#ignore the mess on the porch i sweep each weekend

[simplepotatofarmer]

tiny mildy annoyed birb on ur doorstep 😆❤️

this is so cute!!

life imitates art!! <3 <3

[hannie-dul-set]

PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow​ (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

it’s not.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.

[atths--twice]

Chapter Four 

Mid June 1996

Fox took off his suit jacket and tossed it, not caring where it landed. His tie was next and he dropped it as he unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt. Walking into the kitchen, he paused as he saw a note on the dining room table.

Fox,

There are some casseroles in the fridge. Mrs. Puckett made you one of her famous apple pies and insisted I buy some vanilla ice cream when I brought it over, so there’s some in the freezer. I hope your day wasn’t too stressful, although I know it most likely was.

Love, Dana

It was the love that kept him rooted to the spot, ignoring the growling of his stomach. He stared at the word and despite the horrible day he had, he could not help but smile.

Two weeks after Samantha had let her in, he had waited outside the shop until everyone left the knitting group. Knocking on the door, she had silently allowed him inside, her hand grazing his arm. As they drank their tea, he had pushed a key with a teal ribbon looped through it, across the table to her.

“What is this?” she had asked, staring at him.

“I… I know it’s forward-”

“Incredibly so. Two months we’ve known each other. We’re not… we don’t…” She had shaken her head and he had sighed with a nod.

“I know. And I’m not asking anything from you. I just…” He had sighed again and ran a hand across his mouth. “I’m not usually a trusting person, but I trust you.” He had stared at her, trying to tell her so much, but the words getting caught in his throat. “I can’t explain it, but I trust you.” She had stared at him and slowly nodded, her hand covering his and he had grasped her fingers like a lifeline.

So, for the past few months she had come into his apartment like a fairy ninja- small but mighty. She had left him encouraging notes, items she had knitted- her mind obviously needing to shut off for a while, and food. So much food, that sometimes he had to take it to his neighbors as he would never eat it all before it spoiled.

As the preparation for the trial began to consume him, she had become his saving grace, showing up when even he had not known he needed her.

Bringing over a movie, popcorn, and candy one night, they had sat silently in the dark, her hand in his, her thumb stroking in slow circles.

One afternoon, after a long night of insomnia, he had woken to find a small bouquet of daffodils in a vase on his dining room table.

To brighten even the darkest day, the accompanying note had said and he had smiled, his fingers tracing over her words. 

One night he had gotten up, once more unable to sleep and intended to take a drive to help clear his head. When he opened the door however, he had found a brown paper bag. Inside there had been two boxes of tea and a black tea kettle in a box. One box of tea had been flavored and the other only chamomile.

To help you sleep, she had written on the box and he had shaken his head as he brought the items inside, wondering when she had been there and why she had not brought it inside.

He had unboxed and washed the tea kettle, filled it with water and took two bags of chamomile from the box. Pacing as he waited for the water to boil, he had thought about calling her, but decided to wait until morning.

He drank his tea slowly after it had cooled slightly. Taking out the needles and yarn, hoping the combination of the two would help, he had knitted a few rows before his eyes had begun to grow heavy. Drinking the last swallow of tea, he had set his knitting down and put the mug in the sink. He made his way to the bedroom and fell into bed with a sigh, finally able to sleep.

During all of the stress and worry, she had been there, helping to keep him sane.

Shaking his head as he set her note down, he walked into the kitchen to get a piece of the apple pie Mrs. Puckett had made. She was an amazing cook and when he had the time again, he wanted to ask her for some recipes.

Opening the fridge, it sat front and center, causing his mouth to water. Taking it out, he placed it on the counter and took out a knife, setting it on the counter to grab a plate, foregoing dinner for a slice of something sweet.

“Really? Without me?”

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, not having heard the door opening.

“Sorry,” Dana said with a smirk and he shook his head, his heart pounding.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Maybe I should rethink that key I gave you.” He narrowed his eyes at her and she hummed.

“I don’t think you really mean that.” She opened the freezer and took out the vanilla bean ice cream, placing it beside the pie. He smiled at her choice, as she always chose the most decadent of brands, insisting that ice cream was not the place where one should save money.

“I don’t mean it. You’ve got me there.” She hummed again as she took out the silverware and ice cream scooper.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting for you to come home so I could have some of this pie.”

“Oh… you’ve been waiting for me?” She stared at him and he knew she had, knowing what today had been. “Right.”

He nodded and lightly rubbed her back before he took down two bowls and cut the pie. She added two scoops of ice cream for each of them, placed spoons inside the bowls, and took them to the table. He poured them each a glass of milk, put the ice cream back in the freezer, and joined her.

