#bluebird-in-the-breeze

[seiwas]

sel all the osamu talk is making me go INSANE bc this man is way too hot. it should be illegal to be that hot 😔 if i may offer my own squashed up braincell to the discussion, i think osamu is totally the kind of guy to own the space he takes, if u get what i mean? he'll lean against counters and walls, reach over people or even just stand with his arms crossed and everyone can just feel his presence. he realises the impact this tiny thing has when someone points it out and then he uses it against anyone he's interested in to great effect ffneriofioe BYE 😭

omg birdie i LOVE this and can totally see it 😭😭😭 i mean he runs onigiri miya!! so his presence definitely has to be felt, but how he does it in all the subtle ways omg. without having to announce himself. SO HOT. AND THE WAY HE USES IT AGAINST EVERYONE HE’S INTERESTED ??? HELLLOOO. the way he absolutely would lean in closer while you’re speaking LOL 🥹🥲🥹🥲

[suguwu]

hi bee! i'm glad to hear you've been having a good day. repotting tomatoes sounds so peaceful - I'd love to do it ❤️

as for me, i haven't had the best of days, but i want to look on the bright side. we ordered takeout from my favourite restaurant for dinner and i talked to my grandma and i finally feel calm after a very hectic week. it might not be much, but it made my day much better.

i hope you have many more happy days like this in the future too! ❤️

birdie! hello hello!

i can't lie repotting tomatoes is very peaceful! for me at least—anyone else in the area may disagree because it is very much controlled chaos. but there's nothing like getting your hands into the dirt. highly recommend it if you ever get the chance!

i'm so sorry you haven't had the best of days and hope that your day gets better! a good meal and talking to a loved one goes a long way with healing a day. it may not seem like much, but i think it's the impact that counts! and if it helped your day get better, i think that's a pretty big thing 💞

thank you so much! i hope that tomorrow is a much better day for you and that you get to have some time to relax after your hectic week!

[saradika]

I think you're like cinnamon! ✨️

hi birdie! ahh, thank you! 💕

I am giving you:

TANGERINE = I love your aesthetic

Your blog and masterlist are so pretty! And I love your username.

———

[followers color game! 🩷💛🧡💚🩵🤍]

[strawbeelemonade]

ROMANTIC HEADCANNONS: Pavitr Prabhakar

@emmy-luv Hi! this is literally the first request i've ever gotten!! i literally watched the new movie last night and started working on this immedietely after beecause i was so excited. there aren't really any spoilers in here- but i got a better feel for Pavitr's charecter after watching it so i'm glad i waited. i hope you enjoy :D

🕷 - Pavitr falls hard and fast.

🕷 - A die hard romantic at heart. He sees you, and he’s immediately taken by everything about you. His heightened senses will clue him in to even the smallest of quirks or habits, and oh! The way you scrunch up your nose is so cute!

🕷 - In the first instance of meeting you he is 100% all over you instantly.

🕷 - he'll talk a mile a minute about anything he has any input on. He also waits eagerly to hear what you have to say, tell him what you think! how do you feel about this? what do you think about that? This colour suits him, no? He knew you’d think so! That’s why he wore it.

🕷 - It’s his way bonding with you. He’s just so excited to chat with you. "This colour would look nice on you, Jalebi."

🕷 - He will show off in front of you. YOU KNOW HE WILL.

🕷- He will be over the top while doing even the most mundane things. You know those crazy stunts they pull off in Bollywood movies? Yeah it’s kind of like that.

🕷 - From opting to athletically dive off of a building instead of taking the stairs, to backflipping gracefully into a sitting on a chair. All the while he’s peaking discreetly over his shoulder to make sure you’re watching.

🕷 - he’s a little strange lmao

🕷 - He wants to look good for you, usually his fantastic looks are low maintenance but he finds himself picking up a new spray in the hopes for you to notice. And, not that he needs it, but you’ve even gotten him to start using conditioner. oh ho boy, You’ve really got him wrapped around your finger.

🕷 - He seeks out your approval, and when he gets it he absolutely preens. even a fool would recognise the puppy love from a mile away.

🕷 - He is naturally confident, and he wholeheartedly believes in his abilities. But everyone gets a little nervous when they have a crush, even Pavitr.

🕷 - Surprisingly he can become flustered quite quickly if you’re too generous with your compliments. His laugh will get louder and and his ears will go a bit red.

🕷 - He will swoop in to your rescue every chance he gets. It might get annoying to you after a while, or not. just be careful, If you make the mistake of complaining about the traffic of the city then you’ll find yourself suddenly hundreds of feet swinging the air in the direction you were headed.

🕷 - …What? He likes how you feel against him, carrying you is a breeze for him, he is incredibly strong after all. just sit back and enjoy the ride.

🕷 - I hope you don’t value your personal space. He’ll glue himself hip too hip with you whenever he can. He’s all over you in many other ways as well. He’s very touchy feely with those he’s affectionate with.

🕷 - if you’ve watched the movie you’ll know that he’s a great judge of character, and he’s also particularly in tune with your emotions. If you need space he will endure through the terrible experience of not being near you 24-7. He’s being very brave about it!!!

🕷 - just because he's clingy doesn't mean he isn't respectful.

🕷 - If your feeling out of place in a room he will find a way out for the both of you to get away for a bit.

🕷 - If there’s one thing you don’t have to worry about its a lack of transparency. Pavitr is honest with his intentions from the get go and will profess his loyalty for you so that theres no way to confuse his intentions. It might’ve already been a bit obvious when he started giving you flowers… But oh well, you appreciate his forwardness anyway?

🕷 - He introduces you to his family! He’s serious about you, after all. He will do everything to ensure you feel welcome in their home. He emphasises your radiant personality to his aunty by speaking out about all of your wonderful qualities while simultaneously showing how dutiful he can be to you by running to get you both some more Paneer Pakora and Masala chai.

🕷 - He can do long distance. No, really. Love is not dead. He will travel any distance to see you.

🕷 - Wether you’re from another dimension or you’re his next door neighbour he will make it work.

🕷 - If you’re from another universe your own city’s assigned Spider-person might get shown up by him a bit, this is even if you aren’t personally acquainted with them. His eagerness to show off in front of you might cause a few problems.

🕷 - It's not insecurity per se… he just needs to make sure you know how much better he is! All harmless fun!

🕷 - In the case that you are close with them Pavitr will rise to the challenge of any competition he picks up on between him and the other spider.

🕷 - If you need any rescuing then he’s there in an instant, revelling in getting to be the one to carry you to safety. he will laugh and crack quick witted quips to assure you that everything is ok. If you’re left shaken and in need of a little comfort he will gladly coo and dote on you gently. “Its ok, sweetie, main idhar hi hoon."

🕷 - If you’re ever in any danger— any real danger— all theatrics are off, and he will find himself moving faster, striking harder and fighting more forcefully then he’s ever had before. his heart is in his throat every second you’re in peril, and he won’t stop until you are in his arms.

🕷 - The moment you are safe he holds you tight, tighter than ever before. Voice quaking, he whispers how glad he is that you’re ok. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability for him, To bear the fear he’s feeling to you. He won't let you go for a while after that.

🕷 - If you’re even a little hurt he acts like you’re dying.

🕷 - “What’s this!! A mark? MEDIC!!!”

🕷 - Don’t worry, he’ll make sure you get any attention you need, medical or otherwise.

🕷 - smooch.

🕷 - He is incredibly cheesy. But he means well!

🕷 - He’s thoughtful, too. Your time spent together will be filled with well planned dates, maybe sharing some good traditional food in front of some gorgeous scenery. He’s an utter gentleman and takes pride in sweeping you off your feet.

🕷 - he can also be a bit over the top, but he means well!

🕷 - He’ll stay true to you, no matter what.

🕷 - If you ever ask him for anything then your request takes first priority. he will drop almost anything that he’s doing to satisfy you (this doesn’t include a bus full of passengers hanging off a cliff sorry).

🕷 - If you aren’t from India, or even from Mumbatan then he will be so excited to share his part of the world with you! He’s proud of his culture, and If you take an interest in it his heart will swell three sizes bigger. He appreciates that you’re so respectful and will patiently explain or share whatever you’re interested in to you.

🕷 - I feel like he’d know a lot of yo-yo tricks. he’ll show you a few of the ones he pioneered himself.

🕷- he strikes me as a peck on the cheek kind of guy.

🕷 - he’s also super cuddly! do i even have to say?

"Jalebi": a type of sweet that’s popular in the indian subcontinent

CHANGED: "yahee hai, yahee hai, priy." : That’s it, That’s it, dear.

TO: "main idhar hi hoon" : "I'm right here."

( thank you sm @bluebird-in-the-breeze for leaving a comment with the corrections to the dialogue :') i'm so lucky that you saw it and i'm really thankful that you were kind enough to help me improve it. your a real one fr!!)

Masala Chai: Masala tea (a type of tea.)

Paneer Pakora: a popular snack in Delhi, its Indian cottage cheese deep fried in a light coating of spiced flour. (yummy!)

Mumbatan: the in-spiderverse mashup of Manhatten and Mumbai (Mumbai is the capital state of Maharashtra, India)

I put these here so if anyone has any corrections i could make to the terms I’ve used to be more accurate then I can change them accordingly. I used online translators and articles… if anyone has any good websites for translating Hindi* or any other languages let me know! i'd be really interested.

[ofmermaidstories]

mermay is always so much fun especially bc i get to live out all my little girl fantasies LMAOOO. like i distinctly remember that when i was a kid i had this fantasy that i was a human-fairy-mermaid shifter and it was a big dramatic secret 😭 One day, one of my classmates accidentally spilt some water on me and poof – i become a mermaid right there in that classroom because the water triggered my magical girl transformation ✨️😭 the fairy part was equally as dramatic — i think there were evil bad guys i had to beat too!

It was a recurring theme in my dreams back then — i'd hop into bed like i was watching the next episode of a show 😭 now i get to play mermaids with anime characters which is even better 😌

bluebelle. 🥺🥺 how cute 😭😭😭 did you turn into a mermaid with fairy wings, or was it a different-situations-trigger-different-forms kinda deal? 🥹🦋 did other kids play too, or was it just you? 🥺 in your own little world. 🥺🥺 that’s so adorable tho LOL, i love how kids process and play. 🥹 it’s so pure, right? that instinctual need to filter the world or a story through your own understanding by self-inserting. 🥺 making yourself a mermaid-fairy who’d transform in school. 🥺 do you ever wonder how little you would react, if you could tell her what you do now? how the stories she told herself then would evolve into the stories she tells others now. 🥺 that she’d still have her magic powers, even all grown up—ready to wield them again. 🥹💕

[andypantsx3]

hii do u have any fic recs for mha? preferably series i cant find many 😭😭

Yes! I haven't read anything long as of late so these are repeats of what's already in my bnha fic recs tag, but here are some of the ones I've returned to recently!!

Obviously I have to shill @/ofmermaids' surrender (whenever you're ready). It is a pro hero Bakugou x florist Reader fic and I love it so much I own a physical copy :3

Another old fave is @/restwellsoon's Sugar Scorched, which is a chef Bakugou x Reader AU and sooo chalk full of delicious food and delicious drama :3

For Shouto x Reader, I really love @/bluebird-in-the-breeze's i'll find my way (back to you). It's another super tasty restaurant AU, with pro hero Shouto x professional chef Reader!

I also love @/saltedpeppermintmocha's how sweet it is (to be loved by you), which is a baker Reader x pro hero Shouto fic (are you sensing a theme in the things I come back to lmao).

If you are looking for something dark & psychological I recommend @/yinyuedijun's higher than the mountain deeper than the sea; it's such a good Dabi x Reader x Shouto fic (mind the tags!!)

Recently I've also been enjoying the beginning of @/confused-red-head's these curses we bear; which is a pro hero Shouto x psychic detective Reader series!!

There's about a million more, but hopefully these should get you started!! Please definitely check out my fic recs tag linked above, there are some very accomplished authors I am leaving off for the sake of brevity, but their fics belong on this list too. Happy reading; I hope you enjoy!!!

[lees-chaotic-brain-reblogs]

Haikyuu Fic Recs

Note: I do sometimes link my reblogs bc there is literally nothing I hate more than clicking on a link only to arrive at the ghost blog page.

