience. But then, halfway through, it hit him: it didn’t feel all that intimate after all. It was more like being in a crowd, and he was good at handling crowds. That realization gave him a shot of confidence.

Once he shook off the initial awkwardness, Billy started getting into it, like he would at a party when the vibe was right. He became louder, more outrageous, feeding off the energy of the chat. The more positive the reception, the more he played it up. On the surface, it was all crass jokes and cocky grins, but underneath, he was being 100% honest. The humor was his safety net—if something didn’t land, he could always shrug it off with a quick, "I’m just joking."

Doing a stream with a live chat felt a lot like performing for a crowd, and Billy thrived in that space. The energy, the back-and-forth banter—it was something he could easily play into, something that made him feel in control.

His eyes flicked to the chat, only half-listening as Steve answered a more technical question about their channel. One question in the chat caught his eye.

Who’s the better kisser?

Steve: After Steve had given his answer to the latest question, he glanced at Billy to see if he had something to say. He saw Billy looking at the chat and he glanced there too, realizing very quickly what Billy had to be looking at. Who's the better kisser?

Steve hadn't really known what to expect from the stream, but even if it was them two sitting on the couch by themselves and seemingly just talking to the camera, the interactions from the chat had made him feel that they were talking to a bigger crowd. And to Steve's surprise, it had been fun and far easier than he'd expected.

Originally they had agreed not to do requests from the chat, but this one though...He'd learned a lot of new things about Billy over the last two hours—and about the possibilities he hadn't expected, only hoped, actually being there. 

And the mood was right, too. The air was charged between them. It showed in the way Billy constantly kept shuffling on his seat, he himself having his fingers brushing through his hair all the time, the way they both kept glancing each other when they thought the other one wouldn't notice, how they both kept blushing at the more intimate questions. 

What would be a better ending to the stream than filling this request. And while at it maybe finding out if there really was something between them. If not, then he would've at least kissed Billy once, known how it felt.

Steve bit his lip for a moment before deciding to just go for it. “Um… There's that one,” he said, pointing to the question on the screen. “What do you think? Should we end with that?” he asked nonchalantly. A stupid grin he couldn't hold back spread across his face as he shuffled on his seat. “End this with a bang?”

Billy: They were sitting together on the worn-out couch in their small living room, the soft glow of the stream lights casting shadows on the walls.

Billy’s heart kicked into overdrive at Steve's words. The idea of kissing Steve wasn’t unfamiliar—it had slipped into his thoughts more times than he’d care to admit. But now, with the question hanging in the air and a live audience watching, it felt real, too real. His whole body buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves. 

There was no way he was backing down. Not now. Not in front of Steve, and definitely not with the subscribers egging them on. Billy flashed a confident grin, the one he always used to mask whatever was going on beneath the surface. He wasn’t about to let Steve see him sweat.

“Yeah, sure,” Billy said, his voice steady, though the adrenaline was pounding in his veins. 

The chat exploded in the background, a chaotic blur of messages flying up the screen as soon as the words left Billy’s mouth. The energy in the room shifted instantly, the quiet tension between them now charged with something electric. The flood of reactions—excited, shocked, teasing—was impossible to keep up with, but Billy barely noticed. His focus was entirely on Steve.

Billy leaned forward slightly, grinning, though his pulse was racing. The comments in the chat were firing off in real time, but for Billy, everything had narrowed down to this one moment—him, Steve, and the thick, buzzing tension between them.

"Ready when you are, Harrington," Billy said, his voice low, carrying the edge of a dare.

Steve: Billy's confidence made Steve suddenly very conscious of the lack of any confidence of his own. But he had said yes, loud and clear, to a live audience, so there was no backing down now. 

“Alright then,” Steve said and turned to face Billy, placing his arm behind Billy on top of the couch for better access. 

He realized how close they were actually sitting. Billy was right there, just a lean away. So many times they'd sat on this couch, thighs brushing against each other just like now—but now he was acutely aware of it like never before. 

He looked at Billy in the eyes, managing to keep his breath from hitching just barely as he was met Billy's unwavering gaze. If he had ever looked at Billy's face from this close, he had never paid any attention to details. Because now he couldn't not see how long Billy's lashes were, or how many freckles he had, or how deep his cupid's bow on his upper lip was. Those lips were made for kissing—and he got to kiss them.

The weight and the vulnerability of the moment surprised him. A moment ago they'd been chatting away with a lot of people, and now it all blended into the background. Because all he could see was Billy. Suddenly he felt like he was about to kiss for the first time. And it was true, he'd never kissed Billy before—it was new. 

He smiled softly, leaning in, and landed his lips gently on Billy's.

Billy: Billy could feel the energy shift the moment Steve turned to face him. They had done so much in front of their audience before, but this felt different—charged. The live chat was still buzzing, comments rolling in faster than he could keep up with, but everything seemed to fade into the background as Steve’s arm rested behind him. The proximity between them was suddenly electric.

For a moment, Billy almost faltered. This was supposed to be casual—a challenge, even, for their audience. But as he met Steve's eyes, he realized there was nothing casual about it. Steve’s expression had shifted too, the usual playfulness in his eyes replaced with something more intense, more real. Billy shifted slightly, trying to steady himself, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in his stomach. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening, as Steve's eyes traveled over his face. 

Billy’s breath hitched slightly as Steve leaned in, bringing their faces even closer. Now that he was this near, Billy couldn't help but notice the faint scatter of moles across his cheek, the shadow of stubble along his jawline, the exact shade of his eyes, a hazel that seemed deeper in the low light. Billy had never been this close to notice any of it before, not like this.

His heart raced as Steve closed the gap, and then their lips met. 

Billy had imagined kissing Steve for years, but no amount of daydreaming had prepared him for how it actually felt. The moment their lips touched, it was like a spark had ignited something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even realized was there. He had thought this kiss would satisfy the quiet yearning he’d carried for so long, but instead, it only made his hunger grow. The softness of Steve’s lips, the closeness of their bodies, the warmth of his skin—there was an insatiable need that surprised him, making him press even closer. His eyes fluttering shut as he let himself fully sink into the kiss. 

The nervous energy he’d been carrying melted away, replaced by something softer, more real. His hand lifted, almost without thinking, and he gently brushed Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his fingers grazing the warm skin just beneath. The simple touch felt intimate, grounding him as their lips moved together. There was something unspoken in that gesture—the world around them seemed to fall away—the chat, the stream, the audience. It was just them.

Steve: Steve moaned quietly and closed his eyes as Billy responded to the kiss. He had expected the kiss to be short and superficial, something you would do to fill a dare and then move on with it. But the dare was to see who was the best kisser, so it was fitting.

However… Billy leaning closer and melting into the kiss—this wasn't just doing a dare and trying to best the other. No, this was something different. 

Blood rushed in his ears and a chill ran through his spine, making him tingle everywhere, as he realized that maybe he wasn't the only one who was harboring feelings. He was not surprised the least by how much he wanted that to be true. 

Then, Billy's fingers were in his hair, brushing over his ear, and made his breathing hitch at the sudden sensation. Instead of breaking the kiss, he moved his both hands into Billy's hair, holding him gently in the kiss and deepening it. He savored how Billy tasted and lingered in the scent of his cologne, getting so deeply immersed into the fact that he was actually and finally attached to Billy's lips that he totally forgot that they were watched by a live audience.

Until he, inevitably, did remember it.

He took a quick breath as he broke the kiss by pulling back just a notch. He smiled softly, feeling his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning. He wanted to do this again. Preferably as soon as the stream ended.

“So, how was that?” he asked with a smug smile that tugged the corner of his mouth.

Billy: Billy's heart raced as Steve’s hands moved into his hair, gently pulling him closer. He hadn’t expected this kiss to feel so intense, so consuming. What had started as just a playful challenge now felt like something deeper, something real. Steve wasn’t just playing along anymore, and neither was he. 