They ate and drank in silence, aside from their occasional hums of pleasure. When it was down to the last bit of ice cream, she looked at him and he sighed. Setting his spoon down, he nodded.

“It was hard,” he said quietly. “Hearing my partner talk about that day, hearing her version of events… Even though we were both there, what we saw and experienced was similar, but also different. Our stories line up, but what I remember is slightly altered from hers.”

“What did she say? You can talk about it now as she’s already had her time in the stand?”

“Yeah. I’m up tomorrow. So…”

“I understand.”

“She told them that that day we had been called out, following a lead on a case. We didn’t know there was anyone in the empty building, weren’t sure anyway.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We had our weapons out, just in case, sweeping the rooms as we cleared them. I didn’t see him. Didn’t…”

And then suddenly he was back there, in that room, hearing the sound of footsteps as everything seemed to slow down. The kid walked in front of him and stopped, a gun in his hand.

Yelling for him to drop it, his partner Eve Lansing, appeared beside him. They both yelled for him to put the gun down but he did not, holding it on them, his eyes scared. His arm swung towards Eve and Fox saw his finger squeezing the trigger.

He stepped in front of her, shielding her and aiming his weapon at the kid. They shot at the same time, the kid’s shot hitting his shoulder and his own hitting the kid’s chest, dropping him to the ground.

“After that moment… it’s a bit hazy. I remember hearing Eve screaming my name, heard her calling in our location, and then the pressure of her hands on me. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up the next day.” He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Tears were running down her cheeks and her hands were covering her mouth. His leg began to bounce nervously, not knowing what to say. She wiped her eyes and reached for his hand. He grasped it and she shook her head.

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “Why… why did you step in front of her? You… you nearly died.”

“Eve has a husband and a little girl, not even two years old. I couldn’t… she couldn’t grow up without her mom.”

“Oh, Fox.” She reached forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her, closing his eyes once again. “I’m so sorry that happened. So sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I would never want that.” He shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. “But I had to protect her and her family.”

He felt her nod and he held her tighter as they sat in silence, finding comfort in being held.

____________________

He stood on the large porch of his family’s lake house, the September air warm, and took a deep breath as he looked out at the water.

“So... how long are you planning on staying out here?” Samantha asked, setting down a bag of groceries. He turned around and smiled at her.

“I don’t know. Maybe a month?”

“Or as long as you can stand being away from Dana,” she teased and he shrugged, knowing she was right.

“The trial is over and even though it went as I had thought it would, I quit my job. I just couldn’t go back there. These past few months have been hard, despite the positive aspects of it-”

“Like Dana?” She grinned and he nodded with a smile.

“Especially Dana.”

“Ooooo, Fox and Dana sitting in a tree,” she sang and he tried to grab her. She escaped his grasp, laughing as she did.

“How old are you?” he asked and she stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“So when is she coming up?” She started to empty the bags of groceries and he joined her.

“What makes you think she is?” She gave him a look and he laughed.

“Wine, chocolates, these cookies which I know Dana likes… yeah you’re not the only detective. Oh... you know what I mean.” She shook her head and he nodded, taking the cookies from her.

“Friday after work and she’s staying for the weekend.”

“Reeeeeeally?” she drawled with a grin and he shook his head.

“Nothing like that. Stop.”

“What? Really?”

“We’re taking things slow. It’s what I need right now. I don’t want to mess this up. She means a lot to me.”

“I know she does. I can see it.” She smiled and patted his face. “You deserve a woman like her.” He smiled and they continued putting away the groceries.

__________________

“I can’t believe you made this yourself. It’s so good,” Dana said, dipping her bread in the remaining tomato sauce on her plate and putting it in her mouth.

“Are you suggesting I can’t make a meal?” he teased and she smiled.

“I wasn’t directly, but…” He laughed and picked up their plates, taking them to the kitchen. She followed with the other dishes and they quickly cleaned the kitchen.

“How about a glass of wine on the porch?” he asked and she smiled.

“That sounds great. I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick.”

Pouring them each another glass of wine, he brought them onto the porch and went back inside for a couple of blankets. It was warm during the day, but the nights were sometimes chilly.

When she came out, she was wearing the gray cardigan he knew she loved. The pockets were deep and she had often expressed how all clothes should have similar pockets.

He handed her her glass and a blanket as they sat in the porch chairs. They were quiet as they listened to the water lapping against the dock and the crickets singing around them.

“Dana?”

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to thank you for these past few months.”

“Fox-”

“No. Please let me say this,” he said, setting his glass down and turning towards her. “I didn’t… I knew I was angry and I knew I was taking it out on people who didn’t deserve it, but it’s as if I didn’t know how much until we spoke. Until you shared your story and it seemed okay that I was feeling the way I had been. My therapist told me, but…” He smiled at her and she reached out her hand to him. He took it and stared at her fingers as he ran his thumb over them.