Blogs to just read through: @emmyrosee @screamin-abt-haikyuu @quirrrky @kairakeiji @augustinewrites @mysterystarz @tahdashi @haikyuuphilia @kitashinsvks @adoringhaikyuu

Oikawa

@atsumwah

If You Had to Pick (fluff)

@ktsumu

Fifth Time's the Charm (fluff)

@verahella

Dad Moments (fluff)

@earthtooz

Young and Beautiful (fluff)

@teddybeartoji

Helping him Stretch (suggestive)

@livinghostly

Back to It (fluff)

@oreosmama

Voicemails After Breakup (angst)

@chimielie

And They Were Roommates (misunderstandings)

Kuroo

@tetzoro

Loser Boyfriend Kuroo (fluff)

@rintaroll

Truth or Drink (exes to lovers)

@tetsuskei

Colleague (office au)

@clubkira

Power Outage (comfort)

@a4nnnnn

Love at First Bite (fluff)

@bluebird-in-the-breeze

The Cafe Critique Project (fluff)

Iwaizumi

@fuyuluvr

I Didn't Mean It (hurt/comfort)

@dumbseee

Idol Girlfriend (fluff)

@sugarlywhispers

Do Something Cute (fluff)

@bananawafers

The Perfect Fit (fluff)

@arhvste

Instagram (fluff)

Akaashi

@fuyuluvr

I Didn't Mean It (hurt/comfort)

@luvring

University with Akaashi (university au)

Ushijima

@ktsumu

A Childhood Bedroom (fluff)

@strwbrryeyes

As a Best Friend (fluff)

Kita

@atsumwah

If You Had to Pick (fluff)

Bokuto

@bananawafers

What Dating him Looks Like (fluff)

Tsukishima

@livinghostly

Cat's Out of the Bag (fluff)

Kenma

@verahella

Dad Moments (fluff)

Kageyama

@verahella

Dad Moments (fluff)

Nishinoya

@sugarlywhispers

Nightmare (comfort)

Tendou

@oreosmama

Voicemails After Breakup (angst)

Daichi

@atsumwah

If You Had to Pick (fluff)

Atsumu

@gojoath-deactivated20240402

Stay for Breakfast (fluff, comfort)

@hihello-pinky

Varsity Crush (fluff)

[jungle-angel]

Our Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob are preparing for your little one's arrival and already, shenanigans have ensued

Warnings: Pregnancy, parenthood, Auggie being a menace etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia and the lovely @bradshawsbaby my darling, I leave this as a little gift for you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

It was one of those gloriously warm spring days in Montana when all the flowers were in bloom, the windows of the house open to let in the breeze and the birds singing. The lilacs and the crape myrtles that you and Bob had planted after your wedding several years before had fully bloomed already, releasing their heady scents and causing more than a few sneezing fits.

Bob hummed a little as he organized the bookshelf in the corner of the nursery, right next to the rocking chair. Already Meemaw and Papa had sent over an old box of books that had been his when he was a baby, each one carefully picked with all the love in the world and inscribed with his date of birth and a message from Meemaw and Papa.

"Whatcha got Bob?" you asked folding one of the little blue onesies to put in the laundry.

"All the books that were mine when I was a baby," he answered. "Got Baby's Good Morning Book, Baby's Bedtime Book, Baby's Story Book, the Christmas Stories, Child's Story Book, Child's Fairy Tale Book, Peter Rabbit and.......looks like Winnie The Pooh too."

You couldn't help but ooh and aah over the books and their illustrations. You wished you could have a few of them to hang on the walls.

"Hey!" chirped a little toddler voice. "Get out me swamp!!"

You and Bob laughed when you saw Auggie running to the door with the kitchen broom as soon as the doorbell rang, when who should enter but Jake Seresin himself, greeted by his godson wielding a broom.

"Bob! I think Shrek's at it again!" Jake announced. "He's chasing me out of his swamp!"

"You're the one who had to show him that movie," Bob informed him.

Jake rolled his eyes as Auggie laughed and hugged his leg, hanging on for dear life and giggling like crazy as Jake lifted one leg and then the other.

"How goes Mommas?" Jake said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Good, save for the fact that my husband is right there watching you," you chuckled.

"Hey it's called being courteous, it's technically not flirting," Jake explained.

"Although Natasha might disagree."

Jake made a noise that caught in his throat, his hand moving quickly to protectively cup his denim clad scrotum.

"That's what we thought," Bob said with a shit eating grin.

Jake gathered up Auggie to go and cause havoc elsewhere for the day, leaving you and Bob to finish putting together the nursery. You unpacked all the baby clothes, blankets, shoes and other things your family and friends had sent you over the last few months including adorable little bunnies, puppies, bears, elephants and duckies for your little boy.

"Oh remember this?" you laughed, unfolding one of the blankets from the box.

"Oh, my Uncle Red's wife made that years ago," Bob cooed, holding up the little ducky quilt. "I used to sleep with it every night and Mom had to wrestle it away just to wash it."

You and Bob shared a few laughs as you kept organizing and putting everything together. Outside, you could see two mountain bluebirds in the nest they had made in the crape myrtle, wondering if there were any eggs due to hatch. Already the chicks had begun to hatch while there were more horse and cow births happening at least twice a week. The bunnies too had been hard at work, their numbers multiplying in the last few weeks as well.

"Oof," you breathed, feeling your baby kick. "Oh I know little guy, you're ready."

Bob helped you up from where you had been sitting, letting you lean against him as his hand rested gently on your belly. "Did he drop?" he asked.

You nodded.

Bob smiled broadly as he knelt to kiss your bump. "Now you wait a minute mister," Bob chuckled. "There's still some things we need to get ready for you."

You laughed as Bob pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. He wasn't wrong. Even though you were days away from giving birth, there were still so many things to do in such a tiny time frame.

The next few days were spent prepping the house and finishing the nursery. The laundry and the last of your knitting went smoothly although your cats would have said otherwise. Bluey and Echo, Bob's two blue-heelers, had taken to fetching the oddest things from the other rooms which led to an odd assortment of everything piling up in the living room. But you wouldn't have had it any other way.

At last, the day had come, a warm and calm night when you woke up suddenly after your water broke unexpectedly. Jake and Natasha came to take Auggie back to their place for a while, while your midwife came to the house to help. Bob stayed with you the whole time, just as he had done with Auggie, letting you squeeze his hand as you relaxed in the warm bath.

At long last, on June 1st, at 1:30 in the morning, your sweet little boy, Patrick Lewis Floyd, was born; sharing a birthday with Bob's father Joe. As soon as you were back in yours and Bob's shared bed, he snapped a few photos and sent them to his parents, siblings and the Daggers. It's not long before his phone is flooded with messages, all from the proud aunts, uncles and grandparents of your new little boy.

Joe and Irene, Bob's parents, are proud as ever of their grandson and of you both, more so now that Joe can joke about Patrick being his birthday present for that year. His Meemaw and Papa are all too proud to be great-grandparents again, all of them offering to come by and help with whatever is needed.

You and Bob wake later the next day at the sound of Patrick's fussing in the little bedside bassinet, Bob carefully lifting him into his arms and bringing him to the window to hear the birds singing. Patrick calms right down as soon as he's heard the birds sing and as soon as he's latched onto you to feed.

And when you and Bob are snuggled in your shared bed with Auggie coming in to see his new baby brother, you are both overjoyed and happy at the little nest you've built together.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part VI — (Azriel x Reader)

Hi! Here’s Part VI! Thank you for reading 💕 hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none for this part.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It would be an outright lie to say that doubts hadn’t begun to sneak into your mind.

There were so many things wrong about this. So many things you imagined would have your mother turning in her grave.

A fae male — you’d willingly invited a fae male into your home, into your company. Into a situation where it would just be the two of you.

You should have been petrified. Sick to your stomach. Regretful and guilty and ashamed to have even considered any of this.

But the triumphant feeling of the entire following day was simply excitement. A nagging eagerness for night to finally sweep in, and for Azriel to return.

You’d laid awake in bed, trying to conjure up the sound of his voice in your mind. That lilting, graceful quality to it that felt like chills skittering over your skin. You ached to hear it again; to revel in it.

Your day dragged by torturously slow. The only visitors to the inn had been the two village guards who had paid you a visit to ask if you’d seen or heard anything around the time of Polly’s death.

No, you’d told them. I was here at home all night. The lie had come to you so easily. And you were past the point of trying to convince yourself that you’d ever tip the authorities off to Azriel’s presence in the village.

He’d be accused of the deaths in a heartbeat. And you knew — you knew he’d done nothing wrong.

So you passed your day wistfully waiting for the daylight to trick away. When your father announced he was leaving for the festival, you didn’t beg him, this time, to allow you to attend. You merely wished him a good evening, and dead-bolted the door shut behind him.

You knew that Azriel wouldn’t need to come through the door. Not with his…abilities.

The sky’s summer evening hues eventually bled into a dark blanket of stars above the village. It didn’t bother you, tonight, that you were the only one left behind.

Didn’t bother you one bit.

Not as you felt a strange, pleasant prickle of awareness on the back of your neck. You knew what to expect this time.

You turned just as Azriel stepped out of thin air, right in the inn’s main bar area.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your gaze slowly drinking in the tall, broad sight of him. He was resplendent in his dark, artistic leathers. His hair sat a little tousled and windswept on his head, his tan cheeks bitten by the breeze.

He studied you just as intensely, the caramel specks in his eyes seeming to darken.

But then one half of his full, sensuous mouth kicked up into a smile. “I didn’t frighten you this time.”

“No.” A breathy laugh escaped you. “I knew what to expect.

He cracked a grin far too beautiful for you to stare at for too long, lest it render you a speechless, boneless form incapable of thought. Lips tipped up into a smile, you quickly looked for something — anything — to say.

“Would you like a drink?” Making drinks was where you were comfortable; something you did day in and day out without a second thought. It occupied your hands well enough.

Azriel inclined his head. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

You breezed past him, fully aware of the pleasant tension that followed you, an entity entirely of its own. Azriel left a respectful distance as he followed.

There was something amusing about the way he perched on one of the barstools — just like any old punter that frequented the place. Except that your usual punters tended not to have wings or a level of beauty that seemed almost prohibited. An inexplicable, emotionally charged giggle wanted to force its way up your throat, and you quickly tamped down on it.

Clearly the thrill of such a clandestine meeting was having an effect on you.

If Azriel noticed your amused expression, he didn’t comment — though he did watch you closely, intensely, as you stopped behind the bar and reached for two glasses. You didn’t ask him what, exactly, he wanted to drink — another of your quiet talents seemed to be the art of taking one glimpse at a person and just knowing what their poison of choice would be.

You were curious to know if that extended to the non-human variety of person.

Your movements around that small area were entirely fluid; almost graceful. A routine that flowed from one movement to the next. You reached for the finest whiskey that The Bluebird Inn had to offer, its smoky aroma wafting up to you as you poured a measure into each glass. And despite the honeyed gaze that was trained on you, you were entirely at ease, natural—

Until a strange, cold, feather-like touch tickled the underside of your forearm. You yelped, almost dropping the bottle as you stepped back; just as a dark shadow skittered its way back to Azriel.

“I’m sorry. They’re curious about you.” His voice was soothing. “They won’t harm you.”

You studied them — really studied them, for the first time. There was an artistic quality to the way they coiled around Azriel’s figure like a dancing, protective shield. Like a sentient mist that moved entirely of its own volition. They were—

“Beautiful.” You breathed the word aloud.

Azriel’s cheeks seemed to darken slightly. He dipped his chin. “I command them, but…they can also act upon their own thoughts and feelings. Their senses.”

Indeed, you watched as one shadow — the very same one that had brushed your arm — snaked out towards the two glasses filled with amber liquid. It was with pure fascination that you observed the way it wrapped around one glass and dragged it closer to Azriel, as careful and firm as a hand’s grip.

“Did you tell it to do that?” You blinked in amazement.

“I didn’t — though I could have. It acted entirely of its own choosing.” Azriel accepted the glass, lifting it to his lips. He paused, glancing at the seat beside him. “Sit with me?”

Right. Because the bar felt like a barrier between you. A nuisance.

You felt too aware of every one of your movements as you took your drink in hand and traipsed round to the other side of the bar. You were too human; not at all graceful and masterfully elegant like Azriel was. The toe of your boot caught on one of the stools’ legs, sending your body hurtling forward and the liquid in your glass sloshing—

But Azriel’s hand shot out without a lick of hesitation, steadying your waist and keeping you upright. You could have sworn that his palm burned through your tunic.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat.

“No need to apologise.” So gently, like he feared startling you, he prised your glass from your hand and set it down beside his. And then pulled out the stool directly next to him.

His hand continued to steady you as you climbed up. And only when you were seated — not at risk of falling flat on your face — did he retract it. You tried not to think too much about how cold your waist felt in its absence.

The position was…intimate; legs and arms close enough to touch, scorching gazes only centimetres apart. You lifted your eyes to his. Found him already staring at you.

You paused. “What is it?”

“I feel like we spoke so much about me last night.” Up close, Azriel’s voice was even more of a caress. “I want to know about you.”

This was the embarrassing part. You didn’t have five centuries of experience to share — didn’t even really have twenty-one years of experience, given how sheltered your life had been. When you stopped to think about it, you were really quite…boring.

“There’s not much to know.” You admitted, your cheeks flushing. You gestured to the room around you. “This is me. This place is my life. I’ve always been here, and I suppose I always will be.”

Azriel’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. “Through choice?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were up to you, would you choose to always be here?”

You stared back at him, pursing your lips. You knew the answer without having to ponder it; gods, you’d thought about it often enough.

No, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t always be here. You didn’t mind helping at the inn — sometimes, you even enjoyed it. But if you were given half the opportunity, you’d snatch up a little more vibrancy to lighten up your insular life. Even if it was just…a few friends to meet with regularly, to break up the mundane. A chance to be your own person.

