#anymore! and the building is being turned into a thrift store. and that was my last resort. i figured they'd be very well stocked and that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelisverba · 4 years

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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monsterfuneral · 4 years

Text

just peachy | the lost boys

Relationship: Poly!The Lost Boys x Gender Neutral!Reader

Request: Can I send in a request because your writing is *chef's kiss*? I'm just having a rough day and I'm tired of having a stupid accent. I'm from Georgia and my friends always tease me about saying certain words. Could you maybe write something about the boys' so is tired of them teasing her but she doesn't say anything because she doesn't want to seem weak or something. But she starts teaching herself how to talk "correctly" and then the boys realize her accent is basically gone and then try to make her feel better? 💛

Words: 2.1k

Warnings/Tags: Angst with a happy ending, changing yourself in order to satisfy your partner(s), insecurity, *Bo Burnham voice* prolonged eye contact, and some sexual tension for absolutely no reason

Author’s Note: Ah finally, someone else in this fandom that also lives in this hell state (I’m assuming you mean the USA Georgia). As someone who literally did this as a child, thus resulting in me not having an accent anymore unless I jokingly put one on, I felt like this request so hard.

I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time right now dude, and I’m sorry it took me this long to write out but I wanted to make it as good as possible for you <3

Also thank you so much for the compliment on my writing that truly means so much.

Anywho I’ll shut up now, I hope this turned out okay and you enjoy the story!

REQUESTS OPEN

(please read my “I do NOT write” section before sending in anything <3)

---

You moved to Santa Carla at the beginning of spring, focusing on better job opportunities and using it as an excuse to explore a new place away from the south. Living in Georgia could be tiring, seeing the same thing over and over again, looking at the same buildings, driving through the same towns. Sure it was where you grew up, but it was slowly feeling less like a home. So the second you saw the opportunity to leave and live somewhere else, you took it. There were things to do, people to meet, interesting jobs that actually appealed to you.

It was nearing winter now. Sure you missed the yellowing leaves and crisp fall air that could hang around until noon. That was a sacrifice you were willing to make though, if it meant you could continue to work on the boardwalk right next to the beach. Where it was lively and something new was happening every night, keeping you interested.

You leaned over the railing, looking out at the sparkling water and over to the live concert that had packed the beach for the night. Your shift at the boardwalk’s thrift store had just ended, giving you time to catch the last song that the opening band was playing.

Arms encircled around your waist, making you snap out of your music induced daze. “Hey there sweet thing.” Paul muttered against the shell of your ear before nuzzling his nose against your neck.

The rest of the boys slowly joined, caging both you and Paul in as they looked down at the beach to the show that was still going on. David leaned his back against the railing and looked at you, winking with a cigarette burning between his lips where one corner of his lips turned upwards in a smirk. You gave him a sweet smile, pulling Paul’s arms tighter around your waist.

“Y’all are a little late tonight.” You mused, looking at Marko who leaned forward against the railing with his arms. Paul squeezed you a little tighter with a soft chuckle brushing against your ear. The boys all had a smile on their lips when they heard you talk.

You had met the boys not even a week after you had touched down in the bustling city. The four bikers, clad in leather with cocky attitudes radiating off of them staring you down. They could probably tell you were new in town, seeing how your doe eyes would stare at the boardwalk attractions in amazement. After all, the only times you had actually been any amusement parks in Georgia was when they’d open up seasonally. Even then it was rare since at the time you had a busy job to keep up with and sometimes it would get too humid to bother going anyway. Your innocent curiosity of a new location drew them in, putting up a front that they could show you around some time. After all, it was uncommon for a southerner to grace Santa Carla with their presence, so color them curious.

The boys had always assumed that people from the south tended to keep to themselves in their small towns, going to church, and gripping their racial biases tight. Plus, it had also been well over four decades since they’d been to the south, their last visit being less than stellar. So when they first met you they were weary, not knowing exactly what was in store and what direction the conversation was going to go, and if you would end up being food by the end of the night.

Luckily for all of you the conversation had actually gone very well, and the thrift store slowly started to become a spot they would drop by more frequently. They found you adorable, the accent and the way you talked, it was all just so different from what they were used to. Not long into knowing you, they started inviting you out with them, wanting to actually get to know you past where you were from and where you worked. From there your relationship blossomed into what it was now.

“Had to get a little snack before dropping by.” Marko smirked, poking Paul’s bicep “Someone had the stomach rumbles bad.”

“Ugh stop.” Paul groaned “I was hungry.”

“Well maybe you should have eaten more last night.” Dwayne chuckled softly, bumping his shoulder with Paul’s teasingly.

“I tried!” Paul argued “Michael was being a total blood hog!” All the boys collectively sent a silencing ‘shut up’ glare to the rowdy blonde.

You chuckled softly “Well next time you just gotta butt his ass out of the way.”

It was a whole two months into knowing the boys before their little fanged secret was revealed. Granted it was by accident but whatever.

It had been getting close to nightfall by the time you walked into the cave unannounced, planning on surprising them. But they were nowhere to be found so you decided to wait it out on the couch, mindlessly flipping through an old comic from Marko’s stash. When the sun had finally dropped behind the water, the boys all came flying out of a hole at the top of the cave flying in circles around the ceiling whooping and hollering, playfully chasing each other before hearing you gasp.

The conversation you all had after that lasted all night. David tried insisting that you had to turn now that you knew, while Dwayne and Marko protested, knowing that they no longer had to enforce that rule with Max being dead. Either way, six months later and it was safe to say you knew pretty much everything when it came to their lives as vampires.

From then on things had been pretty smooth sailing.

Well until recently.

Of course you knew the boys weren’t perfect, they did in fact kill people for food, so you weren’t exactly expecting to have boyfriend’s sent down from god himself. But by being with them it made you notice some things about yourself that you never really did before. Sure you knew they probably meant well, but picking at the way you said things made you feel a little insecure, in fact you were growing to dislike your accent because of it. And as a result you started to change your speech and the way you talked. The lingering thought of ‘maybe they’ll be happier like this’ in the back of your head just kept chewing away, and as a way to not come off as weak, you remained silent about the problem you had with their teasing.

If they noticed they never said anything. Not commenting on the way your speech smoothed out into something you assumed they would find more tolerable. At first you had done it just as an experiment to see if you could even do it without them noticing. Which, to you, had seemed to be the case.

Seemed to be.

Little did you know they were a lot more observant than you gave them credit for. Especially David. He had been the first to notice how you were using some words less and less, you had seemed closed off from them in general. The other boys slowly started to realize it too, noticing the almost subtle way your accent seemed to just go away after months of them hearing it. It was confusing to say the least.

Some of them- mainly Paul- had chalked it up to being around them for so long, but they knew that wasn’t the case. If it were, Dwayne’s own accent would have been long gone by now.

“Is something wrong?” David chimed out of nowhere, blowing smoke towards the stars. All eyes turned to him and you furrowed your brows in, confused. “You’re suppressing your accent. Why?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, not having expected this conversation so soon “Um… I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You tried playing dumb, hoping he would just drop the subject. But this was David and you knew that was very unlikely.

He let out a deep chuckle before sliding himself in front of you, blocking out your view of the show on the beach, and trapping you between himself and Paul. He lifted your chin with his thumb and index finger, the leather of his glove brushing against your bottom lip softly, keeping your head in place so he could look into your eyes. You felt like he was staring into your soul, reading you, attempting to pry the secrets from your brain.

“Don’t lie sweetheart.” He tilted his head, challenging you to argue back “I’ve been around for a long, long time. It’s not hard to notice a change as simple as an accent. Especially when it comes to our mate.”

Mate. This was the first time you heard him actually use the word himself. It made your heart pick up pace in your chest, and you were sure they could all hear it. He brought himself closer, not exactly caring about the public’s prying eyes at your current predicament. He cupped your jaw and brought his face closer to yours, your noses brushing against each other before he teasingly kissed the corner of your mouth. He was toying with you, making you drop your guard.

“Answer the question baby.” Paul whispered against the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

Marko and Dwayne were both leaning on the railing on either side of the three of you, looking out at the ocean as if this wasn’t even happening. Well, with the occasional side eye in your direction.

David pulled away, and you subconsciously chased after him, seeking more contact. You let out a quiet whine, glaring at him as he took yet another drag from his cigarette.

“Well?”

“Fuck- Okay fine.” You mutter in defeat, no longer seeing a use in trying to fight them when they already suspected the truth. “I didn’t want to say anythin’, I mean it’s really not anything to get worked up over. It’s just that I’m tired of being teased for how I say stuff.” The accent slowly melded into your words, slight slip ups that had been harder to tame with the little time you’ve been training yourself to speak more ‘correctly’. “So uh- I thought I’d try and talk a little more normally.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dwayne asked, his attention now fully on you.

You shrugged, slightly embarrassed “I don’t know. I mean it wasn’t your problem, and I thought it might be a little less annoying to hear me talk, y’know like-”

“Like Paul?” Marko interrupted, receiving a punch in the shoulder from the wild haired blonde.

Paul shook his head softly like a disappointed parent “No cool man.”

A laugh left your lips, glad that they were being at least a little light hearted about it. “No. I guess I just kinda assumed you guys didn’t like it. So I just thought- well you know.”

The conversation went silent, all of them staring at you before looking at each other. Dwayne was the first to crack from his stony expression and smile at you, his cool hand coming to smooth over your warm cheek. He caressed your skin gently with his thumb, silently admiring you for a second.

“All you had to do was talk to us. I could’ve told Paul and Marko to shut the hell up for you.” He joked, making you smile with him before laughing. “You don’t have to change yourself to please us. That’s not something we expect from you.”

Paul let go of you, spinning you around and catching you before you tripped over your own feet. “Yeah! You could have totally said something! You’re not gonna hurt our feelings or anything babe.” He brought you to his chest, giving your cheek an overly wet kiss, trying his best to lighten your mood. David’s hand smoothed up from your shoulder blade to your shoulder, the cool leather welcome against the heat on your neck. He brought himself closer, trapping you against himself and Paul once again, if not bringing himself closer this time.

Marko smirked at the way your eyes clouded over slightly, “Yeah I mean… If anything I think it’s kinda hot.” He said, tracing the lapel of the leather jacket you wore, twirling the dark purple squid lures he had gifted you around his index finger. His eyes were lidded when he looked at you, a cocky smirk on his lips.

You wanted so badly to tell him to fuck off, but oddly enough the reassurance did help. Realizing that you in fact did not have to change in order to please them, and that’s not what they wanted from you was like a breath of fresh air. It lifted a weight from your shoulders and you were thankful for it, leaving you wishing you had said something sooner. You loved them, and while being in Santa Carla was a huge change in your life, you wouldn’t want to experience it with anyone else other than them.

#dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #marko #paul #david #dwayne #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys imagine #tlb imagine #tlb 1987 #poly tlb #tlb #monster writes

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thespamman24 · 3 years

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So, I know this is really long, but I worked very hard on it and I think that it might just be the best thing that I have ever written, so I would really appreciate if you read it, thanks.

I wish that I was a dog.

If I was a dog then I would sneak into my owners fridge and eat all of their bananas. All of them. I would keep doing it, over and over again. They would have to start keeping their bananas in secure places, but I would always find them. They could put the bananas in a locked safe and store it on the highest shelf, but somehow I would still manage to get those bananas into my big dog mouth. They would probably take me to the vet and ask the vet “Why does our dog keep on eating bananas?” but the vet would have no answer. The bananas didn’t seem to be making me ill, in fact I was more healthy than ever. Despite being a corgi, I had the strength of a rottweiler.

Eventually, they would just stop buying bananas. But that wouldn’t stop me. I would break into neighbors houses and steal their bananas. My hunger for bananas would consume my every thought, my every desire. I would grow and grow until I was twice the size of an English mastiff. Eventually, they would tie me to a stick like one of those naughty dogs but that wouldn’t stop me. I would still manage to break free, and then in a mad rage I would destroy the entirety of my owners furniture.

My owners would have no choice but to take me to a pound. “It’s such a shame.” they would say “He used to be such a good boy, but then he just got really into bananas for some reason.” But no pound could be able to hold me. I would escape, and run all of the way back to my owners house. I would smash right through my owners door. My owners would scream as I snarled and raged and dashed across their house. Then I would plant myself in the middle of the living room and snarl.

What could they do? They would rush off to the grocery store and grab as many bananas as they could. But that wouldn’t even be enough to satisfy me. They would have to start getting bananas in from the truckload. Spending thousands of dollars shipping in hundreds of bananas in, just to feed my appetite. I would get bigger and bigger, till I was 5 feet tall. “Surely, he’ll get sick of them. “ they’d say “either that, or he’ll die.” But I wouldn’t die, I would just consume and consume. Eventually, my owners money would start running dry. They would have to move out as my appetite grew. They would have to sell their house, which they worked so hard to afford to a woman named Patty so she could turn it into a thrift store. But I wouldn’t mind, all I wanted was bananas. Eventually, they couldn’t afford a home at all and they had to move to a large junkyard where they slept by snuggling me for warmth. It was in this junkyard that I would spend the entirety of my days, consuming more and more bananas. I would grow and grow till I was 8 feet tall. Then 10 feet. Then 20 feet.

Eventually, my owners would run out of money. “Please,” they would say “please buttons” (buttons would be my name of course) “We can’t get you any more bananas, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” but that would not sway me, and in a fit of rage I would swallow my owners whole. Then, I would leave my home city of San Francisco and make my way South, stopping at grocery stores to get my fill of bananas. I would sleep seldomly, with my only stops being to consume more bananas. I would run and run till I arrived in Costa Rica.

Oh, what a sight that would be. A group of poor Costa Rican banana farmers toiling away, when suddenly from the horizon appears a 25 foot tall Corgi. “?Que Carajo?!” They would say “!El Perro Es Gigantesco!”

Then I would snarl and they would run away in fright and I would gourge myself on the bananas. I would gorge myself on all of the bananas that Costa Rica had to offer till I was 40 foot tall. I would indulge myself ina feat of bananas never seen before and then eventually the government would hear of this and they would be enraged! They would send helicopters to shoot me down but I would bat them out of the sky. They would tanks and planes and all sorts of weapons of war but I would squanch them without hesitation.

Eventually, the american banana companies would get worried, because their sales were dropping, so they would lobby for something to happen. They would obviously be successful, and then for the first time in history the united states government would declare war on a single dog. They would send the finest weapons that the world had to offer, all sorts of fighter jets and helicopters. They would send wave after wave after squandron of men and machines armed to the teeth. They would launch missiles and drop bombs and rain down everything they could on me save for a nuclear bomb. They would throw all of their military might at me, but they would fail.

At this point I would have become almost a hundred feet tall. I would tower over buildings and skyscrapers. People all over the world would begin to worship me as a god. The banana workers of Costa Rica who had slaved for so long began to see me as a savior, someone who had come down to rid themself of the oppressive yoke of the banana industry. But, I would be no savior, I would just be one big corgi that wanted bananas.

I would gorge myself on all of the bananas that Costa Rica had to offer, until there was no more. Then, I would move to Nicaragua, then to Honduras, then to Belize,then back to Nicaragua, then to El Salvador, then back to Costa Rica, then to Panama. I would scour my way through all of Latin America, devouring every bananas I saw till I was 150 feet tall and growing.

Eventually, the U.S. government would have no other option then to build a giant robotic mecha corgi.

This mecha corgi would be deployed, with some sort of trained pilot inside and me and this mecha would have the fight of the century- possible even the decade. We would pounce and fight and tear at each others throats- and then- we would lock eyes and something would take over me. Something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. My owners had previously neutered me but all of my banana eating had them grow back. Next you knew, the mecha would become pregnant with my son- a half corgi- half mecha corgi. A cycorg, if you will.

But, I would not be around to see his birth, because I left my mecha girlfriend. I loved her, but I loved bananas more and so I left. I journeyed to Colombia and Venezuela and all throughout South America, always on the hunt for bananas, no amount of that sweet yellow fruit could ever quinch my eternal hunger.

The U.S. government would send more mechs after me, and I had some close encounters but, whenever things got to bad I would run. Eventually, things got so serious that I had to dog paddle my way to Africa. Thankfully, I managed to end up in Cote D’Iviore which was a country that the U.S. didn’t have any treaty or whatever with. I was safe. I gouged myself on bananas for many years sometimes I would think about that one true love I had, but my bananas kept me destracted. I didn’t even know that I had a son, or that he was growing up in a secure facility in Nevada.

I grew and grew. At first, the government tried to stop me, but then they stopped. Eventually, they started to like me, they would bring me bananas and in return I increased tourism by 2,000%. In fact, I actually helped the economy of Cote D’Iviore. This allowed for many schools and hospitals to be buildt, massive reforms were passed in the government, infrastructure improved massively. Eventually, Cote D’Iviore became one of the most successful countries in the world and all it took was one giant dog.

People would come from all over the world to see me, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was bananas. When I wasn’t eating bananas I was sleeping or killing people who were trying to kill me. Sometimes I would eat them, but people didn’t taste as good as bananas.

Cote D’Iviore started to run out of bananas so they had to ask Ghana and Cameroon for help in exchange for economy. This eventually lead to all three countries becoming one country, and this country became a prosperous nation. I quickly became the national animal of this nation. I was on the state flag and all of the coinage. Massive statues were buildt of me and the countries name was Terre De Chien Geant (land of the big dog). I payed no notion to this. After all, I was a dog and I didn’t even understand politics. All I understand was bananas. And now, the country was working very hard to get me as much bananas as I could eat because the tourism money was huge. I feasted on bananas until I became 400 feet tall.

However, across the sea storm clouds were brewing. The United States government had no interest in killing me anymore. However, my Cycorg son was a rarity and of great interest to them. They figured that they could use him as a weapon to take on foreign threats. They got people to pilot him. I don’t know how it worked but the Cycorg needed a pilot.

Many years passed. Eventually, I grew till I was over a thousand feet tall. My Cycorg son did the same.

My Cycorg son gets deployed on his first mission, destroying a military base in Libya. However, the U.S. government was foolish in thinking that they could control him. He turns away from the military base and instead goes in search of me. The pilot that is inside my Cycorg son is helpless to control him as he moves through Africa in search of me.

He eventually catches on the hiff of corgi and bananas and follows it through the Sahara desert till he arrives at the Northern tip of the country I live in. There he travels East, till he finds me. I’m laying in the field I usually am in when I hear the sound of extremely large paw prints and cock my giant corgi head. Then, I meet his gaze. He growls at me. I am the man who abandoned him. His worst enemy. He leaps forward and pounces on me.

Needless to say, I kick my dumb furry sons butt. I stand over him, my paw pressed on his metal exoskeleton. Then I sniff him and I realize who he is. And in that moment, I realize I was fighting my son! I have a son! I never even knew! But… I don’t care. All I care for is bananas. Why? I do not know. All I know is that I crave bananas, and I am a two thousand foot tall corgi so no one gets to challenge my authority.

I pick him up by the ear, and in a feat of corgi strength I carry him to the ocean and drop him in.

My son paddles away, ashamed.

Then the Romulans show up. “Oh shit! It’s the Romulans!” Says everyone.Then the Romulans leave because the only reason why they were there was because they got their directions wrong.

Anyways, I go back to my usual resting place and my son, ashamed, dog paddles away. But, this feeling of shame quickly turns to anger and this anger quickly turns to rage. And so, when the U.S. helicopters show up to collect him he swats them down. My Cycorg son then goes berserk. He swims over till he reaches Florida. There, he goes ona mad rampage.

First he arrives at Orlando, where he rips through the city. He reaches Disney World and Mickeys and Snow Whites turn to bloody pulp within his jaws. He journeys to Miami, and to Jacksonvill, and to Tampa Bay, and to Inglis. All fall before his wrath. Millions of people are slaughtered and billions of dollars are lost in property damage and thousands of cheese shops are destroyed. Mozzarella and blood lines the streets of multiple major metropolitan areas, and it’s all because of one kaiju cyborg corgi.

The U.S. government throw everything they can at my Cycorg son, but they do not succeed. Eventually, they realize the only way to defeat him is me. But, how do they get me to come over to the U.S? First, they try a massive dog whistle. This does not work. Then, they figure it out.

I am chilling out in my field. When, suddenly in the sky I see the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen. A giant cat, made out of bananas. I leap up and run after it. Truly, this must be the most delicious thing ever created.

I dog paddle after it till I reach the coast of Florida, only to then realize that it was not real, but actually just one of those Macy's thanksgiving day parade floats. This enrages me immensely. I am about to go back to my home when suddenly I am tackled from behind. It is my Cycorg son! I don’t even have time to react before my Cycorg son chomps me directly in the paw. We tussle, and I could easily win but he has grown stronger and one of my paws is hurt.

We fight and fight, our fight taking us out of Florida, to Georgia, and then to South Carolina. Eventually, after 78 days I stand over my son. I have won. But, right before I am about to make the killing blow, I hesitate. This is my son after all. And, in that moment of hesitation my furry son does a hecking chomp. I fall off a cliff and into the Atlantic.

I float through the Ocean, till I eventually reach the South pole. There, the water around me freezes and I am trapped in an iceberg, still alive.

Meanwhile, my furry son has won. He howls victoriously. And then continues his rampage, going north. He knocks over the Empire State Building and shits on the Washington memorial. He humps the leg of the statue of liberty and pees on the white house. He demolishes the Sears tower and destroys Cleveland, Ohio. All fall before his wrath. All is helpless before my massive Cycorg son. Millions upon millions are killed. The U.S. lies in ruins. Meanwhile, I am literally chilling inside a block of ice.

My Cycorg son continues West, and some strange desire compels him to go to Los Angeles. He arrives there and moves towards Hollywood. There, right in front of the Hollywood sign. He digs. He digs and he digs till he reaches an underground chamber. There, in that chamber he finds Al Capone, the inventor of movies.

Meanwhile, at this very moment I am being discovered by scientists. They find my body and put it on a plane. They then take my body and put in a giant truck. This truck is currently carrying me to a museum, which just happens to be in San Francisco, the place where this all started.

My son finds the body of Al Capone, spread on a massive movie projector. He then picks him up in his jaws and bounds out of the chamber with Al Capone in tow. However, this ends up causing The Job Apocalypse, where people become abstract representations of their jobs. Lawyers turn into law books, doctors turn into medicine, and politicians turn into the flags of countries that they represent. And, the driver of the truck that I am on, turns into a truck. This leads to the truck I am on having a massive truck sticking out of the driver's seat, with one of it’s wheels on it’s pedal. This causes the truck to keep on moving forward, towards its destination of San Francisco, with me in tow.

But, my Cycorg son doesn’t have a job, so he is unaffected. He takes Al Capone's form and bounds up North. Eventually, he makes it to San Francisco, where he lays down Al Capone and lays down beside him. He then falls asleep, Al Capone right beside him.

Meanwhile, the truck I am in enters San Francisco from the East while my son sleeps soundly by the side of Al Capone.

Then, in the middle of the night comes Patty. Patty was there when it all began. She was the one my owners sold their house to, and thanks to that she turned the house into a thrift store. So, when The Job Apocalypse came she turned into a whole bunch of knick knacks in the shape of a human form. Patty makes her way towards my son and Al Capone. Then she sticks out what could be called an arm, and wacks Al Capone. But then, right as she does it she gets run over by the truck that is carrying me.

Or, in other words: knick knack Patty wacks EVA dog's Al Capone, his old man's come rolling home.

#long post #tw dog #tw death #tw blood #tw violence #writing #short story #fiction #humor #joke #jokes

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biggirllifestyle · 3 years

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Over the Rails: Cold Floors and Sparks

Summary: After Peter posts, a video of him and his friends at the roller rink on the Avengers group chat Bucky can’t seem to get his mind off Peter’s friend who stole the show, and after getting goaded into going skating with the other avengers (Natasha’s conniving planning) where Peter’s friend works at Bucky can’t help but feel that there’s something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-Sized Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Swearing, Physical harm (from Roller Skating), Future Confrontational Violence, Creepers making woman uncomfortable, .

A/N: It’s long. Sorry. Enjoy.

Friday seemed to be getting closer and closer and Bucky couldn’t help the growing anxiety that he felt as the day grew closer. He didn’t have any issues with hanging out with the Avengers or even being around other people, he had worked through those issues with Xavier on one of his sessions so he knew he could get through it.

Bucky knew that choosing to call his therapist at three in the morning on a weekday would be an excessive thing to do but he thought that maybe dealing with it upfront would be so much better, as he huddled by the couch the rooms only illumination from the muted tv. Bucky heard the line ringing for a few minutes and growing anxiety grew as it kept ringing, as he was about to end the call the line picked and a disgruntled voice answered,

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Bucky stopped short the voice on the other line was not his therapist, pulling the phone away looking to see if he had accidentally dialed the wrong number, bucky pulled the phone back an apology at the tip of his tongue before he heard another gruff voice but this time with the hint of a British accent underneath,

“Eric, What’s going on? Who is that?”

Bucky heard a grumble from the man who answered before there was a shift of sheets and finally Xavier was on the line, there was an extra shift and an audible click before everything quieted again.

“James is everything alright?”

“Doctor I apologize for calling you so early in the morning but I-,” Bucky stopped short. He didn't know how to say what was wrong, he felt like his fear was inconsequential that did not deem a call at three in the morning. “I apologize for calling so early in the morning but I don’t know what’s wrong and I need your help.”

He heard Xavier humm, “James, we have talked about this, you do not have to apologize for seeking help. This is an improvement for you since never before did you seek help so I feel like this is a step forward, now tell me what can I do for you?”

“Doc, I know that our session is set for Saturday but something changed this week and I feel like if I don’t address it now it might become an issue for when it finally comes up.” Bucky didn’t know if he was making any sense; he couldn’t even say that he understood his words very clearly, so he was hoping that Xavier was able to understand him enough.

“Does this have anything to do with the video you had talked about from our last session, the one you were caught watching by Natasha?” Bucky made a small noise of confirmation, Xavier hummed as he seemed to write down what was being told to him, Bucky could hear the scratch of paper through the phone.

“Did something happen, James, I know from our last session you mentioned how you were looking forward to your outing with the others, so what is it about it now that's making you so anxious?” Bucky couldn't help the noise of shock that he let out, Xavier had a way of always knowing what Bucky was feeling and thinking and almost as if he was reading his mind, if it wasn’t for the fact that he survived the fall and Steve become ten times taller then he would say that Xavier was a mutant person with powers, well he still believes that no matter how much Xavier denies it.