Billy could feel the soft tug of Steve’s fingers, the warmth of his breath against his skin, and the way their bodies seemed to fit together effortlessly. It was everything he had imagined and more—but instead of satisfying the years of unspoken desire he’d kept hidden, it only fueled it. The kiss deepened, and Billy leaned into it fully, pouring everything into the moment. His fingers stayed tangled in Steve’s hair as if letting go would break the spell they’d fallen under.

When Steve pulled back slightly, Billy could barely catch his breath, his lips still tingling. The world around them, the stream, the audience—all of it seemed distant and muted compared to the intensity of the kiss.

Steve’s voice broke through the fog, but Billy was still too caught up in the moment to register it fully.

“I-uh...a...what?” he stammered, his voice soft and dazed. 

As their eyes met, Billy let out a quiet, breathless laugh, the haze of the moment finally starting to lift. He was still flushed, his heart racing, but the tension between them had shifted into something lighter, playful even. Without thinking, he slapped Steve’s knee lightly, still chuckling as the warmth of the kiss lingered between them.

"Alright," Billy admitted with a grin, his voice low and teasing. "Maybe you win."

_ _ _

This is Billy’s and Steve’s Onlyfans RP account. Billy and Steve are “running” the account, the team behind it is Aggressiveviking & Suometar. Feel free to play into or out of the rp in any way you like, all interactions are welcome 💕💕💕

[shalin-designs]

How to choose best design of Waiting Room Furniture for 2024?

[maraschinomerry]

Darling

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: You use pet names for all your friends, and you're determined to figure out which ones George will tolerate

Content: fluff, flirty banter, unwanted advances, spontaneous fake dating, small injury and blood mention

A/N: I can't believe I've made it to the 2 year anniversary of my first Lockwood & Co fic!! I'm so incredibly grateful for all the support and encouragement, it means the world. Here's to even more fics in the coming year!

Word count: 3.7k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

“Thanks lovely,” you smiled at Lucy as she passed you a plate of toast, ignoring the way George rolled his eyes.

You'd always been quite open with your affection, and at last you'd found a place where it was appreciated. It had been nerve-wracking at first, settling in to Lockwood & Co, but eventually you felt more comfortable being yourself around your new colleagues and housemates. Things started out small, just the odd compliment here and there, but they were always well received, which gave you enough confidence to step up a notch. “You're a star,” you’d say when someone brought you something you needed while you were working or training, “you're the best, thank you” was often your response to a home-cooked meal, or “oh you legend” when your favourite fancy biscuits made an appearance on the daily snack plate. Finally, you'd progressed to pet names: love, angel, darling, whatever felt right in the moment. Lockwood and Lucy always seemed to perk up a little when you used them, which was half the reason for doing so in the first place. George hadn't been so receptive - the way he rolled his eyes every time was a dead giveaway - so you hadn't got that far with him yet. He didn't have a problem with you otherwise, in fact he practically glowed whenever you called him a genius for helping with research, but clearly this he just couldn't get behind for some reason.

Lucy beamed at your response as she set the toast down before sliding into the seat next to Lockwood. “So what's the plan for today?”

Lockwood shifted his teacup to one side to double check the list he'd scribbled on the Thinking Cloth. “The man who called yesterday, Mr Campbell, wants to discuss hiring us but he's unable to come here so Lucy and I will go and see him. George, can you keep researching the Rowland case, and y/n would you mind doing a quick stock check and heading to Satchells if we need anything? I'd like to get the Rowlands out of the way tonight if we can.” You both nodded, and you quickly washed your plate before heading into the basement. Cold seeped through your socks from the stone floor, and you stuffed your hands in your pockets. The quiet of the space was a welcome relief from the hustle and bustle of your busy life within the agency, which you could hear carrying on above you as the other three prepared to head out for the day, making the floorboards creak and echo down the spiral staircase. You surveyed the shelves. It was a good job Lockwood had called for a stock take: they were looking particularly sparse after a busy few weeks of cases. There you had it, then. You'd be best just buying a set of everything.

Why you thought buying a set of everything was a good idea, you'd never know. The bags that were hanging from your elbows weighed a ton, and you struggled to negotiate the box of flares you were holding into one hand while you unlocked the door of 35 Portland Row, keeping it ajar with one foot while you rearranged your load to fit through. Without warning, the door was pulled open from the inside. Lucy and Lockwood must be back from their meeting already.

“Thanks darling, you're a lifesaver,” you groaned as you heaved the bags up the final step and into the hallway. A huff came from behind the door, and you peered over the box to see curly hair and furrowed brows beneath the top of a pair of glasses. “Oh, didn't realise it was you, George.”

“It's fine,” he brushed it off. “Here, let me.” His hand slipped under the box, brushing against yours and sending sparks through your arm as he lifted it away in one smooth move and took one of the bags with his other hand.

You smiled in relief. “Well, thanks darling, for sure this time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you have to call me that?”

Something clicked in your mind, and you chewed your lip with a mischievous grin as you followed him through to the kitchen. Okay, he wasn't keen on being called darling, but you had plenty of other options…

The Rowland house, as it turned out, was a bit of a maze. You'd split up, with Lockwood and Lucy on the ground floor while you and George ventured upstairs. From the glimpse you'd seen on your way in, the other two would be going in circles as the dining room, lounge, kitchen and entry hall were all inter-connected in some way. Up here was even more of a rabbit warren. It seemed like there were more storage cupboards than rooms, so you and George had taken a bedroom each to try and figure out which doors actually led somewhere useful. Yours had four: the entrance from the landing, two built-in wardrobes, and one leading to an en-suite. The en-suite itself had two more. The first was yet another cupboard, and the second you prodded open with your torch. A figure appeared in the light, and you gasped before you could stop yourself. At the sound, the figure spun, lightning fast. The tip of a rapier came dangerously close to your chest.

“Jesus, y/n!” George exclaimed as he dropped the blade in shock. “I could have hurt you!”

You lowered your torch from his face, steadying yourself against him as the surge of adrenaline passed through you (though whether that was from the close call or getting to see George's assured combative side for once, you couldn't say). “Sorry love, I thought this was another stupid cupboard.”

In the heat of the moment he almost didn't notice, but then you watched him replay the sentence in his head and throw you a disapproving look. You mentally filed love alongside darling in the ‘not a fan’ section of this little experiment. However, despite his apparent annoyance he still helped make sure you were unhurt before you moved together to check the next room.

—

Only a few days after the case, you got hit with an unexpected illness which left you feeling thoroughly rotten and unfit for that evening's job. Lockwood had poked his head into your room to reassure you that it was okay for you to rest up, despite how guilty you were feeling (it wasn't your fault, of course, but that didn’t stop you). As the sun began to set, filling your room with golden hues, there was another gentle knock at your door. You mumbled a response from within your duvet, poking your head out at the creak of the hinges to see who it was this time. A bashful George crept in, holding a small tray of tomato soup, buttered toast and a glass of water with some painkillers. He squinted a little against the rays as they illuminated his face in a warm glow.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he whispered. You shook your head and his shoulders unclenched with relief. “Good. I thought I'd bring you something to eat before we go, but you don't have to eat it if you're not feeling up to it, or I can get you something else or-”

You cut him off before he spiralled, your voice hoarse but soft. “No, this is great, you're an angel. Thank you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth in spite of himself. Maybe he was just playing nice because you were in no state to fight back, but you added angel to your ‘maybe’ list just in case. “You're welcome. If your light is still on when we get back I'll check in again, or if not then sleep well.”

From that point on, there was a shift in the way you both handled your use of pet names. For you, it was a matter of when you used them - the more serious ones when George did something endearing, which was surprisingly regular for someone so blunt, and silly ones when he was winding you up and you wanted to get your own back. His responses changed too, of course he would still roll his eyes or bite back at the ridiculous ones, but you couldn't help but notice that when you genuinely called him something sweet he'd seem almost happy before remembering he wasn't supposed to enjoy them and close himself off again. It was a shame because those were your favourite moments, seeing him light up at your words, being able to be so affectionate with him without question or consequence. You weren't ready to admit yet that you were starting to fall for him and all the little things he did for you, so this was the best way you had to show him how much you appreciated it. How much you appreciated him.