But everything your father had ever said and done was for your own good. He simply didn’t want you ending up like your mother.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not quite liking the answer as you replied, “It’s irrelevant what I’d choose. This is my life.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked around the room, drinking in the polished wooden tables, their chairs stacked atop them; the wall at the back that housed bottles and bottles of wines and spirits; the scuffs in the floor and the marks on the walls and the dark, dingy stretch of room that never seemed to get much light.

Part of you was curious to know what he was seeing, thinking. Another part of you was scared of the answer.

“It seems like a lonely life.” He eventually surmised. “You…you’re always on your own.”

Your body tensed. He wasn’t wrong, but…to hear it come from somebody else…to hear it spoken aloud and not just clanging around in your melancholy thoughts…you were surprised to find your guard rising a little.

“My father needs me.” Was your response. It sounded as pathetic an explanation as it felt.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your face, searching your expression. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And what do you need?”

You shrugged. “Who cares what I need?”

“I care.”

You faltered. Stared back at him.

Why, you wanted to ask. Why bother? Why accept my invitation instead of laughing in my face?

You didn’t have the courage to ask, though. You grabbed your glass and knocked back the liquid in one go, fully aware that Azriel still watched you. Tension swirled thickly between you like shadows — his shadows.

But then he, too, reached for his glass and knocked back the liquid. And there was something light, playful, in the way he nudged your arm with his. “Do you want to know what I need?”

You coughed a laugh. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

His eyes glittered, a devastatingly beautiful smile tugging his lips up. “I need,” he said, leaning close enough that his scent shrouded you, “to hear you play your music again.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It was different this time.

Azriel didn’t put distance between you; didn’t keep to the corners of the room.

He perched at your side on the piano stool, watching up-close, in pure fascination, as your fingers danced across the keys. Every few seconds, your arm would brush his.

The only way you were still breathing, still concentrating, was by focusing entirely on the music. Because if you thought too much about the hard press of Azriel’s muscled forearm, or inhaled too deeply that intoxicating scent of his, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t just…cease to exist. Or at least collapse onto the floor.

Your heart galloped wildly in your chest, thudded loudly in your ears. And as you reached the climax of the composition, you knew Azriel’s gaze no longer tracked your fingers. It sat firmly, dedicatedly, on your face.

And even though he undoubtedly made you nervous — a fact you didn’t want to linger on for too long — you knew it didn’t come from a place of discomfort. At his side, you were entirely at ease. Not frightened, like you always thought you would be within such proximity to a fae male.

Your fingers slowed until the music faded out. And then silence blanketed the room.

You waited for Azriel to say something, anything. When he didn’t, you lifted your eyes from the keys to meet his. The intensity there was blazing.

“You…” He shook his head, as though he’d become a little dazed. “You are so brilliant.”

Your cheeks flamed at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I never really had the opportunity to learn.” He nodded to the piano. “But I kind of wish I had. The city I live in has an entertainment district that we call The Rainbow. The best performers of all types of arts put on shows there nightly. I’ve seen some excellent pianists there — just like you. It must be wonderful to be able to lose yourself in the music like that.”

The Rainbow. A place where people just…performed and appreciated art. It sounded like an absolute dream. And that Azriel had likened you to the pianists there—

You weren’t used to such praise. The compliment was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, you blurted, “Give me your hand.”

Azriel stopped short. Stared at you. “What?”

You cleared your throat, holding your own hand out. “I’ll show you how to play.”

There was a pause. A moment’s hesitation. But then his hand slid into yours.

He wore no gloves tonight.

The weight and warmth of his hand was startling — and dangerously pleasant. The scarred skin brushed against your palm in a way that made you wonder what it would feel like all over your body.

The thought almost had you jumping right out of your too-hot skin, out of your roaring thoughts. You may be entirely inexperienced, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about such things, like close proximities and heated touches—

Never like this, though. Never so…raw. So curiously.

You batted the thoughts to the darkest corners of your mind, focusing on the reason you’d even asked for his hand in the first place. Both you and Azriel watched as you slowly pressed his fingers against the keys, producing a sweet, simple tune that you used to absentmindedly play when you were much younger and certainly not as good a pianist as you were these days.

Azriel, too, watched closely. Your arms brushed against each other, and you wondered if he felt it as totally as you did; wondered what he might be thinking.

The tune came to an end. Neither of you moved your hands.

“There you go.” Your voice was a tad rough. You lifted your lips into a soft smile. “You just played piano.”

Azriel laughed quietly, not breaking his stare from your joined hands. “I certainly don’t think the pianists in The Rainbow will be feeling threatened by my skills any time soon.”

You couldn’t help your smile widening into a grin. “Keep at it and they won’t know what’s hit them.”

Another trill of your soft laughter mixed with his, the sound a kind of music of its own. It was beautiful, you thought. His shadows swirled around you contentedly.

Just like you thought his hands were beautiful. Painfully so.

You couldn’t help staring. Not because you meant to gawk at the brutal scarring, but because you feared the story behind it. Whatever it was, you knew, had to be unimaginable.

Azriel watched your hands, too. Still joined together, yours on top of his.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

Which such slow, careful movements, you traced a finger over the marred skin, introducing yourself to every brutal bump and jagged line. Azriel said nothing; you weren’t even sure he was breathing. And that seemed to be confirmed when you brushed your fingers over the back of his palm, and he sucked in a breath.

You paused your movements immediately, eyes darting to his. “Is it painful?”

“No.” His voice was tight, like…like he was trying to hold himself in check, or something. He shook his head. “Not painful, no. It’s actually quite…soothing.”

Soothing. You gently picked your movements back up, tracing his skin, exploring it. He found it soothing.

You couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of pain he must have experienced. After a short stint of silence, you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“What happened to you?” You whispered.

For a while, Azriel said nothing. Perhaps it was wrong for you to have asked — perhaps he simply wasn’t comfortable. You opened your mouth to apologise, to reassure him, but he beat you to speaking.

“I was the bastard son of a lord.” His voice was rough, raw. “I lived at my father’s keep, but I certainly wasn’t welcome there; my stepmother and two stepbrothers didn’t take kindly to my presence. The living conditions were…not good. And worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother very often. Just an hour every week. I think perhaps they were trying to break me. And when I was eight, my stepbrothers poured oil over my hands and set them alight. My father’s guards heard me screaming and found me, but…not soon enough to limit the damage it left me with.”

Every inch of your body had gone ice-cold.

It was suddenly as though there wasn’t enough air left in the room; like Azriel’s words had winded you. Bile rose in your throat that you swallowed down with the hard lump of emotion that had grown there.

To think that somebody could be so callous, so cruel…you couldn’t bear it. Hot tears burned your eyes.

Azriel was suddenly leaning closer, and he frowned. Studied you. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so sorry that happened to you.” Your voice wavered. “It’s so evil—”

His hand slid out from beneath yours — only to move up to your face and cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb caught the first tear that fell.

“Your compassion is beautiful.” He swallowed. “But that was a very, very long time ago. I bettered myself. I decided not to let them win.”

You stared up at him, hoping it showed on your face how…in awe you were, of such bravery. Such strength. You sniffed, blinking away further threatening tears. “I’m glad that you did.”

Azriel didn’t reply. But you caught the way his eyes shifted down to your lips, and his throat bobbed.

You didn’t need a wealth of experience to know what the look on his face meant. Both panic and hope warred inside you.

You wanted what that look meant. What it would bring. And when Azriel said nothing, simply stared, you found yourself spurring him on.

“What is it?” You whispered — as if speaking too loudly would rip him from the moment.

Momentarily, his gaze clashed with yours again. “I would…” he cleared his throat. “I would really like to kiss you.”

A heated thrill shot through you that you’d never experienced. Of course, you’d laid awake some nights and imagined kissing and touching and what it would be like to be…to be wanted like that. You were just as susceptible to desire as any twenty-one-year-old woman.

But you imagined most twenty-one-year-old women had probably had their first kiss by your age. Unlike you.

That was what had you hesitating. Not reluctance to give in to such desires, but to do it wrongly.

Azriel entirely misread your hesitation, though. He began to slowly move back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No—” you grabbed onto his hand so fast, you knew the redness of your cheeks deepened. “I want to. Really. I just…I’ve never…” you inhaled a slow breath as realisation dawned on Azriel’s face. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”

He stared at you, a strange, warm intensity in his eyes. And then his thumb swept over the back of your hand. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I can show you. If you truly want me to.”

You knew your face must be flushing as scarlet as the blood that human and fae alike had shed over centuries. You were blushing like mad, as you nodded. And Azriel’s gaze seemed to soften even more.

You waited. Watched. Figured the best way to avoid doing anything wrong or unwanted was by just…keeping still. After a moment of silently studying you, Azriel slid his hands out from under yours. He brought them to your face, their warmth and roughness pleasant against your skin as he clasped your cheeks and slowly tilted your jaw up.

You knew you must be trembling beneath his touch. And as he lowered his own face until it was a mere hair’s-breadth from yours, you thought maybe you jolted. He exhaled, his breath fanning your lips.

“If at any time you want to stop,” he murmured deeply, “we stop. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Azriel adjusted his hands, moving them up just slightly until they each cradled one of your cheeks. And then his thumb was brushing your skin there. You couldn’t look away as he closed the gap between you.

You felt it — the exact second his lips made contact with yours — through every part of your body.

They were surprisingly soft, despite his harsh, rugged appearance. His mouth carefully slanted over yours, and you felt the beating of your heart in your chest and your head and your ears and your throat. Azriel probably felt it, too.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone, and his lips applied just a little bit of pressure. You followed his lead, doing the same, meeting every touch and press with your own.

It was a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. The kind you expected of a very first one. But you knew it could go deeper, further.

You wanted it to.

Azriel paused, and for a split second, a bizarre worry jolted through you that you’d somehow communicated that thought to him without speaking it. His lips hovered at yours, barely touching, now, and you wondered if he was dissatisfied. If he didn’t want it to go further. You wouldn’t blame him.

But then he whispered to you, deeply, roughly, “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” You matched the volume of his voice. You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

Before you could muster a response, he was closing that tiny gap once more. His lips moulded to yours, and a surge of confidence had you leaning into it and matching his pace. His thumb swept over your cheek, his palm clasping your jaw a little firmer.

And then you felt him run his tongue over your lips.

The sensation was…nice. More than nice. And your body reacted without much willing from you. You gasped, lips parting, and Azriel’s tongue tentatively slid in.

At once, his taste was storming your senses. He tasted…cold, in the most dizzying, lovely way you could imagine. Like those frosty winter nights you loved so much, when chilled mist hung in a thick layer over the village and froze the grass and had your breath clouding in front of your face. It was like bathing in winter, catching snowflakes in your mouth and your hair, feeling the chill bite your cheeks and turn them pink. And beneath the cold lay a warm, smoky undercurrent, the lingering taste of whiskey.

Azriel’s tongue swept around yours and tasted you just as thoroughly as you tasted him. And you…you felt yourself growing in confidence even more — figured he would have pulled away by now, if he wasn’t enjoying it. With a boldness you didn’t think too much about, you shifted on the piano stool so that you were sat astride it, and Azriel did the same, followed your movements, not once breaking from your kiss. You scooted closer to him, moving a hand up to thread your fingers within his hair. You applied pressure, kissed him harder—

Until he abruptly pulled away. He stared at you, panting slightly, his own cheeks flushed. His swollen lips were parted.

You studied him, wondering if you’d pushed it too far, done something wrong. You could only watch as his eyes shuttered.

“It appears I don’t need to show you how.” He breathed, opening those honeyed eyes again to meet yours. “Gods.”

You swallowed. “Was I…was it okay?”

“Okay doesn’t come close to what it was.”

You thought that was a compliment…maybe. Hopefully. But you didn’t care to think too hard about it. Or talk too much about it. You wanted that feeling and taste back. The pressure of his lips and the starlit frost of his mouth. Azriel watched you closely, reading every thought on your face as he brushed your cheek.

You glanced up at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

He swallowed. “Yes.” His voice was rough. “Gods, yes.”

It wasn’t as slow, this time, as he lowered his mouth to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you waited for that intoxicating sensation, for him to kiss you hard and fast—

A huge thud, thud stopped you both in your tracks. The bangs were loud enough to rattle the windows. Had you damn near jumping out of your skin. Azriel looked up, immediately on alert.

“Someone’s at the door.” You breathed, and another thud coursed through. You pushed clumsily to your feet. “I should answer it. You should…stay hidden.”

Right before your very eyes, he was moving fast as lightning, becoming nothing but mere shadow. The sight was so magnificent that for a second, all you could do was gape, but a fourth bang had you jumping into action.

You hurried through, unbolting the door and pulling it open. You fell still at the sight of Devin — the young, handsome Guard in training — on your doorstep.

He smiled at you as though he hadn’t been close to breaking your door in.

“Devin.” You breathed, suddenly aware of every place in which your lips and skin tingled. “What are you…why aren’t you at the festival?”

“I was.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword. “I came to check on you. To make sure you’re alright.”

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“It must be disconcerting, being the only one in the village while everyone is at the festival. Especially with recent events.”

Right. Someone had died last night. Somehow, you’d managed to forget that startling fact.

“It is…disconcerting.” You’d been anything but disconcerted, in Azriel’s company. You straightened yourself up. “But I’m okay. The property is secure, and I have my dagger.”