“There is just so much that may go wrong that makes me nervous,” Bucky paused running a hand through his long hair, “ I just don’t want to disappoint, Nat had told me that this girl, Bibi, was a History major and according to Peter she did a paper the impact of Steve and I’s missions and how the war would have gone differently if we hadn’t been involved and that all that dedication she put into it-”

Bucky paused taking a small breath before continuing, “I just don’t want her to meet me and decide that I am a disappointment, that the person she spent such a long time researching, the person who I used to be, would make her disappointed because I am not him anymore.”

“James, you are and you will always be James Buchanan Barnes no matter the alias that was set for you or not, what HYDRA stole from you, your freedom, does not define who you were before or after the Winter Soldier, don’t let them take your future just because you are worried that people will still see you like the Winter Soldier, you have to understand that not everything revolves around that persona, okay? You are capable of going beyond if you just allow yourself to do it.”

Bucky was silent letting Xavier's words sink in, he was feeling much better now that he was hearing a word of reason at this time, Steve had been sent out on a quick mission overnight and he wouldn’t be back until later in the afternoon, he heard Xavier clear his throat before snapping him out of his mind.

“Now I am very curious about this girl you were mentioning, it seems that this person is the reason why you are feeling like this, and I can assume since you did show me the video that she is the one who fell at the end was it not?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Well James, it’s currently too early in the morning you need your rest and it seems that this is something we will have to talk about when we are in the right state of mind, so let’s leave this conversation for our session on Saturday?”

“That sounds like a good idea Doc.”

“Great then it’s set,” Bucky heard a snap that could only be Xavier's notebook, “ And James I would like to apologize in regards to my husband Eric’s behavior earlier he just got back from a job and the jet lag wasn’t the best for him.”

“It’s alright Doc don’t worry I understand I mean I would have reacted the same way if someone would have called me at that time as well.”

“Well then goodnight James, or should I say morning instead”

“Night Doc, thanks again,” Bucky said before he hanged up, on the tv, there was a show going, one of Steve’s favorite that Sam and he would usually watch together constantly when off-mission, a sitcom of sorts of a man and women living in the suburbs as they try to hide their identity from their neighbors, Bucky shut it off enveloping the room in darkness.

Bucky knew that whatever happened on Friday, he would do whatever it took to prove that he was and could be James Buchanan Barnes again.

“When you told me you were going to buy me some Ice-Cream, I didn’t realize it came with the price of you dragging me to go shopping with you.” You said as you watched MJ browse around the bottoms section, it was hot outside the hottest it has been in New York since the first time you had arrived here, but not as hot as how Texas got in the summer that’s for sure.

After what had happened with Trevor, Ned and Peter had taken upon themselves to become your own personal escorts walking you to class and anywhere they could, at first you thought it was sweet being very grateful for friends who would gladly give you support but now all you could think about was a way to get rid of them for even just a second so you could breathe.

Finally the time cam when Peter was summoned by Mr. Stark for an experiment and Betty had taken one for the team and forced Ned to take her on a date keeping him away from you as long as she could, so here you were with MJ following her around as she looked for an outfit for the school banquet coming up. Searching through the plus size racks a shimmering material caught your eye and you couldn't help the trill that went through your body thinking that you had found something that you like , taking it off the rack you pulled it up to look at the size letting out a huff you put the shirt back into the rack your mood soured overtly being fooled that something so nice cold be offered to someone your size, starting to walk away you turned back tacking the shirt off and depositing it on another much similar sizes at its own not wanting someone to feel the disappointment just like you.

MJ had her arms covered in clothes and you couldn’t help the small ball of jealousy that went through you before squashing it down, giving up on finding anything for yourself in this store. “Hey MJ,” you called to her as she headed towards the dressing rooms, she turned towards you the clothes seeming to weigh her down, so you ignored that looking only at her face, “I’m gonna head over to the thrift shop two doors down, head over there when you’re done choosing something.”

MJ gave a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the dressing rooms, stepping out of the air conditioned store you put on your sunglasses blocking out the sun as much as you could before beginning your trek down the sidewalk, sidestepping busy pedestrian you couldn't help thinking about the upcoming event would some very special guest. The Avengers were not a group that you would have thought to meet, yet here you were just mere hours before you finally had the chance to interact with the most powerful and out-of-ordinary individuals out there.

Dodging a skateboarder as he zoomed past you finally arrived at your destination ushering into the air-conditioned building, you could practically hear your mother telling you that what you were doing rushing in and out of the heat was not good for your health. The other reason for accepting MJ’s offer to go shopping, besides the free ice cream, was because you were still looking for an outfit to wear you knew you would be working but at the same time interacting with them was a big part of it so you wanted to look your best, and maybe it also had to do with a certain sargeant who had set everything in motion, even though of course he saw you fall on your face.

You blushed at the memory going towards the plus size isle seeing a variety of clothing awaiting you and you couldn't help the calm feeling that went over you when you realised there was no reason for you to feel in any way of disappointment for what you found. As you continue browsing from the corner of your eye you saw two extremely fit and thin women come onto your section beginning to browse where you had left off. The clenching of your stomach was unintentional almost as if you were sucking it in trying to make it less noticeable you shifted around adjust your shirt away from your body trying to stretch it out as much as you could wishing it wasn't sticking so close to your body, you heard one of the girls laugh at something the other had said and your thoughts began to go crazy.

“They’re laughing at you, they can see you for what you are a fat and l-”

“Excuse me, Miss?” you snapped out of your thoughts a tremor going through you as you turned towards one of the girls who was close to you, she had a bright smile on her face as she looked at you.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, “It is you, it’s so nice to meet you I’m a huge fan of your videos, Are you out here looking for something? Do you happen to have your skates with you?” Shaking your head you realise what she was saying, your videos those videos of you skating around New York and campus, you looked down at your beat up sneakers dreading the fact tht you didn't have your skates feeling naked without them you looked at the girl shaking your head at her, “Sorry left them at home.”

You hoped she would go away feeling uncomfortable as she stood next to you, your anxiety rising as you realised that she was tiny and well compared to her you were just too much. Her friend said something too low for you to hear but the girl laughed looking at you from the corner of her eye and your throat began to feel as if it was closing up feeling squeamish you began to shift back trying to get away without being rude, just as you were about to step away you heard another voice and you froze completely.

You knew that voice it had been mocking at you for the past weeks, his words at a constant repeat as you avoided your reflection in the mirror. Trevor rounded the corner coming to stand behind the two girls before he noticed you standing there, he looked shocked before he shook himself out of it turning to the girl had been speaking to you, “Meg, baby lets go I still have to pick up my order on the way home and I don’t want to be late.”

He looked back at you dragging his gaze down your body, staring straight at your exposed legs and you couldn't help but shift at how uncomfortable that look in his eyes felt. You grabbed your bag placing it in front of you trying to. hide yourself from his look hoping that anything could come and save you in that moment, looking over their shoulders you found MJ stalking towards you murder in her eyes and it was all focused on Trevor, he turned trying to see what had caught your eyes when he saw MJ he paled before he practically draged his girlfriend and her friend away trying to get out before MJ could get to him.

You couldn’t help the breath you let out sinking on the floor letting your heated skin cool with the cold floor, trying to calm yourself as you sucked in deep and controlled breaths looking up at MJ who kept her distance knowing that you would ask for her help if you needed it. Finally after what felt like a lifetime you rose up MJ looked like she wanted to pull you in but she stopped herself knowing that you hated being touched after you had an episode, “Come on she said let’s go and buy that ice cream.”

MJ walked towards the exit calm as she could be you shuffled behind her trying to hide yourself away after what had happened, you gave yourself a sardonic smile, who knew that the day you shoo away your bodyguards would be the day you met your nightmare. As you both walked through the streets you couldn’t help your thoughts from going wild, how could this have happened on such a day, you thought about calling your therapist but thought against it last time you had talked to Xavier he mentioned Eric coming into town so you didn’t want to bother them at the moment.

When you finally arrived MJ opened the door letting you go in first, she was typing so fast her focus solely on her phone that she almost ran into a customer as we maneuvered around trying to find an empty seat, you pulled her aside dragging her along as you shimmied her into a booth you turned to your side and squeezed yourself in the table moving trying to accommodate to your size, the blush that rose to your face showed your embarrassment but looking around you noticed nobody had payed attention to you, so you calmed down at that.

MJ finally put her phone down with a satisfied look in her eyes and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor bastard who her anger was directed to, the first person you thought of was Trevor and you couldn’t help the small giggle you let out. MJ realized the cause of your giggles and gave you a huge grin before her phone began to blow up as she ignored it.

“So I bought you something,” she said as she pulled up a bag from the floor holding it out, you grabbed it gingerly as you opened it up and saw the shirt you had picked up earlier at the store, you closed the bag afraid of taking it out, “I saw you look at it earlier and I asked one of the workers to see if they had one in your size and they did it was their very last one actually and I just knew I had to get it for you.”

You looked at MJ not believing her words as you opened the bag again taking out the shirt and looking at its size, you couldn’t help the tears that came to your eyes at the sheer luck you had in having friends like MJ and the others who went above and beyond for you.

“MJ this is amazing thank you so much for this. I love it.” You gave her a watery smile beyond happy at it, she beamed up at you happy that she was able to give you something to smile for.

“Yeah I think it will look lovely on you, and hey,” She said as she got up, “Maybe you’ll even be able to catch the attention of a certain Sergeant at the party.”

Bucky stood outside the rink with the others as they waited for Peter to show up, earlier that day Steve and Bucky had gone out to eat a diner close to their apartment when Natasha had shown up raging about how excited she was about tonight’s event. She talked about how Tony and her had made a bet to see who of all the avengers was most likely to fall first and who would be the first one to give up.

Now here they were late in the evening waiting for Peter to join them so they would be able to get inside. Peter’s other friends were by the door, but Bucky couldn’t see Bibi anywhere and he didn’t know if to be nervous or not. After a few minutes Peter finally arrived swinging down from a building close by he landed close to his friends bumping fist with one and kissing the other on the cheek before finally turning towards them.

“Right, okay are you guys ready Bibi is in there waiting in on us so if you wanna follow me,” He turned back to the door making a series of knocks that sounded like a passcode when in fact they were just random noises being produced, the door opened and a head popped out a look of annoyance clear on her face and Bucky couldn’t help but think of it as adorable, Natasha had sneaked close to him as Peter and Bibi exchanged banter at door elbowed him in the stomach making a big gesture towards bibi a huge grin plastered onto her face, Bucky gave her an annoyed look as he moved away from her to Steve’s side.

Peter and Bibi must have finished their little fight since she finally pushed the door open and spread out her arms in a grand gesture, “Welcome Avengers to our humble, ummm” She paused glaring back at a grinning Peter, the girl next to him elbowed him but the smile never left his face, “Right, Welcome to our humble rink where I will take you for the ride of your lives.”

Peter smirked at the end of the speech before sauntering in as the other Avengers snickered at your words as they followed you inside the building, Bucky took a deep breath trying to calm his rising heartbeat before following. The building was lit up when they walked in most of the group had spread out from either talking to Peter’s friends or getting some skates from Bibi who was manning the counter, Natasha headed his way again before grabbing his arm to drag him to the counter, “Take charge, Sarge” she said before depositing him in front of her.

Outside he hadn’t gotten an actual look at her outfit but he couldn’t help but to admire her now, a nice sparkly top complemented her he could see now that she was wearing some sparkly skates a mid length skirt flared out around her legs and Bucky fought hard to look away. When he finally looked at her she was giving him a shy smile that made Bucky’s heart give a stutter.

“What’ll be Sarge?”

Prt.4

#plus size ofc #pluss size #original work #plus size oc #bucky x plus size reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #bucky x you

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 3 years

Text

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND Chapter 14

Ya'll, when I say, that the writer's block for this story practically parked it's 18 wheeler sized ass in front of me, like a boulder on a mountain road AND THERE WAS NO WAY AROUND IT, to the point that I didn't know if I ever would get to write it again and I had to take a break for...way too fucking long. Also- for the record, all of this still happens in my head in 2018, you know, when I started writing this story, because BY GOD, all these characters should have had their weddings and a small piece of happily ever after BEFORE COVID comes to fuck everyone over. But Hazel's dress, that's still 2022 Pnina Tornay, it's a fantasy story, I'm fudging the timeline, a little. Also Hazel's engagement ring? Chocolate diamond. She's a foodie. It made sense.

Also, Yes, I do realize that I am face casting Alex Pettyfer twice. The first was as modern Ravus Nox Flueret, and then...as Dash Parr in my modern Incredibles AU Why So Jaded. Look, I just adore the guy ok? He's...incredibly good looking and talented, and HOT. They don't happen in the same alternate universe, it's fine, it's fine.

Anyway, so back to the road block, sorry, detour, anyway, so then, tragedy struck in my personal life, ok several tragedies kind of piled up all at once it felt like and shook me to my core, and suddenly those earthquakes, knocked that boulder off the road and opened up the creative roadway to this story again, then I wrote something truly horrific for this particular story. AND IT'S AWESOME, like it's brutal, will reach inside and grab your heart, put it into a blender before handing it back to you as you cry and say thank you, kind of awesome, so angsty.

But, I couldn't just...post it and not keep wrapping up other character's story lines because this was still "everyone needs to find their happily ever after" foundations laid. So. What that did, was give me a "if you want this- angsty thing to happen, how do you get the story from here to there, now that you don't have this fucking boulder in the way." and my brain finally went "I got it! TREDD IS AN ASSHOLE" and boom, problem solved. See I had- most of the components to this particular chapter, already written and mentally mapped out and planned out but the "go juice" to write it was empty.

But Tredd, lovable, asshole Tredd, gave me what I needed. I don't even know if I should tag who I used to tag...however long ago I used to post chapters to this story or if they have all changed their usernames and stuff or if any of them are still interested. But you know what? I'm gonna post it anyway. So enjoy.

Also, @the-immortal-marshal, thanks for sticking with me and hanging in there, THE PAIN IS COMMING NEXT CHAP. ENJOY the last moment of "peace and happiness where everything is perfect and nothing hurts" while it lasts.

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND

Chapter 14

“Hello Behbehs!” Selena cooed when she came home from school to her dogs and Duchess who eagerly greeted her before she got all the packages from the little stylish boxes she built out of pallets to create a little place for packages to be stored on her front porch before she and Ravus could get home and get them in their apartment.

“Ah thank goodness.” Selena breathed in relief when a couple of them were those pre prepared meal kits. Because with both her and Ravus being in school and both of them working too, they rarely had a chance to go grocery shopping anymore and the meal kits were a healthy alternative to fast food and surprisingly less expensive than take out and right now they were still in their “try everything once to find our favorites” stage. But Selena barely had them all unpacked and put away by the time her phone chimed.

‘Hope you had a good day today Darling’ Ravus texted when his phone chimed that she had made it home.

‘It’s been fine, busy, how about yours?’ Selena texted back.

‘Not great, I’ll be happy to call it a day soon.’ Ravus texted back as Selena frowned at her phone before she got an idea and raced up the stairs to get dressed in more business formal attire that was clearly flirtatious that covered up some ridiculously sexy lingerie and some really good ‘fuck me’ heels and put on some makeup and put her hair up in a quick bun then quickly left their apartment to go to Miracles Hospital where she parked next to Ravus’ car and purposefully strutted into the offices, using the badge keycard Sylva had made for her to get in before she made a B-Line for Ravus’ temperoary office while his was under construction before she checked in with Kathryn to make sure he was alone in his office before she opened his office door and struck a pose in his door frame with a smoldering look and a mischevious smirk on her lips that had Ravus’ jaw dropping to the floor at the vision she was.

“Hey. What are you doing here? Is there a problem with…?” Ravus began to ask as she closed the door, locked it then sauntered up to him and straddled his lap before she kissed him passionately as he eagerly held her and pulled her to himself as he kissed her back with equal passion that had Ravus thanking God that he put such an amazing, wonderful and sexy as hell woman in his life that could give him the one thing he wanted that he knew money could never buy- her love, priceless and perfect as it was. And with her love came devotion, loyalty, honesty, faithfulness and right now- desire and it was his life’s goal to make himself as desirable to her as he could possibly be because being the object of her affection was all he could ever want and he wanted her to feel as lucky that she had him for a partner- that he felt about her.

“How’s your day now?” Selena purred when they broke for air.

“Ah-amazing, I can’t, can’t complain.” Ravus answered truthfully, his mind desperate in it’s grasping for coherent thought as he was completely blown away and delighted by her little surprise visit as his hands traveled down her body, appreciating every nuance and curve she had.

“Good, now do you want to fuck me here or in the sleep studies wing, in the car or at home?” Selena asked and watched as he swallowed thickly as his own eyes grew a dark stormy gray with lust.

“Is there an ‘all of them’ option?” Ravus returned which made Selena smile brighter as he quickly hiked up her skirt the rest of the way to reveal that she had not been wearing underwear but was wearing thigh highs attached to a matching green silk garter belt ,which were his favorite kind of stockings as his cock tried to break through his pants trying to get into her as he gasped and ‘oohed’ in surprise and delight as she made quick work of his pants and underwear before she managed to seat herself onto him as he let his chair lean back and rest on a filing cabinet so they wouldn’t crash backwards and also so that Selena could ride him as hard as she wanted to without hurting anything as she opened up his silk dress shirt so that his chest and neck were bared to her before he yanked down her shirt and undid her bra so that her breasts, which had been pushed up to show her amazing cleavage before- were now bared to him in turn as he suckled as his hands went to her hips to guide her over him and when his other hand reached down to stroke her clit with practiced ease as he whispered some absolutely filthy things to her in French which he had discovered could get Selena all riled up and to hear and see and feel that was like a drug to him.

Selena could feel her orgasm approaching as her body and mind were in absolute bliss and to hear Ravus whisper, moan and growl in her ear in between kissing and licking and playfully biting every inch of skin he could reach as he drove up into her as hard as he could and rub her clit just right. Not too hard, not too fast, but as if he was delicately conjuring her soul through her pussy was the greatest pleasure she had ever known and she didn’t care what he was saying to her in French, but the way he said it, the way it rolled off of his very gifted tongue and the way he could enrapture her mind, body and soul so easily, as easy as he breathed and leave her so desperate for him, desperate for more. Just one more touch, one more kiss, one more thrust, one more profession of love, of promise, of adoration, everything. How she was his everything and how he was going to love her and cherish her for as long as he lived and she had the utmost faith in every word. And she knew that she was going to love him for the rest of hers. She didn’t care if he lost his fortune or the hospital or anything. She would keep him and he would keep her. And that would be all that mattered.

In rapid succession Selena came, her shuddering cry of bliss was the most perfect sound in Ravus’ ears as he smiled victoriously that he was able to give her the greatest pleasure possible before Ravus’ own face scrunched up as he came himself, a grunting, hissing moan. His cock throbbing but since his injections, there were no loads, other than an extra load of precum before they both collapsed in the chair as they held each other as Selena let her head rest on his shoulder as they recovered.

Selena traced random designs on his skin around his chest hair that was starting to fill in nicely along with more muscle mass that had started to build just in the last few months since he graduated highschool and gotten back from the most epic summer vacation. It was as if he was a late bloomer. All the bulky muscle he had always wanted was finally filling in the way he wanted it to and he was having to buy new suits and shirts because his old ones no longer fit him the way he wanted them to, but thankfully that glorious cock of his stayed the same, much to Selena’s utter and complete delight.

The only thing that hadn’t grown was thankfully his feet so that meant the man didn’t need to buy new shoes. Which was his own guilty pleasure and obsession, especially dress shoes. While they had gone cross country all summer, he and Luche would hit up all the thrift stores and speciality shops looking for old shoes to restore and when they had been in L.A. They had hit the mother load. All these places that had all the shoes from the old stars of hollywood, whether they became famous or infamous or never even made it on the map. But their very expensive and very good quality shoes were left behind. One shop in particular was run by a couple of older gentlemen that were so happy to see some younger guys were into this kind of thing that they gave them the deals of a lifetime and even Tredd and of course Ignis came along and between Ravus and Ignis, Luche and Tredd got quite the crash course education on shoes, in particular old dress shoes as the four of them practically bought the store out and had to ship out most of them back home because they wouldn't fit with their former travel plans. Ravus and Ignis were the way about shoes the same way some women were about fashion and purses.

Of course that wasn't the only "obsession" Ravus and Ignis had shared with Luche and Tredd, Ravus' mother and of course his grandparents were avid fountain pen collectors and when Sylva's parents had passed, they went over her parent's very, very extensive fountain pen collection that was in the thousands of pens large, Ravus insisted that about two dozen of them go directly to Selena so she could "impress" her more "financially affluent" clients she was starting to get as Sylva happily let those precious few go to Selena, then the rest were picked through by Sylva, Lunafreya who was also an avid fountain pen enthusiast as well as Ravus and Ignis who then coached Luche and Tredd of all people who showed an interest in what he called "rich people shit", just like jewels, yahts, jets, shoes and the like, which amused Sylva who humored him enough to go through what made a good fountain pen and what made different pens valuable and what the more "famous" or well known "name brands" were and what inks were best for which pens and corralating inks to the pens themselves as Luna did the same thing with Selena so that Ravus could coach Luche through the same thing too as the rest were divided evenly and "put away" so that they could become an "inheritance" for the next generation.

Meanwhile Ravus wasn’t the only one who had gone through some changes over the course of the summer and now fall, Selena too seemed to fill in quite nicely, she had gained some weight over the summer, her hips had filled out and her derriere had plumped out and her breasts had grown, filled in and rounded out and while she had gone up a few dress sizes, Ravus couldn’t be happier about the developments. Like she had transformed from lithe teen to full blown woman and he was all too happy to replace every piece of clothing in her wardrobe so that she was comfortable and could embrace her current body.

And with Selena landing what in her opinion was the dream job at Fosters as a junior designer and was currently designing all her friend’s houses as Oak Creek Estates under the supervision of a woman named Samantha Leeds, who had taken Selena under her wing and was showing her the ropes and helping get all the classes at the local college. Selena had had the hardest time understanding CAD but when she finally figured it out. She quickly excelled.

“So what’s going on?” Selena asked after they seemed to recover but were in no need to change their positions or state of partial undress.

“Something stupid in office politics.” Ravus huffed.

“Ok…” Selena urged.

“Some of the board members are getting greedy, in particular Mr. Greed, they look at how much Project Recovery is making them and they’re seeing dollar signs at the other pharma we produce.” Ravus revealed.

“But I thought your mom had a pretty good stance that when it came to life saving drugs like insulin and other medications like it- that you put a cap on all those so they’re affordable to everyone.” Selena frowned.

“She did, but the other board members see Luche and I coming onto the board and think they can get to us and pit us against mother or pit us against each other- thinking their greed is going to be contagious or something or that we’re too young to know what we’re talking about and too inexperienced to have valid opinions.” Ravus grumped before he kissed her forehead sweetly, grateful he could bare his heart and soul like this to her so freely.

“Well that’s not going to work right?” Selena said as she raised her head to fix him with a look.

"No, it's just frustrating to deal with until they retire, although I can’t imagine dealing with Roman or Ainsley is going to get any better, all I hear is ‘chip off the old block’ when Rob talks about them." Ravus shook his head.

"Is there any way we can get Mr. Greed to retire early? Get some peace before Roman and Ainsley come on board or is it not just Mr. Greed that’s giving you all the headaches?" Selena hoped.

"I wish it was just him. But it’s not. It just...comes with the territory. Besides if there was a way to make Mr. Greed and the others to retire early, I'm pretty sure my mother would have done it already. They've been thorns in her sides most of her life and they’re proving to be thorns in ours as well." Ravus mused as Selena frowned deeper.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your problem to fix, but thank you for listening.” Ravus thanked her gratefully as he held her comfortably in his arms. “And thank you for this, this was the best surprise.” He smiled appreciatively as he nuzzled her face with his.

“You’re welcome.” Selena smiled happily.

“Hey you wanna go out to dinner?” Ravus asked hopefully. “We could see if Lu and Ada wanted to join us?” He asked.

“Sure,” Selena nodded as she and Ravus worked on getting straightened up as Selena pulled her dress down a bit more so it was a bit more modest and pinned the top up to a much more modest height and by the time they got squared away and unlocked the door they saw Ada coming out of Luche’s office dressed similarly to Selena and Luche himself had the same love drunk smile Ravus was wearing.

“Hey,” Selena greeted as both Selena and Ada blushed before they looked pointedly at each other’s shoes then back up to each other before they both tried to stifle their giggles because they both knew exactly why the other was wearing those heels as they beamed knowingly at each other.

“Dinner?” Ravus asked as he self consciously smoothed his hair as Luche did the same as Luche gave Ada a questioning look and smiled when she eagerly nodded her head.

“Oh yeah.” Luche agreed before they all hopped into Ravus’ new Land Rover and drove to the restaurant that piqued their interest and hunger.

“So how’s the wedding planning going?” Ravus asked Luche while they looked at the menus.

“Good, still deciding on invitations, although we've narrowed it down to three different choices.” Luche answered.

“We did agree to use the same venue Sylva used when she got married.” Ada revealed.

“Yeah, that’s the same venue we decided on too.” Selena smiled happily.

“Do you have any ideas what dress you’d want?” Selena asked.

“Actually yeah.” Ada nodded as she scooted closer to Selena in the booth to show her the dresses she had found on Pintrist.

“Oooh, I like that one.” Selena agreed.

“It’s just going to be a challenge to find one that doesn’t drown me out. Because I’m so short and petite, but I don’t want to walk down the aisle in like 7 inch heels just to not trip over the dress.” Ada confessed as Ravus nearly lost it Luche’s grin as he had that ‘I wouldn’t mind’ kind of expression.

“Are you excited to go back to Kleinfelds?” Selena asked.

“Very much so, I’m already packed.” Ada confessed.

That weekend, the whole crew went back to Klinefelds for Ada to do her dress shopping. As Sylva made sure that Ada’s parents and Luche’s parents were in the middle couch while the boys made sure to keep Luche preoccupied while all the girls happily rallied around Ada as they all had their own ideas of what Ada should wear while Morgan got Sylva’s picks and other dresses into the room.