—

George stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his orange trousers and a loose orange and black plaid shirt with rolled sleeves, tapping his foot impatiently. “Come on, the Archives will be closed by the time we get there at this rate!”

You yelled back over the rush of running water as you finished getting ready in the bathroom on the landing. “Give me one minute!”

“You've had fifteen minutes of one minutes!”

“Well excuse me for making sure I'm presentable,” you scoffed as you bounded down the stairs, face fresh and dewy. “You wouldn't want me to get you banned for impropriety, now would you honeybun?”

George pulled a face not unlike someone biting into a lemon. “That's the worst one yet.”

“Worse than snookums?”

The imaginary lemon got even more sour. “Oh please, for the love of god don't bring that one back.”

“Whatever you say, pookie.” You couldn't help but let out a giggle as you walked past and opened the front door, feeling the daggers being glared into your back.

The British Archives were quiet, most people taking the good weather as an excuse to forgo research for the day. Together you and George found a corner table tucked amongst the stacks, right between all the information you needed. You wandered over to the newspaper section and gathered a few. When you returned, George staggered over with a stack of books. Once settled, you drifted into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the rustling of pages and the scratch of pens in your notebooks. After a while, you became aware of George shuffling through the newspapers with a frown.

“Did you manage to find the 1897 article?” He asked.

Oops. “Sorry,” you pulled a face, “I think it's in the other section so I forgot. I'll find it, one sec.” With that, you stood and ventured deeper into the section.

This part of the Archives was laid out quite unusually. Some sections were wide and easy to navigate, but it was just your luck that the article you needed was stashed down a narrow corridor of drawers which culminated in a dead end at a concrete wall. The lighting wasn't particularly good either; one of the fluorescent tubes had blown, leaving you to squint as you flicked through the drawer marked ‘1896-1900’. In fact, you were so focused that you almost didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

“Hi there,” a deep voice came from the end of the corridor. You glanced up to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a Rotwell uniform leering at you from the end of the corridor. “Need a hand?”

“No thank you,” you replied as politely as you could, turning back to the drawer. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him approach. You tensed.

“Are you here alone?” His eyes lit up in anticipation of your answer.

Even if you had been, there's no way you would have told him so. “Actually, I'm with someone.” Not technically a lie. Just worded in a way that you hoped would make him leave you to it.

“Well then, he's a fool,” he moved even closer, leaning on the edge of the drawer, his voice as slimy as his expression. You felt for the handle of your rapier, the rapier which you had left at the table. Your blood turned to ice. “Leaving you to do all the hard work by yourself? That's not very chivalrous. Why don't you let me-”

“Oh there you are, muffin,” George said loudly and stiffly as he stepped round the corner of the shelves in a rehearsed sort of way, like he was pretending to stroll in but had in fact been standing there just long enough to hear what was going on. You fought back a snort, hiding the noise with your hand as you stared wide-eyed at your friend. He returned the look, cheeks flushing and seeming very much like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, but he gave a strained smile and a subtle nod over the taller boy's shoulder. You'd both done that same nod often: follow my lead.

You took a shaky step past the other agent, a step closer to safety. “Sorry, pumpkin, just got a bit… sidetracked,” you replied pointedly. As you got to his side his arm came up and around your waist, fingers hovering just above the fabric of your top, but it was enough to make the Rotwell agent balk.

“Sorry man, I didn't know,” he muttered.

“Well, now you do,” George said with his usual dryness. “Come on, sweetheart, let's go.” You leaned into his touch, allowing him to put himself between you and the other boy as he guided you away.

“Thank you, George,” you whispered into the space between you as you turned the corner, and you could have sworn he held you a little bit tighter.

The moment you were out of view and earshot he let you go, still keeping close until you were calmer and back at your table.

“Well, that was interesting, muffin.” Despite how grateful you were, you couldn't help but tease him; his cheeks were still tinted with rose, and the colour flared again as you emphasised his spontaneous choice of name.

He grimaced as he gathered up the last of your belongings from the table. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I'll push you into the Thames.”

“You hated every second of that, didn't you?”

“Mostly because of him, but yes. Pumpkin, really?”

“Hey,” you held your hands up in mock surrender, “you're the one who left the house entirely in orange this morning, that's on you.”

“Remind me to burn this outfit when we get back,” he groaned, but there was a small smirk with it.

You were outside now, squinting into the bright light of the day. Not a cloud was in the sky, people were sitting in the nearby open spaces with books and picnic lunches, and as you watched a woman passed by on a vintage bicycle with a basket full of fresh flowers. You turned to the boy beside you. “Do you want to get ice cream on the way home? I know a great place.”

“Sure,” he smiled. “My treat.”

“Aww, thanks sweetheart.” He inhaled deeply, already regretting opening that can of worms, and you ran away laughing as he chased you from the courtyard.

You strolled back to Portland Row with your ice creams, hastily eating before they could be melted by the blazing sun overhead. On the way, you chatted about your research, and while you had plenty to say you noticed that George only chipped in occasionally with his own findings. He was tense; you wondered if he was still thinking about what had just happened. Your suspicions were seemingly confirmed when, upon returning to an empty house (Lockwood and Lucy must be taking advantage of the weather too), he announced that he was going to let off steam in the training area downstairs. You gave an understanding nod, and sat down at the kitchen table to collate your notes. The rhythmic whooshes and thuds from downstairs were surprisingly hypnotic, and you noticed immediately when they stopped for a moment. Your attention wavered. Well, that was as good a time as any to take a break and put the kettle on. You hummed to yourself as the water began to boil, stopping when you heard footsteps.

“Perfect timing, I'm just making tea if you want a cup.”

It sounded like the person behind you was rushing out of the kitchen, his “I'm fine thanks” a hurried mumble. You turned.

“George, you're bleeding!”

“It's nothing,” he brushed you off despite the prominent red streak just below the rim of his glasses.

He was already gone and halfway up the stairs by the time you processed what was going on, but you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the cupboard and followed. If he really didn't want you to get involved, he'd have closed his bedroom door behind him, but it stood ajar. Still, you lingered on the threshold. His room was poorly lit; his curtains were still closed from the early start, and he'd only turned on a small lamp on his bedside table which was fighting to pierce through the stack of comics and books that surrounded it. Amongst it all, George was sitting on the edge of the bed, cheek turned away from you and staring at his hands.

“May I?” you asked, and he shuffled across the edge of his bed to make space in response. You settled down next to him, laying the kit on top of his sheets. “What happened?”

“Rapier caught on the stupid dummy and I slipped and nicked myself.”

“Oh honey, that's more than a nick,” you sighed, unsure whether the grimace that followed was from pain or the name. “Can I take your glasses off?” He gave a resigned nod, and you did so. The cut was a couple of centimetres long, running along his cheekbone, and tiny red dots were pooling along its length. You hesitated for a brief second, not used to having to patch anyone up but yourself, then clicked the latch on the first aid kit and took out an antiseptic wipe.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly, dabbing the wipe against his cheek. The cut was in a very awkward position, every time he moved his face it shifted. The dark red line looked almost black in the dim light of his room, and you were perched close on the edge of his bed to get a better look.

He winced. “You can always ask, it's whether or not I’ll answer that's the issue.”

“What do you have against me calling you pet names?”

He paused, and you thought maybe he really wasn't going to answer. He did, though. “It's complicated.”

“Well yeah, I figured,” you sighed. “Half the time it seems like you're okay with it, and then suddenly you'll look sort of irritated and I can't tell whether you want me to stop, which of course I will.”