Devin studied you, his pale blue eyes almost too assessing. He pursed his lips. “Still — perhaps I should give the inn a once-over and check that nothing is untoward.”

“There’s really no need. You should go back and rejoin the fun—”

As if you hadn’t spoken, he was ushering you out of the way and slipping past you. Your heart lurched as he strode into your home, his gaze seeming to be everywhere at once.

“You haven’t seen or heard anything unusual?” He reached out, checking the lock on a window.

“Nothing.” Your eyes darted cautiously to the door that Azriel was behind. “Really, it’s just been quiet. There’s no need—”

He rounded on you, a frown pulling at his handsome features. “You’re sure you’re alright? You seem a little…skittish.”

Gods. You were going to give yourself up from your behaviour alone.

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “Like I said…it’s just disconcerting. What happened to Polly.”

Devin nodded. “That it is.”

Before you could speak another word, he was striding through to the main bar area. “It’s barbarous, what those fae scum are capable of.” His eyes danced over the area. “Young women can’t even enjoy a village festival, anymore, without being attacked.”

You paused in the doorway. “You know for sure, then? That it was a fae attack.”

He whirled on you, his brow pinching. “Of course, it was, Y/N. What else would…”

At first, you didn’t know what had caused his words to trail off.

That was, until you followed his line of sight. To where yours and Azriel’s empty glasses from earlier still sat on the bar. Devin turned back to you as you stiffened.

“Have you had company?” He asked.

“Of course not.” You answered too quickly. “One of the glasses was my father’s. He had a drink before he left for the festival.”

The Guard studied you. And you knew…you knew from the set of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that he didn’t believe what you’d said.

You lifted your chin. “I just hadn’t got round to clearing them away. I got engrossed in playing the piano.”

There was a moment’s silence. You waited for Devin to question you, to dispute your story. But then he smiled. “You and that piano.” He strode closer, and you stepped back, drawing him out of the bar area and back into the entryway.

“I’m done playing for the night.” You told him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

In other words — leave.

He stared at you, again, in that too-assessing way. And then he was stepping closer to you. “I understand.” He said. “I’m sorry if you feel like I barged my way in here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe. Because I care. You know that, don’t you?”

You pressed your back against the wall. “I know that.”

“Good.” A smile lifted half of his mouth. “Then I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some sleep.”

You didn’t think you breathed properly as he traipsed back over to the door and pulled it open. He turned at the threshold, glancing at you. “Don’t forget to bolt the door. You never know who could be lurking around.”

Surprisingly, you found yourself having to clamp down on your lips to stop a dangerous, hysterical giggle from crawling its way up your throat. You knew exactly who was lurking around. You forced your expression to stay neutral as you inclined your head.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as both his feet were out of the door, you couldn’t close it fast enough. You made a point of bolting it as loudly as possible, and pressed your back against its surface, waiting a beat, two.

After a few seconds, gravel crunched under Devin’s retreating feet. You blew out a deep breath.

Sudden awareness tickled the nape of your neck, and as quickly as Azriel had made himself disappear, he was materialising in front of you.

“Friend of yours?” He raised a dark eyebrow.

“Kind of…maybe. More of a customer, really.” Your eyes snagged on his lips. “He’s training to be a Village Guard. He came to check on me.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to the door, as though he could see right through it to Devin’s retreating figure. You weren’t sure you understood the expression that shaded his face.

“I got rid of him.” You said.

Hazel eyes dipped down to yours again, and a soft smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. “Still…perhaps we shouldn’t tempt the fates too much in one night. I should probably go…in case he comes back.”

Disappointment stormed you — even if you knew he was right. You’d enjoyed yourself so much tonight that you simply didn’t want it to end.

“I’ll be back.” Azriel promised, seeming to read your thoughts on your face. “I swear it. We’ll do this again.”

And you believed him. It was enough to satisfy you. You nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.”

His fingers reached out, brushing some hair from your face. He studied you as he tucked the strands behind your ear. “Rest well.”

You knew they were parting words. And you were filled with one last injection of boldness, of confidence. You didn’t want him to disappear before you acted on it. His shadows were already coiling around him, seeming set to carry him away.

“Azriel,” you breathed his name, and he and the shadows halted.

He tilted his head inquisitively. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed up onto the tips of your toes, capturing him in a kiss.

It wasn’t the hot, needy kiss he’d given you earlier — you weren’t quite confident enough to orchestrate such a thing. But its sweet, soft nature didn’t seem to bother him as he leaned into it, sliding a hand to the small of your back.

He kissed you gently, tenderly. And after only a couple of moments, he pulled away. A soft groan sounded in his chest, surprising you. “Do that, and I won’t have the willpower to do anything but stand here and kiss you all night.”

Your cheeks scorched, and you dipped your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Not for that.” He leaned closer, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

Soon. You really hoped so. You stepped back, giving him the space to leave before you did something stupid. Like kiss him again.

His mouth tipped up one last time into that beautiful smile, and then he was gone.

His taste wasn’t, though. It lingered in your mouth, on your skin.

You pressed your fingers to your swollen lips and smiled.

You slept well that night.

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azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @shannonsaid

[harrysonlylover]

The Joker And The Queen

In which Harry is a florist, has a crush on the baker next door and dreads his Birthday.

Trope: Florist!H

Wc: 3.2k

A/n: This has been in my drafts since Feb, so why not..

Main Masterlist

Feb 1, a year earlier

The chime of the bell alerted Harry of a visitor, prompting him to spare a glance and shift his focus from the Lavender Bouquet he’s preparing. Its odor was enough to wake ‘Tom’, the street’s lazy orange cat and stand at the front of the shop inspecting the source of the smell, delicately detecting it with his nose.

The foreign tourist moved around admiring all the displayed plants from orchids to sunflowers, Jasmines and cactus, gypsophilia in all their mighty colors standing tall and proud itching for a bride to hold them. Small pots of Rubber fig, Snake plant and Succulent lay side by side near the sun in an order almost fit for a theater play, he placed them this way on purpose to give them love from the yellow shiny star and the buyers who are only ever interested in flowers.

He finished wrapping up the Bouquet with a pink bow tie and admired his work for a minute before snapping a picture of it with his polaroid camera and hanging it on the wall next to the other beauties.

The tourist got distracted with ‘Tom’ and their child who threw a rampage upon seeing the floof ball, eventually they both left as the cat strolled toward Harry rubbing up against his leg, sniffing the oh wonderful smell of Lavender he caught earlier.

“It’s okay maybe they’ve had a bad experience with cats.” He told the cute pet who seemed to not care as he yawned and stretched his paws before sliding in an empty pot to resume his nap.

Harry puckered his lips feeling like an idiot for conversing with a cat. Who spends their birthday selling flowers and comforting an animal. Is that miserable? It has to be the dream life in someone’s world.

What are Birthdays for anyway? He thought as he swept the floor from the fallen leaves and petals.

He ages everyday and every hour, with the marks of adulthood lingering around every corner, whether it be the loneliness he experiences, or watching little kids pick flowers for each other as he gets hit by a whiff of nostalgia.

Every waking day is a reminder that he’s not the little boy from Holmes Chapel anymore, he can’t for the love of god remember his hometown. It resides somewhere in his mind deep down, perhaps he can recall its plants, that would be much easier.

He never realized how far and lost he was in the adult world until he remembered his old life, mundane hobbies he maintained that were his entire focus. Now he wouldn’t even recall doing them.

His memory drifts away to his 10th birthday, his mom organized a small party in their apartment, where he only invited 3 friends (more like his only friends). That day is his favorite memory, the taste of the chocolate vanilla cake on his tongue as he goofed and danced around, then chased his friends with the Spiderman toy his mom got him.

Funny how things change he thought, he can go out now and buy himself that very same toy but he won’t get his 10th birthday back. He envies people who wait excitedly for their birthday and plan the entire day feeling joyous about saying goodbye to another year of their life.

He isn’t pessimistic really, not at all, he just finds it hard sometimes to delight in the same things as ordinary people.

Tom began snoring in the pot and Harry rubbed his head before watering the thirsty plants. The sun today is stretching along the coast with bluebirds roaming around town, announcing a wake-up call to all living things to witness this glorious day.

At least he loves the fact that his Birthday is a gift from nature, there’s this breeze that feels like summer and spring had an affair, it penetrates his nostrils combined with the fresh odor of flowers that he picks himself every other week. A gentle embrace of the sun is always present and he can’t help but stand at the front of his shop and bask his face in it.

For a moment or two the weather held his hand and showed him places he’d never been to before, quietly taking in the sound of by passers lightly smiling from sonder.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him away from his daydream. He opened his eyes and balanced himself on the door having not been prepared for such a sight.

She stood in front of him wearing denim salopettes matched with a floral tee with her hair braided and tied using a pink bow (just like the one he uses for his flowers)

His body went numb for a few seconds saving in her broad smile at the front of his brain (he’ll replay the scene later on)

Her dimple got wider as she looked into his forest eyes struck by the sun, a tiny furrow appeared near his eyebrows but got overshadowed by his chocolate mop of curls.

“H—hi” he uttered shyly like a schoolboy swiftly moving the curls from his face, he can’t be daydreaming because his crush is quite literally in front of him.

“May I come in?” she asked with another one of her smiles that he melts for, he immediately moved inviting her inside his green haven, as he almost stumbled on his face due to a pot having been distracted with gazing at her.

He grew to know her as the lovely baker with the shop facing him, he even developed a sweet tooth because of his tendencies to drop by every other day for something she bakes.

“So how’s your day so far?” she questioned as she scratched Tom’s chin.

“Hmm pretty average I guess.” He placed his hands in his pockets awkwardly as he suddenly forgot how to act normally.

“Oh no, an average day for the birthday boy?” She exclaimed with a gasp, turning her attention to Harry’s face that turned tomato red.

His girl crush remembering his birthday was the last thing he expected. Usually she’d come in for fresh bouquets she purchases for her bakery. It was either Sunflowers, Hyacinth or Tulips.

Harry had a thing for solitude. Don’t get him wrong, selling flowers to people is somehow satisfying, but considering he is a stranger to the locals in this small Swiss town, he isn’t much of a talker. He likes to have his daily cup of tea in the morning, take a walk in the field located near his house, visit his friend’s place and then there’s her.

He never even had a sweet tooth, but after his unexpected craving for muffin one night (later on he’ll realize that it was just homesickness) , he found himself putting on his shoes and roaming the cobble streets of the town for shops that are still open.

Even though her shop was closed for customers, she opened the door when she saw a lost face outside, with a warm aura and not a good choice of words.

“Do you perhaps have a leftover muffin?” His words caused her crooked teeth appear with a smile that made him forget about any pastry in the world.

Ever since then he’d come up with any excuse to pass by and have a muffin to go, a cupcake, maybe coffee or even that delicious baguette that he can’t have breakfast without. It doesn't matter what he picks up as long as he sees her.

Harry gets pulled back to the present with her smile that somehow has the ability to help him to think straight. He still hasn’t processed the fact that she knows his birthday date.

“I—uh how do you know it’s my birthday?”. An obvious blush creeps up his cheeks as he bites his bottom lip and hides his hands in his pockets to conceal the excited fidgeting.

“Remember when you forgot your wallet at my shop? Your ID slipped out and I swear I wasn’t snooping, it really did. My eyes landed on the date.” She explained with caution adamant to clarify that she isn’t a creep.

One thing about her is that she loves making eye contact, and he could barely survive her smile, let alone her coffee irises.

“I hope I didn’t overstep-“

“No! not at all. Thank you for remembering.” Only if he knew that she’s been counting down the days and marking the calendar to reach February.

The tension could be cut with her baking knife, and the best thing he could think of doing is scrambling to anxiously rummage the drawers in the shop, for the flower crown he made her.

It was crafted using dried tulips, jasmines, poppies and carnations with a hint of pink gypsophilia. It was anything but easy to make, but she doesn’t have to know that.

He showed it to her with an eager dimpled smile, and when her words got stuck in her throat, his hand shakily placed it on her head then fixed the loose strands of her messy hair.

“I thought I was the one supposed to get you a gift.” Her eyes shifted to the ground with an echoing laughter as his eyes raked her crowned head with admiration.

“I’ve been meaning to give it to you anyways.” He scratched his neck awkwardly , and stretched his beige cardigan up to his palms, feeling the country air swift inside his store and caress both of their bodies.

Even though no one is looking, not even the by passers who are enamored with the flowers, they are very much exposed to the orange cat who is judging their ability to communicate and maybe finally kiss?

“Thank you H, really.” Her whisper was barely heard but he was busy repeating his nickname she created in his head.

H.

He never really had a nickname, everyone called him Harry, just Harry. She always made the most mundane things appear as the most beautiful. Who would’ve thought his initial would sound so good?

“I made you something.. a huge cinnamon roll plate, just for you.” She poked his dimple loving how excited the news made him.

“With honey?!”

“Yes! The way you like it.” Tom was now standing between them, taking too much interest in the stubborn pair of idiots.

The last time someone had thought of him, and decided to give him something on his birthday as small as a cupcake was on his 18th birthday, when his mom cried and promised to always make him cupcakes on his day, even if he was leaving to another country.