“Ok, this is Crowe’s pick.” Morgan said as she brought Ada out in the first dress.

“Aww,” they all awwed.

“You’re drowning in it though Love.” Ada’s mother noted as others kind of grimaced and nodded in agreement.

“So what do you love about this dress?”

“I love the bling, I love the tiered layers, it’s just a little too poofy.” Ada offered Morgan.

“Ok, so let’s try again, we’ll be right back.” Morgan offered the crew.

“Ok, so this is a mermaid, fit and flare,” Morgan announced as she brought Ada back out.

“It looks amazing, I just can’t really move because it’s so restrictive.” Ada realized as the rest of her family put in their 2 cents about it before she was back and tried even more, trying on her mom’s picks, Linda’s picks then finally getting to Sylva’s picks but Sylva made sure that Morgan didn’t tell Ada that they were her pick’s and instead urged Morgan to introduce them as her picks before sneaking one into Morgan’s hands that was brand new that had not been there when they had been there last.

Ada softly gasped when she saw it, it was perfect, it had the tiered layers but it also had lace and glitter and just a little bit of everything. It was perfect and when she put it on, she couldn’t help but cry. It was a soft, blushed ivory. It complemented her red hair and her skin tone gorgeously. She felt like a proper bride in this and she could see in her mind- so clearly- how Luche would probably cry tears of happiness if he saw her in this. This was it, this was the one.

“There’s that smile.” Morgan grinned victoriously as she looked at Ada in the mirror after she cinched the corset back closed and got it looking like Ada was born into this dress.

“This is it, even if all of them hate it, this is it.” Ada insisted.

“Well then let’s show them.” Morgan insisted.

Everyone could tell that Ada’s smile practically came from her toes, she was practically glowing with happiness as Sylva got choked up which caused Linda and Ada’s mom Amelia to start crying as all the girls started gasping and cooing before Morgan happily snagged an appropriate veil and put it on her and that’s when they were all practically sobbing.

“It’s perfect Love, absolutely perfect. It has those tiers that you love and the lace is so romantic.” Amelia cried as she squeezed her husband- Richard’s hand who was also getting choked up as they passed a box of tissues down the line.

“You look stunning Ada, really, just perfectly beautiful.” Linda praised as she had already made her peace with Ada being a daughter in law.

“And it still has enough sparkle and glitter to it, that even in low light, you’ll glitter like the jewel you are.” Sylva added.

“So, are you saying yes to the dress?” Morgan asked.

“Yes, I’m saying yes to this dress.” Ada confirmed happily before Amelia got up off the couch and hugged her daughter tightly before her dad hugged her tightly too along with her brother who had also been flown in for the event with his fiance.

A week later, Hazel and Sylva returned to Klinefelds as Sylva had flown out Hazel’s sister Mei and her mother Huan and her dad Tommy along with Titus' mother Helen and Titus’ sister Jenny in for the appointment. Helen and the rest of her family had been all too happy to welcome Hazel into the fold. Once Titus was thirty and then almost 40, Helen gave up on the idea that Titus would ever get married and settle down, especially when the rest of her children were giving her grandchildren at this point but it seemed she was too hasty when Titus finally met Hazel and seemed to get with the program and settle down “properly”.

Meanwhile Huan and Tommy were also over the moon that Hazel was finally settling down and even though Billy wasn’t wild about the age difference at first, the more he and Titus got to know each other, the better they got along, Tommy was happy that Titus made Hazel happy in addition to Titus’ character and stability and profession and Huan was so happy to learn that Titus was a good man, who had a house and was planning on building another with Hazel and when Titus and Hazel adopted Brutus who was Kona, Kahlua and Sasha’s sibling, while Tredd and Stella adopted Brutus’ brother King. To Huan- a grand-dog was close enough to a grandchild, for now. While she was always proud of Hazel for earning her own way though the world and earning enough to take care of them in their retirement, she had been on Hazel since she was in her twenties to have someone take care of her. And it seems Titus had finally come along and to do just that.

“So what are you looking for?” Meredith asked Hazel after everyone had been introduced.

“I’m looking for a very simple, not too many embellishments, comfortable, light weight wedding dress. Titus and I are getting married at the beach next May, right after school lets out, because he is highschool football coach. It’s going to be a very small, intimate wedding with just family and really close friends.” Hazel answered.

“Aww, that’s awesome, is there a price point we’re comfortable with?”

“Ten thousand.” Hazel answered.

“Ooh, more than enough to work with, well let’s go.” Meredith urged as she brought Hazel back into a dressing room to get changed before she went hunting for the perfect dress.

“Simple, light, comfortable.” Meredith echoed over and over again as she combed through the back room, her almost encyclopedic knowledge of the backroom to her aid as she went through all the dresses before she found several that would fit those criteria.

Charlotte came into the bridal shop, a giddy grin on her face as she came and “snuck up” on her family as Sylva turned her head and smiled at the newcomer.

“Surprise!” Charlotte announced to her family.

“Charlie?!” Tommy smiled happily as he got up and gathered up his daughter into his large arms. She may have been a wanted criminal and fugitive, but he was always happy to see her and to him, she would always be his "little Charlie".

“I thought you were overseas?” Tommy asked.

“And miss this? Nah, it’s Hazel’s first big day before the big big day, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Charlotte happily murmured into her dad’s chest before Tommy put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and introduced her to Titus’ family who were completely oblivious as to Charlotte’s true identity as Charlotte sat next to Sylva.

“It’s nice to see you again. Different kind of exciting this time,” Sylva offered with a mischievous grin that Charlotte mirrored.

“I take it you didn’t get any kind of trouble from the last time we were in each other’s company.” Charlotte offered.

“Nope, not a peep, thank you.” Sylva reassured her.

“You’re welcome, this was wonderful, thanks for letting me know, when you get to know their wedding arrangements, forward them to this number, I doubt the groom would be comfortable with Gil and I coming but I want to send them a proper wedding gift that won't be on any kind of gift registry, at least domestically.” Charlotte nodded as she handed Sylva a slip of paper written in Mandarin as Sylva read it quickly, nodded and put it into her billfold just as Hazel came out in her first dress and stopped when she saw Charlotte.

“Charlie?” Hazel gasped in excitement as she saw her sister.

“Hey you, don’t you look beautiful.” Charlie greeted as she set her large, heavy purse on the seat and came over and embraced her sister.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.” Hazel admitted as she hugged her sister tight.

“Sylva invited me, hope you don’t mind.” Charlotte explained.

“Nope, not at all.” Hazel readily assured her sister.

“Is Gil here too?” Hazel asked.

“He’s doing business, as usual, plus I don’t think Dad would be cool and I know your fiance wouldn't be cool if Gil and I showed up to the wedding itself, so this is the best I can do and this is exposed enough without making things difficult or uncomfortable or "unsafe".” Charlotte excused.

“I get it, I'm still really happy to see you and that you're here. It means a lot, especially to Mom and Dad, and of course me as well.” Hazel nodded as Charlotte nodded in unison.

“So is this your dress?” Charlotte asked, changing the subject.

“This is just the first one, you came just in time.” Hazel answered.

“Well then let’s get to it.” Charlotte insisted as she returned to her seat.

“So this is dress number one. What do we think?” Meredith asked.

“It’s nice, I’m not in love with it, but it’s nice.” Hazel answered honestly.

“It makes you look like you’re wearing a tent.” Huan criticized as Helen and Jenny nearly choked on their spit and looked at Huan in alarm as Charlotte akept her snickering quiet enough to pass it off as a cough as Mei just rolled her eyes and complained to her mom in Mandarin that she was being too harsh.

“You don’t look like you’re wearing a tent, but the cut isn’t quite right. You need a more flattering shape to the fabric.” Charlotte offered.

“Agreed.” Sylva nodded.

“Well, that’s what first dresses are all about, finding what elements can work and what elements won’t.” Meredith explained before they tried on a few different picks as Charlotte looked around as did Sylva at the other dresses on display at the other dresses in the store.

“That one,” Charlotte and Sylva said at the same time once they both locked eyes on it and pointed to it.

“Well go get it then, bring it to her, it will mean more to her if you do.” Sylva encouraged before Charlotte got up and strutted across the floor to get the dress in question before she asked to see which room her sister was in before she came to the appropriate dressing room, a security guard shadowing her.

“Try this one.” Charlotte suggested as she handed the dress over to her sister as Hazel gasped softly when she saw it before Charlotte saw her way out and went back to the group and waived the security guard back a little farther so his presence was not felt by everyone else.

“And?” Sylva prodded.

“She had the gasp and the smile.” Charlotte answered as she checked her phone.

“Please let this be the one, I’m running out of time.” Charlotte whispered as she looked at the time on her phone and read the messages her henchmen were sending her as they stood guard a short distance away as her driver himself was scanning the police channels as Gil’s other men were monitoring the area.

Hazel came out a short time later, wearing a smile that shamed the sun, moon and stars as everyone else gasped and oohed and awed.

“Now that’s the dress, you look exquisite Hazel.” Huan finally complimented as Charlotte and Sylva gave each other a meaningful smile as Hazel nearly burst into tears as Jenny and Helen were already crying too.

“It’s perfect, but still incomplete.” Hazel began as she stood up and pulled a special box from her bag and took out a set of jade jewelry and put it on Hazel as Huan and Mei cooed and practically giggled as they put it on her as Charlotte gave Hazel a special sachet as well before Charlotte’s phone chimed.

“Do you have to go?” Hazel asked as Charlotte’s eyes watered as she tried to put on a brave, happy smile but nodded yes.

“Thank you for coming and for all of this. Thank you for being my sister. I love you so much.” Hazel thanked her as the two hugged before Charlotte got to hug every member of her family as Sylva got to get a quick picture of them all together, both with Charlotte’s phone as well as other members of her family so that each one would have a picture of this moment to treasure forever before the Henchmen came over and cleared their throats to get Charlotte’s attention as Charlotte hugged her parents, specifically her dad one last time.

“I have to go, I love you.” Charlotte bid her family before she used her handkerchief to dry her eyes and left with the henchmen as her driver was already anxiously out front, waiting to take his Empress back to a safer, less ‘exposed’ space.

“How come she couldn’t stay?” Helen asked.

“She’s a very busy woman. She lives half a world away and she probably had to fly back pretty soon, and security at the airports is a nightmare.” Sylva delicately excused as she waived it off.

“But now that we found the dress and the veil and obviously the jewelry. Let’s get settled up and get dinner shall we?” Sylva encouraged with a bright happy smile.

When Sylva came back home from flying and taking care of all the other guests, she came home to see all of her kids and their fiances and their friends as they had made a really nice dinner for everyone as Pelna and Yasmine, Gladio and Pashmina, Prompto and Cindy, Luche and Ada, Libertus and Crowe and Craig and Iris were on their way as well as Luche’s family and Ada’s family.

“Hey! So how did it go?” Luna asked as she gave her mom a big hug.

“Good, Charlotte came and surprised Hazel and the family.” Sylva revealed which caused everyone to freeze and look at each other worriedly.

“Charlotte Stevens?” Luna asked, taken aback by the news.

“Oh don’t look so surprised, when Charlotte and Gil used the jet they left a single phone number for the pilot to give to me and said I get to use it once. And I knew Charlotte wouldn’t want to miss the milestone in Hazel’s life because Charlotte knows she probably won't be welcome at the wedding since Cor is one of Titus' groomsmen, so I used it and told Charlotte the plan and she was very grateful for the invitation since no one else in her family knew how to get a hold of her to tell her. Besides, Titus’ family was blissfully ignorant of who she really was and Hazel’s family got to have a nice little reunion within the realitive safety confine of a public space and Charlotte got to see Hazel in her wedding dress as a good sister should. It was fine, I mean she had to be carrying four guns on her and who knows how many knives on her person, she had to have two guns in her outfit and at least another two in her purse and her four henchmen were armed to the teeth as well and she could only stay for about an hour but Hazel found the dress and everyone gave it their stamp of approval and Charlotte gifted Hazel some really pretty jade jewelry which is customary for a Chinese bride to receive which honored that part of her heritage and traditions, which was really nice, it was a lovely time.” Sylva waived off as she got the picture and showed everyone the family picture she took.

“She has got to have the biggest balls in the world.” Tredd noted, impressed when he saw the picture.

“She’s got you beat, that’s for sure.” Stella teased.

“She’s got everyone beat.” Sylva laughed.

“So is this everyone or are more coming?” Sylva asked.

“More are coming.” Luna reported.

“How many more?” Sylva asked before her doorbell rang and slowly then all at once, everyone came as everyone started pulling all the components at the table, setting it up for a large extended friends and family meal before Luche and Ada came in last, both of them having anxious smiles on their faces.

“Is everything ok?” Sylva asked Luche as she tried to keep her knowing smile to a minimum.

“Yeah, yeah, everythings great.” Luche reassured her.

“You sure?” Sylva asked as she looked from Luche to Ada who had the same anxious smile on her face.

“Ok, so we have some news and we wanted everyone to be around to make the announcement and we don’t exactly know how it’s going to be received.” Luche hinted.

“If it’s what I think it is, I will do my best to lead the way in accepting the announcement with all the happiness and joy that such an announcement garners. But I also want to be the first to offer my congratulations.” Sylva reassured them both.

“Thank you.” Luche and Ada breathed in relief.

“Come on, dinner is getting cold.” Sylva encouraged them before they all came into the kitchen where everyone was getting something to drink with their dinner.

“So Luche and I chose wedding invitations!” Ada happily announced as she handed every couple an invitation as well as one to her parents and one to Luche’s parents as well.

“Wait, I thought we agreed on May 18th, this is in December..only three months, it’s the weekend before Nyx and Luna’s wedding?” Linda pointed out.

“Well that brings us to announcement number two. We’re pregnant, or rather Ada is.” Luche announced as there was just a hint of nervousness to his excitement as Sylva was the first to squeal, almost an excited scream in delight, only half a second before Crowe did which got everyone else to cheer joyfully as Sylva came over and hugged them both and offered her first “official” congratulations which got Linda and Ada’s mother Amelia and Linda to get over their initial shock and plaster on happy smiles and congratulate them before Ada was swarmed by the girls with hugs and congrats as the first ultrasound pictures were passed around that she had gotten the day before.

“So how far along are you?” Sylva asked.

“Ten weeks.” Ada announced as Tredd, Nyx and Ravus shared a rather knowing smile, but no money was passed between the three because Tredd and Ravus had “seen it” when Sylva had as well. Crowe especially was super happy because she wasn’t the only one pregnant anymore as her own little baby bump had seemed to pop out since her own wedding.

“Baby bump!” Crowe happily cheered as she gently bumped her little baby bump into Ada’s belly which got Ada to giggle as the two hugged tightly and couldn’t stop laughing.

“Congratulations man!” Libertus congratulated Luche as he hugged him super tightly.

“Thanks.” Luche laughed into the hug before he got more congratulations from everyone else as even Tredd was, for once, gracious.

“So what are you hoping for?” Tredd asked.

“A healthy baby and a non complicated delivery.” Luche answered honestly.

“Good. Ok, everyone listen up! Taking bets on due dates and gender, where’s a white board?” Tredd suddenly turned, raising his voice to shout over everyone as he received a mixture of laughter and groans from some of the adults as Sylva laughed the hardest as Tredd took the whiteboard off the fridge and the little marker and erased all the important reminders after taking a pic of what was on it so none of it would be lost.

“Ok so that technically puts Crowe five months ahead of Ada so if gestation is 40 weeks, that’s basically ten months and Ada is already ten of those 38-40 weeks in- that puts us at...holy shit you’re due on your original wedding date- May 18th. OK, So, taking bets on three day spreads May 18th, 19th and 20th? Any takers?” Tredd continued undeterred.

“You asshole, I announce my fiance is pregnant and you immediately turn it into a bet?” Luche laughed, not surprised by his friend’s behavior, but was hoping he would have at least five minutes before Tredd turned into “The Lovable Douche Asshole”, the lovable part was questionable though most of the time.

“May 12th through the 15th, and a boy and the winner gets bragging rights but all the money and proceeds go to Luche and Ada.” Sylva said as she fished several hundred dollar bills out of her wallet and handed them to Ada before discretely handing Tredd another one too.

“Sweet, first better, Sylva Caelum, May 12th through the 15th and a boy.” Tredd repeated as he wrote that down and put a note in his phone.

“Oh what the hell. Twenty quid on the 16th-19th and I want a granddaughter so I’m betting on a girl.” Amelia offered as she handed Luche and Ada the money with a laugh of her own.

“May 9th-12th, a boy.” Ignis said as he handed Luche a few hundred dollars as well.

“May 19 through the 21st and a boy as well.” Luna giggled as she handed the couple a few hundred dollars too.

“May 14th through the 17th, boy as well.” Ravus added as he gave Luche most of the money in his wallet.

“Amelia it looks like if it is a girl, you’re getting amazing odds, five to one, that’s pretty awesome.” Tredd grinned at Amelia.

“Oh hell, I say May 21st through the 24th, also a girl.” Linda added as she gave Luche and Ada some money too as soon Luche and Ada were holding wads of cash and laughing as their friends were giving them money as Tredd was taking “bets” from everyone as everyone joined in on this impromptu gamble.

“Ok, so this isn’t so bad.” Ada had to confess to Luche as they tried to organize their “winnings” into a “gift bag” that Sylva had on hand before they all sat down to eat dinner as Luche nodded his agreement to that. That had gone way better than he was fearing as Selena, Stella and Luna all looked at their fiances with thinly veiled suspicion as they were looking at each other knowingly as they also noticed that Sylva also seemed particularly smug as they all happily enjoyed a very nice friends and family dinner as they discussed baby shower ideas as well as when to plan all the bridal showers and such and made a new, accelerated timeline.

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shiverfm · 3 years

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༻✦༺ TASK 000: THE SILHOUETTE;

— describe your muse’s voice.

he goes to speak and realizes he needs to clear his voice when it comes out more like a croak then his usual tenor. it’s actually been awhile since he’s spoken, and sometimes he feels like in place of his voice, he’d rather you listen to this song, instead, because it explains what he’s thinking and feeling better then he could ever articulate.

— describe your muse’s fashion sense.

black boots that give him that little bit more height that he wishes he had, jeans that he ripped to all hell just because he could, and a tshirt put together with holes and safety pins and fabric paint. not something you could ever find anywhere else- and it’s because hangyeol did it with his own two hands.

it’s thrift store finds and him spending hours spread out on the floor of his room with piles of clothes and supplies around him as he paints and rips and tears and makes things to his liking. he thinks it’s better that way. there is that one jacket that he’s been wearing since he graduated from high school, black leather with a painting of his own design on the back- it’s a butterfly, shaped together with oranges and purples and that color the sky turns before it leads into stars.

— give a quote of something your muse has said before.

“do you.. wanna come on a drive with me? don’t really have a place in mind, i just want to.. drive. how about it? i won't let you play music, though. already got a playlist ready.. fine. fine. on the way home, alright?”

— if your muse were to achieve status as a local myth/legend, what would they be known for?

those mysterious paintings showing up on the back wall of the park radio station are probably a lot closer to home than a lot of people assume them to be. they almost have as much creativity as the current owner and son of the park family does, a blank canvas showing up every couple of weeks like they’re limited time only, cleared just for a fresh place to put some of those ideas down somewhere tangible.

maybe there’s some beauty in the way that the spray paint drips down, how the fresh coat of paint to cover it over every time just leaves behind layers and layers of stories to be told. he can only hope that it leaves a legacy that people will remember, even if they can’t ever find their way back to the brick that originally laid there, untouched.

— what fable, mythic, or fairy tale character would your muse best play the role of?

he scrunches his nose, ruffling a hand through his hair. “somebody called me peter pan the other day. probably because my hair is orange, which i’m.. not sure is good enough to say if i could play the role, but,” hangyeol’s picking at a stray string from his jeans, pulling it from the threads idly with chipped nail polish on his forefinger and thumb. “maybe if peter pan was made to grow up, and he couldn’t be in neverland anymore, maybe if he had to come back and make some sort of place for himself in the real world.. maybe then, that would fit better.”

— describe your muse’s favorite memory.

sitting on the pier with ice cream in one hand, the other reclining back, watching the last of the sun’s rays sink below the horizon. even if the ice cream is melting, running down his hand and making it sticky, the sweet taste is still lingering on his tongue. it's just like the waning heat of the day being coaxed into a cool, ocean breeze, the ice cream tries to cool him down, get rid of all of the warmth he had been building up from running around all day underneath the sun. his feet, dangling underneath the railing that he’s then leaning forward on, watching the waves crash and swell beneath him, giant and blue and stretching on and on further then he can see.

— describe your muse’s last dream.

something hazy. something he can’t quite remember, but it felt warm, and when he woke up, he had to blink his eyes a few times to remind himself that he’s awake now, and that wasn’t a memory, it was a dream, and now he’s blinking his eyes open, and there's that feeling of the cotton of his sheets around him, that cool side of his pillow. this is all reality.

— name a song that would play during the opening of a movie about your muse’s life.

he.. can’t possibly pick just one. it’s impossible. it’s more like he’d choose the music for the entire movie, or even make it himself, wanting to get the beat just right so that it felt just like him.

— name a plant or animal your muse would have if money/restrictions weren’t a concern.

“sometimes i see chipmunks running around in the trees outside and i think.. wouldn’t they make a great pet? imagine him just sitting on my shoulder,” he’s throwing his head back with a laugh, hand going out to shake back and forth. “i’m not going to actually adopt a chipmunk! but i do think they’re cute.”

— favorite pastime?

hangyeol’s leaning against a palm crooked up by his elbow, fingers tapping against the wooden table. he’s got headphones on, playing loud enough that it drowns everything out, and he’s humming under his breath, scrawling with his favorite pen out on a clean, blank page of his journal. it’s a few minutes before the words will lead into doodles, and a several more before he’ll rest his head down on the crook of his arm and doze off, but it’s only because he’s content doing what he loves.

— going out or staying in?

depends on the day. sometimes when his mind has got about a million thoughts, all he wants to do is feel the wind in his hair for awhile. on other days, he’s got this creative kick he wants to take advantage of, will stay in for hours recording and listening back and revising and getting ink all over his hands.

— read the book or watch the movie?

watch the movie. actually watch several movies in a row, popcorn and all. there’s nothing better then a movie marathon, one where he can sink into the plots of movies and zone out for a couple of hours.

— talk during a movie or absolutely not?

if the movie’s been seen before by everyone present, absolutely. if it’s new, maybe a few comments here and there when it feels right, but otherwise.. silence. he’s a little too into the movie to ever register a conversation anyways, might hum along but not really hear the words being said in the first place.

— sing to a song, hum along, or people should just stay quiet and enjoy listening to the song?

“you just have to.. feel a song, sometimes. whenever i’m choosing anything for the radio, i try to mix all kinds of types in. ones you want to turn the dial up on, scream the lyrics on the top of your lungs with your friends while driving down the road. songs you want to curl up with and just feel the way that it settles in your chest, the lyrics, the melody. ones you hum under your breath, because they’re so pretty and you can’t help but want to imitate it. there’s really.. no one right way to listen to music. it’s really all your own.”

— windows up while you’re driving or roll them down?

“down. all the way down, so the wind can blow through the entire car, make your hair scatter everywhere and you feel like all you can do is breathe it in.”

— a wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true colors. no, literally. the wisp of an aura is beginning to form around your muse. what color is it?

he puts his hands out, covered in rings and nail polish and leading up to his meandering doodles of tattoos, and sees the way that it shifts into blue. a vibrant blue, almost like the blue when the sun shines down on the ocean, and it’s translucent and shining and so bright you have to squint your eyes.

— a wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true nature. Smoke curls around your muse, accompanied by distant sounds of wildlife. when the smoke clears, what animal is standing in your muse’s place?

the smoke clears and it’s. a tiny little chipmunk, chattering and scattering about, trying to figure out why everything is so much taller now. wait.. this is a joke, right?

— a wizard (is this still the same wizard?) casts a spell on your muse that allows them to see what they most desire right here, right now, right in front of them. what do they see?

there’s no way to describe the look on hangyeol’s face as he sees his father. standing in front of him, smiling. maybe this really is a joke, because he’s not sure that he’s ever seen it before in his life. has his father ever smiled in any of his memories? he doesn’t think so. must be a great wizard, to show him something that he’s never seen before.

— a wizard (why haven’t they given up yet?) casts a spell on your muse that forces them to see what they are most afraid of. what do they see?

there’s a sign on the door of the park radio station that hangyeol doesn’t even want to step forward and read. he knows that if he walked up any closer, he couldn’t get inside, and it’s enough of a heavy feeling in his chest to make him turn and start walking away. always running, isn’t he? maybe this wizard is a little too good at their magic. it’s another thing hangyeol has never seen before- and never wants to.