“You saved me, as corny as you may think that sounds, you did. Your kindness and acceptance when others had judged me for what happened, it meant everything to me. You didn’t have to do that, you could have asked me to leave and I would have understood.” He shook his head as he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles as he stared at her. “Thank you, Dana. For seeing me. For saving me.”

“Fox…” She pushed up from the chair and sat on his knee, her arms around his neck. He held her, his heart beginning to repair as she whispered his name, her fingers rubbing his neck.

The first time he kissed her, a bullfrog croaked very close and extremely loud, causing him to jump, and she laughed against his lips.

_______________________

“So you think I can do this?” he asked Mrs. Scully quietly as they stood at the food table decorated with witches and ghosts. They were taking a break from the usual knitting and he was adding his latest baking endeavor- peanut butter and marshmallow squares.

“Yum!” Emilia said, grabbing one and running away. He laughed and looked at Mrs. Scully.

“Seriously? You think I can.”

“I do. And I’ll help with anything you need.”

“Thank you.”

And so a secret project began, one that was incredibly difficult to hide from Dana as she was always with him, but he would not have it any other way.

He took two weeks away from her, telling her he had a vacation planned with his mom and sister. But, there was no vacation planned and instead he went to Mrs. Scully’s home and she showed him how to knit and purl, use different needles, and knit in the round. He was overwhelmed at first, but as he became more sure of himself, he found he could do it.

He knitted until late in the night, finally finding his insomnia good for something. It was not a perfect job, but for his first attempt, he was quite proud of how well he did. Mrs. Scully did have to step in sometimes when he simply could not figure it out. The needles fairly flew, as though enchanted, when they were held in her capable fingers.

He smiled as he watched it taking shape, excited for the moment when he would be able to show Dana what he had accomplished.

He had asked what her favorite color was, which yarn she would pick if she were to give a gift to someone she really cared about. She had smiled and walked to the wall of yarn, taking down the periwinkle.

“This one. I always think I’d like to make something for myself in this color, but…”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know. It seems too… nice to use on me. Like it should be a special occasion or I don’t know. But I would definitely make someone else a gift with it.” She had smiled and he nodded, touching the soft yarn.

Someone had called to her and when Mrs. Scully had walked by, he asked her to get as many as he would need to make Dana a sweater, because she deserved to have something made for her with that yarn.

It was finished just before Christmas and he was nervous with excitement on Christmas Eve when she came over to spend the evening with him.  

Snow covered her gray knitted cap and her coat when he opened the door, surprised she had not let herself in.

“I couldn’t get to my keys,” she laughed, her hands full of bags of gifts. He took them from her, but still she stood in the doorway.

“Have you become a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?” he teased and she laughed, shaking her head. “Then what…” She pulled something from her pocket and he laughed when she handed it to him.

“No bullfrogs tonight,” he whispered as he held the mistletoe over her head and leaned in to kiss her. She laughed, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and kissed him back.

Lifting her slightly, he brought her inside, spinning her around and setting her back down. She giggled as she took off her hat and unbuttoned her coat.

“God, it smells good in here,” she said as she took off her coat and he smiled at her dark green sensible sweater.

“I’m glad you think so, I’ve made everything from scratch.”

“Have you really? You’re becoming quite the chef.” He smiled and she kissed him again before walking into the kitchen and sniffing loudly.

They had a delicious meal of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls he had made that were nearly lighter than air. She ate three of them and had two helpings of ham before she groaned and leaned back, rubbing at her stomach.

“Seriously, that was delicious.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and she grinned. “Should we open gifts?”

“Yes!” She jumped up and he laughed, watching her take out the gifts from her bags.

Soon there was a little pile before him where he sat cross legged on the floor. A stocking was laid on top and his eyes widened.

“I uh… I wasn’t expecting this.”

“You’re dealing with the Scully women now. You’re lucky I didn’t show up with a tree and decorations. Next year that might be different, so be prepared.”

“Next year?” he asked hopefully and she stared at him.

“I hope so,” she whispered and he nodded happily. “Okay! Stocking first!”

“Then you should get yours too,” he said, nodding to the green stocking hanging from the fireplace. She jumped up excitedly and he laughed. Coming back to join him, they sat staring at each other as they held their stockings.

“Same time?”

“Okay!” She smiled and they dumped out their stockings.

He laughed at the things she had placed inside. A little magnet shaped like a ball of yarn, chocolate kisses, a Rubik’s cube, and two spatulas. She laughed at hers: a bullfrog figurine at full croak, dark chocolate bars, a pack of sticky notes for all the notes she liked to leave, and a lapel pin that said You keep me in stitches with a ball of yarn in the background.