The butterflies in his stomach, fluttered up to his heart, passing by his lungs and knocking the air out of them as he stared at the crowned girl in front of him with hearts popping out of his eyes.

Idiots in love, Tom thinks.

She finally broke the silence and leaned forward to his face pressing a long warm kiss to his cheeks. “Pass by at 11 for your gift. Happy Birthday H.”

Feb 1, a year later

He’s laying on his stomach, his arms spread with soft puffs of air leaving his slightly parted raspberry lips. His skin is bare of clothing, it has always been his preference even if it gets cold.

The white sheets reek of gardenia detergent that is outpowered by the various number of bouquets distributed around the room and on the balcony. The curtains are swiftly dancing with the wind allowing the yellow star to sneak in and cascade a shade along his soft skin and lighten his chestnut curls.

Tom is lazily stretching on the carpet as he will continue to do so all day, but in a different room after he terrorizes the house in search for extra food and love.

The girl enters the bedroom with a tray in her hands, her steps are calculated to avoid waking her lover as her silk robe hugs her naked body. She’s been up since dawn to prepare the dough, it’s a secret recipe passed by through generations. Simply let the poor dough rest. But it wasn’t just that, she also had to pour her love in it, mend it well with her fingers and drizzle the honey on top that she harvested herself.

She leaves the tray aside knowing that Tom will not approach it as he recognizes the sweet scent and is aware that it is not for him, which he expresses by turning his rear side to his parents.

She climbs on their shared bed as softly as she can, admiring her sleepy boy who must be dreaming about cinnamon rolls. The blue duvet is slowly peeled off his body as she gently starts leaving kisses on his back. Although it’s usually him who does that, this time she’s one step forward ahead of him with honey drizzled on her lips that leaves its marks with every kiss.

He's a heavy sleeper but his nervous system is accustomed to her touch and kisses , so it is no wonder when he wakes up a few moments after her lips meet his body as the honey sticks.

“Happy Birthday honey.” She whispers against his neck, causing a huge grin to immediately form on his face. He doesn’t care if he’s barely awake or is trying to register his surroundings. She’s here, next to him and she’s wishing him a happy birthday.

“It’s the first of February?” He asks as he shifts on his back and pulls her body against him. He had a habit of not looking at the calendar or remembering the days unless it was her birthday which he will instinctually know, or if she has an important event.

Another small secret is that his disinterest in calendars or the names the of days only began after he met her as it wouldn’t matter what day it is, since he got to see her every day. It intensified when she became his lover.

Was it Monday? No maybe Wednesday? Why should he care anyway? It will begin with her and end with her. The love will radiate for days , months even years. So whether it be the 20th century or the 21st it won’t matter, she’s right next to him in this moment. Time has become irrelevant.

“Yes Birthday boy, I made you something..” Her face hovered over his, as his eyes adoringly shifted to the honey coating her lips. He pulled her in closer till their atoms touched as he began kissing over neck and face.

The honey trick. It was his really, but he didn’t mind her doing it. As an avid fan of honey, he had lots of jars in his house and much to his surprise, she liked bees and would occasionally participate in harvesting, but oh of course she would!

She’s his other half.

He began using honey to get her to be close to him at all times, by smearing it on his lips or fingers then touching her. It didn’t make her mad, she was covered in his love. What’s not to like?

When she asked him why he does it he simply said: “I want you to be sticking to me and honey is my ally.”

Tom interrupted their moment of love by expressing his disgust with meowing. According to him, the two idiots would have always found their way to each other, but that’s cat intel that he can’t share with the readers.

“So what do you want to do today.” She finally managed to speak after he took his time with the morning kisses along with ‘sticking’ himself to her lips.

“Spend it with you.” He replied without hesitation.

“You spend everyday with me.”

“Then spend it with you outdoors.” He shrugged before swiping his finger above her lip, catching leftover honey and licking it.

“Well the shop is closed today, maybe we could have a picnic in the field and I—“She stopped midsentence upon the feeling of something poking her thighs.

“H.. did you just get a boner.” She raised her eyebrows and delicately moved her fingers along his hips to rile him up.

“It’s a love boner!” He defends himself the best he can.

“I see.. maybe we should do something about it then..” His eyes gleam like a puppy waiting for his treat. He immediately surrenders his body to her, just like he always does while she pulls the duvet above them and they both sink in their love bubble.

The shower is on.

She’s in there washing what their love caused, along with the sticky honey all over her body. Harry is still in bed, breathing in and out of his lungs trying not to get suffocated from his love for her.

He loves being under the water with her and lathering honey soap all over each other, which is why he has to do this quickly.

His feet pad across the floor as he looks in his drawer for the mini leather notebook. He can hear the water hitting the tiles and her humming in the background which motivates him to get this done.

He opens the notebook and looks at where he left off and opens a new page instead as he picks up his favorite writing pen.

‘February 1st 2023

Did I ever mention that she was the one to start it that night? Our relationship. I was too busy admiring and she was too busy planning, another reason why we fit like Lego pieces. I don’t make confessions that often, maybe to her every now and then but I must admit that I like my birthday now. It didn’t faze me before, it meant nothing but now it makes me look up to all the upcoming birthdays I get to spend with her. I don’t know how the poets do it… being able to describe love and all that stuff. If they were actually in love, then they’d know that it leaves you speechless with nothing to say or do. I worry that I do not say enough to her, but she then assures me that silence is our thing in her own way. That night when she kissed me, then invited me to her shop at night, helped me realize that I want her and need her. No, she did not ask me on a date, I did but if not for her simple gesture I would’ve been miserable for eternity. Once you get a taste of what’s sweet, you’ll never abandon it. That’s how I feel about her. Now, maybe the story of how everything progressed is for another time or even how we adopted ungrateful Tom, but for now she’s waiting.”

He places the notebook back in the drawer and throws the pen in there before his feet guide him to the wide bathroom, where her voice could be heard humming. He wondered if the bluebirds visit them because of her.

He fetches towels for them from the closet not forgetting to take a bite from the cinnamon roll that’s neglected on the tray.

He pops his head inside and calls her with her designated nickname.

“Honeyyyyy…?”

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @strwbrrydaydreams @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie

If your tag is red, then it didn’t work.

Divider from @firefly-graphics

[seiwas]

Sel!!! How are you?✨️ i've got a question and I'm curious about your answer – if there was any major plot point you'd change in any of your favorite anime, which anime would it be and why?

Hope you're having a great friday!!🫶

birdie!! hello 🥹 i’m doing good, what about you?? you’re so sweet to drop by here and ask me this lil question!! 🫶🏻 hoping you have a great weekend ahead!!

hmmm honestly i’d change a bit of the culling games in jjk 😭 i don’t remember much from it & and am still so confused abt a lot of it… which is exactly why i’d change it 😭 i feel like it dragged on quite a bit & there were like 27384885 characters introduced who died within a chapter or two HAHA at some point i just started to feel like… wtf is going on HAHAHA i have a lot of things to say abt jjk that i think can be summed up w how i wish the students got more exposure 🥲 & how i wish they were more fleshed out

what about you?

[suguwu]

YES i like howl!reader and sophie!kita very much! it would be so much fun to explore that concept!!

it just feels so fun!! and it fits so well i'm still not over it,,,kita and his steadiness against reader's dramatics but also him finding his way through the whole experience and coming out of it with a even steadier sense of self. him absolutely side-eyeing the clutter and organizing it until reader can't find anything and lies down on the floor throwing a fit about it...

i have to rewatch the movie now bc i'm obsessed (and honestly i'm due for a reread of the books but i think of them as very separate things)

but it's just such a fun thought to explore!! i'm so stuck on it now lol

[milky-aeons]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑

౨ৎ  . . . in which JEAN KIRSCHTEIN finally gets that idyllic little home in the interior, reminisces on the echoes of war, and can't seem to keep his hands off of his pregnant newly-wed wife.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, pregnancy, depictions of violence, memories of war/ptsd, mdni, w.c 2.4k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐓, clinking against the crystal glass that reflected the light.

It jostled Jean from his dark musings — calling him back from the battlefield within his mind.

He glanced over at it, blinking. Reaching towards the little glass, he picked it up and swirled the contents around. It was a fine whiskey — brewed and stored in Ashwood barrels to give it that intoxicating flavour. During his soldier days, Jean had only been able to dream about touching such expensive whiskey to his lips. And yet here he was, on a bright afternoon deep into autumn, drinking a glass like he had an endless supply of it on his home terrace in the Capital.

It was everything he could have ever wanted.

And yet, it did nothing to quell the screams and cries, the memories of bloodshed roaring up to wash over him.

To drown him.

From the moment he had woken up next to his snoozing wife that morning, Jean just knew today was going to be tough. There were many of them ever since the war ended — days where he could not get out of bed, where he couldn't even will himself to step into the shower without feeling like he was choking. The scars left from the war were deep and corrosive, and perhaps, they would never heal. But he owed it to each and every one of his fallen comrades to continue on. To build something beautiful out of the ashes left in their wake.

Jean winced suddenly — his fight or flight kicking in. In his ears, there was not the gentle din of shoppers from the Mitras street below or the chirping of bluebirds. There was carnage. There was the sounds of screaming orders, of ripping bodies and explosives. In one fraction of a second, he was back on that airship — he was getting ready to dive with his comrades onto the back of the Founding Titan with a slim chance that he would make it out alive—

"Morning, darling," An angel spoke to him, slicing through the clouds, and he felt something warm and comforting sliding down his taut chest. "You're quiet. Is everything alright?"

Slowly, so agonisingly slowly, the images of their last battle dissipated like departing smoke. In its remnants; the sounds of the markets below, the sweet-smelling breeze touched by autumn leaves, feminine arms reaching over his shoulders and playing with his frock.

Feminine — the scent of lilies and warmth. His wife. His beautiful, beautiful wife.

Jean inhaled, his chest expanding almost painfully, and fashioned his face into something composed. He craned his head back to meet your eyes. They were haloed in the tumbles of [h/c] hair that cascaded down to hide him from the outside world.

He flashed you a signature, cheeky grin. "All good. What are ya doin' up this early though?" He fired back at you, his eyebrows pinching with tender concern. "You should be resting."

It was true — and every time he saw the evidence of the life swelling in your belly, Jean felt the need to slap himself. Really, really hard, just to be sure. There was a bright glow that touched the tips of your cheeks, your breasts has swollen and become heavier, readying for the child who would be born within the next few months. A father, he was going to be a father. What were the fucking odds that they had made it this far, you and him, that you were bringing life into this new world. Something he originally believed would have been impossible.

You narrowed your eyes at your husband. There was a familiar look on his face, one which caused you to reach up and brush the curve of his brow.

"You have nightmares in your eyes, my love." You whispered.

He didn't contest, didn't say anything. But he didn't need to. Instead, he closed those honey-coloured eyes and sighed. Jean nudged into your touch — a silent ask — and you continued to rub soothing arcs against his skin. Smoothening out the wrinkles of his bunched expression.

"Shh, it's okay," You murmured in a calming tone. "You are safe. You are here, Jean. We made it. Nothing is going to hurt us, anymore."

Your husband took in deep breaths. First, quick and shallow, which then levelled out into a pace more even. From stroking his face, you let your deft fingertips dance along his skin and sink into his unruly hair, still unbrushed and tousled by sleep. It was past his ears now, you noticed, curling against the nape of his neck in soft sweeps.

"Your hair has gotten long again." You remarked, playing with their ends.

"Hmm," Jean responded. "Suppose so. Kinda like it." He then opened his eyes to look at you once more, and when he did, you were delighted to find they were their bright whiskey-gold, just like the bottle on your terrace table. You smiled softly down at him.

"You have come back to me."

Jean stared at you with those unyielding, clever eyes. He then reached up to catch your caressing hand and turned his face to place a kiss in the palm.

"Always." He whispered.

You would have spent that tender moment just basking in the sunlight with him there, thankful that you both had this time together. Your husband, however, seemed to have other plans. First, it was a wicked little glint that flashed across his eyes — and in the next moment, he was up, using the hand he had clasped to spin you around and hoist you up into his arms.

"J-Jean—!" You choked down a laugh. He scooped you up effortlessly into a bridal-style hold, walking through the terrace doors and into your shared little kitchen.

"Well, my wife is just lookin' extra beautiful this morning!" He chirped, and spun you around and around. Your giggles became a loud, playful scorn, calling him a silly man and demanding that he set you down before he made you and the baby dizzy.

"Our baby will come with a perpetual issue of poor balance!" You cried when he finally stopped, holding you close to him.

"If he's anything like his old man," Jean said. "He will have no problems. In fact, he'll be a damn master at all things balance. You know what they called me in the cadets, right?"

"Yes, yes. Mr. Genius at ODM Gear." Your faces were close, and you nuzzled into the strong column of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. "I just hope he will not be as big-headed."

"Hah? What did you say?"

Jean was peppering kisses starting from the very crown of your head, following a path of heat down your forehead, your cheeks, then finishing at your neck and giving you a playful nip.