#str:task000 #NIGHT DRIVE MELODIES; DANCING * tasks

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red-hood-vigilante · 4 years

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more hbo spn rambles, thoughts, drabbles etc. long long post.

part 1 here

there’s some things i’ve omitted here bc others have already posted about those things, certain headcanons and characterizations and stuff. those posts are in my likes somewhere (and i’ll reblog them someday), and there’s some posts i’ve read but not liked, which i now can only vaguely remember, which is why some ideas/thoughts are similar

ALSO most of these follow the model i talked about in part one: how s1-5 will stay more or less how they are but s6-10 is changed (some things are cut out entirely, some things are tweaked and some characters + arcs are more fleshed out. more focus on sam’s trauma and post-cage adaptation to the real world as well as dean letting his rage and control issues consume him and how he’d recover and redeem himself)

as i typed these paragraphs, i realized i really have 10 seasons mapped out and ready to go. hbo hire me!!

alright go:

sam and dean get wearier as the show progresses (second half), and eventually they stop putting so much care and thought in the people they save. like...hm how do i say this, like as long as a victim/victims are saved, they don’t care about how that happens or how those people suffer potential consequences, like if the victims lose a limb or have their homes burned down because of the monster, then sam and dean don’t really care. they saved your life, now they’ll leave you with your life in potential shambles and not care because all that matters is that they saved your life, not how it is afterwards. they still care about saving that one person, but eventually it pales a little in comparison to a war between heaven and hell, being the vessels etc. ---> saving people becomes less about making sure they’re actually alright and healing from horrific events and more about just making sure they have a pulse before they move on

when angels lose their wings they are either burned off in the actual fall or ripped off of them in their vessels, which leaves pretty nasty scars on the vessel

ed and harry are so young and bright eyed about the whole hunting thing; sam and dean as kids, idolizing it, finding it exciting and intriguing when they shouldn’t. sam and dean try to get them out of the business before they too are too traumatized and desensitized to do anything but hunt. neither sam or dean will say it but they are jealous of ed and harry and their freedom to leave, and hate them for choosing this voluntarily instead of being dragged into it by tragedy

hbo spn is a slow burn. there’s a lot more shots of sam and dean in silence just sitting together after a hunt, exhausted and too tired to move yet. they’re covered in blood and guts on the side of the road after killing or covered with dirt in a graveyard after burning bones, sitting next to the fire, just watching it. the times they park the car and watch the stars? we get to see it.

dean wears rings and the amulet all the time in the beginning, for the first five seasons. the rings vary; first they’re some of john’s old ones and stuff he finds in thrift stores. then later on he begins wearing rings from people they’ve saved/haven’t saved as a keepsakes etc. when he begins his descent to the holy murderer in s6-10 he wears less and less rings. they don’t matter anymore -> symbolically shedding who he was and what mattered to him

the only accessories sam has is a rosary/cross around his neck. he has jess’ engagement ring in his pocket/wallet. after the cage he vaguely remembers why the ring was there and who jessica was (more on this further down)

the four horsemen are manifestations of different aspects of human nature at its most grotesque and strongest, can’t be killed as long as humans live. war is conflict, famine is desire, pestilence is physical and mental illnesses.

(the seven sins are like the horsemen, tulpas of human nature instead of demons)

death isn’t a concentration of an existing aspect of humans as much as it is the end of life, the antithesis of life. death the oldest of the horsemen and has existed since the beginning of any life, organism, cell and atom. the opposite of life and light, the other half of god (as i’m typing this i’m confused as to why amara was the opposite of god instead of death). death isn’t evil or good, remains 100% objective. doesn’t care for sam or dean at all, but has a begrudging respect for their stubbornness and entertainment they provide due to their flat out refusal to do as they’re told by celestial bodies when anyone else would crumble

by including death i feel like it very naturally begs questions of who decides when someone dies, when someone lives, why would death follow these guides instead of reaping whomever whenever, what happens if a life isn’t reaped at the right time etc. the reader in me adore the idea of death having a library with books and records of everyone who has ever lived and died and how they died - but then, who writes these books and why? do they decide, and if in that case, how? these questions are above my paygrade but you know what i mean? like there has to be some sort of system right, god created everything, death executes to maintain order, some third party deity writes the laws and the books. the three branches of government. ok but it’s hbo so again, i think we shouldn’t dive this deep into things, like as much as these topics intrigue me i don’t want to stray too much from the dirt road trip aesthetic

shapeshifters are extremely rare because they don’t require any kind of human blood or organs/sacrifice to live

i want more exploration of how magic is like science, like it just needs the right ingredients and right conditions. sam thinks of magic as an obscure branch of science; it just requires research and knowledge and clear intentions because science can be controlled and do a lot of good when used responsibly. dean doesn’t like it. he doesn’t trust the unpredictable elements and he’s seen enough to know it never goes well. magic is a force that can’t be controlled by anyone.

sam and dean have full on fist fights regularly. to practice and keeping each other sharp, but also because they’re siblings. they’re feral, insane and unhinged with each other and they get on each other’s nerves A LOT. it’s petty and childish and sometimes it can get a lil ugly but it becomes their way of family therapy. after a fight the next scene cuts to sam and dean with ruffled clothes, nosebleeds and swollen lips at a diner eating silently after beating each other up. either they sit in silence because they’re tired or both are harping on the other’s openings and weaknesses

sometimes they’ll fight a little dirty but they do so in different ways; dean will pull the old ‘look!’ and point to something and then tackle sam when he turns to look while sam will just cry out in fake pain which makes dean stop dead in his tracks before sam headbutts him or kicks him in the groin

we, the audience get used to these fights, they’re sometimes funny and for comic relief, sometimes for narrative purposes (like tricking a monster they’re fighting each other when they’re really not) BUT. then comes the times when sam and dean are actually fighting without holding back and we see how much they are capable of hurting each other or how heartbreaking and difficult it can be to watch when of them are incapable of fighting back/doesn’t defend himself -> swan song when dean doesn’t fight back against possessed sam, or when dean beats soulless sam unconscious

sam and dean also just verbally bully each other constantly but they do have their odd ways of expressing affection and care. they get the other person their fave snack whenever they go grocery shopping without being asked to and are the only other one they truly trust to have their back in hunts. have a cup of coffee ready before the other asks for one. brothers and each other’s best friend. nightmare duo but in a sweet way. the cooperation of ‘the usual suspects’ when they’re in different interrogation rooms but still has the cover story down to a t. code words and code names and cover stories, they know it all

when sam and dean fight together against a common enemy they’re a damn nightmare - because they know each others weaknesses and habits, they cover each other perfectly and in complete silence. they’ve been at it together since they were kids and read each other’s nonverbal cues like a picture book

to build off of what i said in part 1; the winchesters are pretty hated in the hunter’s community. even the people sam and dean frequently work with (bobby, ellen, jo, ash, rufus, bela, kevin, charlie, castiel etc) roasts them all the time and don’t hesitate with calling them out on their self-pitying crap when it get’s too much (spn was just objectively better when characters weren’t afraid of dragging sam and dean through the mud for being selfish and stupid) and this WILL persist in hbo spn. the only reason people continue working with sam and dean is because they know deep down a lot of the things that happens aren’t sam and dean’s fault - but they still blame them for it. doesn’t make it easier how sam or dean sometimes start crap on purpose to save the other

the winchesters are terrifying and people for sure tell stories about them, but not like ‘they’re heroes’, more like ‘they’re insane and dangerous. stay the fuck away from them’. some stories are true, like how they’ve worked with demons, but some are just game of telephone. (dean has apparently a ghost he is frequently possessed by while sam is actually a mutant vampire). hunters hate and are scared of the winchesters. sam and dean are never invited to hunter stuff (burials, memorials etc) but crash them nonetheless even though the hunters do NOT want them there.

you know what drives me insane when i think about it? how some characters in spn already are their hbo spn counterparts; john. mary. adam. maybe kevin?

other things that already are their hbo spn counterparts: dean throwing away the amulet right in front of sam. eyes burning when angels are seen. how ghosts are just tragedies, stuck in a loop they can’t leave. how a lot of the monsters they meet are just victims or their circumstances or the first victim of a curse. the impala being sam and dean’s home. dean not knowing how to comfort sam when he’s upset other than trying to do things for sam that usually brings dean comfort (driving the impala, listening to rock music etc). the roadhouse. heaven being an eternal version of the memories that made you the happiest even though it’s not real. sam wanting independence and freedom but never fully having it. dean fearing being alone more than anything else and that’s where he always ends up. sam has an eating disorder after the demon blood and dean has an alcohol problem he refuses to see as a problem. dean saying “i’d do it again” without an ounce of regret and pouring himself a drink when sam tells him it was fucked up to lie to him about gadreel

the demon/angel hybrid: THIS could be sooo interesting to explore. an angel and demon hybrid are you kidding me?? not to toot my own horn too much but i’m so clever. i should write this story myself. SO. does this creature have parents who fucked in their vessels or was this an experiment by god (yes i love the ‘mad scientist’ idea, that really should’ve been played up way more) or did a pre-existing creature (human or otherwise) drink demon blood and angel grace at the same time so that it created itself? so much potential for some really intriguing storytelling and character exploration - not only the creature itself and what they would be like, but also for the people around; sam, dean, castiel, jack etc. how would they react to this thing that is the very definition of defying heaven and hell and all the natural laws? does it exist before the show starts or will we see its birth?

the powers of the demon/angel hybrid would be tricky; a mix of holy and defiant, grotesque and beautiful. unconsciously forces people to tell the truth when talking to them. poisons whatever they touch. eyes of a demon, wings of an angel. can smite but skin will burn when touching iron. can do deals but will require a sacrifice in return, not a soul, usually a body part taken then and there (the hybrid eats it. it favours eyeballs and the liver - angels like raw meat). lights always flicker. makes things explode when angry (esp people and cars). can manipulate feelings, thoughts and memories. can travel to both heaven and hell, not welcome in either places. + standard stuff like telekinesis, teleportation, mind reading, super strength etc.

sam and dean’s wardrobe are pretty much the same; whatever’s cheap and not covered in blood. however, they do have stylistic differences. sam thinks graphic tees are funny, dean uses whatever’s black combined with john’s leather jacket. their wardrobe melds as they stop thinking of themselves as individuals and more of “me and my brother,”. their clothes are tattered and torn to shreds all the time. hand me downs, hand me ups. when they stray off their “path” and do things that are the crux of a storyline/character arc, this would reflect in their clothes. when sam is with ruby and becomes more and more “evil” he wears more and more red, a colour he has stated in the past he doesn’t really like. when dean is dead, sam starts to wear his rings and john’s and dean’s leather jacket. when dean decides he’s going to say yes to michael he dresses in white, when sam is dead dean takes off every piece of jewelry except the amulet. he holds it clenched in his fists when he’s whispering what comes close to a prayer

logically the amulet should have a backstory but you know what? i love that it’s hinted to be just a piece of cheap jewelry sam found in a thrift store he decided to give to dean. but narratively it should be explained so... idk. what could be logical solution as to why it would react to GOD himself? maybe god wore it once cuz he thought it was neat but he sold it for three dollars because he wanted coffee and then sam found it a week later

i would prefer it if god didn’t show up at all (absent father number one) but if he DID he’s not all powerful just a true neutral (like death, 100% objective) who created a thing that just took a life of its own, much like a parent and a child - the parent helps the child but can’t control it. the times he did intervene or tried to do something it didn’t really have any real long lasting effect so he gave up on trying a while ago.

@spneveryseason talked about this, how the storyline of sam being possessed by gadreel would be horrifying if we saw everything from sam’s perspective instead of dean’s (her fic is wonderful). in the ‘dean slowly descends into a righteous murderer to become holy’ idea i have this tracks so damn well because again, if dean believes something is right, it is right, no questions about it. everyone around him is like “that’s really fucked up and you should make amends” but dean doesn’t see any reasons for why - sam is alive isn’t he? and seeing it from sam’s pov would really underline how horrifying, dehumanizing and belittling that experience was

john and mary are adam and eve. sam and dean are cain and abel are michael and lucifer. time is a flat circle. history never stops repeating itself.

sam is the villain of s4. he is manipulated and key information is withheld from him but in the end... would it made a difference? it crossed his mind, that he could be tricked because ruby is a demon after all, but maybe he likes the power, the feeling of freedom, that he wasn’t just the baby, the one who always needs permission to do things. if he has to drain possessed people to get that power... so be it. and it’s for a good purpose, until it isn’t. he’s hungry for more, to be feared and respected. he’s enticed by lucifer’s sweet words, the potential of all that power and the idea of ruling two out of three realms. dean manages to pull him back from the brink because sam decides he doesn’t want to be what john thought he was and fail dean and himself like that.

dean is the villain in s9. he is controlling, the mark of cain without the mark. what he says goes - it’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. he doesn’t see how much pain, doubt and fear he causes the people around him. if some victims or civilians die on his watch that doesn’t matter - just some collateral damage. sam can’t make dean listen to him because dean is the older one, the one who’s always called the shots. dean is the angelic one, heaven’s chosen warrior, he is untouchable and unkillable. he’s is an excellent killer, filling the void with blood and rage which is better than the crippling fear of loneliness carved into his bones. 'i butcher for love, to protect,’ he tells himself. ‘why shouldn’t i exterminate, regardless of the cost? i’ve followed the rules, i’ve always sacrificed. now i call the shots. it’s my right.’

sam’s hell trauma is never magically removed. he’s stuck with the memories and the nightmares and the occasional hallucinations. castiel can’t do anything but offers to wipe his memory completely, but sam says no, he is still doing penance.

after dean comes back from hell he starts calling himself old man and jokes a lot about he’s 40 years older now (after he’s more comfortable about speaking about hell)

when sam comes back he feels ancient (he’s over 900 years old at least but he lost count), weary, tired and so so so out of place in this world. he’s forgotten how to put gas in a car, how to drive, how to use a credit card, all the song lyrics he and dean used to yell together, the faces of people he knew before he fell, the softness of a bed, the schools he went to, most of the hunts he and dean, how john died, who mary is, the initials carved into the impala, the taste of food that isn’t raw meat. it’s so much he’s forgotten that he has to relearn. he prefers figuring things out with castiel instead of dean because castiel doesn’t silently resent him for everything he’s forgotten

sam doesn’t laugh anymore. despite dean’s many and castiel’s few awkward attempts, it’s more like quick smile and a quiet “hmm”. on some days he recoils when he sees blood and guts, on other days he’s so apathetic it’s unnerving

sam sympathizes with the brought back mary and castiel more than ever. dean tries to get sam to remember things he’s forgotten from his childhood but sam can’t connect with it anymore. he stopped being that sam a long time ago. dean doesn’t know what else to do than try to force this connection to be revitalized and he fails. sam isn’t that person anymore and this wedge in their relationship becomes a central factor in dean’s s6-10 desperation and isolation. sam is here and safe but it’s not really sam, not the sam dean grew up with

while sam has forgotten how to make coffee, he now knows everything about angels, effective torture tricks, a bunch of lore + biblical history, how to navigate hell, the most powerful and influential demons, rare and powerful spells as well as perfect enochian (he will speak enochian without realizing and it feels more natural than english). lucifer and michael were surprisingly talkative (raging about the unfairness) when taking their anger and hatred out on sam and adam and each other. sam had access to all of lucifer’s memories and knowledge for the time he was the one in control. walking library and encyclopedia of biblical lore.

he still has some muscle memory from hunting and sparring, but sam is ghostly thin and very rusty. even though he’s an expert on lore, he’s not fit to go on hunts anymore and he knows it.

sam remembers adam and swears he’ll try to get him out, but he can’t. just thinking about the cage makes him vomit. he can’t talk about it, much less go near it. after a while sam thinks it might be better to let adam stay down there than let him come back up and feel this crushing emptiness and loss of direction

sam’s trials take place in s9 instead of 8; coinciding with dean’s villain arc. for sam the trials are a chance to redeem himself again, this time for good by closing hellgates forever. they’re scrubbing him clean of the demon blood and his sins and they give him a sense of purpose again now that he can’t join hunts anymore. it doesn’t matter if he dies because of it. it would be nice with a permanent and peaceful death that did something good. dean is taken aback by sam’s devotion to repent for something that happened years ago and for something sam has already paid for a thousand times over. dean realizes how messed up he himself has become and how he’s helped put sam here, on the cusp of self sacrifice again because of sickening guilt and self hatred. dean begs sam to not complete the trials at the cost of his own life and swears he’ll better himself, be a friend and a brother, not a jailer, dictator or a murderer. ‘if you won’t give yourself or life another chance, please give me one.’ ---> s10 pacifist dean learning to let go of the control, the violent tendencies and the rage

oh wait what if gadreel still possessed sam after the trials to heal him but sam is the one who invites the angel in? he’ll keep his promise to dean about staying alive, as well as heal from the inside and have breaks from the world when he doesn’t want to be present, like he and gadreel will alternate being the one in control. he keeps it a secret from dean and helps gadreel imitate him so dean won’t notice. it’s not so bad, being possessed by this angel - sam can say no anytime and gadreel is a nice guy. since they alternate on who’s present they can access each other’s memories, which is terrifying and embarrassing at first, but since gadreel and sam have been tricked and used by lucifer and been punished for it for far too long, they understand each other. now another creature knows their trauma and terrors without the need for verbal explanation. also having an angel residing in his body makes sam feel like he can hunt properly again because gadreel can heal him and take over in situations sam’s overpowered. this could show how messed up sam has come to view himself and his body.

dean is conflicted when he finds out; sam lied but gadreel does help sam heal, sam’s traumatized and his self-worth is fucked up and dean has contributed to that. dean convinces sam to push gadreel out, that sam is still valuable, loved and a good person who shouldn’t be in a place where he views his body and mind like a property to be occupied. sam’s faith begins to come back bit by bit, not in god, but in himself, his brother, in the good things in life. they build their little family; sam, dean, castiel, the hybrids, whomever of their allies that are alive at this point.

castiel can heal sam and dean’s wounds but they are never completely gone; they leave scars and phantom pains. the brothers have SO many scars over the years. dean flaunts them to impress people because he likes the questions and the fearful admiration, the attention and the nods of approval. sam hides them.

when dean is in a bad mood or needs to get his mind off of things, sam just drops something like ‘i don’t get the deal with led zeppelin. one of the most overrated bands of all time’ and dean will go OFF every single time about the entire led zeppelin history, their discography and how they’ve shaped rock music. this will go on for hours and sam will zone out after 1 minute. but dean rants nonsensically the entire drive and it does get him to think about something else for a little bit. they stop at a motel and dean is STILL ranting while brushing his teeth. stops when going to sleep but without fail picks up where he left off the morning after and is so into it he doesn’t notice sam not paying attention at all. we could see this once in s1 when they’re searching for john, another in s3 when dean is anxious about his deal coming to an end and then again in a later season, when sam doesn’t remember to ask/doesn’t have the patience or mental capability, so they’ll sit there in tense silence, showing how much they’ve changed.

---> i can see this SO clearly in my head, how they’ll get in the car and we, the audience, will recognize the camera angle, the same lines and dean’s grumpy mood, and we’ll anticipate what comes next. but sam isn’t that kid anymore and he’s not peeking at dean to gauge what his mood is and how much of a shit eating grin he should wear when being an annoying little brother to cheer dean up. now he’s looking out the window, leaned back, they’re not looking at each other. this shot is a minute or two long, uninterrupted. dean turns on music but neither are singing along or doing anything to lighten the mood.

s1-5: sam gets hooked on demon blood, dean has an alcohol problem. when sam goes through withdrawals, dean decides to quit drinking and joins him because he wants to be supportive, and he realizes that when he drinks two beers for breakfast there’s a problem

s6-10: sam takes painkillers, anti depressants and anti psyhosis meds to numb himself from the phantom pains and reduce post-cage effects. dean started drinking again after sam jumped and still does, but started smoking in addition because he still drives a lot and doesn’t want to die in something as pathetic as a car crash.

there a scene in an episode in the first half of s8, when sam has decided to stay with dean instead of amelia, and dean has rejected benny in favor of sam, and then the brothers sit in a couch watching tv while drinking beer and neither of them look particularly happy about it - that’s how their relationship is a lot of the time. they know they’re fucked up and neither of them will ever be truly happy when the other’s around, but they owe each other so much and they don’t have to explain themselves to each other the way they do to others. they know each other so well, each other’s traumas and the things they’ve done, it feels fake and exhausting to try to be something other than the veteran hunters they are. misery loves company; they are miserable together but would be far more miserable apart and living a normal life. they do love each other, but neither of them are particularly happy as the show progresses. family is hell and so is the lack of it.

OK OK i mentioned it in part one, how i had my own very specific idea about how jack should come to be and here it is. long winded but (might just write a damn fic):

after lucifer was cast back into the cage, he is stronger than he has been in a long time (being in his true vessel helped him stretched muscles he forgot he had. and fresh air.) sam is pulled out of the cage and it leaves a rift in the magic and chains - the binding is weaker and lucifer must act fast to get out before it heals. the cage is still strong enough to hold two archangels, so lucifer has to become weaker somehow to slip out through the cracks. he can’t get out of the cage, but souls can come in. demons bring themselves and human souls as tools for lucifer to use. there’s not much he can do here - consuming them, eating them, touching them, dissecting them doesn’t give him what he wants

eventually lucifer realizes he must do like azazel and create something new of two halves, like when he created demons. he begins melding his archangel grace with a human soul. he tries with demons, but his archangel grace automatically purifies them and leaves them too weak. he must try with a human soul who is good. he finds the soul of kelly kline, who sold her soul to save a loved one. with her, the merging, works.

he has another self, a twin, a son, who’s half human and half archangel. half lucifer. the old lucifer will die but that’s ok, his desires, presence and self will live on in his new creation. the new lucifer barely makes it out of the cage, only able to due to its human side. on earth it creates a body for itself and takes shape, no longer a form of pure power and energy akin to the sun itself but now a person, reminiscent of kelly kline on earth and lucifer in heaven. they name themselves jack. jack searches for familiarity and finds it in sam, their old self’s perfect tool and another hybrid. jack finds a mentor in castiel, a younger brother and fellow angel with human elements. they do not find anything in dean, the key to his former self’s doom.

jack’s powers: their powers are like and unlike the angels because he is half archangel. jack has wings but sometimes they don’t work, or they’ll end up somewhere else entirely. their body is their own, not a vessel, so jack can’t possess people. doesn’t talk but people “know” what they’re saying or want because jack emits their emotions and thoughts to people they’re talking to like a radio tower. jack can also have this empathic connection and communication with animals. his mood affects the weather. immortal. reads minds. can remove a soul from a body and send it to heaven/hell by touching it, with practice they don’t need to touch a body.

other stuff about jack: the human/archangel nature means jack only need sleep and food once a week or so. eats only nougat and raw meat. because jack is a kid they nap a lot. levitates when sleeping. never blinks, stares intensely at everything. their eye colour changes based on their mood. eyes glow in the dark. normal humans who look at jack for too long experience memory loss, fainting spells or migraines and eye contact for more than 10 seconds give vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares. always barefoot, often floats like 10 cm off the ground because they find it more enjoyable than walking. wears the wildest clothes they can find, nothing matches and nothing is weather appropriate

i have a very specific image of jack in my mind; they look like delirium from the sandman comics with the hair that looks like it’s underwater and the fishes floating around their head, here and here are examples. in live action this would look not good or maybe even ridiculous for sure but in animation... endless potential for angels and monsters to have super interesting designs sigh

castiel’s arc should end with him going from blind soldier, to the unwilling ruler of heaven, finding a place on earth with sam and dean, becoming closer with humanity and eventually a father of three (the hybrids).

#hbo spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #iben spoke #ok i'm tired of looking at this now #i just needed to get these thoughts out of my head to get some peace and quiet #more character centric than part 1 #and it turned into such a long post.... jesus #i should make a separate post for post cage sam headcanons #ana if you see this i'm so sorry to drag you into this mess but i wanted to give credit where credit is due

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charincharge · 4 years

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Cruel Summer, Part 13

cruel summer masterlist

AN: I’m obsessed with all your theories. Hearing from all of you made this week a little bit better. Enjoy this chapter of booze, bowling and jealousy.

Rowan doesn’t know what God he pissed off, but he feels like he’s being actively punished. All he attempted was one single day without Aelin, and instead, he ends up in a group hang with Aelin and the new guy she’s hanging out with, apparently?

His teeth grit as he thinks of Sam. Sam, who looked around the bowling alley and turned up his nose at the cheap beer and smelly shoes. Sam who wiped his chair down with a napkin before taking a seat. Rowan barely knows him, but he’s a hundred percent sure that he hates him.

At least he’s vaguely comforted by the fact that Manon is in an even worse position than him. Before bowling, she warned him of her entirely complicated situation involving Rowan’s two coworkers – he’s never seen Manon so vulnerable as when she explained that she thought Elide was into her. When she explained it, Rowan was inclined to see how she could misunderstand.

When Elide had confided in Manon that she’d had a crush on “someone” for years, and thought they liked her too, Manon assumed that “someone” was her. She knows firsthand how hard it can be to come out, and she thought Elide was just being delicate about it – saying without actually saying that she had a crush on Manon, asking her to make the first move. She didn’t realize “someone” is actually Lorcan, and now Manon’s trapped, helping Elide with the plan she thought was a ruse.

Rowan uses his frustration to propel the ball down the lane, knocking most of the pins down. He turns proudly and grins at the twin pairs of golden eyes that smile back at him. He can’t get over how much Manon’s cousin looks just like her, except he assumes with her natural hair color – a dark, dishwatery blonde, instead of Manon’s bleached platinum.

He’s only met her a few times before, but Asterin is fun. She’s the warm relaxed mirror to Manon’s shrewd ice queen. And he loves seeing how much she cares for Manon. As soon as Asterin heard about the Elide catastrophe confession dinner, she insisted on accompanying Manon and Elide on their next night out. And she’s been Manon’s hype person all night.

He discards the ball and lets Manon step up to the plate. As she brushes by him she whispers, “Who’s the guy?” And Rowan shakes his head, shrugging her off. He doesn’t want to talk about it. At least not now. Not with Aelin in front of him. When all he wants to do is haul her into his lap and wrap his arms around her and let Sam know exactly what’s going on.

Rowan glances at Aelin, with her freshly dried waves cascading over her bare shoulders, which are exposed in her off the shoulder loose top that ends just above the waistline of her jeans, teasing him with a delicious strip of skin. Rowan frowns, wondering if the outfit is for Sam or for him.

Rowan takes his seat back at the table and tries to replace his emotionally turbulent insides with a mask of calm.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he begins.

“Clearly,” Aelin mutters under her breath, but Rowan hears her perfectly. He knocks her foot with his under the table, but she retracts it, moving her feet away from him and under her chair. It stings. He watches as her eyes glance around the table, landing slowly on Asterin.

“Asterin, I love your jacket,” Aelin says with a too-sweet smile.

Asterin removes her fringed suede jacket, revealing a threadbare t-shirt underneath. “Thanks!” she replies enthusiastically. “I found it at a thrift store last week and am obsessed.” Aelin smiles, waiting for Asterin to say something else. Asterin finally replies with, “I love your earrings.”

Aelin twists her long hair over one of her shoulders to fiddle with the large hoop on her ear and thanks Asterin. Rowan’s eyes bounce between the two women on either side of him, not exactly sure what the hell is going on.

“I’m going to grab a beer,” Sam interjects. “Can I get you anything?”

Aelin nods, asking for a Stella, and the knot in Rowan’s chest unfurls slightly as Sam departs from the table. Aelin’s foot finally returns a small nudge to Rowan’s ankle as she says, “I missed you at dinner last night.”