“Thank you,” she said, putting on her pin with a smile.

“And thank you!” He pretended to mix stuff with the spatulas and she laughed.

The other gifts were from her and her mother. Mrs. Scully gave him a cookbook and new plastic mixing bowls. Dana had made him a dark gray scarf and a cap to match. He put them on right away, pulling her close for a kiss when she adjusted the scarf.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her again. She hummed and kissed him before pulling back.

Standing up, he left the room to get her gift, his heart racing. Sitting down in front of her, he handed her the square package wrapped in snowman paper and tied with a green ribbon.

She smiled as she untied the ribbon and slid it off the package. Ripping the paper, he let out a breath, swallowing hard. She lifted the lid and set it down beside her. Peeling back the red tissue paper, she gasped, her eyes lifting to his.

“What? Oh, Fox.” She took the sweater out of the box, shaking her head as she looked at it. “You made this?”

“I did.” He swallowed again and she looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not exactly perfect.”

“It is.”

“You haven’t even seen it all.” He laughed and she shook her head.

“You made it. And it has pockets. I love it.” She stood up and he did too, watching her taking off her sweater, and putting the new one on over her camisole. “You’re sneaky, asking me which yarn I would use for someone else and getting it for me.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking at the way it fit her perfectly. “Turn around, let me see.” She did and when she turned back around, her hands were in the pockets and she smiled happily.

“This is so beautiful. I can’t believe you did this.”

“Your mom helped.”

“Sneaky, the both of you.” She smiled and took her hands from her pockets and placed them on his face. “I love it. I… I love you.” He grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“God, Dana. I love you too. So much.”

_____________________

2010

“Hey! What did I tell you about using the wooden spoons?”

“To use the scorched ones.”

“Right! Let’s switch!”

“Dad! Where’s the chocolate sauce?”

“Top shelf, love! The stepstool is in the pantry if you need it.”

“I can reach it, I’m tall enough!”

“Daddy!”

“My love!”

“Whose idea was it to have this many children?” Fox laughed as he turned to look at his wife and she shook her head with a smile.

“I believe it was you, my dear,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her as their oldest daughter made a disgusted sound.

“I don’t remember the last one being part of the deal,” she teased quietly and he remembered how the last one had come to be.

“Blame the bottles of wine and the fact that your mother volunteered to give us a weekend away.” He grinned and she smiled, tracing a heart with her finger, right over the one tattooed on his chest.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Dana had said to him the night after he had asked her to marry him, her fingers tracing the scar from the bullet wound that had led them to one another. “Or outside your chest. I love that about you so much.”

The next day, they had gone to a tattoo shop at her insistence, and he had a heart tattooed over his old scar, asking for it to be teal, like the walls in the yarn shop.

“The color of happiness,” he had said and she had smiled as she watched the teal heart cover the puckered skin.

Every one of their children had asked why he had a blue heart instead of a red one, their small fingers tracing it as they were held in his arms.

“Blue doesn’t always mean sadness, my loves, sometimes blue can be the happiest color in the world.”

“Like Mommy’s part of the shop?” they had asked and he had nodded with a smile.

The little shop had grown over the years as they bought the building next door and turned it into a cafe. The name had changed as well, and was now known as Knit Knacks and Snacks. People came in to eat and then join in on a knitting lesson, taught by Dana’s mother, Dana, or their oldest daughter.

And every night, when the shops were closed, the little family would turn on music and get the Knacks side of the shops ready for the next day. The Snacks side… Well, many new recipes were created after hours with many willing tasters ready to try anything with chocolate.

“Dad! The biscuits!”

“Oof!” He stepped away from Dana and ran to the oven, opening it to find they were the perfect color. “Crisis averted!”

“Hooray!”

He took the biscuits out and everyone came together to the counter. Six plates were laid down, a biscuit placed on each one and cut in half. Cut strawberries in a sugary liquid were scooped onto the biscuits, soaking it in deliciousness. Freshly made whipped cream was placed on top and the plates were distributed.

They all sat down and ate their special Friday night treat, the youngest getting it all over his shirt, his grin red and happy.

Fox looked at all of them, this family of his and he shook his head. Dana took a tissue from the pocket of her periwinkle sweater and wiped their son’s face, with a shake of her head.

“See how handy these pockets have been?” she asked with a smile and he laughed.

His heart was full and he felt happier than he ever imagined was possible. "I love you, Mulder clan." 

"Wuv you too, Bab.” Came their responses, all of their mouths full of strawberry shortcake, and he laughed once more.

[ivyveil]

Love is the Punchline 3

the one where you're on Harry's doorstep and he's just got home from the grocery store

A Continuation of LITP (masterlist here)

Silence.

You knocked on the door again - three taps.

