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pingutats · 3 years

Note

For the “ways to say i love you” prompts, 43 please!

thank you for the request! from this list, prompt 43: "I picked these for you."

warnings: none! this is just fluff!

word count: 1.8k

. . . . .

This is definitely Harry’s domain.

Y/N hugs her shoulders as she stands in her bedroom-turned-dressing-room, staring at the rack of expensive clothes that have been left for her. Through the door, she can hear the noise of the crew bustling around her living room. This house has, of course, been the site of many Harry-hosted parties that had packed in a lot more people than there are present here today — despite that, this smaller group is threatening to become overwhelming for her.

She’s doing this for Harry. A couple of months ago, he was approached by AnOther Magazine to do a big feature with them — a kind of sequel to the one that he did when they were still called Another Man — and he’s been pouring his heart and soul into it since then. It feels like every single day, he’s been off chatting with a writer or meeting with the creative director. He dragged boxes out of storage to rifle through for mementos of his life as a solo artist last week. Y/N knows that some of their friends have been interviewed to talk about Harry. She’s pretty sure Stevie Nicks is one of them.

The centrepiece, though, is a photoshoot more intimate than he’s ever shared before. In the same way that the shoot set in his hometown years ago illustrated where he came from before he rocketed to stardom, this one will reveal who he is underneath all the make-up and glamour of fame.

Harry as he exists in private: in his home, with his girl, sharing this image of himself for the very first time.

Y/N was apprehensive at first — hell, Harry was too — but they’ve discussed it at length. He’s always been a private man, but his ethos is that honesty is integral to his art. He sings in detail about her in his music and puts that into the world with minimal censoring. This magazine feature, at its core, is just another artistic venture. He doesn’t want to hold back. When she understood it like that, it was easy for her to agree.

Her conviction that this is an important thing to do for Harry doesn’t stop the nerves, though. She’s never been a model, or even remotely a figure of interest beyond her connection to Harry. It’s his limelight that she’s stepping into. She can’t help but feel nervous about it.

The first outfit she’s wearing is a boldly patterned dress, custom-made by Gucci at Harry’s request. This isn’t the first time she’s wearing something this expensive (there are no compromises on fashion when you’re with Harry) but it still makes her feel like a fish out of water. She holds the hanger at arms-length for a moment, vaguely anxious that she might have put on weight since the fitting and it won’t fit her anymore, then carefully slips it off. She steps into it gingerly and shrugs it over her shoulders, then reaches behind her to pull the zip up as far as she can reach. She stands in front of the mirror and looks at her reflection, frowning.

Her make-up, which was done earlier, is colourful and dramatic. The point of this home shoot is to show the dichotomy between Harry’s celebrity persona and his private life, illustrated through the elaborate costuming inside their relatively normal home. She doesn’t recognise herself in it.

There’s a knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She whips around, back straightening. “What is it?”

“Can I come in?” It’s Harry’s voice, and just those four short words in his gentle tone are enough to dissolve some of her anxiety.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself into a calmer headspace. “Yeah,” she answers.

He opens the door discreetly and slips inside, careful not to reveal her to the people in the living room while she’s not properly dressed. She appreciates his caution. Although he’s apparently comfortable enough to walk around near-strangers half-naked—he’s only wearing his boxers right now—she definitely isn’t.

“Everything alright, darling?” he asks. Every step that brings him closer puts her more at ease. She’s always been an anxious person, but he’s like a drug to her. From the very first time they met, he’s been the person she feels most natural with. They just work. Things feel right with him.

She smiles at him. It’s a weak stretch of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah. Can you zip me up, please?”

“Of course.”

She turns back around to face the mirror and reaches behind her head to pull her hair out of his way. His fingers are warm against bare skin of her back, finding the zipper and dragging it up, his knuckles brushing against her skin more than is probably necessary. He fixes the way the straps sit over her shoulders with the same attention to detail that she’s seen his stylists give for him a hundred times before. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he does so, glancing from the mirror back to her, his face the image of concentration.

Finally satisfied, he takes a step back and rakes his gaze up and down her figure. “Y’look gorgeous.”

She shrugs, staring at herself. “Thanks, H.”

“I mean it.” He plants a kiss on her cheek, holding her by the waist as they look at each other through their reflections. “Pretty dress for a pretty girl.”

Heat rises in her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. “Now you’re doing too much.”

He shakes his head. “‘M not. Promise I’m not.”

She hums, appraising their reflection with a frown. Even in his underwear, Harry is Harry, and she… She feels like she’s playing dress up in someone else’s wardrobe, dipping her toes into someone else’s life. Harry is at ease in a place like this but she certainly isn’t.

Harry seems to sense this. “Something the matter?” he asks her gently.

“No, just —“ she wrings her hands in front of her, searching for the words. “I don’t feel like me.”

He furrows his brow. “I know what you mean. ’S weird when you do all this—” he flutters his hand around the room, at the rack of clothes and towards the door where they can hear someone giving directions to shift the couch slightly to the left “—just to get a photo done. And I know you’re not used to it.” He squeezes her waist gently. “But you look beautiful. Just like you always do.”

She can’t suppress a small smile at that, bumping her head against Harry’s shoulder with a quietly mouthed, “Thank you.”

He turns his head to kiss her hair, then releases his grip on her waist and moves over to the rack of clothes. “But did y’see…” He bends down to pick up a plastic container marked Look 1 from the shelf at the bottom. He opens it up to reveal various pieces of jewellery inside, and delicately picks out a couple pieces with nimble fingers. “I picked these for you.”

They’re her earrings. More specifically, they’re the earrings that he gave her for their first anniversary. A couple of dangling pearls—he’d bought them during his obsession with the gems. They’re a sweet memento of that time of their lives, of the honeymoon phase that felt like it lasted forever, that never really fizzled out even to this day. They’re her favourites.

She realises her mouth has dropped open. “When did you sneak those in?” she asks.

He shrugs, smirking. “I have my ways. I’m sneaky.” He returns to his previous position standing behind her, nudging her hair behind her ear with his knuckles. “May I?”

She nods, trying not to shiver as his fingers brush against her ears.

“There we go,” he says, stepping back. “Is that a bit better?”

The girl in the mirror looks familiar now. Despite the make-up and the dress, she can see herself. The same face, framed by the same earrings, that has accompanied Harry through all sorts of days and nights. Today is just another one of those things. Something they’re doing, together, and isn’t that all she wants, for them to do everything together?

Being with Harry is a dream she never wants to wake up from. They’ve built a paradise together and now they get to share a tiny part of it with the world—not for the world to share in it, but to see just how beautiful it is.

There’s a little part of Y/N that hopes it makes the rest of the world jealous. They should be, she thinks.

“It’s perfect, H,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder so she looks at his real face, not just his reflection. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He looks proud of himself—his eyes are shining and his dimples are on display as he looks her up and down once more. “It’s all you.”

Y/N mirrors him, her gaze travelling down his body. She bites her lip.

Harry seems to remember suddenly that he’s only in his underwear—his hands fly to cover his thinly-clothed privates and he looks at her, his mouth open in a sly grin. “This is not the time,” he scolds, his shoulders shaking as he suppresses laughter.

Y/N rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him to turn around. “Go get dressed, you dork.”

. . . . .

The suit that Harry wears is made out of the same material as Y/N’s dress, bright and bold colours. The photographer is accomodating of her nerves as he has them sit on the couch. The window is wide open to allow the natural light to illuminate their faces, and the Y/N can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. The sky is a brilliant blue. It’s a perfect day.

“Okay, look this way,” the photographer tells her, drawing her attention from the window to the camera. “A little closer, Harry.”

Harry shifts over, his thigh pressing against hers. His hand comes to rest on her knee, then lifts suddenly as if he’s remembered something. “Hang on a minute,” he says to the photographer, holding up a finger.

He twists around to face Y/N and carefully sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to ensure the pearl earring is on clear display. She smiles at him, which he returns in a quick unspoken exchange of gratitude and care.

“Alright,” Harry says, settling back to face the photographer. His hand finds Y/N’s and he squeezes it. “We’re good.”

The camera clicks and the flash goes off. Their hands remain joined on Harry’s lap.

. . . . .

hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, a reblog & any kind of message would be really appreciated. i'm open to any requests, from the prompt list linked above or from your own imagination, which you can send here. all my other writing is linked on my masterlist. have a lovely day!

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #fic

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thewildwaffle · 3 years

Text

Humans are Weird - Birthdays

Another prompt from a lovely user on ao3

When humans throw a party, they don’t mess around. Or well, they do, that’s like half the point of their parties most of the time. What they don’t mess around with is the planning, preparation, and all-out general excitement and energy that goes into their parties. Scarsels, they'd only gotten halfway through the setup and decorating for Human Dana’s party and it seemed like it would be almost as much fun as the party itself! The special occasion this time was to commemorate the anniversary of Human Dana’s birth. When Peterrias was first told about the party plans, he'd been a bit blown away by just how much of everything there was. His people celebrated the anniversary of their hatching day, sure, but it was usually more of a happy acknowledgment of the day itself and of the life lived to that point rather than a formal festivity. Excited to be a part of such an important Earth culture custom, he had volunteered to help get things set up. There was a lot more that went into a human birthday party than he realized. At first, he'd gone with Human Jackson to help make the refreshments and treats that would be available to guests. He'd spent a little bit of time cutting up fresh vegetables that were edible for everyone on the crew to eat and arrange them on a colorful platter. That didn’t take long to do, but by the time he had it done, all the food preparation tasks that involved working with “safe” ingredients had already been taken. Not wanting to be in the way of preparations there, Peterias had wandered back to the main rec hall where the party decorations were at that point well underway. The humans had requisitioned party supplies the last time they’d stopped in a port with a half-decent market. Earth wares, as popular as they’ve become, were pretty easy to find, even very specific items like balloons, streamers, and a large pack of funny-looking conical hats.