“Don't.” The word came from him very suddenly, and you blinked. You pulled your hand away a little. He seemed to realise what he'd said. “I mean, you can do what you want, I'm not going to stop you.”

“But if it's annoying I can-”

“I'm not annoyed.”

“Then why do you always look like you are?”

“I'm… it's not… it's just frustrating, okay?”

You froze. That wasn't what you were expecting at all. You dropped your gaze, focusing intently on the first aid kit and willing yourself to look normal enough to put a plaster on without him seeing the tears in your eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, unintentionally twisting the imaginary blade you felt in your chest. “I don't mean it like that, it's not you that's frustrating.” You sniffed and risked a glance up. It was a shock to see him so vulnerable, looking almost as much like he was about to cry as you. “I like hearing you use those names, I do, but I always thought I'd get called them by a partner and it's just a reminder that you're… not.”

That was a perfectly reasonable boundary, you supposed, so why hadn't he said so from the beginning? And why did he seem almost disappointed? You almost dropped the plaster you were holding. Was he saying what you thought he was? Slowly, you peeled apart the wrapping, trying to keep your voice neutral. “So, if we were dating then it'd be okay?”

He hesitated as though he hadn't considered it as an option, and for a moment you were terrified that you'd misunderstood. “I suppose so.”

“In that case,” you bit your lip nervously, “would you like to go out? With me?”

His dark eyes scanned yours, searching for any hint of mocking or sarcasm. When he found none, he smiled softly, the cut shifting again but thankfully not springing open. “How about dinner, darling?”

Your jaw dropped. “Did you just-”

“Could I have my glasses please?” he asked suddenly. You realised you'd put them behind you.

“I'm not done,” you protested, gesturing to his cheek.

“I know, it's just I'd quite like to kiss you if that's okay, and I'd prefer to be able to see what I'm doing.”

You picked up his glasses, plaster immediately forgotten, and placed them on his face with a bashful smile. The moment he was able to see you, he leant in. Your hand was still raised so you tangled it into his hair as he placed his lips gently to yours, and his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close.

When you parted, he refused to let go, smiling down at you. Miraculously, his cheek had stayed in one piece. “So, dinner?”

“Thought you'd never ask, darling,” you grinned.

“Lead the way, love.”

It seemed he was a fan of those pet names after all.

[mindless-existence1]

Deadpool x Wolverine Honda Odyssey Scene

Summery: (How the Honda Odessy scene should have gone.) Logan gets hard when fighting and Wade is just hard all the time. After hours of fighting Logan finally snaps.

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND!

Authors note: This is for one of my boo boo bears hope you enjoy. The dp x Wolverine movie has taken over my thoughts so this is my form of brainrot.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of fighting and blood, praise kink, handjobs, being mean to each other, inappropriate jokes and language, anal, degration?, that's about it I think.

Masterlist Link

For fucks sake Wade just wouldn't quit and it was pissing Logan off. They has been going at this for hours and despite what either of them said, they were starting to get tired. Logan had a different reason for wanting to be done with this idiotic fight though, and it involves the sick part of him that gets turned on when fighting.

For some reason, probably after years of being an X-Men, fighting made him get a hard on. Most of the time he could ignore it since everyone he fought died easily. But now he was faced with someone who couldn't die, who had been flirting with him for days, and obviously was getting turned on to.

He quickly stabbed Wade through the head and watched him fall. They had been at this long enough for Wade to know he had about 20 seconds to get him tied up before he was back at it again. Logan took this time to use the seatbelts around them to tie the merc to the seat he was nearest to.

He finished with a final tug and leaned back in his seat to bask in the momentary silence. Wade's head slowly shook as he 'awoke'. "Ahh kinky." His voiced slurred and groggy. Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head with a groan.

"Would a good fuck shut you up?" Wade snapped his head up at the man's words. "I mean if your offering." Wade answered hesitantly but eager none the less. Logan saw him look down towards the hard on pushing against the yellow suit.

"I normally wouldn't ask for this and wouldn't even need this but you just won't fucking die." Logans voice was gruff as he spoke. Wade was hardly even listening to what he was saying just nodding his head. The only thing playing in his head was 'good fucking good fucking good fucking'.

"Look, basically I just get hard when fighting, I don't know why, I just do. Normally I can just kill the guy before it becomes a problem. It goes away, everything's fine- stay quiet " Wade tried to interject but was quickly cut off by Logan "-but you can't fucking die and I can't really just jerk myself off right now so you're the next option.

"This was the best outcome of their fight Wade could think of, he assumed what he saw in his frenemies pants was just a protective cup or something. But now knowing what it really was, his hard on sky rocketed. "Holy fucking shitballs, Honey Buns I will do abso-fucking-lutley whatever you want Wolvie.”

Logan starts to work on undoing his belt, it's hard in the cramped space but he deals. “I figured. Some of those last few moves you pulled gave away the fact you're a horny price of shit. Thought you'd feel the same way about this."

“Feel the same way? Peanut I’m more than receptive, I've wanted- no actually I've needed  that cock in my ass since I saw your  ass in that suit. I’ll even beg for you if you want.” Wade is rambling, he could feel the blood pumping in his ears. If there's an actual chance he's about to get fucked by the Wolverine he will do anything this glorious man asked of him.

Logan threw the tight pants stuck to his legs somewhere in the blood covered Honda Odyssey, but he kept his boxers on. He thinks for a second before cocking his head to the side with a small smile. “Ok then, beg.”

A wave of lust crashes over Wade, he curls in on himself as best he can. A moan gets stuck in his throat, he has to take a moment to calm himself. The threat of coming in his pants is starting to get more and more real.

“Ohhh fucking shit-biscuit. Please? Pleeeease, Wolvie? Logan? Daddy? Master? Sir? I’ll do anything you want. I’ll make it so so so good I promise. I’ll even try not to talk, like I'll really really try, just for you!" Logan, being the dick that he is, looks unfazed. He keeps his boxers on, his cock straining the fabric. Wade whines and throws his head down, squirming in the tight bonds.

“What the fuck do you want me to say? I'll say anything you want to hear, pretty please?" Logan tries to hide his grin, he hates that he's enjoying the show Wade is putting on. He pulls down his boxers and Wade genuinely thinks he might die on the spot. "Holy Marvel Jesus you're hung like a fucking horse Wolvie!"

“Shut up- Daddy and master are a no go-"

“Fair enough”

“But Sir is fine. Actually if you could just shut your damn mouth while we did this I'd appreciate it." Logan says. “Sir. Got it, I can do that. Yes Sir.” Wade jerks his hips in his seat, desperately trying to gain any sort of friction. “I’ll make sure the author capitalizes that 'S' for you Sir."

Logan ignores him, leaning down close to his ear. “Just keep being a good boy and this will go smoothly for both of us” Ohhh fuck that’s not fair at all, Logan must be a demon sent from hell just for him. Wade can’t catch the desperate whimper that forces its way out of his throat. He rocks his hips up as much as the seat belts let him, looking for any sprt of friction.

Logan grins. “Oh, you like that, huh?” For once Wade’s not sure he has the words to explain what he feels. He's glad Logan hasn't made move to take off his mask, furiously blushing as much as he can through the scared tissue."Is that really all it takes for the merc with the mouth to shut up? A little praise and you go quiet?" Logan voice teases Wade as he stares him down.

Wade looks at anything other that the hot as fuck man infront of him."Instead of threatening you earlier I could have just praised you and we wouldn't have had to do this whole go damn fight? God you are pathetic aren't you?" Logan is softly laughing now.

Even though Wade can't tell if it's mean spirited or not he can't bring himself to care. "Will you please just hurry up and touch me? You're the one who suggested all this in the first place." Wade tried, and failed, to hide his desperation. "I mean, think if the audience! They've had to wait 18 paragraphs for this. So why don't we just give them what they want?"