If your shaking hands weren’t proof enough, you were there. In California, in front of Harry’s flat, on the scratchy doormat, next to the potted plants, massively jet-lagged from your rushed flights. Fatigue could only do so much to pull you away from the blatant panic thrumming in your lungs.

Your stomach growled, unsatisfied by the dinner of bagged peanuts and soda. The post-flight griminess sensation had absolutely taken over the feel of your skin, the idea that your eyeballs could possibly fall out of your head. What was mainly keeping you from rest, or the possible clean-up before surprising your best-friend-maybe-possible-lover was the fact that...no, you hadn’t booked a hotel room. Quite stupid, really, but you had been in the unfortunate position of needing to tell your cab driver an address, or exiting the vehicle to find your way around an unfamiliar, chaotic city for the remote chance of an open room.

Your plan could have been more thought-out, you realized. Harry’s tour was beginning in a few days, after all, and you had somehow expected him to be home, alone, doing nothing but waiting for you to rush in like it was a Hugh Jackman rom-com? Highly unlikely. You had realized this first when the cab driver, Thomas, had commented on the extreme wild night events that had been featured for that weekend. Your cheeks had maintained their approximate level of ‘so red they’re burning in hell’ since then, a precursor of embarrassment to the inevitable mortification around the corner.

You only had one bag, too, and it was mainly full of books to read, as an attempt to calm your nerves on the trip over.

Was the hallucination of love truly worth this? Had you actually flown to a different country with the intention of sweeping your best friend off his feet, when he was days away from taking off? Your thoughts had clouded together, morphing into a congealed entity of discussion and no over-riding conclusion. Basically, you were massively done for.

“Y/N?”

Bewilderment had become a tangible smoke, crawling through his bones and evaporating from his words.

It felt cold on your skin.

Your hand was halfway in your purse, halfway to shoving your phone back in after you had checked the clock for the 400th time. Your other hand had been shoving your hair behind your ear, a half-noticed coping mechanism you had when particularly distressed. That was when you turned around, an attempt at a smile wordlessly exhausting itself on your lips.

The nerves were actually going to kill you, you decided, your stomach practically eating itself in stress. Poor Harry, he would have to watch you physically crumble into the wind if your heart-rate didn’t slow the heck down.

“What are yeh doing out here, love?”

He was wearing a plain black shirt, jeans, and a cap that had his hair carelessly stuffed inside. Several locks had found an escape, which obviously was annoying as Harry blew out of the corner of his mouth at it, frowning. His hands were full, with cloth bags that were, in turn, full of groceries.

Harry stepped closer, setting the bags down on the porch so he could access his back pocket for his door keys. The bags clinked with glass. The keys jingled quietly. His eyes never left yours.

He looked, in the whole sense, shocked – perhaps not quite believing you were genuinely in California, waiting on his porch-step, with one bag and a grimace still plastered on your face.

“I’m not on the phone.”

“No, I suppose you aren’t,” he allowed, moving closer.

Not even the devil could smell that good.

It was only at the last second his glance shifted from you to his door, although it seemed rather reluctant. Maybe he believed the moment he was to look away, you would dissipate into the LA night. You weren’t entirely convinced he was wrong in that.

He moved past you, his shoulders blocking the view but you still heard the click of the lock, the opening of the door. You knelt down and gathered a few of his grocery bags along with your travel one, appreciative they would hide the shaking in your fingertips and the continual urge to take you back home, far away from confrontation and vulnerability. With everything you’d put into this plan, you still had yet to find the right words to start out this mess of a conversation.

Harry was soon behind you again, arms full of the leftover bags. You both walked into his home, you moving against the wall so Harry could close the door with his foot and lead the way to the kitchen.

It felt almost normal, which in itself felt incredibly wrong. You were there to break what had been normal, the secrecy and the allusions to what could have been. You were there to be everything you hadn’t.

The silence in the kitchen had transformed somewhat. He had begun shelving the food, working methodically and without really acknowledging you. It didn’t seem like he was out-right ignoring you, more as if he were waiting for you to start the conversation neither one of you knew how to begin. The ball was in your court, as it were.

You felt like you were waiting to be validated, in the strangest sense of the word, reaching out so long your arms felt infinite. Was he okay that you had showed up extremely unexpectedly? Was it too much, did he mean more separation than he implied in the voice mail? Was he waiting, just to reject you in the way you had to him?

You couldn’t express the correct words, your mind stopped your lips from moving so your soul could stay intact for a few moments longer. All preservation, all defense. Putting off the real moments, for the version you had felt before.

“When did you land?”