Rowan’s chest burns as he remembers the way Sam held Aelin’s hand over the dinner table last night, but he grins, regardless. He doesn’t want her to know how badly he’s bleeding. He’ll cover up all his wounds with smiles.

“Sorry. I was so tired from work,” Rowan says. “Plus, I had a new recipe for a bundt cake I wanted to try out.”

Asterin leans forward and puts her hand on his arm. He turns to her, her gold flecked eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, that cake Manon shoved into my mouth earlier was baked by you?” Rowan nods, and Asterin smiles widely. “Wow. That was like, professional.” She turns to Aelin and Elide. “Did you guys know Rowan is the best baker?” Asterin says.

“Yep,” Aelin says sharply. “I’ve had it.”

Her comment is interrupted by Manon’s loud strike, all the pins toppling over in a raucous heap. Elide leaps up from the table and squeals.

“My turn!” Elide pouts and asks Manon for help teaching her how to throw the ball. Rowan watches Manon as she helps Elide position her body squarely to the pins. With her hands on Elide’s hips, he notices that a distracted Lorcan, two lanes down, only downs one pin, much to his teammates’ chagrin.

While he’s looking away, Aelin grabs Rowan’s beer and takes a small sip. Her eyes peer over the rim, piercing holes into his carefully erected armor. “Busy day at work?” she asks casually, but her gaze is anything but nonchalant.

“No more than usual,” Rowan replies, grabbing his beer back and taking another long sip of his beer, and Asterin’s eyes flick between the two of them, curious.

“So, Aelin,” Asterin interrupts, attempting to diffuse the thick layer of tension settling over the table. “How do you know Rowan?”

“We’re friends,” Aelin says coolly, and Rowan tries not to let the word affect him. They are friends. Kind of. Maybe. “He works at my family’s amusement park.”

“Your boyfriend’s cute,” Asterin says, and he tries not to flinch when Aelin glances over her shoulder to where Sam waits at the bar.

“Oh, Sam’s not my boyfriend,” Aelin says. “Just another friend.”

Rowan tries not to flinch at the implication of her words, but he finds it impossible. He will be devastated if Sam is the same kind of friend to Aelin that he is. She pats his shoulder as she stands from the table, and Rowan can feel himself tense under her touch. Her fingers linger ever so slightly as she makes her way to the lane, and he can’t help but watch as her hips sway.

Asterin’s smile is feral as she looks between him and Aelin. “That’s the girl you’re supposed to be staying away from tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Rowan grumbles, annoyed that he’s so incredibly transparent when he’s working so hard to hide his feelings.

“Need me to run interference?” she asks, and Rowan smiles at the kind offer but declines. He turns his attention back to Aelin, who grabs a hot pink ball. She rolls a perfect strike, barely even looking.

“I think Manon needs you more than I do,” he says, glancing at Manon’s arm wrapped around Elide’s shoulders, and the way Elide can’t stop glancing across the room at where Lorcan sits with his teammates.

“I can be both your cheerleaders tonight, babe,” she says with an overzealous wink. “If you need a helping hand, just let me know.”

Aelin freezes a foot away from the table and mouths, “Babe?” while quirking an eyebrow at him. He rolls his eyes and finishes the rest of his beer.

Just as Sam returns to the table, it’s his turn, and they watch him throw a truly horrific gutter ball. The whole table chuckles softly as Sam admits bowling is not his sport.

“What is your sport?” Elide asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glancing Lorcan’s way again.

“Sailing,” he says. Rowan smothers a sardonic laugh. Of course Sam’s sport is sailing. A sport where the equipment costs more than his yearly salary. Four times his yearly salary, actually.

“That’s not a sport,” Manon interjects. “That’s a trust fund hobby.”

“Tell that to my wall of regatta trophies,” Sam boasts, and even Aelin can’t control rolling her eyes at that, Rowan notices with satisfaction.

“Which reminds me,” Sam begins. “My family is throwing a big Fourth of July party on our yacht next week. It’ll be docked. No sailing experience required. You should come,” he says to Aelin. Then turns to the rest of the table. “All of you.”

“A yacht party?” Aelin says, and Sam flashes her a self-assured grin as he nods. “Oh, Dorian will die. He’s always wanted to do that, but his dad would never let him bring anyone on their boat.”

“Sounds fun,” Rowan says, forcing a smile.

As Sam continues to talk about the preparations for what is sure to be an extremely swanky party, Rowan begins to feel warm and in need of fresh air. He wishes he were a smoker, so he’d have an excuse to step out. Every time Sam name drops or makes an allusion to how much money he has, Rowan feels himself grow smaller. A few more minutes of listening to Sam talk and he can’t stand it anymore. He stands from the table, suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Aelin asks.

“Just gonna get some air.”

He bolts out the door before anyone can ask him anything else. The front of the bowling alley is far too well-lit with bright fluorescent lights, so he slinks around to the side of the building where the parking lot is mostly empty and he can remain covered in dark inky shadows. He leans against the concrete of the building and tilts his head back, trying to alleviate the tension that feels like it’s strangling him. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly.

His heart is finally starting to slow its pounding when he hears her voice cut through the darkness. “Rowan?” Aelin whispers. He opens his eyes and turns his head toward the sound, and he hears her soft gasp and jump. “There you are,” she says, approaching him slowly. Tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” Rowan finally answers, his deep voice filled with gravel.

“Are you?” she asks, finally coming to stand in front of him. In the dark he can barely make out the shape of her face, but still somehow her eyes glow blue and gold, reflecting the moon lit sky above. “Your date was worried.”

“My date?” Rowan asks, perplexed.

Aelin laughs humorlessly and clasps her hands in front of her stomach. That small sliver of bare skin still distracting him. “Yes, your date. You know. Blonde, very pretty?”

Rowan chuckles. “Are you talking about yourself in the third person?”

Aelin shoves at his chest. “Are you being obtuse on purpose right now?”

“Aelin, I didn’t even know you were coming tonight,” he says. She tosses her hands up in frustration to gesticulate wildly as she talks.

“I’m talking about Asterin, you moron,” she snips at him, and his chest warms as he grabs her hands, which are flailing mid-air between them. “Give me my hands back,” she warns him, but Rowan just smiles.

“You’re jealous,” Rowan finally realizes, and Aelin scowls, trying to pull her hands free from Rowan’s grasp, but he refuses. Instead, he pulls them into his chest and flips them around, so Aelin is the one with her back to the building.

“Am not,” Aelin insists, and he finally releases her hands, only so he can finally touch the skin of her waist that’s been tempting him since she sent that picture of herself hours ago. She shivers as his thumbs rub against her soft skin.

“You are,” he says, leaning down to whisper against the shell of her ear. His lips brush against it, and she clutches onto his shirt, pulling him down toward her. “I didn’t know you could get jealous,” he says, letting his mouth land on the bare expanse of her shoulder. “It’s kind of adorable.” He snickers against her neck, and she tilts her head to the side to give him more room, and her hands wrap around his waist to pull him closer.

“Are you finished ignoring me?” she whispers, and Rowan pauses.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he replies, and he feels her fingers tense against his back and then loosen.

“Okay,” she says, resigned. His lips brush against her neck, then her chin, then her cheek.

He shifts back to look at her, her chest heaving with labored breaths, her body curled around his, wanton and beautiful. And he just has to ask. Has to know. Even if it kills him. He still needs to know.

“You called us both your friends,” he begins, and Aelin’s eyes search his, looking for some hidden meaning to his words. “Is Sam your friend like I’m your friend?” he asks. Understanding flicks over her face as she shakes her head.

“No. Oh my god, no, Rowan.” Her voice is a thin whisper, but it’s firm. Resolute. “No one else is a friend like you. I promise, I would never.”

“Are you sure? Because… it’d be okay if… I mean, I’d understand if…” He tries to reply eloquently, but he can’t find the words. He has the worst habit of tripping up his sentences in front of her.

“Would it?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Because I don’t think I’d be as understanding.” She sighs. “I wanted to rip Asterin’s hand off you.”

Rowan smiles. “Yeah?”

“And like… maybe mount you in the middle of the room.”

“Mmm,” Rowan ponders. “That could be arranged.” He sighs, exhaling slowly as her arms wrap around his waist tighter. Rowan looks up into the night sky and then back down at her, trying to figure out what he wants to say. How he can say it without scaring her away. “I just didn’t know if being exclusive adhered to the rules of being casual.”

“Who says there have to be rules?” Aelin replies softly. “This is between us. We get to decide what that means. Fuck the rules. We make our own.”

Rowan wastes no time before crashing his lips to hers in a mess of lips and teeth and tongue. It feels like coming up for air again. The tension disappears from his shoulders as her fingers twine themselves in the back of his hair, which is almost long enough for her to pull. He feels like an addict, who’s getting his next fix. He breathes her in, letting her keep him as close to her as she wants. His hands go up her loose shirt, and he groans loudly when his hands come into contact with the underside of her breasts. She hasn’t been wearing a bra this whole time. He cups her as his thumbs run over her puckered skin, and she whimpers into his mouth as she grinds onto his thigh.

Rowan is about to slide his hands down the front of her jeans when a throat clears loudly in the distance. They both freeze, pausing and panting, waiting to hear who the voice belongs to.

“I’m not coming any closer because I enjoy my vision and don’t want to gouge my own eyeballs out,” Manon calls out to them. “But, there are three people at that table who realize you’ve both been gone for a suspiciously long amount of time, and I’m getting really tired of distracting Moneybags McGee. So come quickly.” Manon seems to realize her turn of phrase and groans at Rowan’s lewd snickering. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just… you know. Get back inside, please.”

“You could have come closer,” Rowan calls back. “We’re both fully clothed.”

“I couldn’t take that risk,” Manon says, and disappears back into the alley.

Aelin giggles into Rowan’s shoulder and leans her forehead against his chest. She kisses him through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and hugs him tighter. She looks up at him and tilts herself up onto her tip-toes and kisses him softly.

“I missed you today,” she says, and he hates how much his heart blooms with hope at her words.

“It was one day,” he replies, smoothing her hair and shirt, so she doesn’t look like she’s just been ravaged in some back alley – even though, technically, that’s exactly what happened.

“Ask me how many times I got off thinking about you in that one day,” she asks saucily, and Rowan nearly chokes at the image of her touching herself.

“How many?” he asks, and she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she begins to walk away.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Um, yes. I really would,” he laughs.

She saunters away, and he watches her ass move side to side in her tight jeans. He runs to catch up with her, but he keeps his distance as they enter.

Back at their table, Lorcan has joined, much to Rowan’s surprise and Manon’s clear displeasure.

Rowan sits beside her and pats her shoulder. She throws him an aggressive scowl, and he retracts his hand. “So, Asterin clearly failed at her job tonight,” Manon whispers, and Rowan shrugs. He looks at Aelin, who smiles at him, before resuming her conversation with Elide and Sam and now Lorcan.

“I think I’m a lost cause,” Rowan admits.

Manon sighs sadly. “Me too.”

“Maybe we’ll both get what we want,” Rowan says, as they both stare across the table at Aelin and Elide respectively. Elide’s smile is lit up at something Lorcan’s said, and Rowan watches how Sam’s eyes follow Aelin’s every little movement.

“Maybe,” Manon says, but he knows she doesn’t mean it. Despite that, Rowan holds onto the small kernel of hope for the rest of the night.

~*~*~*~*~

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#rowaelin #aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #manon blackbeak #elorcan #cruel summer au #amusement park au #charincharge writes #tog fanfic #throne of glass #jealousy #mutual pining #rowaelin fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

First Day: Chris Moves Into College

An Anon asked for kind of a mirror image of the Oliver & Chris piece I did yesterday, and I had the idea immediately and intended to post it before *gestures vaguely* but I finally finished it, so here you go, Anon!

CW: A few vague references to conditioning, torture, abuse, and ableism. But honestly this is actually pretty happy!

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

“He’s, he’s, he’s he’s not going to like me,” Chris mutters, shifting a pile of books on the little desk, debating hiding them somewhere else, in the box he has for storage maybe.

They’ve lofted up his bed in the time they’ve been here, putting his desk underneath it, and Chris knows that everything looks normal, perfectly normal and like it’s supposed to because he’s been studying pictures of dorm rooms for weeks to get ready for this, but it still feels… feels like there’s some big sign that reads CHRIS USED TO BE PROPERTY that he can’t see but everyone else will.

Like it’s pinned to his back, a KICK ME sign for the whole world.

Or a FUCK ME sign-

“He’ll like you just fine,” Jake says, raising an eyebrow as he goes up slightly on his toes to slide Chris’s pillow up onto the bed. “Chris, everybody likes you. And stop making that face.”

“Not, not everybody,” Chris mumbles, hunching his shoulders. He’s got his stuff, for his hands and his energy, hidden away inside his desk drawer. He’s wearing a shirt that’s his size, just a normal black t-shirt and normal black pants and normal shoes and he looks like everyone else, he’s even seen a couple other people on campus with blue hair and where do they buy their hair dye, he wonders, maybe he should ask, that might be a way to make friends-

Jake’s hand, warm and dry as always, slides up to cup his face, and Chris raises his eyes to look at the older man, pressing his lips together nervously. “What if they-... if they, they find out, Jake?”

The inside of Chris’s left wrist itches, even though there’s nothing there anymore. He and Antoni got their barcodes removed together, holding hands through the process, the first time Chris saw the burns on Antoni’s arms laid bare to him. But it doesn’t matter - even though the barcode is gone, the knowledge that it was there remains, and you can see how the skin is paler and a little shinier there if you know how to look.

There are people here, he thinks, who might know how to look.

“Then we’ll handle it,” Jake says, softly. Chris puts his hand up over Jake’s, presses his own slightly clammy palm against the warm skin and roughened knuckles, looking up at him through pale copper-colored eyelashes. “Got it, Chris? You and me, always. We’ll figure out whatever happens and we’ll get past it and you’ll be fine. You’re awesome. They’re going to like you, I promise.”

“But, but, but if he doesn’t-”

“Then we’ll get you a new room or something.” Jake smiles at him, and Chris smiles back almost automatically, although he feels the nervous weight in his stomach lighten, just a little, at the certainty in Jake’s expression. “You got this, man. I know it’s scary, being on your own, and being a little older than the other freshmen, but… you’ve lived through worse, right?”

Chris thinks of different hands on his face, a colder smile, and nods, slowly. “... yes.”

“You’ve got this, man.” Jake smiles, and pulls Chris in for a tight hug, arms around him. Chris melts into the solidity and warmth of the center of his whole world, letting Jake’s smell - a mix of clean laundry and his cologne, warm and bright as the man himself - envelop him and soothe all his senses.

There’s a noise, kind of a sniff, and Chris blinks his eyes back open as he realizes what the sound is. “Jake, are you-... are you, you, you you okay?”

Jake doesn’t let him go, not right away, and there’s a faint tremble in his arms you might miss if you weren’t as perfectly, thoroughly tuned to the tension in other bodies as Chris is. “I’m fine,” He says, and his voice is a little thick with feeling, slightly strained. “I’m fine, Chris. I just-... shit. I didn’t think I was going to lose my shit over this, but-”

“It’s only an hour by, by by bus,” Chris says, pitching his voice low. “Right?”

“Right.” Jake sniffs one more time, reaching up with one hand to wipe at his eyes, rubbing at them like there’s just dust there. Chris’s heart twists, in a way that’s torn somewhere between good and bad. “You take the Red on the Fifth line, ride that to Billingsley, get off there and then you wait for the Blue Seven and that’ll take you to the stop like three blocks from home. I know, I know, I just-...” He sighs, resting his chin on Chris’s head, and Chris goes up on his tiptoes to push against the gentle, soothing pressure. His fingers tap along Jake’s sides, easy and effortless, just as they’ve been for a long time, now. “Gonna miss you at night.”

“Yeah. Miss, um, miss, miss miss you too, Jake,” Chris whispers. “If, if, if it storms, Jake, um, Jake, can I, can I-”

“Just call me,” Jake says, and presses a kiss to the top of Chris’s blue hair, to the hint of strawberry roots showing through. “I’ll pick up.”

Chris closes his eyes against the warmth that threatens to melt everything inside him into the feeling of safe that doesn’t come with any strings attached, without tricks or traps or games that Chris still wakes up sure he can’t win.

“What if I don’t, um, if my words, are, are are are bad? Are too bad, and, and nobody wants to, to talk to me-”

“They will.” Jake pulls back, hands on either side of Chris’s face, looking right in his eyes “They will, Chris. Your words are fine. You are fine, just like this.”

“I, I don’t, I don’t know if I, um, if, if if if-”

“Trust yourself,” Jake says, gently, using his knuckles to tip Chris’s chin up. If Jake were anyone else, Chris might have thought he was about to kiss him. Because he’s Jake, Chris knows he isn’t, wouldn’t, won’t. And that, in Chris’s world, is the ultimate certainty, the safety he never knew before him. “Trust everything you’ve learned, and everything you already know. I’m… you’re gonna do great. Okay?”

Chris swallows, hard, past the lump in his throat and blinks past the heat in his eyes and nods, quickly. “Okay, Jake.”

“Good. Let’s get your stuff finished getting unpacked and I’ll take you out for pizza, yeah?” Jake gives him a lopsided grin. “That’s what my mom did for me on my first day in the dorms, I’ll do it for you.”

Chris lets out a breath and nods, trying not to show on his face the thrill at the sense of doing a thing that normal families do. Like they’re real brothers, and not… not whatever it is they are, with Chris a runaway human pet trying to pretend at being a person and Jake the pet lib worker who, for whatever reason, picked Chris up and will never ever let him fall.

“Pizza place is called Quatro’s,” Jake says, moving away from him to unpack some more shirts and put them into the drawers of a small clothing dresser. “You’ll like it, the pizza is super deep dish, kind of a Chicago-style thing.”

Chris knows where Chicago is, but he doesn’t know what that means in relation to pizza. There’s a lot he still doesn’t know, that everyone else just picked up through life but his life was so small, and so narrow, and all his memories begin at what they’re pretty sure is seventeen years old.

Those early memories are foggy, drugged, full of exhausted cold and hands that never stopped and words that spat poison until he soaked it in, soaked it up, believed it all. It took so much longer to stop hearing the poison, most days, than it did for them to use it to build the pretty boy in the bed in the first place.

Something about that doesn’t seem fair - but he doesn’t have to be the pretty boy any longer, and Chris decides to put that thought away, under the tracks he likes, down in the darkness with the thoughts he doesn’t.

“Quatro’s is pretty great, yeah,” says a voice in the doorway, and Chris jumps nearly a foot in the air and looks up.

“You must be Chris,” The boy says, gangly and long-limbed and taller than Chris - but isn’t everyone? - with brown hair clipped to fall over his forehead but buzzed shorter on the sides. He grins and gives a little wave with one hand, a box underneath one arm. He’s got on a band shirt for a band Chris has never heard of and blue jeans. “Nice to finally meet you. Cool hair, man.”

Chris suddenly feels every single strand of blue on the top of his head, caught low at the nape of his neck with a clip he found at a thrift store, like they’ve only just grown out of his head “Um. Thank… you,” He says, slowly, and pretends he doesn’t see the look Jake gives him at how carefully he picks his way through the words. “You’re… Dylan, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. You can call me Dill, though, it was a stupid fucking joke and now I just-... it’s just my name, man. Is Chris short for something?”

“Um. Chris… Christopher,” Chris says, a little shyly. He doesn’t realize he’s just standing there until Dylan walks into the room, past him, to dump the box carelessly on his own unlofted bed shoved into the corner. “Do you have… parents, here?”

“Yeah, my mom’s downstairs with all my shit and my dad’s parking the car. What about you?” Dylan turns to look at him, and he’s kind of cute, Chris thinks, the way he thinks a lot of people are pretty cute. He shies from the feeling as soon as he has it - he’s never sure how much of tht is real and how much is someone inside him that knows better than to think anyone is anything else, because it’s not his place to decide what he wants or doesn’t want.

“Um, I just have Jake-... I just, um, this is, is is-is… I’m sorry, words don’t-don’t always, um, sometimes my brain, I just-” Chris feels the heat blistering his face, the embarrassment, and Jake lays a hand on his back, just over his shoulder blade.

“He has kind of a stammer sometimes,” Jake says, quietly, but there’s a low hum of don’t fuck with him over this in the low rumble of his voice, and Chris loves it and hates it in equal measures.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dylan shrugs, no big deal. “Take your time, man.” He starts digging through the box, pulls out a framed photo of himself and a bunch of other boys, all elbows and knees, hugging each other and laughing in front of the ocean.

Chris feels a spike of ugly, angry jealousy rip through him, the sensation like a wave that crashes into the edges of his skin from the inside out. He wants that, suddenly, he wants to have had that life so badly that it hurts, it burns inside his skin and he has to catch his breath and hold it before the fire inside him rages out of control.

It’s not fucking fair that he didn’t.

He wonders, with a sudden rush of awful lurching shame, if Dylan was ever part of a field trip to the governor’s mansion, joking and elbowing his friends and laughing while Chris peeked through the windows, knowing if he was caught looking there’d be hell to pay.

Was Dylan ever in the governor’s office with his class when Chris was hidden there in plain sight, a private little joke, the worst game - the one he hated most of all?

Was Dylan there when Chris was just Oliver Branch’s dirty fucking secret?

Jake must feel something, because he slides an arm around Chris’s shoulders, squeezing just a little with one hand over the ball of his shoulder, and leans in to whisper, “You okay?”

“We need, I, I I I I need to get to, need to go,” Chris whispers, his body burning, he can’t stand here like this, can’t be still, needs to get somewhere where he can move.

“Got it.” Jake straightens up, gives Dylan a smile. “We’re going to go get that pizza now. Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Jake, I’m Chris’s older brother.”

“Oh, cool, I figured.”

Chris swallows. Some of the fire dies, is covered over in a more soothing warmth.

I figured. Like it’s obvious that they’re a family. Like all you have to do is look to know.

Chris didn’t have what that boy had - he has hell inside his mind, when he thinks too long about it. He has days of stillness and worse kinds of motion, he has endless repetition and pain. He has pouring drinks with a cane brandished ready to tear his skin to shreds if he tried to refuse, he has learning to shine shoes and tie ties and press a suit to perfection and he has sitting still, so still, still for hours and hours and hours and hours and-

And he has this.

Jake’s arm around him, leading him easily towards the door, and the certainty of things that belong only to him now. Of choices he is allowed - encouraged - to make. There are people waiting for him at home, he thinks.

There are people who love him no matter the cost.

There were people who loved you before.

“Talk, um, talk to me,” Chris whispers, in the hallway. Jake drops his arm as they walk, and Chris sees other people moving in other boys and girls and people with their parents or siblings or both in tow, carrying boxes. They look at him and some of them smile or nod or tell him they like his hair and Chris finds himself walking just a little bit straighter towards the elevators.

“About what?” Jake asks, glancing around, comfortable as can be. This is the same dorm Jake started out in. Different floor, but same building. It looks the same, to him.

“The… pizza? Just… anything.” Chris is rocking forward and back just slightly as he walks, just a little. No one notices. But the motion soothes him, calms his nerves, nonetheless.

He waits until they’re in the elevator, alone, just the two of them, to tap. Tap on the walls, listening to the slightly hollow sound in response. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap.

Better.

“You know what I want to talk about?” Jake asks, leaning back, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. Chris turns to look at him, helplessly in love with Jake in ways that are entirely platonic. He loves the lines of his face, the way his jaw looks when he’s mad, the flash of his teeth when he smiles. He likes the blond hair that Jake keeps clipped short, and the strength in him, subtle under his clothes but evident in every motion.

“What?”

Jake glances at him, and blue eyes glint as he smiles. It occurs to Chris that Jake is tearing up again, and the pause before he answers is the older man trying to hide it.

“I just-... think it’s pretty cool when people think we’re brothers before I even have to say it.”

Chris slides his arms around Jake, holding on tight, tucking his head just under Jake’s chin right where he really like it always belongs.

“Yeah,” Chris says, softly. “Me, um, me, me-me-me, too. Um… Jake-”

“He’s going to love you,” Jake says, softly, but firmly. “They all are. You grew up a different way, Chris, and it sucked, but you’re amazing. You’re badass, and people are going to fucking love you here. And if they don’t, I’ll come beat ‘em up.”

“... you wouldn’t do that,” Chris mutters, but he’s grinning into the fabric of Jake’s shirt.

“Nah, not really.” Jake huffs out a laugh, fingers brushing over Chris’s hair. “But… listen to me, Chris, because I mean it. Don’t try to be anybody else, okay? Just be Chris. They’re going to love Chris.”

“I, I made Chris,” He whispers. “I made him, um, myself.”

“Damn straight. And who you made yourself into is somebody worth loving. So let ‘em love you.” Jake sighs, and Chris pulls back as the elevator doors open, the two of them stepping out into the overwhelming crowd of noise as families pile into the elevator as soon as they step out of it, a mess of screaming little siblings and crying babies and mothers and fathers worn thin by this brave new world their children are stepping into on their own.

“But-but-but, um, but, what if, what if who I am, isn’t, um, isn’t-”

“Who you are,” Jake says, gripping Chris’s hand to pull him through the crowd out the double-doors, and into the fresh air, “is Christopher fucking Stanton. You’re my little brother, and you’re going to college, and you kick ass. That’s all you have to be, to be worth caring about, Chris… is you. Just you. C’mon. Let’s get to Quatro’s before all these other families get there first.”

Chris follows Jake out onto the sidewalk, out into the sun, smiling at an idea that once seemed stupid and absurd - that anyone would like the person he is without him having to be anyone else.

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aleksadnezz · 3 years

Text

Sweet Night 2

Jae x Reader

It is Saturday and I don't have errands today but I don't want to waste this day by just laying on my bed and watch sum tv shows because that's what I always do (after my shift or when I don't have work). I decided to take a shower and wear a white shirt, jeans and one out of my three pair of shoes cuz I’m broke af. I put sum random stuff into my tote bag just in case cuz I still have no idea where I wanted to go. I head out my room and locked it. I glance over to the room across mine, I wonder when he will return my charger.. I’m just kidding. I wonder if he’s alright, I mean if he seems okay living alone and streaming all day? or all night not leaving his apartment. I’m just a concern co-tenant that’s all.