Logan didn't understand what Wade was talking about half the time, especially when he talked about some "audience". But he couldn't bring himself to care. "Can't you just shut the hell up?" He snapped at the tied up man infront of him.

The snarky comment Wade was about to say was quickly forgotten when Logan made a move to take out the bottom half of Wades bloodied suit. A flash of panic crossed his mind and he instinctively jerked his hips away from the older man's hand.

Logan retracted his hand slightly and looked at the man's masked face as he tried to laugh it off. "You good bub?" Logan asked apprehensively, "I'm fine! Totally fine! I just havent...done it with someone else since my break up. But wouldn't want to deprive you from this hot bod for any longer so let's get to the devils tango Peanut."

The jokes lacked their usual light heartedness but Logan could tell he wouldn't be getting anything else out the man. And at the moment he just need to deal with his raging boner.

His hand began the awkward pull of trying to pull off the bottom half of the deadpool suit from where it was wrapped up under the seatbelts. When Logan finally got the pants and underwear pulled down enough Wade wad aching.

Logan took a minute to just look at the man, his legs had just as much scarred tissue as his face. Even so, Wade had very muscley legs. From all work he's done he was truly built, and maybe they just looked hot because of what was leaking between them. With one hand he pulled the deadpool mask up above Wades mouth to help him breath the other went lower.

Logan reached out his hand to stoke the other man, he hadn't done this in a loooong time and he hates to admit he's a little desperate. "Time to get the sock ready nerds." Wade was mumbling to what it seemed like someone that wasnt there, Logan chose to ignore him. "Promise not to cut my dick off with your claws Mr. KittyCat Sir?" Wade's voice was desperate and practically dripping with need.

"Dont call me that Mouth." Logan snapped but kept moving his hand lower till he wrapped his calloused fingers around Wade's length. "Sorry Sir." Wade's voice was wavy and laced with a whine. "Holy fuck. Is my dick small or are your hands just huge?" Wade tried joking to hide the shaking in his voice from the pleasure.

"Do I need to tie that mouth shut?" Logans voice seemed to lower an octave as he felt himself somehow get harder from the little show in front of him. "No Sir." Wade felt so pathetic and he loved it.

"A handjob is all it takes for Deadpool to be tamed? Well I'll be damned." Logans tone as mocking and it just made Wade leak more precum. "Believe me Sir, I can't be tamed. Now come on and just fuck me you sexy honey badger." Wade was panting and trying to to hold back the moans desperately trying to break loose.

"God you are a pathetic slut." Despite his words Logan was getting desperate himself, "we can't really do this without lube or else I'm basically going to rip you open." Logan was a shameless man, as he parted Wade's legs so he could get between them.

"If you tear me with that metal rod of fun I'll be fine, you stabed me through the heart like 10 minutes ago, I'll heal." Wade's voice was begging, all he wanted was to have the Wolverine destroy his ass. "Actually let me rephrase. If you tear me- I'll like it."

That's all it took for Logan to bottom out, thrusting his hips into the moaning man under him. Wade through his head back against the seat in a minorly pornagraphic whine. "Fuck why does it feel like you're trying to impregnate me your so fucking deep? It's not that kind of fanfiction Wolvie." Wade choked on the moan bubbling in his throat.

"Thought I told you to shut the hell up," Logan leaned in closer to Wade with each thrust. "Don't you want to be good?" He knew the words would get the man, he was proven right when Wade withered in on himself with a whimper.

"Yes Sir." He mumbled in between pants. Logans grip on Wades his would be leaving bruises if Wade could get them. He was almost sad he wouldn't be bruised, there'd be no proof except a sore ass that he and Logan ever did this. But of course he wouldn't be shutting up about this for the next forever.

Like everything Logan did to Wade his thrusts weren't gentle. His pace was fast and each one left Wade breathless. He hardly had time to talk in between his moans, his legs were starting to shake as he doubled over on himself.

Wade was the first to start reaching his climax, he stared to ramble like he always seemed to “Logan, Logan- I’m so close just fucking please- fuck. I'm going to come- please?" He didn't know why he was begging but he couldn't stop the words falling from his lips.

“Just a little longer Wade, you can do that right? For me? You can be a good slut and wait a little longer?” Wade whined at the mans words, but choked out a weak, “Yeah- I can- I will Sir".

Logan was starting to feel the burning sensation of his peak in the pit of his chest. He brought a hand towards Wade's weeping dick to give him extra stimulation, the moan ripped from the others chest was laced with desire.

With a groan Logan thrusted a final time and released into the fucked out man below him. Not soon after Wade came, the cum landing on his covered stomach. The only sound the in car was panting coming from the two men. Wade seemed to be blessed out and almost ready to talk again.

Logan began to pull out after he did he pulled up Wade pants for him. He sat on the layed back chair next to where Wade was tied up. He pulled his pants up and layed down, he was feeling the exhaustion from the nights events. He looked over to see Wade's breathing slow down.

"Hey bub-"

"Don't call me bub when you just had your monster cock in my ass not even a minute ago.

[evolucious]

A Return of Care : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : Zayne is, once again, working past his limits and finds himself sick. With a bit of coaxing he just might take care himself. (aka, zayne is sick but he says "nuh uh")

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep, sick fic

word count : 2,976

a/n : oh wow did i finally return after months with another Zayne one shot? I sure did.

The soft chime of the hospital’s automated door echoes in the hallway as you step into the familiar space, your footsteps light against the polished floor. The box of macarons cradled in your arms smells sweet, a gift you picked up on your way over, a small token of appreciation for Zayne. You know how much he loves these, especially after a long day of seeing patients.

As you approach the reception desk, Yvonne, the staff nurse, looks up from her station with a warm smile. She recognizes you instantly—you’re practically a regular here, visiting Zayne for your routine check-ups or just to chat when he has a free moment.

“Hello, Yvonne,” you greet her, returning the smile. “I’m here for my 7:00 PM with Doctor Zayne.”

“Right on time, as usual,” she replies, tapping a few keys on her console. “I’ll page him to let him know you’re here.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as she sends the message. The familiar hum of the station’s systems thrums in the background, a constant reminder of the vastness of space just beyond the walls. You glance around, noting the quietness of the evening shift. The lobby is calm, most patients already seen and gone, leaving behind an air of peacefulness.

Yvonne looks up, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Strange… he’s not responding.”

You raise an eyebrow. Zayne is usually so prompt, always ready to greet you with his warm smile and steady presence. “Maybe he’s in with another patient?”

Yvonne shakes her head, her frown deepening. “His last appointment ended a while ago. But I’m sure he’s just caught up with some paperwork. You can go ahead and see him—he won’t mind.”

You hesitate for a moment, but the familiarity of your relationship with Zayne pushes the doubt aside. “Alright, thanks!”

She waves you off with a reassuring smile, and you make your way down the corridor, the path to Zayne’s office as familiar as your own home. The door to his office is slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the dim hallway. You knock gently, waiting for the usual, cheerful “Come in!” that always follows. But today, there’s only silence. 

Worry knots in your stomach as you push the door open wider. The first thing that hits you is the warmth—the room feels stuffier than usual, almost stifling. As you step inside, the source of your concern becomes all too clear.

Zayne is slumped in his office chair, head tipped back, eyes closed in what looks like a fitful sleep. His usually smooth brow is furrowed, lines of discomfort etched into his features. His skin has a slight sheen to it, and his usually neat appearance is disheveled. A small collection of cough drop wrappers is scattered across his desk, and the wastebasket beside it is filled with used tissues. The sight sends a jolt of worry through you.

“Doctor Zayne?” you call softly, moving closer. When he doesn’t stir, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Zayne?”

His eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for him to focus on you. When he does, he tries to sit up straighter, “You’re here early,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained.

“I’m right on time, actually,” you reply, concern lacing your words as you take a glance at the clock on the wall beside him. 