It was lightly worded, casual and common courtesy to ask, but the way his eyebrows were drawn together and his stare was kept strictly on the cans of black beans being shoved a bit harshly into his pantry – it wasn’t. The stitches were unraveling, one of you was about to become completely, and entirely, undone. The tension was there, thick ropes of it - who would be hanged first?

“Two hours ago. Bought tickets when..I...the night I called,” you finished lamely, hands motioning behind you gently. As if it could ever be behind you. Everything seemed too present to be real.

“I think about us.” The words left before your mind could register the danger in them.

He raised an eyebrow. Eyes shifted to the lettuce. The fridge opened. Lettuce placed gently in the drawer.

You continued, clarifying what you felt.

“I think about us more than I, perhaps, should.”

Harry was quiet, more for an absence of anything to say. His bags of groceries lay, forgotten, as the focus became the one he was anticipating. He kept his eyes downcast still, but you could tell he was paying extremely close attention to your words. His fingertips softly traced against one another, his feet shuffled on the hardwood floor.

The fridge closed.

Everything felt grossly explicit.

You closed your eyes briefly, recalling how gentle his touch was on your cheek. He had cared at one point, which hopefully meant some had transferred to the present. Your arrival couldn’t be entirely unwelcome, not when you realized his hands were trembling equal to yours, and not when desperation wracked itself around each word you spoke.

“I wish I didn’t call you..how I did..I wish I had told you everything sooner. I don’t want you thinking it was some drunk call because I couldn’t say it to your face.”

“Couldn’t yeh?”

You realized you preferred it when he wasn’t making eye contact. They were challenging yours, silently begging to know why you had let him drown, that night in the garden, and come back to help, arms loaded with more tubs of water for him to choke on.

He shook his head, clearly unimpressed by your silence.

“What are yeh doing, Y/N?”

You shrugged, too overwhelmed to say much of anything else. The line of vision was limited to his floors, the worn fronts of his shoes. Exhaustion rippled against your spine, begging to say ‘forget it’ and rush out before everything felt more intense. It already felt too much.

But.

This was Harry. The man who made the world make sense, the boy who saw in you more possibility than you knew what to do with. And he deserved the world twice over, he was worth it. He was worth it, he had never been anything less.

With somewhat renewed confidence, you managed to continue.

“Thank you, for being honest with me, before. I appreciat-”

You jumped, startled.

Harry had interrupted with a laugh. It was wrong, coming from an angel like him. It clawed at your heart, dripping ice into your veins.

“’Thank you’? Thanks fo’ what? Thanks fo’ bleeding out to yeh? Thanks fo’ trying again and again to be honest, after years of pretending? Thanks for taking the rejection so nicely, Haz, I appreciate you letting me confessing my love when I’m drunk off my ass and you can’t do anything about it, because you’re a bloody country away?”

The words “I’m here now” were hollow in his kitchen, a million years late.

Harry nodded, briskly turning his face to the side and biting his cheek. The anger he felt simmered too close to the surface to be properly contained, or even checked by his heart to see if Y/N even deserved it. His heart had taken a vacation, though, or perhaps permanent leave, and the scrapings of a hollowed chest could hold together for only so long.

She was still so beautiful. It only added to his anger, how he could feel angry at her when he looked in her eyes. How could she look so pretty, when she had caused him so much hurt? He knew she hadn’t meant to, but what was done couldn’t be changed. Apologies felt like breath wasted. He couldn’t keep tossing his heart out to the wolves, expecting something different and growing more displeased when it was ruined.

“Yeah, and what is it yeh want?”

“I-I believe in you. More than anyone else. You scare me, sometimes, how brilliant you are.”

It didn’t ring like most compliments to his ears, although it was absolutely intended as one. Confession weighed down the corners, kept the words from flying at soft as they might’ve if your vocal chords weren’t knotted together in the echo of an un-tuned instrument. There was a truth somewhere, a revelation you were dancing around, struggling to appropriately address.

“I felt like both an impossibility and a limitation,” you stressed loudly, as if only remembering to speak up after rolling partially through an inner monologue.

“I couldn’t. Everything just, Haz, it felt like...I never knew what a body felt like before I touched yours. And the possibility of that, matched with the possibility of reciprocation – it all seemed improbable. And even if we had properly figured it out, and went steady or whatever it is kids do-” he rolled his eyes, not finding your rant particularly amusing “-the chance that we would last, it would have been infinitesimally small. You’re brilliant, H, and I could never bear to lose you. To limit you to me, to make you realize your mistakes, that would hurt both of us.”

“Yeh actually think that’s true?” You flinched at how violent his words clashed into one another, the disgust writhing against his tongue and snarling his face into the sharp essence of revulsion. You glanced up. His arms crossed over his body, mouth set in a firm line.