I walked and walked and walked until I reached to the bus station. I didn’t wait that long for the bus to arrive, I hopped in thankfully there’s not much people at this hour. It’s only 10AM and I still have lots of time to waste. Since this bus is heading to the center of the city, where most people go cuz there are a lot of shopping malls and attractions I’ll stay there and let where it will lead me.

When we reached the bus station, I immediately got off the bus and casually walked on the street. There are lots of stores in the area that I’m in, there are sum bookstores, clothing stores and cafés. I don’t usually go outside like this but when I do, I only go to market to buy groceries so it feels new to me to go out alone in a different place. What I like about living here is that people don’t actually care about others, it doesn’t matter to them whatever you do in public as long as it’s not harmful.

I entered to sum clothing stores just to checked their prices and left right away. Damn. Why does clothes have to be that expensive, I can already buy five thrift items for that price. I went to a bookstore and bought one book. It’s a self-help book, though I don’t actually read but I want to give it a shot, this might be a new hobby for me so. I also went to Daiso which I think is now my favorite place, they sell random stuff and cute stuff which I ended up buying more than 5 items.

Going to stores surprisingly took me 3 hours it’s already lunch time so I went to a café that also sells meals. The ambiance of the place is so calm and expensive, and there’s not much people inside which what I like. I ordered iced matcha and sum carbonara. After I eat, I headed back home cuz I might end up spending all my recent salary in just one day cuz that’s possible to happen. Knowing myself I’m a big spender but try to manage that since I’m now earning and paying my own bills.

On the way home I didn’t saw the strange old man, thankfully. I’m tired and can’t deal with him right now. I put down all my bags on the floor, got change and lay on my bed. I was busy scrolling through my phone when I heard a knocked on my door so I stood up and walked over my door. My eyes grew bigger when I saw who knocked. It was my neighbor, Jae. He’s wearing sum navy long sleeve button down polo and jeans, way different from what he always wears except only his slides.

“Hi Jae.” I greeted.

“Hello y/n. Do you have time?”

“Yeah why?”

“Um I know we don’t know each other that much but can you help me?”

“Well, I guess what is it?” I honestly don’t have an idea what help he is asking. I don’t know he might ask me to help him move furnitures or carry huge boxes or even buy him food outside the building or sumthin.

“I’m sorry if it’s so sudden, you’re the only person that can help me about this, can you do makeup on me?” Eh? that’s all? I really though he’ll make me carry boxes. When I looked at him, he’s scratching his forehead. I think he’s embarrassed. So cut-I don’t to make things complicated for him so I I’ll put my curiosity behind.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I already bought makeup earlier so you don’t have to worry.” I nodded and bite my lip. So, I have to go to his place? Omg

“Uhh so where do you want us to do it?” Woah that sounds so wrong. I immediately covered my mouth that made him laugh. “I-I mean am I going to your place or?” I nervously laughed. Damn. What the fuck.

“Anywhere you’re comfortable.”

“Okay so.. my place?” I asked him and he nodded.

“I’ll just get the stuff” he said and entered his apartment.

I scanned my room making sure that my place is clean. All my dirty clothes are on my basket. I have no dishes in the kitchen. My bed is a mess so I quickly smoothen the crease I made on my bed earlier. I sat on my chair and suddenly felt my heart beats fast. I just realized that it is my first time inviting a guy that I barely know, in my apartment. Not that I trust easily, it just my gut feeling telling me that he’s a nice person.

I heard a knocked so I stood up and opened the door.

“Hello again” He smiled and extend his hand carrying a paper bag. I took it and oh boy it’s heavy.

“Have a seat.” I offered him to seat on my small dining table cuz I don’t have a couch in my apartment. I sat on the other chair across to him. I took out all the makeup inside the bag and lay it on the table. I think he bought every item that’s in the store, there are more than 10 products inside the bag.

“Okay..” I looked at him and he fixed his posture and looked straight at my face. Woah. I never felt more shy in my life.

“I already have moisturizer on.” He spoke. How come he can read my mind? Besides from being a streamer is he a mind reader too?

“Do you think that’s enough cuz I don’t know what I bought.” He pointed the bag.

“it’s.. a lot.”

“I asked for assistance and the lady there suggested those.” I laughed. Poor boy.

“I think she tricked you from buying everything.”

“Happy to help.” He said.

“Great. Okay I’ll put foundation on your face first.” I opened the bottle and put sum at the back of my hand. When I said that he bought every single item in the store, I mean it. He even has the complete set of brushes.

I can see that he’s still staring at my face while I put foundation on his face. He’s prolly counting my acne and dark spots. I’m too shy to tell him not to look directly at me so I just asked him to unbox the products.

“Can I ask?” I spoke.

“Sure.” He answered while he’s busy unboxing each item.

“Why am I the person you reached out for this?” I raised the foundation and brush, referring to the makeup.

“Most of my friends are men I bet they don’t know anything about this and I think you’re the only woman that can help me plus you lived across so..” I laughed when he said the last part.

“What is this for? If you don’t mind me asking” There, I said it. I’m just curious why he wants me to his makeup at 3pm. Not sus at all.

“A-ahh I have an event.. yeah an event I need to attend to”

“Hmm. Is it like the streamercon thing?”

“Y-yeah something like that.”

“By the way what time is the event?”

“Probably at 6 but I have to leave at 5.”

“Alright I’ll just make it natural.” He nodded and stared at me again.

“Do you play games?” He suddenly asked.

“No and I will never.” He laughed.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t like playing and It looks complicated”

“Maybe at first but once you started playing, you’ll get used to it.”

“Still not convince.”

“How about hobbies? What do you do?” I stop what I’m doing and looked up as if that I’m thinking. He looked at me intently, waiting for me to answer.

“Nothing.” I said and continue doing his face.

“What? Really?” He said surprisingly.

“Yeah, I don’t really have a hobby.”

“How about that painting?” He pointed something on my back so I looked back to see. It was my painting on top of my drawer, I hid it behind my picture frame cuz I have a nowhere to hide it.

“That was years ago. I don’t paint anymore.” No story behind it. I just stop doing it. Besides I got busy from working.

“Why though? That honestly looks really cool.”

“Really?” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Alright.. down to the last part.” I finished doing his face and I didn’t put a lot of makeup since he already has great skin. I just put concealer under his eyes and brought colors back to his face. I grabbed the peach lipstick and twisted it open. Still laughing in my mind cuz the sale’s lady prolly made him buy 4 lipsticks.

Now it’s my turn to look at him. I’ve been avoiding his gaze while we’re talking, trying to focus on what I’m doing. I don’t want to make it awkward for the both of us so I��ll just make it fast.

“Just stay still okay.” He nodded while looking anywhere but me.

I don’t know where to put my other hand so I let it rest on my lap while the other one is holding the lipstick. I raised my hand and before the tip of the lipstick even touch his lips, he grabs my wrist.

“Why?”

“Nervous.” He said, still not looking at me. I’ve seen guys afraid of having lipstick on them which I don’t understand why but I don’t question it either.

“Is that necessary?” He added.

“Not really but for you, yes. You’re quite pale, I don’t want you to look dead.” He slightly laughed and softly released my wrist from his hand.

“Am I that pale?” I nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Do you want to?” Asking him is he wanted to put it on himself.

“No, it’s my first time I might mess it up. I’ll just let you do it.” Woah. I feel honored.

“Okay hold still.” I leaned my hand on his face but I can see him leaning backwards.

“Don’t lean!” He laughed.

“Alright.. sorry.”

I hold his shoulder using my other hand and raised the other to glide the tip of the lipstick on his soft lookin lips. I saw him shut his eyes and I find myself smiling cuz I think he looks like a cute little kid. I didn’t realize that the application was taking too long until he slowly opened his eyes. My smile slowly fades while my hands still attached to him, creating connection between us. Our eyes locked into each other for a solid 4 seconds until his eyes slowly landed on my lips-sxsnpRYrccxSWwhhelp

“W-woah.. m-my makeup is a masterpiece.” I said and quickly moves away. I grab a palette with a compact mirror and hand it to him. He took it and scanned his face. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

“Masterpiece…” He said and turned to me smiling.

“Thank you so much y/n for helping me. I owe you.” Thankfully I’m not that dumb enough so I heard it right.

“No worries Jae. Happy to help.” I said mocking him about the sale’s lady situation. He laughed.

“No really. I can’t thank you enough.” His phone rings, he looked on it and put it in his pocket. “Also.. can you please keep the bag for me?” I nodded. We stood up and walked over the door.

“Sure.”

“Thank you again y/n I’ll see you… sometime. I’ll definitely make it up to you.”

“Don’t bother. It’s alright.”

“I insist.” He looked at me intently. It’s like there’s sum energy from his eyes or maybe it just him that made me agree to everything that he says. I think I need to go to hospital. There’s something wrong about here or there’s something wrong about me…

“Alright. Alright.” I slightly raised both my hands, showing him that I surrender.

“Good. See you then. Bye y/n” He smiled. What the fuck

“Bye Jae.” I smiled back. I waited him to leave before I hardly shut my door. I leaned on the back of my door, thinking about what just happened today. There’s nothing wrong about me. It’s him. He’s the problem. The way he looked at me. The way he smiles. The way he laughs. Gosh.

I’ve seen this in films before and I’m now living on it.

1 2 3 4 5

#Day6 #Day6 Jae #Jae Park #EajPark #Day6 x reader #Day6 x Reader Fluff #Day6 Fluff #Jae x reader #Sweet Night #FanFiction

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desiraypark · 4 years

Text

Drawing the Line (Final)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Tiffany (OC, Blk/F) Setting: Modern/Current Universe - comparable to an urban area in present-day U.S.A. Content: PLEASE READ AND PLEASE HEED: Infidelity; stalking (via third party); domestic violence (choking); threats; threats of false accusations Word Count: 2,027 Part I / Part II

Tiffany knew she was being watched. She climbed out of the Uber car with her duffel bag and purse and made her way to her apartment. Before opening the door to the lobby, she looked over her shoulder and spotted a black car slowly riding past. The windows were tinted, but she knew the driver was watching her. She walked into the building, rode up the elevator, and found her way to her quiet apartment.

First, she made herself some lunch. Then, she pulled out clothes to wear to work the next morning. She’d called out for Friday, the day after her procedure, and knew she needed to show up Monday looking lively--like nothing had happened. Like she had nothing to be ashamed of. She needed to convince herself. She pulled out a blue blouse, gray slacks, and the gray blazer that came with it. Just when she began to fill her garment steamer with water from the bathroom sink, she heard her lock turn and the door open. It only took him two hours.

He stood in the hallway in front of the bathroom, just staring at her in disbelief. She said nothing. She just filled her garment steamer up.

“Why did you do that, Tiffany?” he asked.

She turned off the faucet. “I already told you why.”

“When I left that night, I assumed that we’d settled everything,” he said.

Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She plugged her steamer into the socket beside her dresser and placed it down.

“When you left to go home to your family,” she said. She brushed past him--wincing at the smell of liquor that on his breath--and walked to the kitchen. He followed behind.

“I’m going to start packing tomorrow evening,” she said, opening the refrigerator.

“For what?” Kylo asked.

Tiffany grabbed a can of ginger ale. “You told me if I did, I should start packing, right?”

He stepped to her and held her face in his palms. “You know I didn’t mean that shit.” Then, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Look, we can move past this.”

Tiffany put the soda can down on the counter behind her and pried Kylo’s hand from her face. Then, she walked out of her little kitchen and put space between them.

“No, Kylo. I’m leaving either way. I’m leaving this. I’m leaving you.”

Kylo stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at her. His neck turned and he looked out of the window. Tiffany watched him, awaiting his response. Then, he looked back at her. With just two steps, he was in front of her.

____________________ Brown leaves flew outside of Tiffany’s window as she sorted through the belongings on her dresser. Everything was valuable, but not to her anymore. Every few seconds, she held up a necklace or a bracelet and remembered when he gave it to her and why. But she’d shake the memory off and put whatever piece of jewelry in the small plastic crate. She had plans to take the items to a thrift store. Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.

Before going to the door, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen. Then, she adjusted her turtleneck sweater, walked to the door, and looked through her peephole--eyes greeted by the sight of thick faux fur and wavy brown hair. Tiffany opened the door--a forest green skirt peeked out from underneath the fuzzy jacket, as well as tan-colored Valentino shoes.

“Did you leave him?” Chelsea asked with a huff.

Tiffany’s eyebrows furrowed. She looked past Chelsea, seeing if someone was with him.

“Huh? How do you know wh--”

“I know everything, Ms. Palmer,” she said. “May I come in?”

Tiffany searched the surroundings again and opened the door. Chelsea stepped inside.

“Thanks,” she said.

She looked over the apartment, then at Tiffany. “Did you leave him or something?”

Tiffany shook her head. “I--”

“He’s been a fucking mess since yesterday. Came home drunk and started yelling at everybody, including the kids. I had a mind to shoot him in the fucking face as he slept...” Chelsea said.

Tiffany stared with crinkled brows and a lax jaw. Then, she licked her lips and nodded.

“Yes…” she said. She swallowed. “I left him. I’m moving out.”

“Why?!”

“Why?!” Tiffany asked. She shook her head again. “Because he’s married with kids.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ms. Palmer. Kylo and I could give two shits about each other. I have a guy in the city, and he has you. We’re only married for b--”

“Business purposes,” Tiffany cut across, rolling her eyes and walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah, business purposes,” Chelsea finished. She walked to the half wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Tiffany grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge and twisted the top off.

“Why are you leaving him?” Chelsea asked.

Tiffany leaned against the counter and contemplated her answer. She avoided Chelsea’s curious gaze. “Because he can’t give me what I want.”

“And what is that? A house?” Chelsea looked around the apartment. “I must say I expected something a little more posh than this with the way he started moving our fucking money around…”

Tiffany sighed and took another sip of water.

“Oh, marriage?” Chelsea asked. “White picket fence, cute dog and kids. It’s all overrated, honey.”

Chelsea scoffed. “We don’t even have that shit and we can afford it. But I know it’s because he wants it with you. He really loves you. I know he wishes he were with you. I can tell when the two of you have fought. I can tell when you’ve made up. I see the way his face lights up when he texts you…”

Chelsea placed her hand on top of the half-wall, her fingers bumping into a key on a ring. “If you want all of that fluffy shit, I can definitely work something out. You have my blessing.”

Tiffany rubbed her temples and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Ren. It’s over between us. I’m getting out of this apartment,” Tiffany said.

She put her water bottle down and folded her arms. Chelsea sighed.

“Such a fucking shame,” Chelsea said. “Now, I have to deal with these fucking tantrums and hissy fits for however long…”

“Oh, poor you, Mrs. Ren!” Tiffany shouted. “How about this?”

She walked toward the half wall and yanked her turtleneck down. “I sure hope his tantrums don’t last as long as these fucking bruises! I really do.”

Chelsea’s jaw dropped and she stepped back. ____________________

“No, Kylo. I’m leaving either way. I’m leaving this. I’m leaving you.”

“This is the only way you’re fucking leaving me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Tiffany fought to breathe. She pounded her fists against Kylo’s arms and his chest. She clawed at his face, but he turned away from the path of her nails. Soon, tears started streaming down her face. She stared him dead in the eyes and his own widened. He shook his head and let her go, her body sank to the floor. She gasped and coughed, and began to cry.

“Tiffany…” he said, kneeling beside her. Tiffany’s eyes widened. She jumped away and slid on her backside toward the kitchen.

“Get away from me,” she strained.

“Baby, I didn’t mean it!” Kylo said maneuvering toward her and grabbing at her shoulders. Tiffany backed into the kitchen, scrambled to her feet, and yanked the chef’s knife out of the wooden block on her counter. Kylo stood up and stepped backward with his hands up.

“Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!” she screamed, tears gushing down her face.

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU!” he shouted, stepping toward her again.

Tiffany grabbed something within her reach--the can of ginger ale--and threw it at him. But he dodged it.

“Get out!”

Kylo bit down on his quivering bottom lip. “You know I didn’t mean that shit, Tiffany! You know Iove you...you just make me fucking crazy!”

“No, I don’t! Don’t fucking blame me! Leave your key and get the fuck out!” Tiffany cried, pushing against the counter--her body searching for another layer of security.

He shook his head, pulled the key from his pocket, and put it on top of the half-wall. Then, he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He lifted his head and took a deep breath.

“I’m gonna let you cool down and we’re going to work this out,” he said, pointing a firm finger at her.

Tiffany shook her head in shock. “We’re not going to work anything out. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

____________________

“I...I had no idea,” Chelsea said, her jaw still hanging low. “I’m...I’m sorry…”

Tiffany buried her face in her hands, then wiped the tears just as quickly as they fell. “I suppose that’s what I fucking get, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Chelsea said, rushing around and into the kitchen. “Abso-fucking-lutely not!” She held Tiffany’s shoulders, but Tiffany pulled away.

“I’m sorry, but please just leave me alone,” she said.

Chelsea swallowed and nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

She walked out of the kitchen and toward the door, then stopped and turned on her heels. “Let me help you, please.”

Tiffany shook her head and laughed. “I don’t even trust you.” She grabbed her water bottle again, but rubbed it against her forehead.

“That’s understandable,” Chelsea said, eyes filled with empathy. She looked down at the half-wall and let her eyes linger on the key sitting atop it. “He has another key.”

Tiffany looked up at Chelsea.

“I think…” she added. “I remember a receipt a few years ago. I don’t know exactly what it was for, but...”

Tiffany nodded, acknowledging what she was saying.

“If you need any help, you have my number,” Chelsea said. She turned around and walked to the door. Tiffany rushed to the door, locked it, and rested her forehead against it. Then, she sank to the floor and sobbed. ___________________ The New Ren House

“Yeah, do what the fuck you have to do,” Kylo said, rushing off the phone. “Alright.”

Chelsea strolled around the corner, just in time to see Kylo hang up his flip phone and quickly look down at his smartphone. He rolled his eyes at the sight of Chelsea and her smirk, then took a swig of his drink.

“What?” he asked.

Chelsea walked behind him and ran her fingers down his chest. She planted kisses on his cheek.

“Your boyfriend out of town?”

“No, I’m actually going to see him tomorrow,” she said. Kylo grunted and took a sip of his drink. Chelsea kissed him on the neck, then nibbled on his ear.

“I know that you’ll probably be able to find her…” she mumbled into his canal. “But if you ever put your hands on her, or any other woman again…”

Kylo slowly put his drink down, as Chelsea sucked at his neck again.

“I will beat the shit out of myself…” Kiss. “Tell my father you did it…” Kiss. “...and let him chop you into tiny pieces and fry you up for breakfast.”

Chelsea licked a stripe up his neck and to his cheek. Then, planted another kiss. She walked out of the study and froze in the hallway. She put her hands on her hips and smiled.

“Come say goodnight to your father, my loves!” she said.

Little feet ascended onto the study, and Harlan and Harper--a twin boy and girl with thick heads of brown hair--cautiously walked into the study.

“He’s in a good mood tonight. Go in and say goodnight. Tell him you love him infinity times two,” Chelsea said. She glared at Kylo, and he stared at her through hazy, watery eyes. Then, he rotated his chair and let his children run into his arms.

___________________ ...the end?

#drawing the line

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whittakerjodie · 5 years

Text

From Another Universe ( 13th Doctor X Reader )

Prompt: Could you do an imagine with the 13th doctor where the reader is transported into their universe and the reader meets the gang but they see like a necklace or earrings of something (that symbolizes doctor who like a pendent of the TARDIS) and the doctor pulls them away from the group and asks then what the reader knows (basically everything from the 9th doctor till now) and promises to keep it private from the others and so on. (Sorry it's kinda long and possibly confusing 😅 KISSES!) requested by @dannighost

A/N Hope you enjoy!

Words: 1.5k

You didn’t know how long it’d been since you’d found yourself in this dimension/parallel world. You also had no idea how to get back to your world. The first days were spent mainly running around, freaking out as you tried to find out where you were. It appeared to be Earth as you knew it, but all attempts to contact your family and friends wouldn't go through, even when you tried other phones. That's when you knew something was seriously wrong.

You tried to think of a plan and chose to acquire a library card so you could have easy access to wifi and search tools. You scoured through the Wikipedia pages of every major event i history you could think of to see if anything was different. Researching in the library was a beacon of hope, but it sadly fell flat. You had no way of actually going about an attempt to get back to your universe beyond knowing that you needed to.

Today was another ‘research’ day, but truthfully you weren’t trying anymore. It was all you could do, though. You had no identity in this universe. You couldn’t get a job, a house, anything; the library was all that you had. You scrolled mindlessly on the computer, reading up on yet another small difference in world history. Suddenly, you heard a large crash from outside. It was the result of some unseen but extreme force and it caused everything in the library to shake. The lights flickered as you tried to stabilize yourself, heart leaping out of your chest. What. the. Hell. was. That?

You shakily rose from your computer seat, cautiously making your way towards the window to see what had caused the crash.

Your heart, which was racing all to fast for you to handle, suddenly came to a brief stop. Outside, in the gardens in front of the library, there was a large group of Cybermen. You blinked several times, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t actually seeing what you were. There’s no way, you thought. No way at all. Doctor who was fake. A TV show- nothing more. So what was one of the main villains doing landing in front of the library? You reached up and wrapped your fingers around the TARDIS necklace that you’d been wearing every since you arrived in this strange new world.

Was this what had happened? Had you somehow been transported into your favorite TV show? Your head was racing, and the fact that you could see Jodie whittak- the Doctor off in the distance didn’t exactly help calm you down. You heard shouting in the library hallway.

The door to the computer lab burst open and Yaz and Ryan, two of the current companions, entered. You stared blankly at them, frozen in place as your brain tried to process even more information being thrown at you after days and days of boring research.

“Hi! Sorry, we have to use one of these really quick, do you mind?” Yaz asked. The normalcy of the question barely helped to ground you. Ryan didn’t wait for an answer, closing out all your tabs and starting a new one. When you nodded stiffly, Yaz raised a brow. “You alright, miss?”

You instinctively shook your head, panic and confusion overriding any control you had over function or thought. She stepped closer, concern evident. Her eyes scanned your shaking form, stopping when they reached the TARDIS necklace.

“What is that?” She exclaimed. She took another step forward and grasped it, turning it over in her hand. Her exclamation had caught the attention of Ryan, who stopped whatever he was doing on the computer to look at your necklace.

“But that's the TARDIS” He said blankly. You snatched the necklace back. Him and Yaz both looked equally confused as you- even matching your panic. “How do you know about that? Who are you?”

“Back off!” You yelled. Both him and Yaz looked taken aback and you felt a slight bit of shame. I can’t believe I yelled at some of my favorite fictional characters, you thought. I can’t believe I CAN yell at some of my favorite fictional characters.

“Listen… I have absolutely no idea what's going on. All I know is that You’re Yaz and Ryan, the Doctor is somewhere out there, and there's goddamn cybermen and I already knew I’m not where I’m meant to be and all your doing is making me way more panicked.“

They both shared a look, but Ryan shrugged as if this wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d encountered.

“Yeah, Sorry about that. We should probably get the Doctor” Yaz said.

___________

You sneaked past the cybermen with the two of them, answering the multitude of questions they had for you. You explained to them that you’d woken up in this new place, and you were trying to get back home when they showed up.

“So if you’re from a different world, how do you know us then?” Ryan asked. “Are we all friends or something?”

“Not exactly” you chuckled nervously. You still weren’t sure how to go about explaining that they were TV show characters. Might have to come up with a way fast, you thought. You were approaching the iconic blue box, anticipation building inside of you. Yaz moved to open the door but you stopped her. When she gave you a look you shrunk a little.

“Sorry it's just- I’ve always wanted to go in the TARDIS. Do you mind if I go first?”

Yaz shook her head, and you practically felt the anticipation spilling out of your pores. Years and years of being a Doctor Who fan, and here you were about to enter THE TARDIS. Not a fake one erected at a comic con or a thrift store- the real deal, and you were opening the door.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of stepping inside. You didn’t even notice the Doctor at the console at first. You were too busy taking in the walls, the floors and the lights. The whole atmosphere was hitting you like a semi truck. It almost brought you to tears. It did bring you to tears, and they were now flowing down your cheeks.

“Who’s this, then?” You perked up at the accent and your eyes shot to the timelord. You were mostly passed the shock of being in her universe, and it was replaced with relief. She was a hero, if anyone could get you home (or at the very least help you out in some way) it was her. You wiped your tears away.

Yaz showed off your necklace and explained to the Doctor how they’d run into you and your predicament. The Doctor took her turn of staring at the necklace. She outlined your form with her sonic screwdriver to confirm the story. After a few moments, she asked you to step aside.

“Alright” She said softly. “It certainly seems like you’re not from here… if you don’t mind me asking, how much exactly do you know?”

You felt a spark of joy at the ability to overshare; something familiar to any fan of anything ever. You laughed. “Well, where do I start?”

___________

It had been nearly half an hour. The Doctor was silent as you rambled on and on (and on, and on, and on) staring at you in an almost horrified awe as you perfectly described every event of the past 11 seasons of Doctor Who. “And THEN they totally killed River Song off which was just cruel after Clara's exit and- Oh! I forgot to talk about the silence in the library episodes didn’t I. How did I forget-”

“Okay, I think now's a good time to stop.” You clamped your mouth shut as the Doctor cleared her throat awkwardly. “Clearly, you know quite a bit”

You nodded sheepishly. “I promise I’m not a spy or a villain or anything. There's no good way to say this I suppose- you guys are all characters in a show I watch, so that's how I know.”

“So your earth has a TV show about me? That’s nice” She smiled, lost in thought for a fraction of moment. “You can’t tell anyone, though. Certainly not Yaz or Ryan. As far as they know, you’re just a person stuck here from another universe. We can say you travel with me there.”

“I won’t tell them anything” You promised. “Being here with you guys is crazy enough”

Even though it was nice to be surrounded by your favorite characters, you did feel a bit of sadness creep up behind you. You still needed to leave them and go home. The Doctor seemed to know exactly what you were thinking and jumped towards the TARDIS console.

“Right then, awkwardness aside, I will get you home, Y/N”

“But Doctor,” Yaz perked up from far across the room. Her and Ryan had been busy playing cards during your rambling. “What about the cybermen?”

The Doctor, who had seemed hellbent on making good on her promise right then and there, froze in disappointment. You almost laughed at how much she looked like a sad puppy. She met your amused gaze and smiled, brightening up again.