Garubi sefra and human Jieun were setting up the streamers now. They twisted the thin strips of colorful paper into beautiful, swirling, drapes that swept from one side of the room to the other. He paused to take in the sight for a moment. There was something familiar about it all, but he couldn’t figure out why. Anyway, it was a lovely scene. Humans really did go all out. Or maybe this was just a good outlet for them to vent any pent-up creativity and partying they’d been holding in for the past few partecs aboard the ship. He suspected a combination of both. “Is there anything I can do to help here,” he approached the decorators. Human Jieun was having to climb up and down a step ladder to reach high enough to place the streamers. Peterias was one of the few crewmates aboard that stood taller than humans. That with his long arms and great reach, this seemed like the perfect job for him. With a little explanation, a few hijinks that went on while figuring out how to not get the tape to stick to him, he had the entire hall “decked out” as Jieun declared. There was still about half a roll of the decorative paper leftover. He watched it as he bounced it in his hand, smiling as it dawned on him why it looked so familiar to him. It looked just like a popular candy he enjoyed when he was a young hatchling. Wouldn’t it just be like humans to use pretty sweets as decorations? He had to admit, it was kind of a fun idea to multitask like that. Making sure no one was watching, he snuck a tentative nibble at the paper. It was absolutely disgusting. Definitely not a sweet ribbon! Oh, by the stars, it was so bitter! “Did you just try eating the crepe paper?” Jieun clapped a hand on Peterias’ shoulder as he came up from behind. “I’d guess from your face that it wasn’t very good!” “Pleah! Pleh… I… uh, you… you saw that?” He figured Jieun’s laughter was enough affirmation. “To be fair,” Garubi came to Peterias’ aide, “when I first saw the streamers, I thought they looked like large rolls of sweet ribbon as well.” Jieun’s smile remained as large as ever. “Yeah, but you didn’t try eating it!” Garubi took the remainder of the streamer roll from Peterias and went to put it away. “Not when you were looking,” Peterias heard the sefra mutter quietly before he got too far. Even though the room was already looking very festive, humans do not mess around when it comes to throwing parties. He helped Jieun and a few others set up some games and activities for the party. Once again, many hands might light work and the only thing left to do, so Jieun said, was blow up a few more balloons. “Thanks for helping set up though, I really do appreciate it. Dana’s going to love this! She has no idea we’ve got this planned, I can’t wait to see the look on her face!” “Glad to be included in such an important celebration of life,” Peterias closed his eyes and nodded to return for Jieun’s smile. “I am also very excited about the party. If I may ask, do you know how many years Dana is marking today?” “Uh, well, she’s turning thirty-seven in Earth years. I’d have to do the math to convert that to galactic standardized. I know doing that would make it a fraction of some sort.” Peterias tilted his head trying to recall what he knew about Earth. Their day cycles fell into an average length among inhabited homeworlds. The way they divided their days was a little funny but close enough that many humans had no problem converting to galactic standardized times. Years though, years seemed a little long to him, though he couldn’t remember the conversion rate right at the moment. Still, even if they weren’t too far off of GS time, thirty-seven was quite the number! He hadn’t realized Dana was a senior citizen! “That’s amazing,” Peterias’ voice was excited but respectful. “Do you think she’ll stay on the crew much longer then?” “Uh, yeah, I mean I don’t know what she’s planning, but I’d think so. I mean, why wouldn’t she?” “Well,” Peterias wasn’t completely sure how best to say this without sounding offensive or rude. He’d heard humans could be touchy about their ages later on in life. “Won’t she… won’t she want to retire soon?” Half of Jieun’s face scrunched up to make a funny expression. “Retire? Why would she want to do that?” “Um, well, you know… as most species age, they find this line of work to start becoming… uh, well a bit too demanding on… uh… elderly bodies?” Jieun stared at him without saying anything that Peterias started worrying that he had broken some human taboo about talking about getting old. “Dude. Dana’s turning thirty-seven, not eighty-seven. And even if she was, I still don’t think she’d retire. Have you seen her on duty? That lady loves blasting asteroids.” Jieun chuckled as if recalling a memory as he grabbed a rubber balloon and began forcing air into it through his mouth. As Peterias watched the blue shape grow in size, something Jieun said finally clicked. “Wait, eighty-seven? Do humans live that long?!” Jieun removed the balloon from his lips and tied the end so the air wouldn’t escape. “Well, I mean, with proper diet and exercise, a bit of good luck and good genes, yeah. I mean nowadays, it’s not too crazy to see people living and even being fairly active into their hundreds.” “What?!” Jieun had to be joking. Humans loved playing practical jokes. He kept waiting for his crewmate’s face to break into a wide grin and laugh at his attempt to “pull his leg” as the human saying went. As the tiks went by though, Jieun didn’t back down from his bold statement and instead started blowing up another balloon. “Oh,” Peterias shook his head. “Oh how silly of me. I forgot about the year ratio. Earth must circumnavigate it’s star fairly quickly. There for a bit, I thought you were saying humans could live for over 100 galactic standard years.” Jieun opened his mouth and let the half-filled balloon propel itself around the room wildly. “Uh, yeah, we can. Easily. I think the ratio is like, uh just a little over two-thirds of an Earth year for every galactic standardized year. Something like that? If we’re talking SG years, 130 is around the average life expectancy. 180’s getting up there. I think the oldest living human right now is pushing 195 SG years or something like that.” Shivers ran down Peterias’ whole body. He felt the proto-feathers along his spine rise up. He felt like he was frozen in place as his brain used 100% of its capacity to try to process what he’d just been told. There was no way. He’d have known about this before, right? Of all the rumors that flew around about humans, this would have been one of them, right? He kept waiting for a punchline, for Jieun’s nonchalant facade to drop and for him to start laughing at the hilarious joke he’d been trying to get Peterias to believe. But it didn’t happen. He wasn’t joking. Instead, Jieun held out his hand. “Let me see, I guess that would make Dana....” His fingers went up and down as he calculated, “Oh, a little over sixty I guess. In SG, that is.” He then went to retrieve the balloon he’d let escape before and proceeded to blow it up again, tying it off this time. Peterias just stood there, still frozen. He watched the human continue to put the final touches of decorations around the room. How old was Jieun? He saw human Jackson enter the room, being helped by several other crewmates as they carried in platters of prepared party snacks. How old was he? How old were any of the other human crewmates aboard the ship? How much had they seen and how much life had they lived even before they stepped aboard the ship? He was finally pulled out of his frozen state as everyone scrambled to hiding spots. Realizing he was still standing in the middle of the room, Garubi came up behind him and led him to a spot where he could crouch behind a chair. “Come on, they said part of the celebration is to jump out and surprise the birthday celebrant when they arrive at their party.” Peterias allowed themselves to be pulled along and even made sure to tuck their tail in closely so as to hide better behind the chair. It was futile, he was too large, but thinking on that right now seemed beyond his capabilities. Dana was indeed surprised when she arrived. She screamed, out of shock at first, then in delight. There was a lot of laughter, music, and talking, and a surprising amount of very bad, off-key singing to a very repetitive song. It felt almost like visiting a harvest festival back home, so happy and celebratory! Except unlike the festivals, this was for one person. Before, it might have seemed a bit excessive, even by human standards. Now he realized that with this celebration of life, there was a lot of life to celebrate. The planning and preparation that had gone into the party was well worth the effort. Peterias hadn’t had as much fun in some time. It wasn’t any one particular game they played or amusing story that was told that made it so much fun. It was more just, how happy everyone was. The humans, especially Dana, just seemed to radiate a warm happy energy that was particularly infectious. Peterias smiled as he watched Jackson get animated as he recounted an adventure he’d had as a youth on Earth. It was, of course, a story about him doing something dangerous and how he got out of it, and he had several delighted crewmates hanging onto every word. Peterias, chuckled as a thought came to him while watching the scene. Humans live such long lives. He’d had no idea. He supposed that some, after hearing Jackson’s story and knowing what ridiculous antics humans got into on the regular, might postulate that humans live so long because death itself is hesitant to claim them. As he looked around the room though, he caught eyes with human Dana who smiled that strange warm, and slightly scary way that humans do. She held up her hands together to form a shape that he’d been told was a symbol of love and mouthed the words “thank you” to him. Peterias nodded and smiled back. His mind started wandering again. Somewhere in his brain, the new information of human’s life spans was being put together with other tales and warnings he’d ever heard about them like puzzle pieces. That’s why everyone’s always worried about offending humans. They have such long lives that they could hold grudges for what would be lifetimes for other races. That’s why they’re so good at multitasking or will often come onto crews with multiple advanced skills. They have plenty of time to hone their talents. That’s why they can be so forgetful at times. They have a lot of life stored in their memories. There was a large collection of gasps and laughter from the crowd around Jackson as he finished up his story. Soon, Dana took over as the next storyteller about one of her own fool-hardy enterprises she’d had once. It wasn’t quite as much of an adventurous tale as Jackson’s had been, but it was a good story and she told it well. Peterias smiled as he listened in. He was glad humans lived so long, for a lot of reasons. Maybe those who half-joked when they said that death was afraid to claim humans were right. They certainly were a handful in the realm of life, they’d probably continue to be a handful in the realm beyond. In any case, whatever the reason may be, he was glad he’d have his friends around for a long time.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans live a long time #space #aliens #writeblr #ao3 #prompt #original writing #birthday #sci-fi

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Ghostin'

Requested By @heyziggy: "Song prompt -- 'Ghostin' by Ariana Grande. Reader is dating Rosé and misses her lost lover."

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,676

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Death, Crying, Some Cursing, Some Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Did I write this between the hours of 1 and 8am? Yes, yes I did. Inspiration struck and I was able to crank this one out pretty quickly for you! I'm happy with it, and I really hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you think :)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

There they are again. Those eyes that have haunted you for the past year, turning what little progress you've made to dust within a second. People say time heals all wounds, and yet that's never felt further from the truth than it does right now.

A rough tremble wracks through your body as you toss and turn, your limbs reaching out for someone that'll never be there again. She's calling out to you, her arms outstretched as she waits in vain. Your feet are rooted in their spot and no amount of effort possible can make them budge. Tears roll endlessly down your cheeks, a steady stream that feels all too real in the moment. As you scream out her name, you faintly hear your own being called; it's distant, but accompanied by a strong grip on your shoulders.

"...Y/N."

Upon jolting awake, your eyes open to find Rosé hovering over you, propping herself up on her elbow. A thin sheet of sweat has formed on your skin, and you attempt to ground yourself by looking up at her. Slowly but surely, her features overtake the ones still burning in your mind from the dream and you're able to breathe again. She brings a hand up to your cheek, brushing her cool fingers against it lovingly.

Despite the darkness, you can see the bags underneath her beautiful eyes. "I'm sorry, baby."