You yelped, swatting at him. It only spurned him on, his broad shoulders that you held onto for support rumbling with his deep laughter. His butterfly kisses against your neck became a frenzy, tickling all of your sensitive spots, murmuring in his low voice who are ya makin' fun of? Hm? He both made you giggle and sparked a familiar heady feeling low in the pit of your stomach.

Your chuckles deepened in time with your quickening breath. It became thready and shallow, increasing in time as your heartrate picked up. Still in his captive bridal hold, you slid your hands from his shoulders to around his neck, tugging at his hair in that way you knew drove him wild.

His kisses tripped over your skin when you did so, his breath caught. Pleasured need rippled throughout your body. The kisses he placed on your neck became messier, changing from swift and teasing to hot, open-mouthed. You craned your head back to give him better access and he wasted absolutely no time — dragging the flat of his tongue from your collarbone to your ear, humming when you arched up in his hold.

Jean hoisted you up a little so he could move swiftly through the apartment. His long legs ate up the distance, gliding through the little one-storey terrace you had both made your home in the interior. You leaned up to him while he moved, kissing him sweetly, tenderly. Speaking in words you said so many times and would continue to say again; I love you. Now and forever.

Your second kiss, however, was meaner — you clamped your teeth on his bottom lip and he growled.

When he reached the bedroom you both shared, you felt Jean kick the door shut behind him, before walking you over to the unmade bed and placing you down. So gently, so caringly. The fragility of how he held you was almost enough to shatter your heart. The mattress dipped when he kneeled over you, encouraging you to lie down flat.

"You're gonna pay for doing that." He murmured in a rough voice.

Innocently, you bat your eyelashes. "For what, my dear husband?"

He leaned down so that your foreheads connected and closed his eyes, sighing hard through his nose. "For being so fuckin' irresistible."

Every inch of you was set alight as he leaned over you, caging you down to the bed with his larger body. You tried to surge up — to feel his mouth on yours and never stop, but he rose, kneeling so he could look down at you.

He was still in that light cotton sleeping shirt he wore to bed — hanging loosely around his neck, throwing his tanned skin into sublime focus. His golden eyes shadowed into a deep whiskey followed from your face, to your aching breasts, to your belly. The little swell there made his expression soften. He placed a hand onto your warm stomach and held it still, feeling the child you will soon share and raise together, his newly polished wedding band catching the morning light.

You felt like you were going to burst with the sheer force of love you felt for this man, Jean Kirschtein, your husband, for now and always. The longer you stared at him, the stronger the low pulse between your legs became.

"Jean." You whispered, and he looked up from under his fair lashes, understanding the plea in your voice.

Jean took his time undressing you, like the wicked little thing he was, delighting at how you wriggled under his touch like a trapped and desperate butterfly. When he had stripped both of you bare, you marvelled at the strong planes of his chest and tight, defined abdominal muscles. You traced each and every little scar he wore proudly, feeling those muscles twitch underneath your touch.

He was perfect. He was yours.

"Come here." You crooned, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him over you.

"Yes ma'am."

Your arms did not fit across the large expanse of his back muscles — you sunk your nails into the curves of his shoulder bones, feeling as they shifted when he crawled on top of you. His head dipped down to catch one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth and he sucked — nibbling softly. Your head knocked back. When he lifted his hand and closed the entirety of his palm over your unattended breast, the moan you let out was long and broken.

"They've gotten big, hm?" He whispered against your chest, chasing his words with loving kisses. "So pretty."

Impatient, lust racing through your bloodstream, you grabbed his wandering hand and guided it to where you ached between your thighs. So slick and swollen, Jean's eyebrows raised, his expression becoming incredibly smug.

"Oi, you've gotten impatient, have you?"

"Oh—yes, yes." You groaned when his fingers curled against you. He knew all the right spots to push, to rub, to make you sing for him.

"Come on, sweetheart, tell me what ya need."

"I need—oh, I need you!"

"Like this?" He cooed, pushing two fingers into you with such tender slowness. It felt exquisite, it felt so filling when you were hot and aching — but not enough.

To urge him, you hooked your leg around the strong curve of his lower back and pulled him into you. He made a sound of surprise, releasing his fingers from you to catch his weight by bracing his hands on either side of your head.

His wide eyes collided with your fierce ones. The intensity you were looking at him with made this ex-soldier's cock give a painful twitch.

"I need you. Inside me. Now."

Pleasure exploded down Jean Kirschtein's spine in a thousand lightning bolts. He hung his head forward, groaning, before reaching down to push your thighs gently apart to allow for his body to slot neatly with yours.

"Well, what typ'a husband would I be if I denied you?"

His cock slid inside you in a way that always felt so mind-numbingly perfect, like he was made to be there, to be yours. Jean let out a ferocious sound and buried into your swollen breasts. You moaned, deep, relieved, bucking your hips up to grind into him.

Jean resurfaced to connect your shining foreheads, once more. He reached down to cup your hips and drew out — pushing back inside with such concentration. He was being careful with you, he was handling you like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. You had become attuned to the monstrous power Jean Kirschtein housed in his toned body, honed from years of battling for his life. You had felt it. Even now, you could feel that hum under his skin — the strength he had used to fuck you against tables and walls, the marble tiling in the shower, the balcony in the deep hours of the night.

But now — he was a gentle, caring lover. He pulsed into you in at a steady pace. Both of you gasped each other's air. You clawed at him. His mouth dropped open to pant as he thrusted into you again, again, again.

When his movements started to become messier, less co-ordinated, did he reach down between the both of you and thrum his fingers against where you were most sensitive. You barked out a cry. The bed began to rock and whine with the force of your love-making.

"Come with me, [Name]." He growled against your shoulder. "Come on, sweetheart, come with me, come with me."

In a delirious haze of ecstasy, you nodded your head, again and again until the apex of your pleasure crested and swelled. Your nails dug into his skin. Jean's breaths quickened until they became choked, gasping moans, and his release smashed into him. You fell, too, crashing through the wall of ecstasy with him until all you knew were his body and his scent and the clasping of his be-ringed hand in yours.

It was all he had ever wanted.

[ofmermaidstories]

mermie hello!! i hope may has been treating you kindly! for your ask game, here's 4, 17 and 20!

bluebelle!!! hello. 🥹🩵 may has been okay so far!! i hope it’s been the same for you. 🥺

4. what does it take for you to be proud of something you’ve written?

Honestly? It’s two things: first and foremost finishing it… and then someone being kind enough to say they spent time with it/liked it. 🥹 Being able to complete something does a lot of the heavy lifting though!!

17. how do you determine what mood each project has?

It depends what the original idea is about!!! They all generally come with their wanted moods in tow. The Big 3 fics were/are always about like, the optimism and hope of falling in love, for example, so I hope the mood I write them in fits that. 🥹 The ghost fic I’m writing for Halloween this year is much sadder, by contrast, so the mood we’re trying for is unsettling! The regency romance is (meant to be) sweet and a little funny… moods are just inherently built in!!

20. where do you begin a WIP? ex: a mood, a scene, a certain character dynamic, etc. does this differ per project?

I said to saint I try to establish mood/scene first—but if we’re taking like, at inception, I think it’s always a skeleton idea of, “I want (character) to do (thing) and fall in love along the way” lmao. Core idea first!!! Everything else builds on afterwards.

[oh-honey-styles]

NO GOOD ALONE

A/N: Hello… this TMA blurb is for the amazing @harry-on-broadway ‘s fic challenge using the prompts ‘what’s this then?’ & ‘how are you feeling today? A little better, hmm?’. Enjoy!

Story Page // Words: 2k

•••

You had never seen Harry’s Hollywood Hills home in the daylight.

The flower buds decorating the tall silk oak trees along his stone path were different in the sunshine— a coral pink rather than the burnt orange you remembered coming and going in the middle of the night. And the duo of bluebirds that sang from their perch on top of his wooden fence was nothing like the deafening midnight silence that escorted you back to your car the few times you had been over. It was peaceful… almost peaceful enough to fully mask the way your heart was currently thundering in your chest. 

Almost.

What in the world am I doing? You asked yourself, furrowing your brow behind the dark sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright autumn sunshine. You were thankful for the brisk breeze that nipped at every inch of your exposed skin as you awkwardly fidgeted with the brown paper bag in your hands— the one carrying tupperware filled with homemade soup and a box of your favorite green tea. 

This has to be a doorbell dash… You hashed it all out in your head… except without actually ringing the doorbell. 

Because you did, in fact, know what you were doing. You knew it was a bold choice showing up out of the blue— certain that inside the walls of his white house, down the carpeted hallway and to the left, Harry was buried under the feather down comforter in his bedroom down for the count, sick with the flu. 

You knew if you rang the bell and came face to face with those gorgeous green eyes, you would have to explain why you were there in the first place— explain why, regardless of the circumstances, you were breaking the only rule of your… situation. The rule you insisted on making one night three weeks ago…

‘No emotions.’ You declared firmly, pulling one pant leg on followed by the other, doing your best to avoid staring in awe at the expanse of his naked back as he stood from his bed. 

‘No emotions.’ He reiterated with the tiniest hint of a laugh.

It had only been two days following the morning after that fatefully infuriating night (the one in which your strongholds proved to be pointless) when your phone dinged at 10:40pm on a Tuesday— a text message from an unknown number.

‘You up?’ with a photo of your blue fisherman hat sitting on top of a granite countertop. 

You laughed, outloud, both in shock and denial that somehow Harry Styles himself tracked down your number and sent you what appeared to be a booty call text… especially since you had made it very clear that sleeping together could never happen again. Or had you? Either way, one thing was clear… he enjoyed a challenge. 

And you couldn’t blame him. You’d be lying to yourself if you said the thought of having his strong hands, his intoxicating scent, and his gorgeous body all over you didn’t consume your thoughts 24-7.

You could practically feel his sickeningly smug smile radiating through the slew of texts that came next… polite, respectful banter with very clear intentions. You were flattered, truly, knowing anyone in the world could’ve been receiving those texts. However it was mind over matter and the bottom line still remained true— getting involved with rockstar Harry Styles would be complicated. Messy.

But at 11:32pm when a text with a Laurel Canyon address and a smiley face came next, you forfeited, realizing maybe a little mess could actually be fun.

‘Okay so this is just…?’ He questioned, rounding the bed and invading your space— his bare skin and crisp clean scent making you dizzy. And when he lifted his hand to run his fingertips across your collarbone and down over the swell of your breasts, he almost had you swallowing your answer. 

‘We’re just fucking.’ You gulped. ‘Not that complicated, right?’ 

The present day’s bright daylight, however, had you feeling exposed as if your emotions were stitched in bold onto your sleeve… the emotions that weren’t even supposed to exist.

But the truth was… you truly did feel terrible that he was sick, so sick that he had to cancel three of his shows. A handful of texts between Molly and yourself helped you understand how massive of a deal it was for him to reschedule due to his own illness. And when she told you he was quarantined in his house for the foreseeable future, you were instantly in your kitchen making soup from scratch.

This was different… he’s sick. You tried to justified it, staring at his gate’s wooden door in front of you.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you finally muttered under your breath, taking two steps forward and placing the paper bag on the ground next to the doorway. The birds could eat it for all you cared, spinning on your heel and beelining it to your car.

But before you could take more than four steps, the click of a lock and the sound of your name, painfully deep and gravelly, had you frozen in your tracks. 

Shit.

Realizing your attempted doorbell dash (sans doorbell) had flopped, you took a deep breath and turned back slowly.

“Hey… did you text?” Harry’s head peeked out from behind the wooden door. His voice was so rough— the equivalent to rocks scraping across concrete, a slight wheeze vibrating when he exhaled. He pulled the gate open fully, stepping out to reveal disheveled curls pointing every which way, a cozy chunky yellow knit cardigan and bare feet on top of his stone path. “I saw you through the security camera. Are you… leaving?”

“Oh, hey!” You blurted, attempting to sound breezy, two more steps backward wishing it could’ve been two hundred in the opposite direction. “Sorry, I was trying to… I mean sorry if I woke you… Molly told me you’ve been super sick.”

His laugh which brought a hearty cough had you cringing, proving just how poorly he was.

“Yeah, it’s been pretty brutal,” he swallowed, blinking away the dampness in his eyes.

Unsure what to say, you fidgeted with your sunglasses, pushing them to the top of your head. “Um, I’m sorry about your shows.”

“Oh, you were supposed to come…” his response was quick, watery eyes perking up with excitement.

Your grin grew slowly, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment making your heart thump. Molly had invited you, not Harry. And to be honest, you weren’t even sure you were going before his cancellation made the decision for you.

 “I didn’t realize you knew…”

“Picked your seats out myself,” he confessed, a tinge of pink sweeping across his cheeks, which you immediately brushed off as a possible fever.

“Oh.”

And suddenly you forgot why you were at his doorstep to begin with, focused on nothing but the way his fingers lifted to drag across his collarbone— likely just an itch but had you easily remembering those same fingers dancing across your skin.

“And how are you feeling today? A little better, hmm?”

His wheezy, deep voice snapped your focus back to his gaze.

“Wha— me?” You choked, confused. “M’not sick?”

Harry chuckled, gesturing vaguely in no specific direction. “Erm, I saw your Instagram story thing… from the pub. G&T’s was it?”