“Care to help us with a quick adventure before we take you home, Y/N?”

You didn’t even know why she bothered asking.

#I hope this was good ahhh #13th doctor x reader #13th doctor #13th doctor imagine

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 8

A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Eight- Nick of Time

I felt tears running down my face and said over and over again, “I love you Jamie, please don’t leave me.”

Misses Crook commanded the faucet to shoot water out and filled a large pan. She wielded her power to push the burner to high so the water would boil. She was not afraid. The Laird needed her attention and skills to pull through and the devil himself would not alter her purpose.

Glavia brought stacks of towels from upstairs and tore into linens to make bandages and fabric for compresses. I witnessed the mobilization of the household to pull Jamie from death’s door and felt him pull me to him.

“Stay with me, love. I am afraid to leave ye. I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid, I will follow you through the gates of heaven or the fires of hell. I will not let you go.”

My hands gripped his upper arms and Joe somehow worked around me. I could tell there were many wounds that were cleaned and bandaged one at a time. I heard Baritone call out beats per minute and blood pressure as Joe worked swiftly to stem the bleeding from so many wounds. I just laid with Jamie and made him feel my love.

I was coming to the surface from somewhere unknown. My back was screaming at me to move and my arms were completely numb. I panicked because I could not hear Jamie. My head came up and my wide eyes looked around the kitchen for Joe. Jamie had white bandages all over his legs and arms, chest, and head. I looked for someone, anyone, to tell me Jamie was alive. I felt myself getting hysterical and then Joe breezed into the kitchen and looked at me smiling.

“You’re awake Pet, and your husband lives.”

“He will live? Joe? Oh, my God! Thank you, Joe, thank you. You brought him back, didn’t you? He was dead when we found him, wasn’t he?”

Joe looked at me with such compassion, and when he spoke, I felt the magic of the stones, time travel, and a promise made two-hundred and fifty years ago. It was all in me, filling me up. I looked at Joe, waiting to hear the miracle.

“Yes, Pet. Jamie had passed already when we found him. You got us back here in time to restart his heart. If his heart had been beating when we traveled, I think it would have killed him, judging by the pressure exerted on me going through the centuries. It took all of us, including you, keeping him calm, giving him a reason. When he took that first breath I almost fainted. I would not have bet on him to rally.” He touched my cheek. “But he did.”

I was too happy to listen at the moment, but I tried anyway. I wanted to shout it from the rooftop that Jamie lives!

“I knocked him out so he could rest for several days and start healing. He would sacrifice everything to make sure you’re cared for, so I took that option away. I’m sorry Pet. I want him to wake long enough to eat and then another injection to put him back to sleep. If I had the equipment, I would feed him by tube and not wake him at all. Will you help me Pet? While he’s awake eating you talk of daisies and blessings. Okay?”

I got up and put my head on Joe’s shoulder. “Okay.” My arms went around him, and I hugged him with all my might pulling a chuckle out of him.

Later in the day, Jamie was stable enough to be moved to a bedroom. Joe suggested Murtagh’s room because it was on the same floor.

”Please Joe, is it so terrible to carry him upstairs so he wakes in the Laird’s room, his room?”

All the men gathered around Jamie and carried him upstairs to his room. I laid beside him and held him close to me. On the third day, I heard Jamie chuckling in his sleep.

“Ye have a kiss for da? That’s a good lass.”

I was happy that Faith found him in his dreams and gave him love. I looked at his face in sleep and saw him smile. I dropped back to sleep and sometime later, felt a warm hand move up my arm and jerked my head up. Jamie was still smiling, running his hand down my arm like he used to. I cuddled him close to me and saw it was dark outside, so we had a bit more time to dream together before Joe woke him up.

My little Faith had been brought to me for three days so I could nurse her. While nursing she would tug at Jamie’s shirt and babble at him. Several times she would cling to Jamie when Glavia came to bring her back to the nursery. I would lay her next to her father, so she could fall asleep holding his arm, with her thumb in her mouth. It took my breath away to see her love for him as they slept together for hours while I watched.

On the fourth day, Joe did not come with an injection after Jamie ate. We were left alone, come what may. Jamie slept for many hours and Faith decided she had to stay with her da after I fed her. I hardly knew if it was day or night anymore. I looked out the window at the low light and wondered if it was dawn or nightfall. I didn’t care.

Faith wrapped her arm through Jamie’s and babbled to him. She wasn’t falling asleep like usual and squirmed until she had climbed on his back and put her head down. Her fingers were in his hair and she worked her way into his neck. The thumb found her mouth and the babbling stopped. I watched the miracle with a full heart that almost stopped when Jamie asked her for a kiss.

He raised his head and turned his face toward her while she grabbed for more hair.

“Faith, do ye have a kiss for yer da?”

She kicked her legs and pulled on his arm trying to get her puckered mouth to his face. He leaned into her to receive the requested kiss and his hand came out to hold my arm. I shook with my tears watching him come to life. When he looked at me, he smiled.

Sometime in the night I felt Glavia touch my arm and point at the baby. I extracted a sleeping Faith from under her father’s arm and handed her over. When it was just me and Jamie, he pulled me close to him. I placed feather-light kisses on his face as he smiled himself to sleep.

When Jamie was awake enough to meet Joe, the moment felt suspended across two and a half centuries. They were both sparkling happy to meet the other after hearing so much about each other.

Joe examined Jamie’s wounds checking for infection and then redressing them. He had come prepared to treat anything I assume, because he never seemed to run out of needles and tiny bottles as he attended Jamie. I finally put myself in Joe’s shoes and realized just how much of a hero he was. What was he doing in London, how could he get away at a moment’s notice, how could he get all this medicine and instruments? It seemed an endless supply and then there was Baritone. What was he doing in London with Joe? I had a million questions that would have to wait until Jamie was under his own power again.

The men were locked in a conversation about the weapons used to cause the various injuries. Jamie did his best to describe the event, the arc of the weapon, the force used to wield it, and Joe made drawings and scribbled notes next to each.

“It’s lights out for you my friend. I apologize for so many questions. I look forward to talking again.”

Jamie’s eyelids were insistent and closed for a rejuvenating sleep that would last for hours. I pulled the quilt up under his chin and walked Joe down to the kitchen just as Baritone was plowing through the door holding a king's ransom in clothing. Bag after bag was placed on the table as I tore through them. I had washed my breeks and shirt every day, but I was very ready to relieve myself of this ugly outfit. I thought about Misses Crook and Glavia for the first time in four days, feeling ashamed it took so long.

“Where on earth did all this come from, Baritone?”

“I have scoured every thrift store in Edinburgh and a church rummage sale to find this stuff. I asked the women what they would feel comfortable in and pestered them until they let me measure them. It was an easy conversion of my hand width although Misses Crook may not recover from being touched continuously for ten minutes.” He was laughing. “She clung to Glavia the whole time and closed her eyes. Glavia was easier. That girl is game for anything, it’s awesome. I tried to get them into the jeep for a ride but that is still a no-go zone.”

I kissed his cheek and hugged him with my thanks, he was a good man who took it upon himself to see to their every need.

“This is the fun part, go get them so we can find some stuff that fits!”

I ran upstairs and pulled the women down taking Faith so she could watch the excitement as they held shirts and pants in their arms. Well, Glavia did. Misses Crook looked traumatized at having to wear such things and looked at me for an escape. Baritone handed her a bag of special things he found just for her and he smiled at her fearful face. I pulled each item out and was astounded he found such things. There were six garments that would suffice as a shift and long dresses that covered her completely. Glavia pulled her upstairs so they could finally get out of the dresses they had worn for five days. It was a tense twenty minutes.

When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I held my breath until two transformed women walked meekly into the kitchen. Joe and Baritone won the world record for compliments and esteem building statements. I felt the tears again and wondered if they would ever stop. Faith pushed the tears off my cheeks, “no, no, mama.” Then she kissed my face for several minutes making me laugh.

Misses Crook wore a casual floor-length dress that was all the rage when I was last here and her boots. I told her how nice she looked and saw the red rims of her eyes as she looked at the floor. She was miserable and my heart broke for her.

“Misses Crook, I am rather good with hand sewing. I don’t know how long we will be here, but I will dedicate time to crafting something more suitable and beige. Skirts, jacket, petticoat, and bum-roll. You only need to wear this when I wash your dress. Okay?”

She reached out and grabbed my arm as the tears fell. “Mistress, I thank ye. Bring the fabric, I can sew my own.

I turned my attention to Glavia, and it was like looking from night to day. She was dressed in loose pants and a cotton button-down with flat shoes. She radiated happiness in her modern clothes and touched her ribs constantly. I walked to her smiling.

“It feels weird at first not to wear a corset, but you will learn to love it.”

She beamed at me and curtsied reaching for Faith who now had a belly full of milk and drooping eyes. When she left the kitchen to take Faith to bed she backed out, smiling and nodding. That was weird, I thought. I wondered if she was self-conscious of her butt showing with no bum-roll.

With Misses Crook still looking at the floor and sniffling, I pulled her upstairs to gather the soiled pieces of her dress and get them in the wash. She stayed in her room and sat quietly on her bed until she had her skirts, jacket, bum roll, corset, stockings, and shift back. I hurried.

I raced downstairs to hug both men who were making sandwiches and drinking beer. They both wanted me to sit with them and talk and I realized how little time I had given them while they were so devoted to each of us. I moved toward the table and heard a crash upstairs, spinning on my heel to race up the steps.

Poor Jamie was on the floor passed out. I called for Baritone and Joe, then heard Faith crying after being woken up by my yelling. I was hysterical and torn between helping Jamie and helping Faith. I could hear Glavia coo’ing to the baby and her crying stopped. I helped the men get Jamie back into bed. Joe sat with him, finger on his pulse and Baritone came back with the blood pressure cuff.

“He needs blood Pet. I hoped he would build his blood by eating but there is too much taxing his resources with all his wounds. I don’t have the equipment to test everyone’s blood type and give him a transfusion.”

Joe hung his head and looked crestfallen. “How could I forget that?”

I hugged him and told him of everything he did bring and how it saved all of us, but it did little to help his concern. He would be staying with Jamie for now and suggested we relax for the afternoon. We were being dismissed and Baritone held the door for me looking at Joe compassionately.

“He will be inconsolable for the rest of today Claire. That’s just Joe, especially when it affects someone so important. He will be fine as soon as he forgives himself.”

I was horrified and pestered Baritone for a way to help Jamie.

“I may be able to help but it won’t be quick, or ethical. If Joe is this distraught, he must fear for Jamie’s life so I will do what I can.”

He was holding me down telling me to breathe and calm down. He kept apologizing for his insensitive comment about Jamie dying. I just wanted to run upstairs and hold him, but Baritone pleaded with me to let Joe doctor him. It took a good five minutes, but I finally nodded my head and sat back on the couch. My whole body was shaking, and my head was screaming but I promised Baritone and put my faith in Joe.

It was a long afternoon and the minutes passed like hours while my mind conjured up every awful scenario, driving me closer to insanity. I turned the television on hoping for distraction and watched a program like it was yesterday I had done such a thing. Misses Crook came quietly downstairs and launched herself into the closest wall when she looked at the television. Her hand was pressed to her chest, eyes wide, and mouth agape. Like she had just seen miniature people interacting inside a box. She was crossing herself continuously and trying to melt into the wall.

“Misses Crook! It’s alright, I��m sorry for not warning you about this box. It’s alright, those people are not real. Well, they’re real but not in the box, umm, let’s turn this off and explain another time. I think your dress is ready, let’s check.”

She would not enter the laundry room, too small and too loud for her nerves I think. I handed her a fresh, warm dress and smiled encouragingly. When she came downstairs the next time, she looked just like the old Misses Crook with renewed confidence and a clean dress.

The afternoon went by at a snail’s pace until I could not stand it anymore. I opened Jamie’s door quietly and looked at Joe who was deep in concentration. Jamie looked very pale in his sleep and wore the deflated cuff around his arm, apparently for repeated readings. Joe didn’t notice I had come in the room and I was too scared suddenly of what he would tell me. I slipped out and went back to pacing the downstairs.

We prepared dinner and I nursed Faith while I watched the sunset and darkness set upon the estate. Where was Baritone and what was his mission? He said he would try to help Jamie and left hours ago. I handed a sleepy Faith to Glavia and walked upstairs hanging my head. I didn’t want to hear that Jamie would die; I didn’t want to hear Joe could not help him. I entered the room with tears flowing and looked at the two of them. Jamie looked even paler if that were possible. I knelt at Joe’s feet and looked up, ready to be devastated. He pulled me up and walked me into the hall. He would not let go of my shaking hands.

“It’s time to make a decision Pet. Without a transfusion, Jamie won’t make it through the night. The hospital will want identification, at least a name they can match with birth records. They won’t find anything for a twenty-five-year-old Scot named James Fraser. They will treat him and then interrogate us for his next of kin, parent’s names, siblings, anything that will provide his identity. His wounds are not consistent with any weapon we use today. They will send his picture to every agency in Scotland asking for identification.”

What Joe couldn’t tell her is he could not be involved with the hospital and their pursuit of Jamie’s identity. He could not risk involving himself with a man with no identity. It felt to him like abandonment because she would have to bring him in alone. It was the only way to save Jamie at this point.

I pulled Joe to the kitchen for much-needed food. There was something he wasn’t telling me and that was my worst fear now. I tried to eat but could not, so I crept into Jamie’s room and carefully laid down next to him. His skin was the color of a white sheet and my tears were pouring out of my eyes. There was no decision to make. We had to save his life and pay consequences later. I went back downstairs to tell Joe. I could hear excited talking and Baritone’s voice, which was never hard to miss. When I walked into the kitchen Joe was crushing Baritone to him with a huge smile. I saw a cooler on the table and two bags full of what looked like medical equipment. I looked at Joe blankly.

“We are saved Pet, because Baritone is the smartest, most resourceful person in the universe! We have blood for Jamie!”

It was quite a leap from utter despair to saved and all I could do is smile vacantly and wonder why Joe wasn’t shooting the blood into Jamie already. I looked in the cooler and saw piles of O-negative blood bags. Joe took my hand and the cooler as we walked upstairs. He took some time to smooch with our hero Baritone while I cuddled up to Jamie.

“Do not be afraid my dearest love. Help is here and you will feel better in a short time. Be strong and brave for me, don’t give up.”

I gave him the lightest kisses while Joe and Baritone set up a crude stand for the blood transfusion Baritone was blushing from Joe’s constant praise which made his Hollywood-handsome face even more disarming. I watched the blood run down the tube into Jamie’s arm and felt the first ray of hope in this devastating day. Joe shuffled everyone out of the room and closed the door leaving me alone with Jamie.

I started telling him what I remembered of our days together before we sailed for France. I explained the funny times when his joy would sweep me away and the intimate times when we celebrated our never-ending desire for each other. I talked myself into a deep sleep, disturbed only by Joe coming in to check Jamie’s blood pressure and heart rate., or hang another bag of blood. I could not remember how many times Joe checked Jamie as he was in and out of the room for most of the night. Several times he touched my cheek or squeezed my hand and my heart was bursting with love for my friend. For saving Jamie.

Deep in the night, I felt Glavia touch my arm and I heard Faith sniffling. She had cried so hard she hiccupped when breathing and held her arms out to me. I didn’t hear her cry meaning my sanity edged farther away from me. I told Glavia I would keep her for the rest of the night and sent her to bed.

I hummed while Faith nursed and settled down. When she was deep in sleep again, I laid her between us and drifted back to the black.

“Da-da-da-kish-da-kish ohh ma-mum-mum-mum-up mama.”

My eyes opened to Faith’s nose pressed against mine and she smiled and sat up reaching behind her to play with Jamie’s shirt. I kissed her a dozen times and went rigid in shock when I heard Jamie’s voice say, “wee lassie.” Faith was babbling to her father while I shot up to look at his beautiful face. His color was back, and he was reaching for me. I noticed there wasn’t a bag of blood hung so Joe cut him off sometime in the night. I cuddled him and said good morning.

When Joe came in to check Jamie, I took Faith downstairs to start breakfast for everyone. Misses Crook had a large pot of oatmeal ready to serve and I demonstrated the use of the toaster to her and Glavia. I pulled fresh fruit out, butter, and cream cheese just wanting everyone to eat all they could and then celebrate the day.

Baritone was picking at the oatmeal, still a slave to his body fat index. He handed me a large bag from Macy’s and smiled as I tore into the treasures inside. There were two pairs of designer jeans and several shirts, belts and sandals. I launched at him and kissed him soundly while he laughed deep in his belly.

“I turned the horses out lassie.”

My head shot up at the sound of Murtagh’s voice. I hugged him for a full minute because it had been so long since I’d seen him.

“And the Laird?”

“He is doing much better Murtagh.”

The passage of time was finally less painful, in fact, it was springtime when everything is renewed. The days were warmer, Jamie got stronger, and the household settled into a routine. One morning I awoke early, just as the sun was coming up and went downstairs for some juice. Joe was sitting in the big lazy boy reading the paper, just like I remembered him doing. I watched him, missing the closeness.

“It will always belong to you, Pet.”

“What will?”

“My lap.”

I hugged him and found my drink before returning to Jamie. We have been in this century for four weeks and even Misses Crook has accepted the wicked technology of the television. At least she doesn’t throw herself at walls anymore when the television is on. I could not wait to get back to Jamie’s time at first, but I am getting accustomed to the luxury of hot showers, toilets, cars, and riding for fun rather than transport. What will we do when Jamie is strong enough to travel the centuries?Will we stay or will we go back?

Misses Crook made a new kilt for Jamie from wool Baritone purchased along with several white shirts. When Jamie could stand for a few minutes, baritone measured his waist and thighs for pants. He still slept for most of the day but in the evening, he would get a second wind and we would play with Faith on the big bed and talk a little.

“Sassenach, where are we? I assume this is your time because of Joe bein here, but where are we?”

I was stunned. “You don’t recognize the house? It’s Lallybroch Jamie. Fixed up and modernized but it’s your home and land. Remember me telling you I purchased it from the bank?”

Jamie looked around the room as if for the first time. His eyes were very large as he considered the possibility. “I want to see the rest of the house, please Sassenach.”

Joe had mentioned recently that Jamie would want to get out of his room as he felt better and warned me to go slow but let him out. I giggled at that, then and now, like I would have any power to stop him.

We walked slowly down the hall so he could see the door to the attic, the grand hallway of the second floor and doors to the same rooms he and Jenny had when they lived here. He moved toward the stairs and I pulled him back asking him to rest first. I could see his eyes blazing with excitement that this really was his childhood home.

He pulled me into a hug and looked down at me cocking his head.

“Well Sassenach, I could leave ye here and go myself but that wouldn’t be much fun so yer goin with me.”

He saw Faith sitting on the floor playing with her blocks and his smile beamed. When she saw him, she started babbling excitedly, “da-da-da!” Glavia looked up and saw Jamie taking a careful stair at a time and she jumped up and down and clapped her hands calling for Misses Crook. We had an audience as our feet finally landed on the first floor. Jamie looked pale and I freaked out pulling him to the couch.

I brought Faith to sit in his lap and the two of them went into their own world while I looked for Murtagh. I finally found him repairing fencing and shook my head smiling. The work ethic of a healthy Scot could not be ignored. They were driven to work. It’s what gave their lives purpose and stability. I remembered times when one man could finish the chores on Jamie’s estate, and Murtagh would go work with a neighbor that needed help. I suddenly felt nostalgic for that better life and realized the trappings of the modern world were complicit in separating people from all I loved about 1745. I knew Jamie would feel it too, eventually.

Murtagh was full of smiles seeing Jamie on the couch. They sat and talked a bit while I nursed Faith. She was getting quite good at drinking from a cup and it was time to start weaning her. My heart broke a bit as I rocked this sweet child looking up at me, forcing her eyes to stay open. Sleep won and I handed her to Glavia and followed them upstairs to change the sheets on our bed and air out the room. I made fast work of it and coming down to the laundry room saw all the men sitting together talking about life in Jamie’s time. I started the wash and saw Jamie’s eyes follow me, beckoning. I sat next to him and joined the conversation until Joe declared enough for the first trip downstairs. Murtagh and Joe helped Jamie upstairs and into bed. He barely had the strength to lift his leg for the next step. I thanked them all and said good night.

“Sassenach, I canna sleep with all these clothes. Will ye help me get them off.” When he laid down on cool clean sheets, he sighed for so long it made my heart hurt. I never thought to take his clothes off while he laid there, week after week. I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hands through his hair until he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Jamie’s recovery was nothing short of a miracle and in a week's time, he was walking short distances outside in the fresh air, looking at fields that hadn’t changed since he last saw them in his time. When I knew he could make it to the barn I walked him in and watched the shock on his face as Donus stamped the ground and snorted in his happiness.

“Donus, how?”

“I brought them so they wouldn’t starve just like you told me to.”

Jamie’s face lost color and he staggered to a hay bale to sit down. “Come sit with me Mo chridhe and tell me how you got them here. How you got any of us here.”

My heart was racing as I took one-inch steps toward him. I had avoided all talk of transporting people across the centuries, pulling them away as the British musket balls flew through the air toward my head. How we were unable to sail to safety with no alternative but to seek shelter in the high caves only to be discovered the second day. I didn’t want to tell him how many trips I took to the gorge looking for the blue stone. I didn’t want to tell him how I betrayed him.

“Sassenach, no matter how slow ye walk ye will eventually answer my questions.”

When I looked up at him, I heard the gasp. “Come here lass, now, ye look like yer walkin to the gallows. What can trouble ye so?”

I sat down on the hay with him and looked at my feet, pleading for a way out of this.

“Are ye ready to talk to me, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather not actually.”

He took my hand and dropped his head back to rest on the wall behind him. “There are two women in ye Claire. Here, yer independent and commanding in the nicest possible way. Suddenly, I’m with the wife I remember in our life at Lallybroch. Timid, quiet, subservient.”

He pulled my shoulder so I would turn toward him and lifted my chin to look at him.

“I loved her, with all my heart. But I love ye more this way Claire.”

His eyes were burning with his truth and it took my breath away. Was he telling me he loved the take charge Claire the most? I was confused, remembering the day he tortured me about the money I took from his desk. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

“I can see ye bein tossed on an ocean of changing rules and roles and I want to quiet yer mind love. We do as we are taught until we see another way that is better. Forgive me for my dominance of ye, forgive my callousness. Open yer mind like ye have opened mine. I’ve watched ye for the past weeks and I’ve fallen in love all over again. Speak yer truth Sassenach and please don’t lose yerself again to walk in my shadow, not ever.”

His eyes were full of compassion and I felt my back straighten and met his gaze.

“Now then, how did ye get everyone to this time, love.”

I had a choice, to believe in what he said about loving the strong Claire, or dodging his questions and getting him back to bed.

“Well, Murtagh tried many times to book us passage to America. He told me you would escape, and we had to be ready to disappear with you. There were no ships because the British army had taken them. As the battle got closer, we had no choice but to hide in the caves until we could find a ship. We emptied the house of the valuable pieces and heirlooms and put them in the priest’s hole. I went to the gorge four times after they took you, looking for the blue stone. I had a bad feeling we wouldn’t get away, so I kept searching. After our first night in the cave, I snuck Brimstone out of the barn and rode for the gorge. A huge storm was above me and it ripped open leaving me with no shelter against the pouring rain and lightning. I was heartbroken, defeated, and utterly empty inside as the rain soaked me through. I didn’t pray. I just stared at the rocks. Then, the outer dirt melted away from a brilliant blue rock, right in front of my eyes. I grabbed it and saw others, putting them all in my sack.”

“I galloped back and saw the house was full of red coats. When I reached the cave, Murtagh, Misses Crook, Glavia, and Faith were being pushed out of it by two British soldiers. I believe Faith was crying which led the soldiers to them. I waited, hearing them taunt Murtagh with watching them throw Misses Crook over the edge followed by Faith and then raping Glavia.”

I cried with the memory. It was terrifying and this was the first time I brought it all back. Jamie held me close to him and asked me to continue when I could.

“The soldiers were talking among themselves and distracted so I ran to the group, telling them to hold hands and not to let go. I was so scared. I saw the soldiers raise their rifles, pointing at my head. I closed my eyes and thought about Lallybroch in my own time and suddenly we were whisked away, seconds before the musket balls could crash into my head.”

“Jesus Claire!” Jamie hugged me to him, and I felt his strength and his love but there was no anger. It gave me the strength to continue.

“I thought you were dead. You came to me in my dreams and told me to get the horses or they would starve. You woke me up and told me to go. So I did. Watching the house, I started to move toward the barn, and you told me to wait. A red coat walked out the kitchen door and rode away. I brought the horses here soon after.”

Jamie was speechless but continued to hold me close, lending his strength so I could tell the story.

“How did I get here Sassenach. My last memory is laying on the grass of Culloden Moore, knowin I was dyin and praying you would forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For being taken and leavin ye alone.” He dropped his head. “For breakin my promise to get us away before the battle.”

“Jamie!” I threw my arms around him and told him it wasn’t his fault and I never thought it was. I was crying and he just held me to him.

“The British gathered the living and we waited our turn to be shot. I had no more life in me and felt myself drifting away. Rupert McKenzie shook me, askin if I was alive. It brought me back, to the pain and the visions of you and Faith that were breakin my heart. They pulled Rupert away and I heard the shot that ended his life. I remember nothin after that, so how did I get here.”

“You woke me up and asked me to help you. I took Joe with me and found you in the dooryard of Lallybroch. Someone had left you there, I don’t know when. Joe told me to get us back immediately, so I did. They worked on you all night and I later learned you had passed already, and Joe brought you back by restarting your heart.”

I was sobbing now and clung to Jamie like a lifeline. He had gone pale again and I suddenly worried I had overtaxed him. I begged him to wait right there and ran to the house for Joe sprinting back to my relief he was still seated where I left him.

Once Jamie was in bed with some juice, he held my hand to him. “Dinna leave yet Sassenach.”

I stayed back when the others left and closed the door. Jamie looked up at me like he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes radiated love and appreciation and he kissed my hand.

“Ye set yer cap for me Sassenach and fought death itself to keep me. I am so grateful mo chridhe. I saw ye as the beautiful woman that ye are before, now I see ye as a warrior, like me. How did I win the love of one so special?”