Analyzing could’ve only get you so far, the true emotions were validated just by existence. Your biggest trial was to take the jump, the fall, the risk, whatever it was, into having faith that you both could make something beautiful. Before you could even begin to try and respond, he continued.

“I was honored to be there, to be with yeh, to have yeh in my life. I couldn’t say what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was...I’d do a million times over.”

He took a step forward, his hands retreating to his sides. You had remained standing against the counter, across the kitchen from his position near the fridge. The neutral ground between you could be riddled with minefields, and it would only be moments before they went off. Harry stepped carefully.

“You’re beautiful because you’re every poem I’ve ever read. You live in the movies in my head, you’re on my mind when I do so much as wake up, or go to bed, or tie my shoes, or go for a walk. I can’t get yeh out.” His eyes flashed, as if they had gone mad, helplessly looking into yours.

He had been trying to get over you, although the concept was still as foreign to him as it had been when Jeff sat him down and told him sometimes life wasn’t fair, and all he could do was take care of himself.

After hearing your voice mail, though, the thoughts consuming Harry’s mind were of helping you, supporting you and introducing how goddamn possible love was for you. How you were love, personified, and how can someone deny the existence of themselves? You were bitterly human, and all he felt was more love for you, for that reason. The stoic response you had to his almost-confession in his kitchen had kept him from understanding your humanity, but he slowly understood where your hesitancy lay.

“Look in meh eyes,” it was a demand, insistent and his hands reached out to grab yours and you could feel every edge of his fingerprints digging into your wrists and his eyes were so clear, fuck, they were blurry but it was on your end, not really his and -

“Do yeh see it?! Do you see any fucking disappointment?” his words were seething in their low tone but he shook his fists, your wrists moving rapidly with them, “I’ve seen everything, I was there when yeh couldn’t leave yeh house for months and I was there when the only words yeh knew were the labels of those fucking glass bottles in yeh kitchen. I was there with you, I saw you, I love you. Why can’t it just be us, and we properly show each other the love we have? How can you love me and turn me away?”

The silence returned, utterly unwelcome yet your mouth couldn’t properly work to break it. Your heart, startled anew by the copious quantity of caffeine you had chugged during your travels, pounded at its cage, demanding your brain to fight the logic of his words. There was nothing you could argue, you were emotionally naked and this was it. It was all out on the line.

He stepped away, let your wrists go.

“Okay.” was all he said. Your heart was throbbing with frustration, your mouth opening and closing, a finale of sorts.

Looking up, you were unsettled. The skin under his eyes was puffy, his cheeks flushed and his lips bitten. Perhaps he had been in a similar state before, the devastation still lodged in his eyes and the motion of his throat, and you hadn’t seen it beyond the glaze of your own tears.

One let go from his left eye, drifting down his cheek.

“Don’t cry,” you whispered, your voice feeling rather raw against a throat that had continuously felt boarded-up throughout the night. You brushed the tear off before it could bother his lips, his eyes were trained away from you. It was an act of trust, letting you so close, to ignore the anger and let himself fall apart.

He took another step backwards, shifting his shoulders a bit towards the hallway door. The memories from the kitchen flooded back with screeches, like brakes working in place before the fatal crash, the horror of losing him again forcing your both to act instinctively.

“Please,” the sobs were close in his chest, you felt them like you would a torrent of rain, “I can’t listen to it again. I-I can’t listen to you cry and not do anything, I can’t, I can’t let go again. It-it would wreck me, I’m already half gone and you’re the other half, fuck Harry you’re the other half, please don’t leave. The words won’t come out right, I keep trying, I promise, I promise – god, please stop crying, please, please stop. I love you so much, so, so much and please stop, oh god you’re crying-”

You drew nearer to him, holding his cheeks with the palms of your hands and moving your fingers to loosely draw away his tears. You couldn’t be too sure if you were remotely accurate, your own vision obscured. It was a scene of pathetic sorrow, exhaustion drenching you both and loosening the screws of your spines, slowly, slowly.

He had remained still for a moment, being simple in letting the fear loose from the corners of hie eyes. He hadn’t been sure how to interpret your silence, going back to the idea of rejection and confirming that you had flown out to California to continue a conversation that, he felt, had no good end.

His hands grazed the sides of your hips. Barely, at first, and then again. Once more, feeling the curves of your body and resting against them. He seemed hesitant, expecting you to tell him off, or move back, or to take his crying as an excuse for a feel, but it wasn’t sexual. It was his way of pulling you closer, of accepting that, yeah, maybe you didn’t know the words yet but you knew his body.

Although the tears were not stopping, he sniffed and nuzzled your hands out of the way so his head could burrow into your neck, arms wrapping tighter for a fierce embrace. This, you knew how to communicate back with.