Your eyes flew open wide when it clicked what he was referring to— the story you posted last night of you and your girls, lifting your drinks in a toast with the caption ‘clink fucking clink, we’ve had a few’.

“Oh— ha! Um, I didn’t know you watched my…”

Your heart thumped so hard you were certain it would give you away. Never had you seen ‘Harry Styles’ on your list of viewers.

“I have a… what’s it called? A finsta?” He explained as if he could read your mind.

“Do you?” You laughed, noticing the color of his cheeks was decorated in a full blown non-fever-related blush.

“What’s this then?”

His eyes dropped to the brown paper bag sitting on the ground before he bent down and picked it up, peering inside once it was situated in his hands.

“Oh!” You nearly gasped. “That’s… that’s why I came.”

And suddenly nerves flooded your veins and you were regretting every single choice you had made that day.

“You made me… soup?” His eyebrows lifted with his last word, softness and gratitude laced in his green gaze.

“Uh, yeah— yes,” you stuttered, quickly clearing your throat. 

You didn't mean to be so awkward, in fact you hated yourself for it. You should’ve been in control— cool, calm, collected— after all it was you who had been putting up boundaries left and right, just as it was you who was willingly cartwheeling across every line you had drawn.

“Um,” you timidly glanced down at your intertwined fingers. “It's vegetable broth and some plant based chicken from TJ’s. And it’s probably still warm, so if you’re feeling up to eating...”

Harry couldn’t help the way his lips lifted upward and to the left, his dimple digging deep into his scruff covered cheek as you babbled on.

“You made me…” His flattered gaze slowly raised from the paper bag to see you unable to hold his eye contact. “…vegan chicken noodle soup?”

You gulped, your eyes now fixed on a bluebird passing by in the sky. “I… did. It’s not a big deal, really, I had all the ingredients,” you lied, following the bird's path as a ruse not to watch his reaction to you remembering he was pescatarian. And when the bird was nothing but a speck against the clouds, you had no choice but to look his way. 

His eyes were bright…overwhelmingly smug, causing you to shake your head and push out an embarrassed laugh. 

“Stop…” you rolled your eyes, “It wasn’t a big deal. I just wasn’t sure if you had anyone taking…care of you. I mean—shit,“ you stopped suddenly, choking on your unruly confession. “I’m sure you have plenty of people taking care of—“

“So you thought you’d take care of me?” 

His interruption made your entire body light on fire.

“Shut up,” you huffed another laugh, swiping the back of your hand across your warm forehead.

Somehow his amused green eyes lit up even more. “Sounds a bit like emotions, eh?” He teased, dimples deeper than ever. And before you could argue, he continued on. “You know if I weren’t sick, you could come inside and take care of me…. Or I could take care of you?” 

His gaze not so subtly tracked down your body and back up. And regardless of the fact that you were standing on the curb in front of his house, it felt as if his eyes were raking over your naked body, imagining every single detail hidden underneath your clothes.

A small, painful sounding cough (he very clearly tried to suppress as to not ruin the moment) snapped you back into the moment.

“WOW! Okay,” you shifted your weight simply to squelch the fire that had started simmering in your belly. “I’d like my vegan soup back now please.”

“Stop!” He dramatically pulled the bag closer to his chest, taking a small step backwards behind his gate. “Don’t come closer,” he huffed a laugh which immediately morphed into a cough, “you could get sick!”

You were giggling at his antics, planting your feet and shoving your hands into your coat’s pockets with a smile brightening your entire disposition. “You’re insane,” you quietly bantered back.

And then silence settled in the brisk air as you gazed at each other, smiles wide and eyes admiring each other’s wit. 

No emotions, you reminded yourself weakly.

With a blink and a step away, you sighed and jutted a thumb toward your car. “I should go…” You pointed to him next. “You should rest…”

He half hummed, half wheezed in agreement. “Thank you, for the soup… and for the visit. People tell me I’m no good alone, so I’m grateful.”

An unruly surge of shivers tumbled down your back.

“Feel better, Harry.”

He left you with a wave before disappearing behind the fence. And regardless of the gravity that was holding you there— the unexplained force that had you wishing you could follow him across that threshold and nurse him back to health— you buried it. But on the way back to your car, your heart spontaneously swelled. You were seeing a different side of him and you were hooked. 

Actually, you were fucked.

•••

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and sharing — would love to hear what you thought. And to my best girls, @andwhenshesays & @for-fucks-sake-h-h thank you for being you and for always encouraging me in this shit, I love you. Read more The Morning After blurbs here.

•••

Taglist: @thurhomish @be-with-me-so-happily @hstyleshoney @buckybarnessimpp @harrysxcarolina

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part One

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial lovelies! I'm super excited to share this fic with you all! I'll be posting a new part every day for the remainder of Elucien Week! Now, when I last watched Disney's Enchanted, it was so clear that Elain IS Giselle and Lucien IS Robert (and Cassian is absolutely the himbo prince and Nesta is Idina Menzel), and nothing says Magic, today's prompt, like that movie, right? So, hopefully, everyone agrees and everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Elain

The music is light and melodic as it floats around her. It twists around her limbs like a warm, summer’s breeze, like sunlight, filling her chest with a blooming warmth that digs its roots deep between her ribs. Elain follows the steps with ease, gliding across the floor and twirling around with each swell of the song.

But it’s the hand at the small of her back, the other one that’s equally warm and steady clasped with her own, that truly draws Elain’s attention. There’s something so familiar yet unfamiliar in the feel of them against her body, in the way they curl around her fingers. Something that settles deep in her veins, that leaves her feeling safe, that has her feeling like home.

She twirls around again, and a face comes swimming into view, and those eyes…

Elain wakes with a quiet gasp, her eyes snapping open. She blinks a few times, her heart still fluttering away in her chest, before her surroundings come back into focus. Sunlight spills in through the open windows and into her cottage, long golden streaks bouncing off the wood, leaving shimmering spotlights across the blankets on her bed. Just outside she can hear the sweet songs of the birds of the forest, ready to start their morning.

“Elain?”

Elain glances to her right and smiles when she finds that Pip has climbed up onto her bed. The chipmunk tilts his head in concern, wide eyes blinking up at her.

“Oh, Pip,” Elain sighs longingly, holding her hands to her chest like she can still feel those hands curled around her fingers. “I had the most wondrous dream. There was a prince and we were dancing to a beautiful melody.”

“A prince?” Pip asks, hopping across the mattress to follow Elain when she gets up from the bed.

“Yes, and he had these eyes…” Elain’s steps pause in the middle of the room, that final image of her dream flashing across her mind like a swirling mist she can’t quite grasp onto. “He was my true love. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find him then. What did he look like?”

Elain hums consideringly, settling her hands on her hips. She tries to think how best to describe her prince, how to paint a perfect picture of everything that he was, but her mind keeps coming up blank. There simply aren’t the right words when it comes to that face, to that feeling that had washed over her so surely and taken up roots between her ribs even still now that she’s awake. He was everything, but that doesn’t really help or answer Pip’s question. But then an idea strikes her.

“We’re going to need some help,” Elain declares, striding over to the window of her cottage.

Cupping her hand to her mouth, Elain leans out the window and sings a tune, the forest around her quick to answer the melody back to her. She steps back just as her forest friends begin to crowd around the cottage and to clamber in through the window. Rabbits and squirrels and deer and bluebirds and foxes all flood into the space, peering up at her with wide eyes and wide smiles, clearly all happy to see her and excited to help. It has light warmth swelling and pitter pattering away between her ribs, so lucky to have so many forest friends.

“Oh, I’m so glad that you all can help,” Elain tells the animals gathered, making sure to smile at each and every one. “We’ll need to gather all the supplies we can to help recreate my true love.”

“Alright alright,” Pip claps his paws together, having climbed up onto Elain’s table. “Let’s get to work, people! We need to build this true love while it’s still ingrained in her subcranium.”

Pip continues to clap his paws together to get everyone moving, but it works, all of Elain’s forest friends jumping into action. The bluebirds fly to grab the fabric near Elain’s spinning wheel while the rabbits push over her dress form. Elain takes the fabric with a quiet thanks, draping it across the shoulders of the dress form like a jacket. She stands back to admire her work and adjusts the fabric until it’s to her liking, but then a nudge against her hand draws her attention. She glances down to find her deer friends, each with a bundle of white wildflowers in their mouth.

“Thank you so much,” Elain tells them, taking the wildflowers and arranging them so they act as trimming along the makeshift jacket she’s created for her prince.

“How’s this, Elain?” the owl asks, place long, autumn leaves on the head of the dress form so they drape like hair along the shoulders.

Elain smiles widely as she admires the color, almost a perfect match for the shade she remembers from her dream. “Just perfect.”

“And these for the eyes?” one of the rabbits questions, holding up two acorns.

Elain gasps quietly, plucking both the acorns from the rabbit’s paws and holding them up. “How did you know? The color practically burns just like his.” She settles the acorns securely in the makeshift face she’s created atop the dress form, stepping back once more and letting out a happy sigh. “There. He’s perfect.”

“Is he finished?” Pip asks. “Let's see this prince then.”

“Now presenting… my one true love,” Elain announces, turning the dress form around so all her forest friends can see. All the animals gathered ooo and ah, and Elain’s smile grows at their reaction. She turns her own attention back to the recreation of her prince, but then her eyes widen and she frowns. “Oh, no. I forgot to give him lips.”

One of the deer tilts its head confusedly. “Does he have to have lips?”

“Of course he does. How else are we meant to share true love’s kiss?” Elain explains gently before spinning back toward her recreated prince and curling her arms around the dress form. “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss and a prince I’m hoping comes with this. That's what brings ever-aftering so happy.” She twirls around with her prince, a mirror to the way they had danced in her dream, as she continues to sing, “and that's the reason we need lips so much, for lips are the only things that touch. So, to spend a life of endless—”

Elain’s singing stutters to an abruptive stop when she realizes that none of her forest friends are even looking at her anymore. Instead, each of her friends’ gaze is all but glued toward the window of her cottage, each pair of eyes wide and fearful. Some of the rabbits are even pointing frantically behind Elain, toward that very same window.

It has all of the hairs on the back of Elain’s neck standing up, trepidation flooding through her veins like ice water. Swallowing hard, Elain turns around slowly, coming face to face with what appears to be a giant eyeball.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss,” a deep voice rumbles, Elain’s entire cottage seeming to shake with the reverberations.

A troll.

There’s a troll outside of Elain’s cottage and peering in at her. Her heart pounds away even as it lodges itself firmly in her throat. All of her forest friends quickly flee, and Elain frantically turns in place, trying desperately to decide the best way for her to escape. The loud, crashing sound of splintering wood echoes around her and is her only warning before the large, green hand of the troll breaks through the window and wall of her cottage and reaches inside. Elain just barely dances out of the reach of those grasping fingers and runs for the door, clambering out of her cottage and up the tree it’s built into.

She climbs higher and higher amongst the branches, but one glance over her shoulder and she finds the troll following just behind her. She quickens her pace, racing onto another branch, but as she gets closer to the end, she realizes she has nowhere left to go, even worse when the troll climbs onto the very same branch and the combined weight sends the branch dipping dangerously.

That green hand reaches for her again, and Elain lets out an alarmed cry and squeezes her eyes shut, accepting her fate and waiting for those fingers to curl around her, but it never comes. Confused, Elain slowly opens her eyes again and peers over her shoulder. The troll is still there, his hand still half outstretched toward her, but there’s a sword now lodged into the wood of the branch, pinning the troll’s hand in place.

“Fear not, fair maiden,” a voice comes from below. “I have come to rescue you.”

Elain looks toward the ground and finds a prince astride a horse. Her prince. He’s come to rescue her. Elain’s heart flutters, and she tries to offer her prince a smile in thanks, but the branch beneath her gives a terrifying groan, still unsteady beneath the weight of her and the troll. She’s not sure how much longer it will hold them, so with a yelp, Elain jumps for the closest branch of the next tree. Her fingers just barely close around the bark, and relief washes over Elain as the loss of her weight sends the troll flying through the sky in the opposite direction.

The relief is short-lived, though, as Elain’s grip on the tree branch starts to slip. She tries to curl her fingers tighter, tries to pull herself up and more firmly onto the branch, but it seems to be futile.

“Pip,” Elain calls out desperately.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you,” Pip tells her, hopping over to the branch and grabbing at Elain’s fingers with his hands.

But it’s not enough. Despite Pip’s and her own best effort, Elain’s fingers finally slip. She lets out a scream as she goes hurtling toward the ground, her whole body tensing up in anticipation, in fear. And yet, the ground never comes up to meet her. Instead, it’s strong arms that wrap around Elain’s body, holding her secure, holding her safe.

Elain blinks her eyes open in surprise and is greeted by bright, hazel eyes peering down at her. Soft, dark curls fall along the prince’s temples and cheeks to his shoulders, and when their gazes meet, a wide smile pulls its way across the prince’s face until a dimple pops in his left cheek, almost a mirror to the scar running through his right eyebrow.

“Are you alright, fair maiden?” the prince asks.

“I am now,” Elain assures him, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. “And please. Call me Elain.”