She simply shakes her head in response, whispering, "Shhh, it's okay. I'm here to take care of you."

In one motion, you pull her into your arms and bury your face in her neck. This isn't the first time this has happened, and you curse yourself for forcing her to grow accustomed to it. She tries to disguise how much it affects her too, but her efforts are always futile; you can read her like a book, knowing that every time that name falls from your lips in a hushed shout, her heart breaks a little more. She doesn't blame you for a second, but neither of you can deny the strain it puts on your relationship.

She adjusts the two of you so that you're laying against her as she soothingly rubs your back. Sweet words of affirmation are whispered into your ear, and the tears you've been holding back soon begin to fall. Some drop from her eyes as well, but she takes comfort in the fact that you're in her arms, allowing her to hold you. Most of the time you push her away, leaving yourself to suffer alone in some cruel form of self-punishment. But now, if only for tonight, you let yourself sink into her warm embrace.

----

1 Week Later -- The Anniversary

12 months ago, today. That's when your world shattered for the first time and everything fell apart. Your heart had been free of such pain until that fateful day, innocent and unaware that sadness like that even existed. That was the first time you ever truly questioned a higher power, baffled that any 'benevolent ruler' could steal such a bright light away from the world. Your first love -- the girl you once imagined spending forever with -- was killed in a hit and run, left to die alone on the pavement.

A majority of your youth belonged to her: the two of you grew up together, slowly falling until you had enough courage to make her yours. Countless memories were made, back when you had no idea how much they'd mean to you in the future. Life was fun with her: she made the mundane things interesting, and the adventures unforgettable. She was unashamedly herself, never stopping for a moment to give a damn about what anybody else thought of her. The two of you had each other, and that's all that really mattered. She was everything to you.

She was.

You still find her in the little things. Whether it be a commercial for her favorite cereal, a bottle of her signature perfume catching your eye as you shop, or even just a flash of her favorite color, you swear that she's still around. After spending so many years with her, it's nearly impossible to imagine her gone. She was so full of life and enthusiasm when her presence still graced the Earth that the thought of her being faded, that twinkle in her eye forever extinguished, seems like an insult to her legacy.

How are you supposed to move on from something like that? Rosé has been one of the only things keeping your head above water ever since she walked into your life, but a limit exists to what even she is capable of. After getting absolutely no closure, not even being able to see the perpetrator brought to justice, you're left to pick up the pieces. You've always been the type to deal with things on your own, finding it selfish to bring your loved ones down with the weight of your pain, but even you have to draw the line somewhere.

Perhaps that dream had been a sign -- some type of cosmic warning for what was soon to come -- because that line was crossed today.

Her family requested for you to return to your home town and celebrate her life with them. The invitation was extended to everyone she had touched before her life was taken, and even those who wished to show their support despite not having the privilege of knowing her personally. You agreed, and spent the day surrounded by people just as sad as you.

It was strange, at first; being back in the place you had so desperately tried to run from to escape the reality of what happened. But seeing all of them again reopened wounds that had never really gotten the chance to heal in the first place. Her parents' faces, so tired and troubled beneath the mask they attempted to put on, struck a chord within you. Her brother tried to be strong for them, you could tell -- but upon hearing his stifled sobs coming from upstairs, you could see how much it all still affected him. Your old friends were there as well, and their stories of your shared escapades only broke your heart more. It was a physical pain now, the once dull pinch giving way to a full blown ache. As you walked around her house, replaying all of your experiences with her, you felt empty again.

She meant so much to everyone she ever uttered a word to, and yet she was gone in the blink of an eye. You'd think that someone as incredible as her would get some sort of divine protection, if you will -- a blanket of defense against such a cruel fate. But life works in ways we don't understand, and we have to find a way to deal with that. You'd hoped returning here would help you on that quest, but you've come to learn that no one really has access to that elusive answer.

Though the day brought on the reunion of so many of you, it ended just as it had started: none of you any closer to closure. It would take time, no doubt, but you wished more than anything that the road to peace was a little shorter.

-----

Rosé

Sweet, incredible Rosé. She waltzed into your life two months after the incident. A breath of fresh air in every way, she brought light back into your life. She refused to stand by and watch as you slowly destroyed yourself, letting the walls crash down around you. She made everything secure again, successfully keeping you sane and grounded.

Falling in love with her was never something you saw coming. The emotions took their time in building up, every considerate thing she did for you adding to your list of reasons for loving her. It all accumulated until you couldn't hide it anymore, and even she could tell that she was getting through to you. Your fragile heart seemed to forget about its brokenness, because it soared at the mere sight of her.

The day she asked you to be her girlfriend was an emotional one, to say the least. You accepted without hesitation, but a nagging voice in the back of your mind suggested that being with Rosie was a treasonous act. Trying to move on felt wrong; your confused heart sent mixed signals, thinking it possible to wait for your ex's return.

But Rosie dealt with it perfectly -- better than you could have ever wished for. Not one time did she try to take your ex's place; she always respected your process and boundaries, and she never drew comparisons between your relationships. Rosé knew from the get-go that times would get rough, but she never shied away. Arguments happened, as they do with any couple, but she watched her tone and always took time to think before she spoke.

Constantly, she worked to get you to let her in. Sometimes -- rarely -- she succeeded. On the nights that you found yourself crying over her again, your heart aching like usual, Rosie was always next to you in an instant. She hated seeing you so distant and hard on yourself, and she vowed from the beginning that she would be a positive influence in your life.

------

The Birthday

2 weeks ago, Rosé had requested today off in order to be by your side. Your ex's birthday is today, and Rosé knows you'll need her more than you're willing to admit.

"Baby, wake up. Let's get some breakfast."

She rolls over to wake you with a kiss, only to find you already sitting up with tears in your eyes. She reaches up to wipe them away, but you dodge her hand before she can. That's what she can't stand. Having you push her away, effectively keeping her at arm's length, hurts her so much more than you know.

Although she's talented at reading you, truth be told Rosé has absolutely no idea how today will go. You've yet to experience a day like today -- your ex's birthday -- without her here, and even you don't know what'll happen. Your mood is capable of changing in a whipstitch, so you'll have to see how the day plays out.

"Y/N, please." Her eyes are pleading as you look at her again, and they rake over your sad features. Your bottom lip trembles as more tears threaten to overflow, and you sink your teeth into it to quiet yourself. Wordlessly, you do as she asks: you press your forehead against hers and let out a broken sigh as she strokes your arm. Her touch is comforting beyond belief, and you can't help but feel like you don't deserve it. Constantly putting her through the same shit makes you feel like a terrible person.

"You're too good to me."

She goes to shush you like always, but you don't drop it this time.

You gently scoot away from her, meeting her eyes as she mimics your actions and raises her head.

"I can see that it gets to you, Rose. I hate myself for hurting you… I just keep letting you down."

She's prepared to ease your fears from the start, not willing to get into an argument right now. "Stop, okay? I knew what I was signing up for when we started dating. I'm a big girl, Y/N. I can decide when I want to stay and when I want to go. I knew from the beginning that we would have these struggles, and none of it has made me change my mind about you."

Her words make your heart flutter, but you still have plenty on your mind to discuss with her.

"You deserve someone without so much baggage. I can't pretend like I'm not still affected by it."

"When have I ever asked you to do that?" She cocks her head to the side, quirking an eyebrow as she waits for you to respond.

"You don't have to, babe. Seeing what it does to you is confirmation enough." You shrug lightly, allowing your eyes to break away from hers for a moment as you gather up what other words you want to say.

"You'll never admit it, not to the full extent, anyway, but I know I'm hurting you. That's the last thing I want; you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy."

"Jagi, do you really think our relationship makes me unhappy? I'll admit that this isn't always easy, but no relationship is, and never once have I even thought of leaving. You seem to forget about yourself in all of this; your happiness is just as important as mine."

She chooses to ignore the self-deprecating scoff you let out at her last sentence, opting to just continue with her train of thought; convincing you to value yourself is a battle for another day.

"So please, let me in. I want us to get through this."

"I do too, baby. So so much. I just can't help but think you could find someone better. I'm a fucking charity case at this point." You drop your head now, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You know she'll be upset with you for thinking so lowly of yourself, but her disappointment almost certainly pales in comparison to the contempt you hold for yourself.

With a heavy, tired sigh, Rosé hooks two fingers underneath your chin and gently lifts your head. "Y/N, look at me. I don't know how to make it any clearer to you: you are the person I want to be with. I want you in my future, and in order to make that happen I'm more than willing to help you deal with your past. I know it's not simple; I know it's never going to be easy; but I want you. All the strings attached."

You blink at the sincerity behind her words, a bit taken aback that she's so steadfast in her decision to stay with you. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that she's only with you because she feels sorry for you that you were blind to the true extent of her love. It's consistent and unwavering, and you've never felt more valued than when you're with her. To her, you never were nor will you ever be a charity case; she loves you because you're imperfect; because you need her just as much as she needs you.

"Okay."

The simple word from you is more than enough to put Rosie at ease, and she doesn't even try to stop the smile that spreads across her cheeks as you pull her into your lap for a hug.

A light squeak from the bedsprings serves as the only sound in your room as you silently hold one another. She knows that 'okay' was your way of telling her you're ready to let her in.

"I love you." You whisper against her neck, allowing your lips to brush against her soft skin. Both of your collars are wet with tears following the emotional moment you just had, but neither of you care.

"I love you, too, baby." She returns, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After spending a moment just holding one another, communicating your emotions through light touches and kisses, you lift up onto your knees and lay her back onto the bed. She cups your cheeks, loving how they feel beneath her fingertips as you stare into her eyes. Your hands sit on either side of her torso to hold you up, keeping you in place as you smile down at her. Intimate moments like these hold a special place in her heart, and she can never get enough of them.

"I'm so afraid of losing you, Rosie. God, you have no idea how much the thought of it terrifies me." You shut your eyes now, willing away the images of a life without her.

For some reason she had never really considered that to be a cause for your unreachability before. Looking back now, it makes perfect sense; losing someone so close to you in such an unexpected way can definitely make you afraid of getting close to people again. What if you lose them, too?

"I can't predict the future, my love, but I can promise you that I'll spend the rest of my days on this Earth next to you. And I'll find you in whatever comes after, too; you're not getting away from me that easy."