Zayne rubs a hand over his face as he clears his throat. “Yes well, please take a seat. Let's get started with your check-up”. He says, swiveling his office chair to drag a stool beside his desk before gesturing for you to sit. 

Before you can protest, he’s already reaching for your chart, fumbling slightly as he tries to pull it out of the stack on his desk. You can see the strain in his movements, the way his hands tremble slightly as he flips through the papers. He’s clearly pushing himself, trying to go through the motions despite his obvious illness.

“Zayne–” you say, your voice soft but firm. Despite being a few feet away from you Zayne carries on as though he didn’t hear you. He pulls out his stethoscope, clearly intent on examining you despite his condition. “Let me just—”

“Zayne, stop.” you plead, gently pushing the stethoscope back down. “You’re always telling me to rest, to take care of myself, but you’re obviously not doing the same. I know you want to work but you’re in no shape to help others right now. Don’t be a hypocrite, Zayne. Please, let me take you home so you can get some rest.”

He hesitates before looking directly at you for the first time this evening, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the strength to argue but there’s a crack in his resolve, a momentary flicker of vulnerability and the weariness in his eyes makes your heart ache.

But then he shakes his head, grasping for excuses. “You must have rode your motorbike here. You cannot bring me home on that.”

“I walked,” you counter, undeterred. “And I even stopped to get macarons on the way.”

His eyes shift toward the box of macarons sitting on his desk, a brief flicker of interest breaking through his exhaustion. Zayne’s sweet tooth is one of the things you’ve always found endearing about him, and you can tell that the mention of his favorite treat has caught his attention.

You smile gently, teasing him just a little. “I was going to give them to you, but I don’t think you should have sugar given your current state.”

His stoic demeanor falters, a slight crack appearing in his resolve. It’s as if the macarons are the final straw, the deciding factor in this small battle of wills. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders sag and his eyes drop back to the desk tells you he’s given in.

He lets out a weary sigh and murmurs, “Just don’t drive my car the way you drive that bike.”

Your heart lifts with relief, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “No promises,” you let out a soft chuckle, glad to see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

As soon as the apartment door closes behind you, Zayne seems to deflate, all the energy he had left draining away. He heads straight for the sofa, plopping down with a heavy sigh, his head resting against the back cushions. His eyes are half-closed, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“You know,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips, “your driving isn’t nearly as reckless as you like to pretend it is.”

You chuckle softly, sitting beside him on the sofa. “Only because I had precious cargo this time.”

He gives a small, appreciative hum, but it quickly dissolves into another cough. You watch him with concern as the fit passes, then reach out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. His skin is still warm, but the tension in his body seems to have eased a little now that he’s home.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” you suggest, your voice gentle. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Take a shower and we then can eat those macarons together when you’re feeling up to it.”

Zayne opens one eye, peering at you with a look that’s both amused and resigned. “Only if you promise not to hoard them all for yourself.”

You laugh, the sound light and comforting in the quiet of the apartment. “Deal.”

As you rise to head to the kitchen, you glance back at him, knowing that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure he gets better—because, after all, Zayne is worth every bit of care and more.

The space is sleek and modern, with smooth countertops and neatly arranged appliances, but as you stand there, a realization hits you—you have no idea where anything is.

Your eyes scan the cabinets, trying to guess where Zayne might keep the tea. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle of a cupboard, unsure if it holds cups, plates, or something entirely unrelated. A small sigh escapes your lips as you inwardly curse your lack of foresight. How hard could it be to find a simple teapot in here?

Just as you’re about to open the wrong cabinet, you hear Zayne’s voice call out from the living room. “Top left, above the stove. Teapot’s in there. Tea’s in the drawer below.”

You freeze for a moment, slightly startled that he’d known exactly what you needed without even seeing you. It’s like he can read your mind—or maybe for some reason he’s just that familiar with how people fumble around in unfamiliar kitchens.

“Thanks!” you call back, relief flooding through you as you follow his instructions.

Sure enough, you find the teapot exactly where he said it would be, and the tea nestled in a drawer below. You set some water to boil, then rummage around for a mug, the task becoming easier now that you know where to look. As the water heats up, you glance back toward the living room, half-expecting Zayne to have dozed off again, but the faint sound of his cough reminds you that he’s still awake, though probably exhausted.

When the tea is ready, you carefully carry the steaming mug back to the living room. Zayne’s eyes open as you approach, a tired but grateful smile tugging at his lips. You hand him the mug, and he takes it with a murmured “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Zayne,” you reply with a mock-serious tone, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “Though I should let you know, I’m your attending physician now. I’ve learned from the very best as an intern, after all.”

Zayne arches an eyebrow at, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Oh? And what does this new ‘attending physician’ believe is the diagnosis?”

You adopt a serious expression, holding out your hand as if it were a clipboard. “Let’s see…” you say, pretending to write on your palm. “The diagnosis is… one very stubborn doctor who refuses to rest when he’s sick.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a sip of the tea. “I see. And what do you prescribe, Doctor?”

“I prescribe– a warm shower, cozy pajamas, and a strict order of rest. No exceptions.” you say firmly, finishing your fake note. 

Zayne’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks at you over the rim of the mug. “Sounds like a pretty detailed prescription. Are you sure it’s not too advanced for me?”

“Well,” you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully, “it’s a tough regimen, but I think you’ll manage. And if you don’t follow it, I might have to put you on an even stricter bedrest.”

Zayne chuckles again, the sound warm despite his rough voice. “You’re really getting into character, aren’t you?”

“Only because I had an excellent mentor,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge. “But seriously, Zayne– no more pushing yourself.”

For a moment, the teasing air between you fades, replaced by something softer, more earnest. Zayne looks at you, and though he doesn’t say anything, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. He knows you’re right, and even though he’s always been the one to take care of you, he’s beginning to let himself lean on you now.

There’s a vulnerability in his posture that tugs at your heartstrings, and without thinking, you reach out and gently place your hand on his forehead. His skin is warm beneath your touch, confirming what you already knew—he’s running a low fever.

Your hand drifts from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. “Zayne,” you murmur, your voice filled with concern, “I don’t like that you let yourself get like this”

Zayne’s eyes remain closed, but he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your hand in a gesture that’s both tender and weary. He lets out a low, affirming hum, a sound that’s as much a comfort to you as it is to him. For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

After a moment, he reaches up and takes your hand from his cheek, holding it gently as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes remain focused on your hand as he speaks, his voice soft but resolute. 

“Alright Doctor, I’ll follow your orders.”  he says, his tone carrying the weight of sincerity. “I promise.”

You smile at his words, knowing he means them, but also knowing that it might take some gentle reminders to make sure he follows through. “Good,” you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all I ask.” 

“Now, go take that shower. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you when you’re done.” Zayne nods, setting the mug down on the coffee table before rising from the sofa. As he heads toward the bathroom, you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest. It’s a role reversal, but one that feels right. Zayne has always been there for you, and now, it’s your turn to return the favor, even if it means coaxing him into taking care of himself with a bit of playful banter.

As the sound of the shower starts up, you settle back on the sofa, feeling content in the knowledge that Zayne is finally letting himself rest—and that you’re the one making sure he does.

After opening the window to let some fresh air into the apartment, you stand there for a moment, debating whether you should stay and make sure Zayne gets to bed. The idea of leaving him alone doesn’t sit well with you, but something tells you that he’ll be alright. He’s taken care of you so many times before—maybe it’s time to trust that he can do the same for himself.

Your gaze drifts to the box of macarons on the coffee table. A small smile tugs at your lips as you pick up the box, thinking about how something so simple could bring him a moment of joy even when he’s feeling so run down. You can’t resist leaving a little surprise for him, so you carefully take out one macaron and place it on the kitchen counter where he’ll easily find it when he emerges from his shower.