Without a second thought, your arms held onto the nape of his neck, curled up in the short hairs that were sticking up under his cap. Your head was against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you listened carefully to the motions of his body wracking with silent crying.

You hadn’t noticed it, but Harry felt your body shaking as well, the traveling and the emotions of the past few days having taken a massive toll on your energy levels. You two stood there, a torpedo of love and misunderstanding, anger and passion, forgiveness and empathy.

“I’m not drunk, and I love you. I love you, I love you, I’ll tell you every second of every gosh darn day how much I love you, you’re everything, and it is so real. And I don’t think I mind,” you quietly mumbled against his shoulder, grinning slightly and doing a weird cry-laugh.

“Yeh horoscope said you’d be a bit emotional this week. Jupiter’s in some library, I think.”

You pulled your head back, bewildered at the fact Harry would even know your horoscope, much less be intrigued enough to check in on how the universe was treating you in the midst of your fight.

He pulled back, as well, to give you a cheeky grin that had snuck its way against the grains of the slowing tears. Harry half-shrugged, pulling you in again to squeeze you, tightly against his chest. It was then that it really sunk in for him, how physically you were there – how, physically, you had traveled across the world because you love him. You. Love. Him.

(If he started goofily beaming like a goddamn 12-year-old who saw a naked girl’s chest for the first time, it wasn’t for anyone to know but him.)

You were a giggling mess, high off the intense emotions that had played with your heartstrings like a puppet marionette. Part of you wasn’t convinced it had been real, that the night would give way to a morning that showed you, alone, in your bed back at home.

It sure felt real, when Harry slid his hands up your back, cupping your cheeks, and moving in to kiss you. Perhaps it still felt too intense, everything occurring within such a short time span, but what the hell, you and Harry were never good at making things easy.

His lips tasted like mint. It was all you could properly focus on, the rest of your mind growing increasingly foggy with weariness and a craving to know if his body tasted the same. The two sides fought against one another, especially when Harry’s hands drifted downwards and his tongue quickened in pace and grew sloppier, down the side of your neck and marking that spot behind your ear – but eventually the stifled yawn could remain so for only so long.

You and Harry were alright. The nerves had quelled, the heartbreak had healed. Harry’s heart had returned, after all, better than ever after a restful vacation. He had understood your fatigue, he himself having been victim to it for years, and you two drifted, together, towards his bedroom. Laughter kept bubbling up between your lungs and his lips, mixing together in a harmony of tear-dried giggles and fits of inexplicable amusement.

Love really was the funniest thing.

- 2 months later -

Harry had left that morning, dashing to the airport in a flurry of glitter, satin, and something he called ‘pussy bows’ that you 100% felt were not supposed to be called that, under any context ever. He had quickly kissed you goodbye, made it to the doorway, before smirking and wandering back over, kissing you proper.

Jeff had made a gagging noise by the front door, but you were fairly sure he was secretly pleased with how things had turned out. Probably wasn’t even so secret, considering how he drunkenly boasted about how he “was the catalyst that began them, true and honest” during one of the concert’s after parties.

You had toured with Harry a bit, for what you could with your limited vacation days. He had appreciated every moment of it, soaking in the praise at night and the extra bits in the morning. You were a perfect fit in his tour life – a genuine poker competitor with the rest of his band (which reminded him, Mitch owed you $20), a real help when it came to sound and light check, and a fantastic roommate after the shows.

Things hadn’t been as strange as you had feared, nothing in your relationship with Harry changed fundamentally – except that Harry’s compliments were now far more X-rated than before, and he hadn’t typically bought you so many presents when you were only platonically involved.

Speaking of, there was a litter of them scattered around your shared apartment, waiting for you to find them throughout the day. You groaned at each one, sending H a pic with “lol” being the general go-to caption and his faux indignant response that you were not properly appreciating the wonderful comedian Harry Styles could be.

To be fair, they were generally funny. A Post-It was next to your cup of coffee, reading Words cannot espresso how much you mean to me. Even though it wasn’t an espresso, it didn’t stop the flattered smile digging into your dimples for the rest of the morning.

In your work email, there was a receipt from a company working to Save the Bees from Extinction. They had thanked you profusely for your contribution. Immediately sensing the Styles aura from the letter, you sent a screenshot to Harry with a bunch of ????s.

We bee-long together. :-)

Haz.

Plus you never shut up about the damned bees, they’ll be fine now.

 Your particular favorite, though, was the teddy bear that would find its way to your doorstep, with a bright pink bow and custom teddy bear Gucci suit, its lapel reading “Can’t bear to be apart. See you soon. x.”

That gift in particular promised the quick arrival of your lovely, perfect, wonderful, understanding, and yes – perhaps even funny – boyfriend.

 -----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Check the masterlist of LITP here, and let me know your thoughts if you would like!