The last sentence is playful, and you smirk at her lightheartedness. She knows just what to say to lighten the mood.

"You're the greatest." You say, leaning down to capture her full lips in a meaningful kiss. She hums into it, pulling you flush against her body as she flips you over.

"Oh really?" She teases, pressing feather-light kisses to your jaw. She can feel your heartbeat pick up, and she grins cockily at the effect she has on you.

"M-mhm." You mutter out with a slight stutter, tracing your hands down her body before letting them rest on her hips.

"Why don't you show me, then?" She's straddling you now, and she pulls away from your neck to gaze down into your darkening eyes.

Soon the room is filled with a high pitched squeal as you pounce, pushing her backwards until her back hits the mattress again.

"As you wish, princess." You say, giving her a little salute before kissing her again.

She smiles against your lips and lets out a joyous giggle at your antics.

-------

The Second Anniversary

"Are you ready, baby?" She asks, turning to look at you and gauge your reaction.

You let out a jagged breath, the air leaving your lungs a bit unevenly as you try to steady yourself.

With a nod, you exit the car and walk around to open Rosie's door. "Such a gentlewoman." She says, garnering a genuine smile from you. Her playful tone calms you, and you peck her lips in a sweet kiss.

"Come on, let's go inside."

At your words, she slips her hand into yours and the two of you begin your journey towards the house.

The rest of the day goes by better than you had ever imagined possible: Rosé joined conversations easily, and she offered plenty of comfort to everyone in need of it. Her presence is enough to lessen anyone's pain, but she truly showed her skills today.

Towards the end of the celebration, your ex's parents pulled you away from everyone else and into the hallway for a private word.

"We want you to come visit her, with us."

Your first instinct is to adamantly refuse, but the looks on their faces are enough to give you pause. No amount of time can make up for the loss they've had to endure, and you know they wouldn't have asked unless they really needed you there.

"Okay, we'll be there."

They pull you in for a hug, and Rosé tears up at the emotional moment. She sends you an understanding look once you eventually meet her gaze from across the room, and you give her a sad smile in return.

----

The Visit

"Hey, baby; it's us again. Everybody came by earlier and it was so nice."

"You would've loved it, baby girl. We all miss you so much."

They hold each other close as they take turns speaking to her, their voices a little stronger than you remember them being last year. Slowly but surely, they're learning to adjust to life without their daughter.

You turn your head to the side, burying your face in Rosé's hair to distract yourself from the sadness creeping in. You hadn't come back to the cemetery since her funeral, so even just standing there causes the memories to come flooding back. Rosie's grip on you is strong, and you thank her for that; without her you'd surely be a wreck by now.

A few minutes later, her parents step to the side and look over to you in a wordless request for you to say something.

"Hey, champ." You crouch down next to her tombstone, missing the way her parents smile at the old nickname you used to call each other.

"It's me. I hope you're happy up there… you deserve to be. You'd better save us some good seats." You tease, reaching up to dust some dirt off of the sleek surface of stone. The material is beginning to become rougher, you note to yourself.

"Thank you for taking such good care of Y/N. I owe you the world." Rosie smiles bittersweetly, resting her hand on your shoulder as she looks down at the picture on the tombstone.

Something -- some unmistakable force, a gut feeling -- tells you to look up. You listen to it, slowly raising your head until you can see the expanse of the cemetery in front of you. The evening sun is giving way to a breathtaking sunset, and the remaining golden rays filter in through the leaves of the tall trees overhead. A flash of brown hair catches your eye, and you almost gasp at what you see.

There she is.

Your ex -- well, more specifically, the ghost of her -- stands amidst the tree line that borders the property. She raises a hand up to wave at you, offering a peaceful smile as she glances between Rosie and you. You smile your own lopsided grin at her, and soon after, she fades away completely.

Inconspicuously, you look up at her parents. They have a knowing look on their face as you stand up and loop an arm around Rosé's waist, pulling her in close to rest your forehead against hers. She kisses your cheek before using her finger to poke the soft surface adorably.

"Ya know," her father starts, pulling your attention away from your girlfriend.

"She visits us too, sometimes." He finishes with a smile.

A content feeling settles within your chest at his words, and you let out a soft sigh.

She always was a sucker for happy endings.

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lokigayforhela · 3 years

Note

Hi how are you? I wanted to know what it would be like Hela telling the reader that she wants to have a baby with her?

W/C: 1401

TW: mention of pregnancy

A/N: Dearest reader, you know exactly where my heart is, and I thank you for giving me a prompt that let’s me think about Hela and reader having a baby together. Also, I NEVER write modern Hela x reader, so this was extra fun! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A/N 2: ...what are our thoughts on making this a series with different pregnancy milestones?

You and Hela had been together for only a few years, but to you it felt like it had been forever.

You connected in a way that you knew not even everyone in love was lucky enough to connect with their partner, and every day that you got to spend with Hela, you cherished, and not a night went by that you didn’t thank the stars and moon above for bringing her into your life and letting you be the one that got to love her and hold her for the rest of all eternity.

You’d never had a wedding. Not like the fancy one you’d always imagined as a child, with a dress that rivaled a princess’, or a giant cake, or a bunch of your family and friends around. Instead, it had been a simple affair at the courthouse, with Hela’s brothers, and your family, and that had been enough for the both of you.

You’d been told that waking up next to the person that you loved would lose its charm over time, like a favorite song that just didn’t make your soul feel the way that it used to, but you didn’t think you could ever grow tired of waking up to find Hela watching you softly and playing with your hair, or curled around you like a cat craving the warmth of the sun, and this morning was certainly no different.

As you blinked your eyes open, waking yourself up a little more fully, you found Hela already watching you, brushing her fingers through your hair as she smiled softly upon realizing that you were awake.

“There she is… The anniversary girl…”

You gave a sleepy little giggle, and snuggled up as Hela pulled you closer. “It’s your anniversary, too, you know…”

“Is it? I had no idea,” Hela mused, earning a laugh from you as she pressed a kiss to your forehead and traced her fingers up and down your spine beneath your thin sleep shirt.

For a long while, you just stayed like that in silence, with your head tucked in the crook of her neck, and Hela pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder and temple and head, and anywhere else she could reach comfortably, until finally, she broke the silence, keeping her arms wrapped around you. As she spoke. “What do you want to do today to celebrate?”

You hummed softly, and withdrew yourself enough so that you could lay on your back, lips twisting to the side as you thought. “Mm… I don’t know. I thought maybe we could go out for dinner later. I made reservations at that nice Italian place you love so much.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Hela leaned over to kiss your cheek, turning over on her side so that she could watch you as she threw an arm over your waist, just so she could keep touching you in some small way. “Lunch in bed, then? I’ll do all the work?”

You laughed softly. “Is it that late already?”

“Mmmmno. But I figured there’s no way we’re getting out of bed for at least another hour or two.” Hela had that mischievous little grin on her face that she only got when she was feeling in a particular mood, and you couldn’t help but to laugh in response.

“So bold, dear wife.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” she teased.

“Hey!”

But before you could argue any further, Hela started poking your sides gently, effectively cutting off any retort you might have made as you squirmed and laughed, writhing desperately in an attempt to try and escape the tickles.

It didn’t take long for Hela to give up on her crusade, instead opting to cup your face and kiss you sweetly, and you hummed softly as you returned the kiss just as gently, sighing softly in pure, happy bliss.

Time seemed to melt away, the longer you laid there, kissing and cuddling and laughing softly every time one of you had to separate long enough to breathe, and after a while, Hela drew back, expression a little more serious as she brushed the backs of her fingers down your cheek gently.

“…I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no. A divorce? On our anniversary?” You said it only to be funny, and Hela did laugh a bit, but she shook her head.

“Gods, no, not a divorce. I don’t think I could live if I didn’t get to have you by my side every single day.”

You smiled softly, and reached to hold her hand in yours, threading your fingers together and kissing her knuckles before looking back up at her. “…what, then?”

Hela was quiet for a moment, and you could tell she was gathering her thoughts and figuring out how to say what she wanted to say, and you let her take her time, watching her softly.

“…we’ve been together for some time now, and… we’re steady, and we have stable work, and money in a savings account.”

You nodded along, but couldn’t help but feel a little confused as to why Hela was bringing something like that up, but you remained silent, letting Hela continue her train of thought.

After a long moment of just looking at you, like she was looking for some sort of sign that she needed to continue, she smiled softly, squeezing your hand gently.

“…I want to have a baby with you.”

“….what?” You weren’t opposed to the idea, not by any means, and you couldn’t help the small little smile that crept up as you watched Hela gently, falling in love with how nervous and excited she managed to look all at once.

“I’ve seen the way you are, with Thor’s kids, and… and you’ve talked about what it might be like to have them before, and I know you want them, even if you’ve never said so in as many words. And I just…” She huffed out a shy little laugh, gaze going distant as she pictured the future. “I can’t stop thinking of getting to hold a tiny little girl that looks exactly like you, or… or a little boy that has your hair and your eyes, and your smile… I never thought of myself as the motherly type, but… I can’t express how much I want to do this with you.”

The longer Hela rambled, the more your heart absolutely melted, and by the time you finished speaking, you couldn’t tell if your eyes were watering because you were smiling so hard or because seeing Hela be so open and honest with you still made you so emotional, and all you could do was nod, laughing a bit.

“…okay.”

Hela smiled, as well, though she still looked a little worried that you were agreeing only to shut her up. “…okay?”

“Yeah, I mean… You’re right. I’ve wanted kids since I was a kid… I know my mom’s told you that story about how I told her an angel had visited me when I was four and told me I would have a daughter in the future. Though, I can't imagine she expected it would be like this.” You brought your hands up so that you could press a kiss to her knuckles again, smiling softly up at her. “Hela… nothing would make me happier than to have a baby with you. Maybe two, if we decide the first one isn’t enough. And I know the idea of childbirth isn’t thrilling to you, so I wouldn’t even be mad if I’m the one that has all of them.”

Hela only smiled, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear before kissing you gently. “…we’ll have time to figure all of that out later, I promise. I just… I want to do this with you. I need to.”

The way she spoke so earnestly had your stomach turning flip-flops in the best way, and you just had to kiss her again, keeping your fingers laced through hers as you cuddled up.

“…I love you, so much. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I can’t wait to do this with you. Together.”

Hela smiled, and squeezed your hand, nuzzling her nose against yours as you both closed your eyes.