With the rest of the macarons in hand, you head toward the door, glancing back at the closed bathroom door one last time. The sound of running water is still steady as you slip out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind you. Your steps are light as you make your way down the hallway and you can’t help but wonder if Zayne has felt this way each time he’s cared for you—leaving quietly after making sure you were settled in, with a warm heart and a lingering sense of connection.

The cool night air greets you as you step outside, and you breathe in deeply, feeling refreshed and content. The box of macarons in your hand is a small reminder of the connection you share with Zayne, and the thought of him finding the one you left behind brings a smile to your face.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of your alarm buzzing beside your bed. You groan softly, rolling over in your sheets as you burrow deeper into their warmth, reluctant to leave the comfort they offer. You’d been so exhausted when you got home that you fell asleep almost immediately, and now, the weight of that sleep is still heavy on you.

For a moment, you lie there, savoring the last remnants of drowsiness before you start your day. It’s your morning ritual—waking slowly, checking your notifications, and letting the world come into focus at your own pace.

You reach for your phone, swiping it off the nightstand and bringing it close as you scroll through the usual morning updates. Emails, a few messages, and then one that makes you pause. It’s from Zayne, sent last night after you’d already gone to bed.

With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, you open the message, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you wonder what he might have said.

The message from Zayne opens with a photo of the single macaron you left on his kitchen counter. Beneath the image is a teasing caption: “Is this how I’m rewarded for following doctor's orders?"

You can’t help but laugh softly as you read his message, imagining the expression that must have accompanied the text. You quickly type out a reply, your fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

“You know, most doctors give their patients one sticker on the way out for being good sports. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?", a smirk playing on your lips as you hit send.

It doesn’t take long for his response to come through. "Touché. When can I schedule my next routine checkup? Maybe I can earn some more."

You grin at the thought, leaning back against your pillow, you type your reply.

"I’ll have to check my schedule, I’m suuuuuuuper busy Doctor." 

With that, you set your phone aside and stretch, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. Zayne’s message, as playful as it was, reassures you that he’s okay—and that he’s starting his recovery with a bit of lightheartedness, thanks to you.

It’s a good start to the day, and as you finally roll out of bed, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction knowing that, this time, you were the one who got to take care of him

{pls dont repost i beg}

[iveleftitwithyou]

ruderal pt. 1 | paul lahote x reader

hi everyone! this is my first ever twilight imagine (and the first fanfic i've written in like 5 years) and it's already looking like it will be somewhat of a series. would love to hear your feedback (good or bad) on this, or if you want a second part :)

word count: 1.1k | based off a random writing prompt generator

you never know who you’ll run into at a funeral - or, in this case, the reception.

the church gymnasium was full of Forks residents, gathered to celebrate the life of Deborah Lewin. she worked as a teacher in the town for 30 years, long enough to teach the kin of some of her first classes of students. so, it wasn’t a surprise that the echoey cinderblock room was nearly full of people. 

you were seated at a table towards the middle of the space, sharing it with some of your friends who you’d had class with back when you had Mrs. Lewin as a teacher. you gazed out upon the sea of figures dressed in black, taking a mental inventory of all of the familiar faces in the room, when you spotted a face you didn’t expect to see entering the door.

“oh my god” you winced, averting your gaze and lowering your head immediately before you had the chance to be spotted.

“what?” your friend Ruby said, slightly panicked at your sudden, albeit quiet, outburst.

“Paul’s here.” you deadpanned, planning your escape as you spoke.

“Paul Lahote?” you hadn’t seen him in years, since he broke up with you over the phone for seemingly no reason on a random wednesday night. 

“what other Paul could it be?” it came out harsher than you intended, but right now, you couldn’t seem to care that much. 

of course, you looked up at the exact wrong time - Paul was looking at you from across the room. he stood in the food line next to Jacob Black, holding a ladle full of potato salad in one hand and a paper plate in the other. 

before you could even really recognize that he was, in fact, staring at you, the two of you made direct eye contact. in the split second before you instinctually looked away, you could have sworn you saw Paul’s face twitch into the same shocked expression that you wore on your face as you watched him walk in the room just a few minutes ago. however, there seemed to be something more behind his eyes, too; you couldn’t tell if it was fear, or pain, or sorrow, but there was something else there.

“do you want to leave?” Ruby’s words snapped you out of your small trance.

“no, i’m not here for me. i’m here for Mrs. Lewin. Paul’s not important enough for me to need to leave.” your words were unconvincing, even to yourself. you’d never truly moved on, never forgiven Paul for what he had done. he couldn’t even explain why - he just kept repeating that it was “for your own good” and “you’d be better off without him.” it stung that he would be willing to throw away nearly a year of time spent together, and to not even dignify you with doing it in person?

“i think i’m going to step outside for a second. it’s really hot in here and this sweater is not helping.” you tugged at the collar of your thick turtleneck. it was normally one of your favorites, but the mixture of anxiety and embarrassment bringing your body temperature up was enough for you to want to rip it off of your body as soon as humanly possible.

Ruby nodded, eyeing you suspiciously but recognizing that asking any questions right now would be entirely unproductive. the redhead turned back to your other friends, starting to tell the story of when Tyler Jackson broke her arm under the slide in kindergarten.

the cold, damp air brought you back to a somewhat normal headspace as you stepped outside. it was times like these, standing under an awning, watching the rain fall on the trees and the parked cars in front of you, that you wished you smoked cigarettes. you bet that it would help calm your nerves even more; to distract you from the feelings that had been stirred up tonight.

but, you had none, so you opted to take deep breaths in and out instead. your eyes closed and you slid down the wall, planting yourself cross-legged on the concrete. after a few minutes of meditative breathing and counting the raindrops that dripped onto the shrubbery in front of you, you heard the old church door creak open.

“y/n?” a small, deep voice asked. you still had not looked up from the shrubs, but you knew that voice anywhere. this time, though, it sounded different. weaker.

“what do you want, Paul?” your tone was laced with annoyance. despite whatever feelings you had remaining for him, he was probably the last person you wanted to talk to right now. 

“can i sit with you?” he asked, taking a small step forward. he waited for your gentle nod before awkwardly parking himself next to you, but not too close. you were grateful for the space that remained, already regretting your split-second decision to allow him to join you.

“now will you tell me what you want? why you’re even bothering to speak to me?”

“i miss you.” he sighed. you could see him rubbing his temples with his impressively large hand, eyes covered and a slight wince on his face as he waited for your reaction.

“you miss me? you fucking miss me? go to hell, Paul. you’re the one who ended things - over the fucking phone, might i add - not me. you have no right to come over here and act like you even deserve to be sitting next to me right now, let alone telling me you miss me.” you were on your feet now, trying and failing to keep your voice down as you watched Paul seem to recoil at your tone. you were still confused why he was acting like this; usually, nothing could crack his tough exterior, but here he was with his knees to his chest pushing himself against the church wall, not even making eye contact with you.

“now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going back inside. this day is not about you, or me.”

“y/n, wait-“ Paul’s voice was cut off by the closing of the heavy church door. 

you sighed as you walked back to your table, joining your friends once again.

“hey y/n, feeling better?” your friend Jordan asked. you smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, nodding a little too fast. he didn’t seem to notice - they must not have seen Paul follow you outside. for that, you were grateful, in no mood to discuss whatever just happened.

—————

part 2 here :)

[trrsseea]

The Date That Wasn’t

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader warnings: none

summary: What was meant to be a simple evening slowly shifts into something softer, wrapped in quiet moments, unspoken warmth, and the kind of closeness neither of them expected.

He saw her before she saw him.

She was standing before her apartment building, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, the other clutching her phone as if it might float away.

“Yeah, Mum, I know,” she was saying, voice low. “I will. I promise I’m taking care of myself.” A pause, her gaze drifting to nothing in particular.

“No, the job’s good. It’s just … new city, new everything, you know?” Another pause, shorter.

“Love you too.” She exhaled, shoulders loosening just a shade, and ended the call. Browns furrowed together—something was off. Not disastrous. Just… off.