“Oh, Elain. We shall be married in the morning,” the prince declares, taking both her hands in his. “You’re the fairest maid I’ve ever met. You were made…”

“To finish your duet.”

~ * * * ~

Prince Cassian was right. They were to be married in the morning, which is how Elain finds herself clambering out of a carriage in front of the Andalasia castle. She barely has time to admire the gorgeous white stone, the vines and flowers curling up and around the turrets, the bright blue waterfall that sends water cascading down the side of one of the walls. Instead, Elain hurriedly smoothes out the white fabric of her dress, rushing up the front steps of the castle.

“Wait up, Elain,” Pip cries out behind her. “We’re not finished with you yet.”

But Elain doesn’t have time. She’s already running terribly late, and she can’t leave Prince Cassian waiting a moment longer. She doesn’t want to wait another moment either. She’s to marry her true love today. A moment she’s been dreaming about for forever. Two of her bluebird friends fly over her, gently placing a tiara into her hair as she continues to hurry forward.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Elain tells them, pushing open the large double doors that lead into the castle.

Elain is just crossing over the bridge, the church in sight just ahead, when an old woman pops up in front of her. Elain lets out a soft cry of surprise, nearing tumbling backwards as her steps stutter to such an abrupt stop. The woman smiles up at Elain, the gesture showing off her crooked teeth, and Elain can see strands of gray hair tucked beneath the hood of the cloak the woman is wearing.

“What a pretty bride,” the woman says, her dark eyes dancing over Elain’s dress.

“That’s very kind of you,” Elain tells her, trying to side step around the woman. “But I really must—”

“No, wait!” the woman exclaims, grabbing onto Elain’s wrist. “I have a wedding gift for you, my dear.”

Elain tries to pull her arm free, tries to find the right words to say to politely explain that she simply does not have time, but it doesn’t seem to deter the old woman. She continues to lead Elain further away, and Elain can do nothing but stare forlornly at the church, at her prince waiting for her there.

“It’s a wishing well,” the old woman explains, leading Elain to a waterfall of glittering water.

“But I’m going to be late,” Elain tries to offer again. “And all my wishes are already coming true.”

“But a wish on your wedding day is the most magical of all,” the old woman argues, continuing to tug at Elain until they’re standing right in front of that sparkling water. “Just close your eyes and make a wish.”

Elain hesitates for a moment, once again glancing over her shoulder and toward the church, but the old woman’s hand curls around her shoulder, nudging her attention back to the wishing well. She supposes there really is no harm in making a wish, and as the woman said, it would be especially magical to make one on her wedding day. This way she could ensure she and Prince Cassian really do have everything they both want. That they really do live happily ever after. So, with a soft sigh, Elain closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. She allows all her warmth, all her happiness and love and positive thoughts to bloom deep in her chest. Allows that feeling to bleed into her veins and flood all the way down to her toes. Allows that feeling to fill her mind with every dream she’s ever had of true love and happily ever after.

“I wish…”

But before Elain can finish speaking, she falls forward, tumbling down and down into the darkness below.

~ * * * ~

Lucien

“You never cared about Gordie the way I do!”

Lucien sighs softly, rubbing his fingers against his temples and the throbbing that’s begun to take up home there. It has him starting to wonder if he should have ever taken this case in the first place. He had sworn to Eris that he could handle it, that it would be a walk in the park. And now they're arguing over hockey trading cards. Already, he can imagine how his brother must be laughing at him.

“Mr. Vanserra?” Lucien looks up at the sound of his name, finding Vassa sticking her head through the door, the redhead offering him a sympathetic smile when their gazes meet. “It’s time.”

With a nod, Lucien turns back to the other lawyer sitting across from him, raising his voice so he can be heard over the still arguing couple. “I have to go pick up my daughter. Continue at nine tomorrow morning?”

Once the other lawyer agrees, Lucien gathers up his papers and files, shoving them all into his portfolio and standing up from the table. He meets Vassa at the door, and she hands over his work briefcase, both of them rushing toward the front doors of the office.

“I can’t believe after all that you still want to get married,” Vassa comments, her eyes flickering back toward the door and the voices still carrying from within the room.

“It’s different with me and Nesta,” Lucien tells her, taking his jacket next and tugging it on. “We understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses. We know we’re building something strong.”

Vassa snorts amusedly. “Are you proposing marriage or a business deal?”

“Yeah, sure. Laugh it up,” Lucien remarks dryly with a roll of his eyes. “But when our marriage is a success because there's no unrealistic expectations, you'll be jealous.”

“You’re just such a romantic,” Vassa quips back sarcastically as Lucien pushes through the glass doors that lead to and from the firm.

“Of course I am.”

~ * * * ~

Thankfully, Willow isn’t the last child still in the aftercare program when Lucien arrives at the school. She smiles widely when she spots him walking through the doors, quickly grabbing her backpack while he signs her out. He hears the jingle of the keychains she keeps on her backpack before a weight crashes into his legs, little hands curling around his knees, and Lucien has to bite back his own smile.

“Daddy. Daddy. Look what I drew today,” Willow tells him excitedly, and Lucien looks down to see her holding up a picture of her in a bright pink princess dress.

“That’s beautiful, but it’s been raining outside, so let’s put this away for now until we get home, okay?”

Willow nods her head and spins around, so Lucien plucks the paper from between her fingers, kneeling down so he can unzip her backpack and tuck the drawing inside. She grabs his hand in hers when he’s finished, and then they’re heading out of the school and toward his car. He helps buckle Willow into her seat before sliding into the driver’s seat, following the familiar roads that will lead them back home.

“So, other than your princess drawing, how was school today?” Lucien asks, glancing back toward Willow in the rearview mirror.

“It was good,” Willow tells him, her eyes glued out the window and the buildings passing them by.

“Tomorrow, Nesta is going to pick you up and take you to school, okay? The two of you can have some grown up girl bonding time.”

Willow frowns at that, tilting her head in an adorable show of confusion. “But I’m only six.”

“I know, but…” Lucien pauses, taking a moment to swallow hard and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He still hasn't quite figured out the perfect way to tell her yet, the timing never quite right, but now he's running out of time. Perhaps a band-aid approach is the way to go. “But I’m going to ask Nesta to marry me.”

“What?” Willow asks, her voice filled with shock.

“You like her, don’t you?” Lucien continues, pulling the car to a stop at a redlight and keeping his attention on Willow’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “We all get along, and I—”

“Daddy, look! There’s a princess!”

Lucien frowns at being cut off so abruptly, but he turns his head out the window to see what snagged Willow’s attention. He spots a billboard all lit up with a castle on it, big block letters promoting the local casino. And standing in front of the castle is some sort of animatronic princess in a large, puffy, white dress.

“It’s a real princess,” Willow continues excitedly, and before Lucien can correct her, she’s unbuckling herself and flinging the car door open to clamber right out into the street.

“Willow!” Lucien exclaims, throwing the car into park and wrenching his own door open to chase her down. He catches her around the shoulders, pulling her back against him and to a stop. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“But Daddy look,” Willow argues, pointing up toward the billboard.

With a barely contained sigh, Lucien looks back up toward the billboard, but he has to blink a few times to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Because there’s simply no way. It’s no animatronic on that billboard, but an actual woman. Her honeyed curls are wet from the rain where they’re piled atop her head in some sort of elaborate updo, and the large hoop skirt of her dress seems to sway with her movements.

“Hello?” the woman’s voice floats down to him. “Won’t you please let me in. Do you know Cassian?”

“Hey, miss,” Lucien shouts up to her. “Are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, the woman turns around. “Oh, hello, I was just wondering if—”

Before the woman can finish speaking, she loses her footing, wobbling dangerously on the small platform in front of the billboard. In an instant, Lucien rushes forward, holding his arms out like that’s somehow going to help. The woman continues to teeter, the weight of her hoop skirt clearly not helping, before she goes tumbling over the edge with a shout. Lucien’s heart lurches suddenly at the sight of her falling, but luckily, the woman’s hands grab onto the edge.

“Just hang on,” Lucien calls out, eyes darting around for anything that might help.

He spots the ladder that leads up to the billboard, and his attention dances back to the woman, trying to gauge how much time he has to climb up and get to her, but the answer is clearly no time at all. Already, he can see the woman’s grip beginning to slip, the metal platform of the billboard slick from the rain. She’s going to go plummeting to the ground, and Lucien has seconds to try and figure out what he’s going to do.

“Catch her, Daddy!” Willow cries out from behind him, just as the woman finally loses her hold.

Lucien keeps his eyes pinned on the falling woman, rushing to make sure he’s standing just beneath her, his arms outstretched and ready. He gets a mouthful of white, frilly fabric, and then they’re both crashing into the ground. Lucien winces at the pain that flares across his arms, in his knees from where they collided with the pavement, and he splutters around the dress as he shifts until he can finally take in the woman’s face.

He’s greeted by warm, wide brown eyes blinking up at him. Those honeyed curls are a bit of a mess around her face, but her expression is still all soft, pretty angles, a dusting of freckles littered across the apples of her cheeks.

“Thank you,” the woman tells him, offering a kind smile.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucien dismisses with a shrug, clambering back to his feet and helping the woman to hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

The woman frowns in confusion at that, tilting her head and sending more hair cascading down her shoulder. “I don’t think they’d hear you from here.”

Lucien blinks a few times. “What?” Before he can finish with that line of questioning, a loud clap of thunder echoes overhead, promising another lashing of rain. “Listen… I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

“Elain.”

“Listen, Elain. We live just around the corner. You can come inside and dry off and then I can order you a car to take you wherever it is you’re trying to go, okay?”

“That’s so very kind of you. Thank you.”

With a nod, Lucien ushers both Elain and Willow back toward the car, making sure his daughter is buckled back in before returning to the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath as he throws the car back into drive, daring to glance toward the backseat through the rearview mirror. He’s sure this is the craziest—definitely the stupidest—thing he’s ever done. It’s not like him to go around helping strangers, especially in the city, but there’s just something about this Elain. Something in those glittering brown eyes. He just hopes it's a decision he doesn't come to regret.

And besides, he’s only helping to call her a car anyways.

“And what is your name?” Elain asks, her attention entirely on Willow.

“Willow Vanserra. And Daddy’s name is Lucien. Are you a real princess?”

“Not yet, but I will be once I marry Prince Cassian. Today was actually meant to be our wedding day.”

Willow gasps at that, leaning in closer. “What happened?”

“Well, there was this old woman, and she brought me to a wishing well, and I must have looked too far because I fell and fell and then I ended up here.”

“Is that a habit of yours, then?” Lucien teases, pulling into their assigned spot in the parking garage of their building. “Falling off things?”

“Usually, someone catches me,” Elain informs her, her voice almost haughty, as she gets out of the car.

The change in tone takes Lucien by such surprise that he has to press his lips together firmly to bite back a smile. He goes around to the other side of the car, helping Willow out and taking her hand in his, leading all three of them inside and up to their floor.

“But it’s no matter,” Elain continues as they walk down the hallway of their floor. “Because I’m sure that Cassian is already looking for me to take me away from this awful land. And when he finds me, we will finally be wed and share in true love’s kiss.”

Lucien can’t stop the amused snort that tears free. “True love’s kiss?”

“It’s the most powerful thing in the world.”

“Sure it is,” Lucien mutters, unlocking their apartment door and ushering everyone inside. He walks over to their linen closet, grabbing a fresh towel and holding it out toward Elain. “You can dry off, and I’ll call you a car, okay?”

Elain takes the towel with a quiet thanks, using it to press the water from her hair, so Lucien heads for his office. He roots around the papers in his desk drawer until he finds the business card he’s looking for. Diggin his phone out of his pocket, he starts to type in the phone number.

“Daddy, she’s really sleepy,” Willow says, stepping into the doorway to his office.

“What…” Lucien starts before he glances over Willow’s shoulder, noticing Elain now asleep on their sofa. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

Lucien rushes past Willow and back into the living room of their apartment, his frustration beginning to flare at the sleeping woman in their home. This is clearly what he gets for trying to do the right thing, for trying to help.

“But Daddy, you can’t make her leave now. She’s a real princess,” Willow argues, hot on his heels.

“She’s not a real princess,” Lucien informs her, trying to keep his voice calm. “Now, will you please go get ready for bed while I handle this?”

Willow lets out a long, withering sigh, but she stomps off toward her bedroom. Lucien waits until the door clicks shut behind her before turning his attention back to Elain. He finishes dialing the car service and tucks the phone against his shoulder while it rings, reaching out with his hand to try and rouse Elain gently. But instead, Elain merely snuffles quietly and curls deeper into herself as she continues to sleep.

Lucien hates how much that small gesture tugs at his heart strings. He hates how much this woman he’s known less than an hour is already having such an effect on him. He hates how something about her seems to spark deep within his soul, urging him to protect, to help, like some long forgotten ancient beast finally waking from slumber.

With a quiet, resigned huff, Lucien ends the call on his phone and grabs a blanket instead, carefully draping it over Elain’s frame. One night can’t hurt, and in the morning, he’ll get her where she needs to go, and that will be that. That will be the end of whatever this is, and he'll send Elain on her way, never to be seen again. He’s sure of it.

—

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