“Together.”

You hummed softly, content to stay close to Hela as you held each other. “…best anniversary gift ever.”

Hela only kissed you sweetly in response.

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Marvel #oneshot #anonymous #ask #answered #fluff #domestic fluff #thank you for the prompt!

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

Text

A NEW EXPERIENCE

Prompt: You and Roman have been together for 7 years now,and on the night of your 5th year wedding anniversary,you have a new way to demonstrate your love for him

Word count: Uh girl,grab a snack ‘cuz this one is long!

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18 smut,cursing,slight self-degradation,fluff(at the end),a lot of intimacy and Tantric Massage(yes,you’ve heard it right 😉)

A little disclaimer,before we continue: Tantra is a middle eastern (more precisely Indian) philosophy and spiritual path,the tantric massage itself is a wonderful experience that DOES NOT involves any sort of sexual interaction such as penetration or masturbation!Yes it does involve yoni/lingam massage(vagina/penis massage) but the whole goal of it it’s not orgasm/ejaculation.It can happen of course,’cuz we’re humans but if it can it has to be delayed/controlled since that’s not a goal to be reached,it’s a full body experience and a deeper self connection and healing journey.So if someday you reach out a PROFESSIONAL for this especific massage,keep all this things in mind,please.The only reason I’ve included sex on this it’s because the characters in this story are married and got carried away(also because,it’s Roman I mean,who wouldn’t?). Also they don’t live the Tantra as a philosophy or spiritual path at all! It’s just a new way of working they intimacy together as a couple.It is NOT my intention to degrade ANY form of philosophy/spiritual path from anyone’s beliefs,this is for entertainment purposes only,and also a new way for me to write about new/different themes(or personal study topics of mine) for my stories. I have a deep love for middle eastern cultures and an even deeper love for studying different types of philosophy/spiritual paths.

Tag: My soul sister @ziasaph

Notes: Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.

Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Today’s my 5th year wedding anniversary with my lovely husband,Roman.We’ve been together for 7 years now.The first time I met him,I gotta say, I hated him! There was something about him that screamed trouble.He was too good to be true,I mean,he was incredibly handsome,polite,thoughtful,kind,loving,funny,intelligent,respectful(a true gentleman really),the best kiss I’ve ever had and don’t even get me started on this man’s bedroom skills...No man ever fucked me like that,no man ever cared much more about my pleasure than with he’s own,no man could make me feel like a goddess the way he could..you see what I mean?He couldn’t be an honest good man right?!And I knew better!Oh I really did..I’ve always had a “rotten finger” when it came to my men choices.If you putted me in a room with two guys,a truly good man and a shitty asshole,I would’ve had 100% chose the latter.Maybe for the “fun” of it or even just to prove my Freudian fate,who knows?

But when I decided to finally give in to the Samoan’s charm and accepted to finally officially date him,I discovered why he smelled like trouble,because as soon as I found out I was in love with him I knew I had lost my whole heart to that man!And if you came from a emocional troubled background,like I did,you know that that’s the worst case scenario one could ever have.But funny enough,despite my deepest fears,he changed my whole world,he dragged me out of the shit pit I’ve always lived in and pushed me into the light beside him,making me forget everything bad that ever happened to me,transforming my reality into the fairytale I could never had imagined.If you told me,7 years ago,that right now I would be here telling you this same story,I would have have bitterly laughed at your face and asked you to give me a hit of whatever it is that you had.

But here I am,finishing to set up one of our guests room for the surprise I had in mind for my husband.I’m sure that this will never repay him for the way he always made me feel,but at least I hope he can have a bit of a glimpse of how much I truly love and care for him.

I was lighting up the last pair of candles when I heard the front door open,his deep sigh and the loud thump of his bags dropping on the living room floor.

“Y/N,baby girl? You home?” That voice alone could bring the biggest,truthful smile upon my lips.I put the lighter on my jacket’s pocket,carefully closing the guest room door and I ran downstairs to meet my redemption in form of a man.

“Roman!” I squealed while I preceded to jump on his arms and wrap my legs around his waist,kissing him like I would never see him again.

“Wow!” He chuckled “I see someone missed me those 3 weeks,huh?!” Still laughing,he wrapped his big arms around my waist and retributed my kiss vigorously.

“Of course I missed you baby!You’re my Samoan Prince Charming,how could I not miss that?!”I laughed.

“Prince Charming,huh?!”He chuckled “You wait ‘til you see what I wanna do to you...I’m pretty sure you’re gonna change your mind from prince charming to tramp real quick!”He smirks and I can already feel my panties getting damp with excitement.

“Oh really,big guy?! Well I’m sorry,but I’m about to piss in your yard and ruin your dreams!’Cuz I already have a surprise for you,and that took a lot of prep time too,so as much as I would love to see what you have in mind that will have to wait,at least ‘til later.”

“Piss in my yard?!Oh baby girl,always so delicate with your words!”He laughed

“What? I’m expressive,you know that!Also if anyone here is the well mannered,polite and posh one that’s you,I’m just you know,rough street trash”.I bitterly said

“Hey!Don’t say that,please.You know that I don’t like when you degradate yourself like that.You’re not trash,you’re my everything!And let’s be honest here baby, I love your rough side..”He squeezed my ass,to prove his point.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna get all worked up,and you’re going to ruin my surprise...” I whispered

“Ok,ok.I stopped!”He chuckled,then gave me a light peck on the lips before lowering me down to the ground.”So what do you have planned?”

“You know it’s called surprise for a reason right?!”I said.

“Oh c’mon Y/N! Not even a little preview baby?” He gave me those beautiful puppy eyes,and the bastard knew that I would give in.

“Argh,you’re the worst!”I faked an annoyed face,but he knew I was pretending so he just smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back.”Ok the only,ONLY thing I will tell you is that it involves a large amount of intimacy..I’ve never done that to anyone before..and it’s an incredible experience.That’s all I’m saying!”I proudly huffed.He stared at my face for an eternity before he slowly smirked at me saying “You do realize that you said you were going to tell me just ONE thing about it,but you ended up telling me THREE instead,right?!” He started laughing when I poked his broad chest saying “Shut up! You know,you’re lucky I love you,because otherwise I would just kick your ass right now.”I tried to hold back my laugh,but that soon was forgotten when he kissed my lips so slowly and sweet and said “I don’t have a doubt you could kiss my ass at anytime baby.” He lazily smiled at me,before his expression turned more serious. “I love you Y/N so fucking much!” He caresses my face before continuing “I’m so happy I could take a few days off to be with you,to celebrate the 7 years we’ve been together..and the many more years yet to come” He pecked my lips lightly “I could never have asked for a better woman,wife,best friend,lover,supporter..my own personal safe harbor.” He shyly smiled at me and pressed our foreheads together,and I couldn’t help the tears escaping through my eyes.

“Oh baby girl, I didn’t meant to make you cry!” He said

“Those are happy tears I promise!” I sighed “Besides,I feel bad that I can’t say such beautiful things to you,I’m sorry baby,that you got the product made with a broken mold” I sadly sighed.

“Hey,I already told you to stop saying those bad things about yourself! Also you don’t have to apologize,I know everything you went through and it’s normal for someone in your position to be a little careful when showing your fellings,and trust me babe, I don’t need your words to know that you love me,your actions already do the job!” The smile he gave me was so sincere that reached his eyes.And I really hope that my actions tonight will prove his statement to be right.

“So,when do you plan on giving me my surprise?” He asked with a sparkle in his eyes.And I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well the first thing I need to know is if you’re already fed?”

“Yep! I stopped by a cafe on my way home and ate something light,like you asked me to”. He responded

“Good!Now I’m gonna need you to take a shower so you can wash away the tiredness of your flight,towel yourself dry,but don’t put any clothes on I’m gonna need you naked for this.” He maliciously smirked at me.

“You need me naked,huh?” He licked his lips “Ok,sounds like a great surprise so far..”

“Yes it is! And if I were you, I would hurry up..”

With that he ran off to the bathroom like a little boy,and a few seconds later I could hear the water running.

As soon as I finished stripping the last piece of clothing off my body,I heard the bathroom door open and Roman call for me.

“I’m in the guest room.The one near the stairs.” A few seconds later, I see him entering the room.

“Wow,this looks beautiful!” Since we never used that room as a guest room,it didn’t had a bed(which helped a lot) I just cleaned the hardwood floor,placed a big extra thick(about 40mm) yoga exercise mat in the center of the room,a lot of candles(some were sandalwood scented,but not many,so it doesn’t get too nauseating.Just enough to give that relaxing feeling),some rose petals around the floor, a few cozy cushions around the yoga mat and a little low table with one massage candle and a large thermical water bottle(to keep the water cold and fresh).It wasn’t much but it did look cozy and spa like.

“Did you like it?”

“If I like it?Baby girl it’s perfect!”Then he looked at my naked body and added “Perfect indeed” as he slowly lowered down to catch my lips in the most romantic kiss. When I broke the kiss(‘cuz if it was for him,we would stay there for hours) I begin to explain to him what my surprise was.

“I was thinking what I could give you for our 5th year anniversary that wasn’t bought from a store,but had more of a deep sentimental value” He slowly nodded

“I was talking to Sarah and she told me that Lisa,her new girlfriend is a Tantric massage therapist and had given her a tantric massage one day,she said it was the best experience she’s ever had.So I got curious and decided to make an appointment with her and babe” I sighed “I’ve never had in my life,such an amazing experience! The feeling is...I can’t describe,you have to feel it to understand it. My point is,Lisa told me that tantric massage can be used by couples as a form of bonding,like a deeper connection. It can be used to strengthen they’re intimacy.” When I saw the confused look on his face I said

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you so much” He smiles “I love you too baby girl” I smiled back,continuing my explanation “And I know that you’re the best man I could’ve ever had asked for myself!Even too good for me,but my point is that,it makes me upset that I don’t tell you as often as I would like to how much you mean to me,so I asked Lisa for some advice on how to perform a tantric massage on you and thought that,maybe it would be a nice way to show you how I truly feel,through this” I pointed out to the set up in front of us,smiling shyly.

“I-I..baby girl, I don’t even know what to say...This is all so beautiful, I mean, you didn’t need to make all this to show me that you care or love me babe,I know that regardless” he touched my face softly and quickly added “But that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about your surprise..In fact I’m quite excited to see what this is all about” He has a evil sparkle on his eyes and we both couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ok big dog,I gonna need you to lay down on your stomach for me,okay?”