Taehyung leaned forward in the driver’s seat, watching. When she turned toward his car, her whole face lit up with a smile, a wave, instant lightness. She slid into the passenger seat like nothing had happened. Not fake. Just… practised.

“Hi,” she said, warm and a touch too upbeat. “Sorry, were you waiting long?” He shook his head. “Not at all.”

He didn’t ask about the call; he could feel the tension in her shoulders. In the short time he’d known Y/n, he’d learned that not every door needed knocking. Some opened simply by waiting nearby.

He eased the car into gear— but not toward the restaurant.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, she stared out the window, thoughts louder than the city. Rain streaked the glass in fine silver lines. As they crossed the bridge over the Han, the city lights shimmered on the river like scattered coins. Taehyung slid his free hand across the console. Her fingers found his automatically. Warm. Quiet. They stayed linked the rest of the way.

“Wait… this isn’t Itaewon,” she murmured as neon gave way to hushed side streets.

“Nope. We’re going somewhere quieter,” he said, thumb brushing her knuckles.

By the time he parked, the rain had softened into a light mist. He rounded the car, opened her door, and held the umbrella overhead as they walked — fingers still laced, steps slow and quiet. The world felt smaller in the best way.

When they reached the entrance, he held the door for her. Y/n stepped into the softly lit lobby, where the scent of cedar, clean linen, and something faintly citrusy hung in the air—the kind of fragrance that made a place feel quietly luxurious. A doorman sat behind the reception desk, flipping through a magazine, giving them a polite nod without asking questions. No grand chandelier, no marble columns — just clean lines, warm lights, and the kind of calm that didn’t need to show off to be impressive.

Upstairs, the hallway was carpeted and calm. She didn’t say much, but he could feel her easing. One breath at a time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

His apartment was dim, soft, smelling faintly of coffee grounds and cedar. Y/n took off her shoes, eyes skimming the space, processing, not confused.

She took a slow lap around the room, fingertips trailing along the edge of the shelves and paintings. Noticed the record player, the stack of books. The worn-in leather armchair, which looked like it had stories. Her posture softened just a little. Her fingers brushed a small houseplant on the windowsill — an unconscious habit, like she needed to prove it was real.

Taehyung nodded toward the hallway. “Make yourself at home.”

While she wandered deeper inside, he ducked into the kitchen, tapped a mellow jazz playlist with no vocals, just soft drums and late-night sax—and fired up the espresso machine. A minute later, he emerged with two steaming mugs.

“No dress code,” he said, handing her the one that smelled of toasted hazelnuts. “No wait‑list. And the host is extremely handsome.”

That earned a genuine laugh. “Is this your way of admitting you didn’t want to go out either?”

“Not exactly,” he grinned. “It’s my way of saying I wanted to be out with you, not with your ‘I’m fine’ smile.”

She wrapped both hands around the hazelnut latte, the warmth seeping in. “Had a call with my mum. Nothing terrible. Just… when someone sums up your entire existence in two sentences and suddenly your brain’s exhausted?”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I know. That’s why I did.” She smiles sadly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The date ended up being instant ramen in mismatched bowls, eaten cross-legged on the rug while jazz whispered overhead. They ranked each song: “This one’s trying too hard.” or “This one feels like falling asleep during a movie.”

They worked their way through a plate of warm cinnamon cookies he’d bought the day before — slightly uneven, still soft in the middle, dusted with sugar.

Somewhere around the eighth jazz track, a brassy, dramatic saxophone solo kicked in.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “This one sounds like the soundtrack to a dog dramatically realising it’s been left at the vet.”

Y/n laughed. “That’s… weirdly accurate.”

“Actually, it kind of reminds me of Jungkook’s dog — he’s huge. Like, I didn’t know dogs came in gym membership size.”

Taehyung laughed. “That thing’s not a dog, it’s a portable sofa.”

She grinned. “I kind of want one like that someday.”

He mock-gasped. “Absolutely not. I refuse to live in fear of being flattened every time I sit down.”

She nudged him with her knee. “You’d love it and you know it.”

He gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But only if it sleeps on your side of the bed.”

“Deal,” she said, already smiling in that soft, faraway way.

And even though he kept teasing, he knew — deep down — that if she ever really wanted one, he’d learn to love him and be the second favourite in the house. Because when it came to her, he’d say yes to just about anything.

Then the music faded to a softer tune — something quieter, almost lullaby-like. They both went quiet, simply listening, letting the rhythm fill the space where conversation had paused. In that hush, her body eased. Her breathing grew slower, more even.

And somewhere between this and him telling her about a dream in which a giant flying croissant chased him through Myeong-dong. Y/n fell asleep. Just like that — curled up sideways on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder. Taehyung didn’t move for a while. He just looked at her. Her features were softer now. Unarmed. Peaceful in a way that made his chest ache.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung stayed still for a while, letting her sleep. Her breathing slowed, her brow not furrowed anymore. He wasn’t in a rush to move.

Eventually, he shifted — just a little — trying not to wake her. But her eyes fluttered open, dazed and soft.

“Did I fall asleep?” she asked, voice rough with sleep, lifting her head.

“Only for a bit,” he said, smiling. “You missed your rating of the sad trumpet solo.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Tragic.”

He brushed a bit of hair from her cheek, his voice soft. “Wanna move to the bed?”

Y/n blinked, still a little dazed from sleep. “I should probably head home.”

Taehyung blinked, surprised. “Now? It’s past midnight. And raining.”

She pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll call a taxi, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you anyway.”

“You didn’t,” he said gently. “You were just tired.”

She was already holding her phone, her thumb idly tracing small circles across the screen — not unlocking it, not tapping anything. Just moving. Her eyes flicked between the screen and the window. “I just… didn’t plan to stay, you know?”

“I know,” he said. “But you don’t have to rush off just because you didn’t plan for this.”

She hesitated, jaw tightening slightly. “It’s not that I don’t want to stay— I just don’t want to… assume.”

“You’re not assuming anything,” he said, tone even but firm. “You fell asleep. You’re tired. It’s okay to stay where it’s safe and warm.”

Y/n looked at him, caught somewhere between grateful and uncertain.

“I’m not offering to drive you home,” he added, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Because I’d rather you stayed.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat, soft and intimate. Then, finally, she let out a breath she’d been holding.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “But only if you have something more comfortable than what I wore earlier.”

He grinned and got up, already heading for the bedroom. “Deal.”

In his bedroom, he opened a dresser drawer and pulled out one of his oversized black T-shirts, offering it to her like it was something important, not just fabric, but comfort.

“You can wear this,” he said and added a pair of shorts.

She changed in the bathroom and emerged bare-faced, wearing the shirt and a pair of his shorts. Somehow, she looked more herself than ever.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The bed waited in the centre of the room—unmade, inviting, like it had been expecting company. “Which side...?” she asked.

Taehyung gave a small shrug, his voice easy. “I usually sleep on the right, but I don’t mind switching.”

She nodded slowly and moved toward the left side. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as she slipped under the blanket and lay down, her back to the other half of the bed. Taehyung circled to his side, climbed in, and settled in beside her.

He shifted a little closer, arm draping gently around her waist, letting her feel the steadiness of his presence without pressing.

“Comfy?” he asked, his voice a hush against the quiet.

There was a pause.

“Actually… no,” she murmured.

She turned in his arms, moving slowly, until she was facing him—her forehead close to his mouth, her breath warm against his chest. His hand adjusted instinctively, splaying over her back, holding her just a little closer now.

She exhaled, this time deeper. More settled.

No one said goodnight. The hush between rain-ticked windows did the talking—steady breaths syncing, warmth pooling where their knees tangled beneath the covers. Within minutes, she was asleep again. Taehyung pressed a slow kiss into her hair, eyes closing. And in that gentle dark, they drifted off together, wrapped in each other’s quiet, the promise of tomorrow resting easy between their joined hands.