I laid down next to him and he held me close. I looked into his crystal blue eyes and smiled. “I fell in love with a handsome, dashing Scot, in a barn, in the middle of the night, when it was bitter cold outside. I haven’t seen my heart since.”

I kissed him and felt a kiss I remembered. Soft at first, gradually claiming my soul, stealing my mind, promising everything, and leaving me breathless. I felt my arousal and panicked trying to think of a way to extricate myself from his arms. I felt his breath on my cheek and saw he was sound asleep. I cuddled with him, giving up the reins of the day, happy to free-fall with my dearest love, into the surrender of sleep.

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nikki-writes-stuff · 5 years

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While You’re In the World - Part 2

Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is.

Read Part One Here!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Hello! I hope you guys like this story! I suspect that there will be three parts to it, and I’m so excited about this story idea. Please please please let me know what you think!!!

The next few weeks were interesting, to say the least. You worked on your book, letting Bucky read passages of it to get his thoughts on what you’d written. He always had nice things to say, along with critiques or constructive criticism. Turns out, he knew a lot about what life back in the 40’s was like, so he would always help you correct continuity errors when they arose. Any time you asked him how he knew so much about that time period, he would frown and shrug, telling you that he didn’t know how. He just did.

You were quickly learning that Bucky wasn’t like other guys, and in more ways than were just obvious. It only took him four days to heal from the wounds that had very nearly killed him. You’d stared for a solid sixty seconds at the tanned, freshly-scarred skin of his abdomen, trying to process how it was possible.

“Bucky, you…you realize that this isn’t normal, right?” you’d asked. He’d arched an eyebrow at you while tugging his shirt back down, levelling you with a skeptical look.

“When have I ever given off an indication of being ‘normal’?” he’d snarked back.

That was another thing; the man was becoming more and more human with every passing day. He still hadn’t remembered anything other than his name and a blonde man from his past named Steve, but his personality was still shining through. You saw it in the way his eyebrows would bounce from something you said, or in the sarcastic tone of his voice when he would answer one of your probing questions.

“Why do you have a metal arm?” you’d finally questioned him one night over dinner. He hadn’t even stopped in his rhythm of moving his fork up to his mouth as he replied.

“Well it’s just so fashionable.”

He was always quiet in his joking, and he was always so surprised when you would laugh at his humor; it was as if he wasn’t even aware of his own teasing. But even if he didn’t know it, he was becoming more and more comfortable with showing you his true colors.

He was still incredibly timid about certain things, though, and still had an aura of sadness floating around him. You were desperate for him to smile; you tried to joke around with him, and while his face would always soften at your goofy comments, it was still never enough to pull him out of his stupor.

On the seventh day of him living with you, though, you marched over to the couch and stood over him, hands planted on your hips.

“I think you should get out of the house,” you stated. “You can’t just keep sitting on my couch all day long staring out the window.”

He frowned, straightening up.

“You… want me to leave?”

You faltered in your confidence, his nervousness taking you off guard.

“Bucky… No,” you assured him, sitting beside him. “No, I like having you here. It’s just that I don’t think it’s healthy for you to stay copped up inside all day. Maybe you could come with me to the grocery store? Or the library? I need to return a few books today; maybe going out will help to jog your memory.”

He considered it, chewing absentmindedly on his lip as he watched your cat twine around his ankles. He reached down with his metal hand and let Obi rub his face against it.

“…Ok,” he finally nodded. He seemed apprehensive about it, but you were over the moon. With a grin, you stood up, rushing to your bedroom.

“Great! I’m going to get changed; you go ahead and get ready, and I’ll meet you at the door in ten.”

You quickly changed into a yellow romper, pulling your hair back with a headband and sliding some gloss over your lips before waltzing back into the living room. You were just about to ask Bucky if he would like to get some lunch with you, but your words died on your tongue when you saw him standing in just the pair of gray jeans you’d bought for him at the thrift shop. He was sorting through the stack of t-shirts you’d gifted him, a long-sleeved blue shirt in one hand, a long-sleeved white one in the other.

He looked up, lips parting in surprise at seeing you standing there, and you thought you saw a blush rise over his cheeks as you stared at his naked torso. You’d noticed the scars before, sure, but you had no idea how you’d could have missed how muscular he was. His flesh arm was just as ripped as the metal one, and prominent abs popped out along his stomach. Just as your eyes started skirting over the scar along the line of where his metal arm met his shoulder, he turned away and pulled the white shirt on, hurrying to pull on the gloves he’d been wearing when you first found him.

You snapped out of it, feeling your cheeks heating up as you slung your purse over your shoulder.

“Um… Are you hungry? I thought we could stop for pizza on the way to the store,” you stammered. You saw Bucky nod out of the corner of you vision before bending over to slip on his boots.

“Sure.”

After he was done getting ready, the two of you set out. The metal stairs creaked and shook under Bucky’s weight as he walked down them behind you, and you gripped the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

“I really need to talk to the landlord about these stairs,” you mumbled.

When you emerged from the alleyway, you got about five steps down the sidewalk before realizing that your companion wasn’t next to you anymore. Turning around, you saw him squinting in the sunlight, taking in the busy street before him. Brown brick building rose up as far as the eye could see, with cars honking their horns and flying along the road.

“Bucky? You ok?”

He gulped and turned to you, a uncertain glimmer in his eyes.

“Where are we?”

You frowned at the question and shook your head, walking back over to him.

“Brooklyn,” you answered. “I thought you knew that. We’re in Brooklyn, New York.”

Once more, he looked around, taking in the neat row of shops across the street. He was quiet for a long moment, and just as you were about to say something, he turned to you once more.

“I know this place,” he murmured. “I remember it. I think… I think I grew up here.”

You blinked a few times before a grin stretched across your face.

“Bucky, this is fantastic! You’re starting to remember,” you exclaimed, setting your hand on his shoulder. You watched as a half-smile twisted his lips, and at least part of his nervousness seemed to dissipate under your enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I guess it is good,” he agreed.

“C’mon, maybe pizza will jog your memory,” you said, reaching down to grab his hand. “Any true New Yorker can never forget the pizza here.”

You tugged on him until he was following you again, and you found yourself reluctant to let go of him. You forced your hand to drop to your side after a few steps, though, and you told yourself to ignore the butterflies in your chest. He had enough on his plate without you shoving you schoolgirl crush on him.

The two of you walked together for a while, with you pointing out landmarks as you went, trying to jog his memory. All the while, Bucky watched you prattle on with that same puppy-dog look of confusion in his eyes, but he still smiled anytime you grinned up at him.

“Ok, we’re here!”

You jogged up the steps of your favorite pizzeria, opening the door for Bucky.

“Luigi’s Pizza might be my favorite place in the whole city,” you said, getting in line to order. “It’s been here since the 1930’s, and their recipe apparently hasn’t changed at all. They only sell five different kinds of pies, but each of them is delicious.”

Bucky nodded dutifully, and when it came time to order, he just muttered that he would get whatever you usually got. And so, five minutes later, the two of you were sitting on a bench outside the shop, a huge, greasy slice of pepperoni pizza on each of your paper plates with two cans of Coke resting against your leg.

You watched as Bucky folded the slice in half at the crust, and you smiled when he took a pensive bite out of it. You watched as his eyes widened at the taste, and you giggled as you did the same.

“Pretty great, huh?”

When Bucky didn’t answer, you just shrugged and kept eating, oblivious to the discovery Bucky was having beside you.

He was a teenager, maybe 13 or 14, and the blonde guy – Steve – was sitting at the table beside him. He was much smaller in this memory, almost sickly looking, but he still had the same smile on his face as he and Bucky took a slice each of the pizza pie in front of them.

“How’d you manage to afford all of this?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t steal outta your mom’s purse again, did you?”

“That was one time, punk,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you gotta know, you remember that guy who was giving you trouble last week behind the schoolhouse?”

“…which one?”

“Johnson.”

“Oh, yeah. What about him?”

“Well after I beat him to kingdom come, a dollar bill slipped outta his jacket pocket, and I figured I would take it as payment for the lesson I taught him that day.”

“Oh, really? And what lesson was that?”

“To go pick on someone his own size. Now shut up and eat your pizza before it gets cold.”

Bucky shook his head as he came out of the memory, glancing over at you as you sat oblivious next to him.

“…Hey, can I ask you something?”

You glanced up, wiping some grease off of your chin as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, Bucky, what’s up?”

“…What year is it?”

You frowned, staring incredulously up at him.

“Are… Are you serious? How do you not know what year it is?”

He just ducked his head, taking another bite of his pizza as he stared at the ground in front of him. You set a hand on his shoulder, patting the metal a few times before opening your Coke.

“It’s 1980, hon. Why, what year did you think it was?”

The man beside you shrugged, already half through his pizza, and he didn’t answer you as he picked up his beverage. He fumbled with it for a second before he was able to open it like you had, and he lifted a curious eyebrow at the label before taking a cautious sip. He sputtered a little after his first sip, furrowing his eyebrows at the drink, as if it had personally offended him. You laughed and patted him on the back as he coughed, finishing off your own food before getting up to throw your trash away.

“What, have you never had a coke before?”

“It didn’t taste like this the last time I had one, let’s just say that.” He eyed the drink again before taking another sip, this time swallowing it without any incident. “…It’s not too bad, though.”

After Bucky was finished, the two of you got up again, walking a couple more blocks before you came to Brooklyn Grocery. Bucky looked weary of all the people coming in and out of the busy building, but you gave him an encouraging smile as you picked out a shopping cart and wheeled it over to him.

“You feel up to doing this, Buck?” you asked. “If it’s too much for you, you can wait outside while I get the shopping done.”

“No… No, it’s ok,” he assured you. “But thanks.”

Your shopping adventure was, for the most part, uneventful, with Bucky trailing you silently through the aisles. The only times he spoke up were when you asked him what he would want for dinner over the next few days.

“I can make us sloppy joes or tacos or pasta… Or-“

“Do you know how to make chicken a la king?”

The question came out of nowhere, but Bucky explained himself as you looked up at him curiously.

“I think… I think it used to be my favorite,” he said sheepishly. “If you don’t want to, it’s-“

“Oh, Bucky, no! I would love to,” you insisted. “I think my mom made it for me once… Let me just get the ingredients, ok?”

You smiled as you gathered everything you would need for the dish, feeling excited at Bucky’s returning memories. Whatever had happened to him, you could tell that he would never truly be the same. But with each new memory, each joke he made, each smile he sent your way, you were becoming more and more optimistic.

Once you had everything you needed, you went to go to the checkout line, but Bucky lingered in front of a display of cassette tapes. With a smile, you came over to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you looked at the various songs available.

“You wanna pick one out?”

“I don’t know much about music these days,” he sighed.

“That’s ok. Pick one out anyways; it’ll be a surprise when we listen to it at home.”

Bucky turned to you, giving you that same old half-smile before he reached out, picking a tape off of the top rack. Somebody to Love by Queen.

“You, sir, just picked one of the best songs ever to be written,” you praised. His smile grew as he set it into the shopping trolly, but he frowned after a moment.

“But it won’t be a surprise for you now,” he mused.

“Oh! Well then…” You put your hand over your eyes. “Pick another one out; I won’t look.”

You only removed your hand when you heard the plastic being dropped into your cart, and you shared a smile with Bucky before finally going to the checkout counter. A few minutes later, the two of you emerged, arms laden down with bags.

“Ok, so I think we should drop this off at the house before heading to the library,” you said as you started walking again. “Besides, it’s on the way to the library anyways.”

After the two of you went home, you started putting away the groceries while Bucky took the two new cassettes over to the radio. You heard the opening lines of Somebody to Love start to play as you popped the chicken into the fridge, and you sang along softly under your breath, trying to be quiet so Bucky wouldn’t be able to hear you.

When you turned around, though, Bucky was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, watching you intently. You felt your cheeks heat up under your gaze, and you abruptly stopped singing as you shoved the leftover grocery bags under the sink.

“Sorry about that,” you mumbled. “I hope my caterwauling didn’t ruin the song for you.” Bucky frowned and took a step closer to you, shaking his head.

“Of course you didn’t ruin it,” he assured you. “Your voice is… It’s nice.”

You saw a soft stain of red come over his cheeks, and you cleared your throat as you shifted on your feet.

“So… What do you think about Queen?” you asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, they’re… they’re good. He has a nice voice.”

“God, I love Freddie Mercury. He’s so talented.”

The two of you were silent for another few seconds.

“Freddie Mercury is the guy who sings-“

“I kinda got that, yeah.”

You were quiet for another few seconds before you started laughing. At first, Bucky only grinned down at you, but before you knew it you could hear him chuckling, too. It was a rich, warm sound, and you knew immediately that you wanted to hear it every day going forward.

“Gosh… Okay,” you giggled. “Okay, we should go to the library now.”

He nodded and gestured for you to lead the way, and after grabbing your purse again, you led him out the door. The two of you were still smiling as you walked beside one another on the sidewalk, shoulders occasionally brushing against one another. In the distance, you could see dark clouds forming, but you didn’t mind the rain. You had plenty of time to get home before it started pouring.

It only took you guys five minutes to get to the library, and when you stood in the doorway, you breathed in the smell of books permeating the building. With a smile to the librarian, you dropped your due books into the return slot before turning to Bucky.

“So,” you said. “I’m going to go to the WWII section for some research material for my book. You’re welcome to come along, but if you want to check out the other parts of the library, that’s fine, too. Just meet me back at the front in fifteen-“

“I’ll stick with you.”

You smiled and nodded, leading him towards the historical non-fiction isles. You made a beeline to the section that covered the 1930s to the 1940s, browsing the titles for something that might help you.

Oblivious to you, Bucky was looking at the titles as well, eyes skirting over them, looking for something. He didn’t know what that something was; he didn’t even know why he seemed to feel so at-home when he thought about that time period. He just knew, deep inside of himself, that it was the key to remembering who he was.

His fingers brushed over the spines through his gloves, coming to a stop on a title that caught his eye. Feeling trepidatious, he slid the book out from the rest, scanning its title – Captain America: The Man, The Myth, The Legend.

“Captain America…” he breathed under his breath. Why did that sound so familiar?

You looked over upon hearing his voice, looking down at the book he was holding.

“Captain America, huh?” You smiled. “I always loved learning about him in school. I did a project on him, once. You know, come to think of it, I think his best friend was named Bucky, too.”

Bucky gulped, tentatively opening the book and skimming through its pages. In the center of the novel, the pages turned glossy, and he squinted at the black-and-white photos adorning their pages. The first page held a picture of a woman standing next to an old man wearing the uniform of a general, and beneath that was a photo of a shield with a star in its center.

He turned the page, feeling his mouth go dry at the next picture he saw. It was of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, standing side by side as they smiled at the camera. Bucky’s hands started shaking as he stared with it, and when you heard him drop the book to the ground, you saw him staring at the wall, pale as a ghost.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you ok?” He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and you bent down to pick the book up. “What happened? Did you read something-“

You paused as you opened the book, flipping through to the glossy picture pages just as he had. You gasped when you turned to the same photo he’d been staring at, not believing what lay right before your eyes.

“Bucky…”

In the center of the photo was Captain America’s familiar face, but what drew your attention was the man directly to his right. He was grinning at the camera, his arm wrapped around Steve Rogers’ shoulders. His hair was neatly cut, and he was dressed in an army uniform, but you would recognize his face anywhere.

“Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes,” you read aloud, almost dropping the book yourself as you looked up at your companion.

He was staring at you, eyes darting all around your face, neither of you knowing what to say. You closed the book slowly, pressing it to your chest.

“Bucky…” you finally whispered. “The friend that you remembered, the one named Steve… It was him, wasn’t it? And you’re… You’re James Barnes.”

He slowly nodded, not believing the truth himself, and you heaved a sigh.

“This isn’t possible; how have you not aged-“

“I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse and thin. “I…don’t know. I just know that… that used to be me. I’m starting to remember before, when it was me and Steve. And I remember bits and pieces of after, of what I’ve…what I’ve done. But I can’t connect them…”

Your heart broke from hearing him sound so helpless, and you reached out to him without even realizing it, pulling him into a hug. Your arms wrapped tightly around his center, your head resting on his chest. The book was squeezed between your two bodies, but it didn’t bother you. You just needed to comfort Bucky; you needed to show him that he wasn’t alone.

After a few seconds, you were afraid that you’d overstepped, but just as you were about to pull away, you felt his arms slowly, tentatively, start to wrap around you. You couldn’t help the small smile that came across your lips as you held him. rubbing his shoulders softly.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered. “I promise. We’ll figure this out. I’ll help you.”

A stilted sigh slipped past his lips, and he squeezed you tighter. You felt his nose press against your hair, inhaling your scent as the two of you stood there. You didn’t know how long it was until you pulled away, but when you did, you thought you could see tears in Bucky’s eyes.

“I think we should check this book out,” you said, handing it to him. “Maybe we can read it together; it might help you remember. And once you remember, we can figure things out from there. Okay?”

Bucky nodded, looking right into your eyes. For a second, you couldn’t move, frozen by the look in those blue irises. No one had ever looked at you like that before, and it made your heart thump harder in your chest. You had to look away after a few seconds, forcing yourself to clear your throat and start walking to the librarian’s desk.

“C’mon, Buck. Let’s get this and head home.”

Once you were all done checking out, you stepped out onto the street only to find that those storm clouds you’d spotted earlier were now blanketing the sky. You could taste the approaching rain in the air, and you patted Bucky’s arm.

“Let’s hurry home; looks like it’s gonna start raining soon.”

He nodded and copied your brisk walk. Thunder rumbled in the distance as you rounded the first corner, and you groaned when you felt a raindrop plop onto the top of your head. Within minutes, it was pouring, and you and Bucky were sprinting the rest of the way home. He was fast; you had no doubt that he could have left you in the dust if he’d wanted to. But instead he kept pace with you, not even winded, whereas you were huffing and puffing by the time you turned into your alleyway. You could see the book under Bucky’s shirt; he’d shoved it under there to save it from the worst of the rain, and his hair was dripping wet by the time the two of you leapt past your doorway.

For a second, the two of you took in the other’s appearance; as he tossed the book onto the couch, you could see his muscles straining against his wet, white shirt, the lines of his metal arm now clearly visible. His hair was hanging down into his eyes, water dripping down the column of his throat, and you gulped at the sight. You knew that you couldn’t look much better yourself, and you were horrified when you looked down to see your nipples clearly visible through your thin bra and romper.

“I-I’m gonna change,” you stuttered. “And, uh… I’ll get us some towels.”

Feeling mortified, you all but ran to your bedroom, changing into the warmest pajama set you could find. After buttoning all of the shirt’s buttons, you grabbed two towels and walked out to find Bucky standing shirtless once again in your living room. You forced yourself not to stare, though, as you walked over and handed him a towel.

“Here you go, Bucky.”

He nodded his thanks and slipped on a navy blue shirt before starting to towel dry his hair. You plopped yourself down on the couch and did the same, smiling at Obi as he jumped up onto the sofa next to you. He meowed softly, and you gave him a few pets before leaning back against the cushions.

“Well… That was an eventful afternoon.”

Bucky chuckled, sinking down onto the seat next to yours.

“You can say that again.”

You were about to say something else, but a huge clap of thunder sounded outside, and not five seconds later the power went out, your window being the only remaining light source. You squinted in the dim grey of the room, making out Bucky’s face through the occasional strikes of lightning.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Well… At least I have some candles. C’mon, help me light them.”

You rooted around the cabinet beneath your sink, pulling out a handful of candles and handing the lighter to Bucky. He followed you through your apartment, lighting them after you’d sit them down, and after about six candles, the space was illuminated enough.

“Well… Watching tv is out of the question this evening,” you sighed. Your eyes skirted to your boombox in the corner, and an idea sparked in your head. “Oh! I know what we can do.”

You ran into your bedroom, coming out with your old Walkman, and you retrieved the book from its spot on the couch before sitting next to Bucky again.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the device.

“It’s a Walkman! Like a portable cassette player.” You untangled the headphones and twisted them around until the earmuffs were facing outward. You handed one end to Bucky and leaned your head close, pressing the other to your ear. “You hold it against your ear like this, ok?”

Bucky nodded, and you grinned as you went to pick up a few cassettes from their shelf next to the radio, making sure not to look at the mystery one Bucky had picked up from the grocery store.

“I think we should start off with the one you picked out,” you said, sitting beside him and popping it into the Walkman. You pressed your headphone to your ear before pressing play, smiling in delight when the familiar refrains of American Pie by Don McLean started to play.

“You have a knack for picking out songs, Buck,” you praised, and you thought you caught him grin from the corner of your eyes.

You picked the book up and positioned it to where it was open between you, its left side resting on your right leg, and vise versa against Bucky’s left.

“Just let me know when I can turn the page,” you said, opening it to the first page of the introduction, which had been written by none other than Howard Stark, the famous inventor and scientist.

The two of you bent your heads, starting to read together. Bucky would nudge your knee with his once he was ready for you to turn the page, and you quickly slipped into a rhythm with one another. Once American Pie was finished, you slipped Rocket Man into the player, and by the time the two of you were finished with the introduction, you’d made your way through Bridge Over Troubled Water and Rich Girl.

“Are you remembering anything else?” you asked him before turning to the first chapter.

“I think I can remember this Stark person… But I don’t remember him being nice,” he said carefully.

“What do you remember him being like?”

“An asshole.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder, slipping Brown Eyed Girl into the Walkman. The two of you started to read the first chapter, which overviewed Steve Roger’s early life, and you winced the first time you saw his name appear in it. You chanced a glance over at him, but he didn’t look upset or sad. He just looked focused, a tiny crease resting between his eyes. You suddenly realized how close the two of you were sitting, and when he turned his head to look at you, your noses brushed.

Both of your eyes widened at the contact, and you quickly turned back to the book, blushing furiously as you kept reading about how Bucky and Steve had met as children. Steve had apparently always been sickly and frail, whereas Bucky had grown up strong. They’d met one day when a few bullies were pushing Steve around on the playground; he’d come to Steve’s rescue, beating the other kids away and helping his soon-to-be best friend up off the ground.

“You were a good kid,” you commented under your breath. You felt him shrug beside you.

“I just did what I thought was right,” he said. There was a hint of melancholy in his tone, and you looked up when you saw him pull the headphone away, leaning back against the couch.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He sighed, looking over your face before pushing a hand aggravatedly through his hair.

“I’m not sure I want to remember who I was,” he murmured. “I… I know that I’ve hurt people. I don’t know how, but somehow I… I was forced to do bad things for bad people. I just… I can remember just enough to know that I’m not the good man I used to be.”

You closed the book and took his metal hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his. You looked down at the sight and smiled, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

“Can you feel this?” you asked. He followed your gaze, and his fingers twitched against yours.

“I can feel the…the pressure, I guess,” he said. “I’ve never thought of it much. I think it’s a type of uh…muscle memory. I can feel phantom touches. But I can’t tell how soft something is… Or how warm or cold.”

His flesh hand reached over, and he ran a finger up the back of your hand, past your wrist and to the crook of your elbow. You felt goosebumps rise up in this touch’s wake, and you bit your lip at the sensation. You looked up to see Bucky focused on your face, his sadness evident in his eyes.

“Bucky… You said those people forced you to do those things, right? If you didn’t have a choice, then you’re just as much of a victim as the people they made you hurt.”

He shook his head, looking away, and you tilted his chin towards you, forcing him to keep your gaze.

“They hurt you, didn’t they, Buck?” Tears rose up in his eyes again, and he nodded. “You couldn’t even remember your name when I found you, hon. Whoever ‘they’ are, they took your identity, your humanity, from you. And right now, you don’t have to be here with me. You could have left as soon as you woke up the second day you were with me. But you didn’t – as soon as you recognized that you had a choice, you chose to do the right thing. You didn’t go back to them; you chose to live your life the way you want to live it.

“You could have hurt me if you wanted to, Bucky,” you said, squeezing his flesh hand. “But you didn’t. That proves that you’re still a good man.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb. Bucky leaned his face into your touch, closing his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve everything the world has to offer,” you countered.

He opened his eyes, watching you as he brought his hand up to your face. You leaned your cheek against the cool metal, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he leaned closer to you.

His lips were soft against yours. The kiss was soft, just the faintest brush of skin against skin, but it electrified every single nerve ending inside of you. Before he could pull away, you were leaning into him again, pressing your lips harder against his. His stubble was rough against your palms, but you loved the feel of it, and your heart soared when you felt his lips start to move against yours.

Bucky let his muscle memory take over as he kissed you, relying on his instincts from a life long gone as he pulled you closer. He drank in your moan as he swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, and when you opened for him, he nearly let out a moan of his own. He suppressed the moan, focusing instead on your taste; you were sweet like the cola you’d drank earlier, and he knew that he would forever be addicted to your kisses.

Your hands moved back to his hair as a hand on your lower back pulled you into his lap, and you tugged at his tresses as he maneuvered you to straddle his waist. Something hard pressed against your inner thigh, but you didn’t feel frightened or intimidated. You ground your pelvis down against it, delighting in the hiss it drew from his lips. Suddenly, though, you felt him tense up beneath your touch.

He whispered your name against your ear, his tone as reverent as a prayer as he pulled away. Blinking dazedly, you looked down at him, at his red, swollen lips still slick with your spit.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting back against his thighs. His hands were resting on your hips, rubbing circles against your sides with his thumbs.

“I… I’m afraid I’ll…” He huffed, setting his forehead on your shoulder. “I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

You preened at his pet name and craned your neck to press a kiss to the side of his head.

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky,” you promised. “But we can take this slow if you want.”

When he lifted his head up, you pressed a soft peck to his lips, hugging around his neck. Above you, the lights flickered once, then twice before turning on again. You grinned and turned to him, playing with his hair as the power came back on.

“I trust you, Bucky,” you breathed. “I promise you won’t hurt me.”

The two of you sat there long into the night, holding one another tightly before the both of you trudged to your bed. You convinced him to wrap his arms around you as you fell asleep, whispering that it would be ok, that you wanted him there with you.

His touch slowly became more confident, and you fell asleep with him clinging to you tightly. You drifted off with a smile, surrounded by his warm embrace, completely unaware of what was to come.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #captain america #bucky barnes imagine #1980 #fluff

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