He smiled and did as I asked.

I kneeled down on one of the cushions beside the yoga mat and said

“Alright baby,now,I need you to close your eyes,relax and just focus on my touch upon your skin ok?” When he nodded I grabbed the massage candle and started by dripping some of the wax into his ankles and calves,lightly spreading the melted wax up,until it reaches his back thighs.

I remembered that Lisa told me that this should not be a relaxing massage,in the sense of quizzing in the muscles to bring relief,but it was more focused on the touch it self,so I had to keep a very lightweight touch and make sure that only my finger tips(and occasionally my finger nails if I wanted to) touched his skin lightly.

When I reached his back thighs I notice Roman shifting his weight ever so slightly.

*Oh thank God,I’m doing this right!* I thought to myself relieved.

I dripped more wax,now,onto his perfect round ass and lower back.As I begin working out the wax and spreading it I heard a deep,low,almost inaudible,growl leave his lips and I couldn’t help but smile to myself.I let my finger nails just lightly roam his ass,lower back and side hips.I was so lost in the action that I was caught by surprise when a loud moan left Roman’s lips.

“Y/N..”

I grabbed the candle again and repeated the same process but now on his middle and upper back,shoulders,in the back of his arms and forearms,the palm of his hands,his fingers,neck and ears.

When I reached his head,I lightly dive my finger tips through his hair so I could reach his scalp and begin lightly massaging it,as if I was washing his hair,when I very lightly scratched his scalp I heard a very familiar sound

“Mmmmm fuck,oh shit...Mmmmm”

*Hold on..did he just? Oh I know THAT sound,I think he came!* I thought to myself

I lightly tapped his shoulder twice(a sign for him to turn onto his back) and when he did I could see that I was right,as there were evidences of his cum not only on his stomach but also on the yoga mat,and his deliciously thick erection resting on his belly.

I placed a cushion under his hips and one under the back of his head before I repeated the same previous actions.Starting from the soles of his feet,working my way up his shin,knees,thighs,lower abdomen,hips,abdomen,ribs,chest,nipples,side of the neck,face,front shoulders,biceps,forearm and the front of his hands.

Once I got up and placed myself on the mat,between his legs, I looked at him and I could swear that in 7 years,I’ve never seen that man with such a wild,primal,raw,luscious look on his face.

“Ro?”

“Hm?” I’ve never heard his voice so rough before

“We’re going to the last step now,ok?”

“Mhmm” was all he answered with his gaze glued to my face

I dripped some wax onto my hands and rub them together to spread it.

I took his length into my left hand,lightly squeezed the base of his cock and started to pull my hand up towards the head until my hand slides off,just so I could grabbed it with my right hand and repeat the same steps.

“Oh my fucking God” He rolled his eyes to the back of his head “ Sweet fucking Christ,Oohhh fuuuck” He moaned with a raspy voice.

I took the opportunity to massage the head of his cock in a orange juicer motion.

“Argh” He deeply growled,snapped his eyes open and look at me with a deadly look on his face “Fuck me Y/N! I need you to fuck me right now! Come here and ride me nice and hard baby”

“But Roman,I’m not done ye-“

“I don’t give a fuck!” He gritted “I need you,and I need you right now! Just come here,and put my cock inside that sweet tight pussy baby” He smirked in an almost demonic way and I immediately straddle his hips.

Once I lined his cock to my entrance he quickly thrusted inside of me,making me gasp.

While he gave sometime to adjust he said

“Oh it feels good to be home!” He chuckled

“Baby girl, I don’t know what you did or how,but we’re definitely gonna be doing this more often!” He smiled deviously before he holded my hips in place so he could fuck me like a maniac.

“Oh Ro,fuck”

I’ve never felt him so thick,so deep and so hard inside of me.He was fucking me at a pace so brutal that it was almost deliciously painful.

He grabbed my wrists from his chest and rapidly tugged me down so our chests were glued to each other’s,he took the opportunity to ferociously kiss my lips while he preceded to fuck me brutally.

“Ro,baby,I’m gonna-“

I couldn’t even finish my sentence,because my orgasm hit me so hard that I couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Oh fuck me baby! So fucking tight...so warm...” He gritted “So insanely wet”

With that I could feel his cock throbbing and the hot spurts of his cum inside of me.

When he released his last spurt,we look at each other’s eyes and shared the most passionate loving kiss.When we broke the kiss I said

“I love you Ro,so much”

“With your heart,body and soul?” He lightly smiled,remembering his own words said to me on our wedding vows.

I smiled back before answering without a doubt

“With all of my heart,my whole body and my only soul”

And it was in that moment that I knew I couldn’t have picked a better surprise for the owner and of my heart,body and soul.

#roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns #wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction #masochist writes

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fishyspots · 4 years

Note

i have a lot of feelings about David in skirts so if you’re still taking prompts: the first time david feels confident enough to wear a skirt on date night with Patrick

[read on AO3]

“We’ve been doing this for a while now,” Patrick says. “And I want to celebrate.”

It’s surprising because it’s not surprising. They have been doing this for a while. They still haven’t put a name to it, this thing they’re doing, but it’s been three entire months and Patrick hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to stop being his...Patrick. And David’s been looking.

“You want to celebrate.” David does all he can to keep the want out of his voice. “It’s not even one of those monthly things, because you just gave me that chocolate last week.”

“Aw, you did want me to wine and dine you a little bit for our anniversary.”

David fiddles with the ripped denim around his thigh. It’s not what he wanted to wear today. He’d considered an asymmetrical McQueen skirt and then wrinkled his nose and set it down carefully, going for these jeans instead. They’re an old standby, and he knows Patrick likes the way he looks in them.

But it’s not—that. That’s not why he chose them.

Even though he’s not wearing them for Patrick, his...Patrick still proved him right within seconds when he walked into the store this morning, all wandering hands and red-tinged cheeks when Twyla popped in for some more of that peanut brittle they’re trying out and caught them having a decidedly PG-13 moment.

“I have to go home and change first,” David’s mouth says before his brain can put up a decent fight.

“You’re right.” Patrick nods. David can sense that teasing is coming, and he smiles in anticipation. What is happening to him. “You did carry in all those cases of juice and body milk earlier. And you moved that table all by yourself because I was definitely the one who said I was potentially getting a blister maybe. Oh, wait.”

David grabs Patrick’s wrist before he can dramatically point at himself. “I did other things,” he protests. “My things were less likely to make me all smelly, but still.”

“Are you saying I’m all smelly?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” David says airily.

“Fine. An hour after we close?”

David nods and starts mentally sorting through his sweaters.

After David sweeps up (“David, if you’re about to change, you can get a little dusty.” “First of all, you’re about to change, too.”) and Patrick counts down the till, when he’s back at the motel, David smooths a hand down the black pleats. It’s soft, light. He thinks the skirt might say what he wants to communicate—question and declaration all rolled into one.

Because if—when, god, he’s not a person that can say if about this—when this ends, he knows he’s going to spend too long working through all of their interactions backward.

It’s happened before. He ran up a phone bill that was impressive even for his pre-Creek self texting Alexis internationally about Sebastien, the plot intricacies of Bridget Jones, where the line between an open relationship and cheating is, and, fine, a definitive ranking of all flavored Auntie Anne’s pretzels and their respective dipping sauces that one time.

But if—when, when this ends. He doesn’t think it’ll be about this. And if it is, then. Maybe it’s...good? To know. Because unlike his reticence about open relationships and categorical inability to keep his mouth shut, he would rather know about this. If it’s a hesitation. If Patrick has a hesitation about this.

He slides the fabric over his hips and smooths down the front of his sweater. Patrick will be here any minute.

David slides into the booth after a surprisingly long drive. Patrick’s been exceptionally tight-lipped about where they’re going and what the menu is like and whether the dessert is any good, and David’s trying to toe the line between endearingly interested and nitpicky. It’s a fine line.

Patrick pushes at David’s shoulder. “Scoot.”

David does; it only occurs to him to question the request once Patrick’s side is pressed into his own. “What are you—hi.”

“Hi. Come here often?” Patrick slides a hand up David’s back and presses at one of the many persistent knots at the base of his neck. Thriving professionally does not come without its costs.

“First time, actually.” David’s surprised there’s a half-decent restaurant in the greater Elms that he hasn’t tried. He hopes it’s half-decent, at least. “Where did you find this place?”

“Marie, the woman who does those wines, said she’s letting them carry her product here.” Patrick’s hand is a brand tracing down his spine and around to—his skirt. “And I know you trust her taste.”

“She actually uses the toner we sell. Of course I trust her taste.”

“A convincing argument.” Patrick taps at David’s kneecap, then lets his hand rest against it. The touch is both soothing and electric. David isn’t really sure what to do with it.

“Haven’t seen these in a while,” Patrick says.

“A while?” David leans back to catch Patrick’s eye. “When have you ever seen my knees?”

At Patrick’s slow once-over, starting at his knees and following the lines of his body as they curve and bend up his chest to his neck and then to meet his eyes again, David swallows and amends his question. “When have you ever seen my knees in mixed company?”

“Less often than I’d like,” Patrick says. “You look—”

Different, David fills in. Unexpected. Funky, if he’s misjudged Patrick fundamentally as a person. It’s happened before.

Patrick dips his forehead into David’s neck and burrows in. He does this sometimes, pushing like he would burrow inside David if he could. He mumbles something into David’s skin.

“What’s that?” David asks. Context clues are favorable, but he’s the first to admit that he’s not especially good at reading people. Okay, maybe he’s the second. Alexis jumps at the chance to point out his flaws usually.

“It’s—if I say lovely, are you going to roll your eyes at me?” Patrick actually seems worried that his word choice will do anything but make David melt, which—how?

“That’s…” David blinks. Hard, really hard, like there’s something like a branch or one of those twig pencils in his eye. “I’m not rolling my eyes.”

“You’re not,” Patrick muses. He runs a thumb over David’s eyebrow, which is so unsettlingly intimate in its total innocence and the matter-of-fact way Patrick moves to do it. He makes it look so easy.

“Hi,” their server pops up and prevents them from doing anything else that they really need privacy for. And David’s got more than a few ideas. “Just here to light your candle and take your drink orders.”

David asks for a water and tilts his head as the server holds up a lighter to the already blackened wick. “Really a lot to not even trim the wick,” he says after the server is out of earshot.

“I’ll trim your wick,” Patrick says. Then he winces. “That’s—”

“How would that even—”

“I didn’t think it through,” Patrick acknowledges. He nudges the tiny red tealight holder closer to David.

The wick is smoking and sputtering, and David doesn’t want to smell like a campfire so he pushes it back.

“Hey,” Patrick protests. “I want—it’s dark in here. And I like to see you.” His hand drifts down again and fiddles with the hem of David’s skirt.

David crosses one knee over the other and hides a smile behind his menu. He won’t be able to twist or push or slip this one out of sight. “Fine,” David says. “But like hell will I let you trim my wick.”

#hi it's me i haven't forgotten how to write totally #HUGE COLOSSAL thanks for this prompt which i love dearly and which took me a lifetime and a half to write #and another massive thanks to #petrodobreva #for a lovely and quick and kind beta!#my fic #schitt's creek fic #schitt's creek fanfiction #schitt's creek fanfic #schitts creek fic #schitts creek fanfic #schitts creek fanfiction #david x patrick

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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years

Note

Prompt 1 or 8 of the Angst list for Malex, please.

This is probably not what you wanted, Nonny Mus... but maybe it is? I went with Prompt 1 “I love you! Is that what you want to hear?” Either way, it is suitably ANGSTY and I hope you enjoy it!

TW: self-harm, talk about self-harm (after the cut)

Also available on AO3.

---

“I love you ! Is that what you wanted to hear ?” ANGST

Michael got the call a little after midnight. He’d been down in bunker under the junk yard making diagrams for a project he wanted to start when his phone started buzzing across the worktable. He furrowed his brow and stared at it for a moment, not recognizing the number on the screen and feeling a little leery of any signal that could get to him underground. Normally when he was in the bunker, his phone was for keeping time and no one could get a call through to him. He let the phone go to voicemail before turning back to his drawings. Seconds later it started buzzing again, the same number lighting up the phone’s screen and taunting him. He it go to voicemail. He let it go to voicemail three more times before he finally couldn’t stand it any longer and picked up the phone.

“Whoever you are, it should be pretty obvious I’m not taking any calls ri—” he started, sarcasm being his best and most beloved defense mechanism.

“Michael?! It’s Forrest,” a frantic sounding voice cut him off. Michael paused, looking at his phone in confusion before answering.

“Forrest? Nazi Forrest?” Michael asked, curiosity beating out annoyance. Why was Forrest calling him? He and Alex had been dating for about a month and from what Michael could tell from his brief run-ins with them, things were going well. Was something wrong with Alex?

“Yeah, hey…. I hate to ask this, but uh… can you come over to Alex’s?” Forrest asked, sounding nervous and ready to be told to go to hell. He apparently had no idea how many awkward situations Michael would go through in order to make Alex happy.

“I mean, I guess I can head that way? What’s up? Everything alright over there? Need me to fix a busted pipe or something?” Michael asked, already shutting off the lights in the bunker and cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he moves around the room.

“Uh… Look, lemme level with you. I got hear about an hour ago and Alex seemed about three drinks ahead of me. Not like… hammered, but obviously drunk. We were… uhm… anyway, we were messing around and he just like… freaked out on me and locked himself in the bathroom? Now he’s crying and I can hear him saying your name occasionally and honestly, I don’t know what to do?” Forrest sounded almost apologetic that he had to call Michael and admit that they’d been “messing around”.

“What did you do to him? If you hurt him, motherfucker, I will fucking kill you, Michael replied with a steady voice despite being almost blinded by the sudden flush of rage through his system.

“Dude, I would never! No, we weren’t even doing anything interesting yet. We were just making out and he like… broke away and bolted for the bathroom. I thought he was going to vomit or something, but then he was in there for like… a long time and I didn’t hear anything so I went to check on him and that’s when I realized he’d locked the door and he was like… crying or something,” Forrest explained. Michael climbed the ladder as quickly as he could and ran to his truck, throwing himself the cab and throwing the ignition in almost one movement. “Look, are you coming over or what?”

“I’m on my way. Just try to keep him calm if you can. Talk to him through the door,” Michael advised.

“Obviously,” Forrest replied sarcastically. Michael wanted to gut him for the attitude, but instead settled for just hanging up on him. He tossed the phone onto the dash and peeled out of the junkyard and towards Alex’s house. He really hoped it was his house and not the cabin but figured Forrest would have clarified if it had been out of town.

As he drove, Michael tried to think of things he knew would trigger Alex to binge drinking and break down, but he had to admit to himself that he didn’t know of anything off hand. Alex was the controlled one, the one who dealt with his emotions by repressing the hell out of them until they blew up in a volcanic fit all over anyone unlucky enough to be around. This sounded more like Michael’s way of handling the Too Much of his brain and heart, escaping into a false euphoria that numbed the outer world for a while. Maybe this was one of those volcanic fits, maybe he’d be fine with a little sleep and some Pedialyte.

Michael turned into Alex’s driveway ten minutes after hanging up with Forrest (shaving five minutes off his normal drive time by speeding unapologetically in his worry to get to Alex). When he arrived, Forrest met him outside in the driveway looking frazzled. Michael started to blow past him when he felt Forrest catch his arm.

“What!” Michael yelled, yanking his arm out of Forrest’s grasp.

“Michael, wait! Wait! Let’s talk for a moment, I think I figured out what this is,” Forrest called after him, catching Michael’s shirt and slowing him on his way to the front door. Michael rounded on him with a snarl.

“What do you think this is about then, Forrest? What did you do?!” he asked through gritted teeth, summoning every last drop of patience in his body for anything other than Alex. Forrest looked at him with wide eyes, taking half a step back from Michael and dropping his hand.

“I told you, man, I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t hurt Alex on purpose or force him to do anything he didn’t want to do!” Forrest added quickly, voice rising when Michael opened his mouth to speak. “I think this is about you.”

Michael reared back like he’d been slapped.

“How could I have done anything to Alex? I haven’t even talked to him in like… three weeks? Not since you two… ya know. Started dating or whatever,” Michael said, confusion and shame warring with him. He knew he’d been borderline ghosting Alex since he’d officially begun dating Forrest, but he’d felt like it was the best way to handle the situation. Alex wasn’t going to move on with him around anymore than he did when Alex was present in his life. He hadn’t thought he was being cruel though? And when did Alex not just storm in and demand his attention when he really wanted it?

Forrest was quiet, just watching Michael as he battled internally with his own guilt real or imagined. Finally, he broke through Michael’s spiral.

“So… So Alex and I talked about what his dad did to you back in high school. We also talked about how Alex dealt with his dad’s behavior before you came along and how he still deals with things when the pressure gets to just be… too much. Did… did you know that Alex self-harms?” Forrest asked quietly, eyes mapping over Michael’s features to see if he had known what he’d revealed. Michael hadn’t known. His chest suddenly felt hollow at the idea of Alex hurting himself, of creating physical pain to control emotional pain. He ached because he hadn’t known and Alex had never told him, had hidden that part of himself from Michael.

“I can see that you didn’t. Okay, well, shit. Okay, so that’s out of the bag. Now let me compound that knowledge by telling you that Alex still carries a lot of guilt around what happened with his dad and you. He logically knows it’s not his fault, but you know how it is… when your brain turns on you, you just sometimes can’t turn it off. And apparently today is the um… anniversary?... of that particular day. I kinda feel like this is something he does habitually on this day. I wasn’t even supposed to come over, I surprised him so I wouldn’t have even seen this is I hadn’t… but yeah,” Forrest trailed off. Michael knew he was staring at him, at the ghost-white skin and horror-stricken eyes. He must’ve looked so stupid, but he just couldn’t… couldn’t wrap his mind around what Forrest was telling him. He heard Forrest sigh loudly. “Look man, go in there and talk him down. I’m going to get out of here. Do whatever you have to do, okay? I can’t help him through this, he doesn’t need me.”

Michael watched him walk to the curb and get into his little black sedan. He heard the engine turn over and watched the car drive off down Alex’s road, turning right at the stop sign, and then out of Michael’s sight. He turned and looked at the door to Alex’s house, a few inches ajar, inviting Michael in. He was suddenly cold with fear, terrified he’d make this whole situation worse if he went in there and tried to talk to Alex. He hated Forrest for abandoning Alex, for abandoning them both, to let the Fate’s sort out as they would. He hated himself for thinking he knew every last piece of Alex’s soul and then finding out that he was woefully ignorant of such an important secret. He also hated that Alex hadn’t been the one to share that secret with him, that he’d had to hear it second-hand, and all that that meant. Ten years going on eleven. Ten anniversaries with one possibly being ‘celebrated’ while Michael stood outside pissing himself.

He pushed through the open front door and closed it quietly behind himself. He toed his shoes off in the foyer like he knew Alex liked people to do when visit. He threw his keys, wallet, and phone onto the front door sideboard. He didn’t think he’d be leaving tonight and sleeping with his pockets full was a pet peeve of his. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Michael turned and started towards the back of the house where the bedrooms were. The house boasted one bathroom, but it was well sized for the era of house it was in. Some previous owner must’ve sacrificed a closet to open it up. Michael pushed down on the newly installed lever door handle which stuck halfway down, proving it to still be locked. Cautiously, Michael pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything on the other side. He didn’t know which he wished for, sound or silence. When silence greeted him, he felt like this might be worse.

He concentrated his TK on the door lock mechanism and slipped the lock. Slowly he pushed down the lever handle again and opened the door. He held his breath as the door swung inwards on silent hinges and his eyes tracked over every new inch of the room revealed by the opening barrier. Alex was laying in the bathtub. He still had his clothes on and he looked pale…deathly so. Michael had to clench his jaw against the tightening in his throat and the surge in his stomach. He stepped in and closed the door behind him quietly. Alex didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to breathe. Michael walked over and looked down at him in the tub. He looked almost serene, his hands folded over his stomach, his knees bent and bare. He was laying there in a tank top and boxers. His prosthetic, liner, and jeans were piled against the wall between the toilet and the bathtub. Michael wondered if he could find all the places Alex had hurt himself; if he’d be able to tell the difference between the self-inflicted scars and the ones an unfair life had given to him. With a shaking hand, Michael pressed his fingers to Alex’s neck, intent on finding a pulse, when Alex’s dark eyes flew open and before Michael could blink, he was looking at the closed bathroom door with Alex’s arm around his neck as he held him in a choke hold. It only lasted for a second before he was being let go, his body falling forward as he gasped for air.

“Fuck! Michael what were you thinking sneaking up on me like that?” Alex yelled from behind him, voice echoing oddly on the bathroom walls. He sounded like he was angry like a parent would be angry and a child who’d scared them, covering fear with aggression. Michael coughed and turned his body to see Alex slumped back in the tub, one hand covering his eyes and other gripped tight in agitation. “I could have hurt you!”

“Oh, so you only get to hurt you today, is that it?” Michael replied, surprised by how much anger his voice felt. He’d been so scared a moment ago that the transition to anger startled even him.

“What are you talking about? Why the fuck are you here, Guerin? Where’s Forrest?” Alex asked rapid-fire. His voice was slightly slurred and his pupils seemed impossibly huge.

“Forrest left, but not before calling me to tell me you were locked in here hurting yourself. Apparently, you’ve been hurting yourself for a long time…,” Michael paused, hoping Alex would deny it, but when he stayed quiet, Michael continued. “Why didn’t you tell me, Alex?”

“Why do you care? You walked away. You looked away. It doesn’t matter what I do to myself, it’s none of your business!” Alex growled at him looking angry enough to throw hands.

“Because I love you! Is that what you want to hear? I fucking love you and I don’t like that you’re punishing yourself for something that isn’t even your fault!” Michael snarled back, hitting the cabinet next to him. Alex glared at him silently.

“You’re not the boss of me. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t feel guilty about. It was my fault we were found in the shed. It was my fault for not stopping my dad from hurting you. It was my fault you had to use a half-functional hand for ten years. I caused that and I feel guilty for it, Guerin and you can’t change my mind about it!” Alex was yelling by the end, tears making his eyes shine in the warm fluorescent glow of the vanity lighting and Michael found him beautiful, even as his the corners of his mouth pulled down and he bared his teeth at him in agony. “This is my penance, Michael. Let me have it.”

Michael watched him, watched his face shatter, and watched his body pull in tight to itself against the side of the bathtub. He could see the barest hint of red smeared between Alex’s knee and calf as he listened to Alex begin to sob. It was such an ugly, raw sound that seemed to be clawing its way from his gut and inflicting as much damage as possible on its way out. It made Michael’s own face hurt, feel hot and flushed, vision blurring as he leaked tears in sympathy.

Awkwardly, Michael stood up and climbed into the bathtub next to Alex. He reached out and grabbed Alex’s shoulders, tipping his body towards Michael’s. Alex pushed him away at first, shaking his head and wiping roughly at his eyes, but when Michael tried again, he allowed it. He allowed Michael to pull him in against his body and wrap his arms around him. Then he clung to Michael. He shoved his face into he soft, almost threadbare cotton of Michael’s shirt and muffled a scream against his stomach. His body shook as he let Michael see what ten, going on eleven, years of bleeding was doing to Alex on the inside and Michael understood for the barest flicker of an instant why cutting might be a preferably way in Alex’s mind to deal with an anniversary of their shared trauma. Michael wouldn’t let him talk about it, tried to ignore it himself, but he’d used his ugly, malformed, half useless hand as his own penance for the same amount of time. He’d mourned losing the thing that hurt him every day because he’d been using it to assuage his own guilt. So he didn’t say anything, he let Alex sob. He let him scream, and clench his fists in Michael’s shirt, and do anything he wanted as long as he let Michael keep holding onto him.

When it quieted down, Alex laying limply on top of Michael’s torso breathing through his mouth because his nose had congested in the outpouring, Michael dared to speak.

“I don’t like that you hurt yourself. I don’t like it at all. But,” he said, giving Alex a look to keep him quiet while he finished, “but I understand it. I get the necessity in your mind for it. I just wish it hadn’t been necessary for you to find a way to let yourself feel things and control the output of those feelings. I wish the hurt you’ve lived through had never been so big you had to let it out a little at a time.”

They stayed like that for some time, until Alex's nose cleared and his breathing slowed until Michael was sure he’d fallen asleep. When he thought Alex was asleep for real, his weight heavy and loose against him, Michael let himself break down. He looked at Alex and thought of all the broken pieces of themselves they’d displayed over the years and wondered how he’d missed this one. How did he never notice? He strained to keep his muscles from shaking too hard and his breathing from coming out too loudly. He didn’t want Alex to add this to his own mountain of guilt. He watched a few tears darken the hair at Alex's crown and imagined a life without Alex in it. It felt unbearable.

A warm hand reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers squeezing the tense muscles almost like an apology.

“Can we go to bed? We’ll both regret it if we spend the night in here,” Alex asked, turning his head to look up into Michael’s face. His eyes were puffy and red still, but his expression just looked tired. He no longer looked like he was being burned alive and Michael tried to take some comfort in that.

“Yeah, sure,” Michael answered, sniffing loudly and wiping away his tears and snot with the sleeve of his shirt.

Alex moved off of him and Michael thought for a second he wouldn’t be able to stand the lightness it left in his wake. But he could, so he stood and offered a hand to Alex to help him stand.

“Crutches?” Michael asked succinctly as he steadied Alex with his hands.

“Carry me?” Alex requested softly, sounding shy as he gauged Michael’s reaction. Michael gave him a reassuring smile before bending to place his arm behind his knee and the other behind his back. When he felt Alex’s arms look around his neck he swung Alex’s body up and held it firmly against his own. Alex wasn’t a waif by any means, but Michael hauled car parts around for a living, so he wasn’t a burden either. He stepped out of the tub and he made his way to the bedroom. The sheets were messed up, pushed to the side that no one slept on and a small warm feeling of relief came over Michael when he realized he’d been looking for signs of Forrest. He gently deposited Alex next to the bed and noticed half dried blood on his arm. Michael checked the back of Alex’s leg and saw the small red line above his knee.

“Lay on the bed on your stomach and I’ll go get some antiseptic and a band aid for your leg,” Michael instructed Alex as he moved back towards the bedroom. He heard Alex moving onto the bed as he started rummaging under the cabinet for Alex’s first aid kit. He grabbed it and wet a washcloth in warm water before walking back to the bedroom. Alex had shed his shirt and was laying on his stomach staring into the empty air in front of him. Michael moved to the side of the bed and set the first aid kit on the bedside table. Then he started to clean the smeared, dried and half congealed blood from the back of Alex’s leg. As he did so he noticed thin, white scars next to the new open spot. Five hatch marks beside the new one. When he glanced at Alex’s other leg he saw five more on it, old and faded to practically invisible unless you were looking for them. Michael sucked in a breath, but instead of lashing out as he wanted to do, he clenched his jaw tightly shut and cleaned up the last of the mess on Alex’s skin. He tossed the rag towards the hamper and turned to the first aid kit.

“You know those aren’t all about that night. They’re about my entire childhood. My adulthood so far. And they’re about that night. It’s not just one thing. I was doing this to myself for years before I ever met you,” Alex intoned flatly, eyes meeting Michael’s for only a moment before falling back into staring at nothing ahead of him.

Michael didn’t respond, didn’t know how to respond, so he kept working. He grabbed an alcohol pad and swiped over the cut and then laid a piece of gauze over it, taping the edges securely. The gauze was probably overkill, it wasn’t a terribly deep cut, but he didn’t want it to bleed on Alex’s sheets in the night (and he secretly hoped it wouldn’t scar, wouldn’t turn into another tick to mark the years between them). When he finished he gathered his mess and took the first aid kid back into the bathroom, replacing it where he’d found it. Slowly, with growing trepidation, Michael approached the bed again.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked quietly, watching Alex’s face for his reaction. Alex closed his eyes as if the answer was far back in the recesses of his mind before he nodded and patted the inside of the bed next to him. Michael started to strip.

“I’m still dating Forrest,” Alex said as Michael reached for the button on his jeans. Michael looked at him, saw the regret in his eyes as he looked over the skin Michael had revealed so far. As far as consolation prizes went, it would have to do.

“I understand. But I’d like to not sleep in my jeans?” Michael said, hands still paused by the fly as he waited for Alex’s answer. Alex nodded and shut his eyes again, arms raising to snake under the pillow beneath his head and draw it closer to him. Michael finished stripping down to his boxers and crawled onto the bed next to Alex. He grabbed the covers and pulled it over them both before reaching past Alex’s shoulder to turn off the bedside lamp. He laid on his side facing Alex, trying to will his body to relax, but the adrenaline of the past few hours hadn’t turned into lethargy yet so instead he just tried to stay still and quiet.

“Guerin? Cover me?” Alex asked, turning his head to look at Michael as he did. Michael grabbed the blanket that was already covering mid-way up Alex’s back and pulled it to his shoulders. He saw Alex smile and shake his head minutely. “I mean lay on me a little. I wanna feel anchored tonight.”

“Uhhh… you’re still dating Forrest?” Michael repeated Alex’s earlier pronouncement with confusion obvious in his voice.

“I didn’t ask you to fuck me, I asked you to lay on me. Platonically. Or romantically, but not sexually. Just get over here, jeez,” Alex joked as Michael continued to look slightly confused. But Michael wouldn’t say no to Alex so he scooted closed and threw a leg over the back of Alex’s, his chest covering one of Alex’s arms and shoulder, and their faces resting very close together.

“Just because I’m dating someone else doesn’t mean I don’t love you and it doesn’t mean I don’t need you sometimes,” Alex said softly into the air between them. An invisible hand squeezed Michael’s heart, but it didn’t hurt like the rest of the night. This felt like a good ache like a growing pain.

“Me too, Alex. Good night?” Michael asked, snuggling his body closer as the air cleared between them.

“Good night.”

#TW: self harm #CW: self harm #malex fic #malex #forlex #rnm fic #alex manes #michael guerin #forrest long

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hasereshdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Note

Fun scenario

Cooking a special anniversary meal

(I swear I’ll do the Mermaid AU too, it’s just taking a little longer than I expected!!

What is a year? Depending on who you ask. Some may say it’s just 365 days, some may say it’s an incredibly long time, some may say that it’s insignificant, a speck of time in the grand scheme of things.

To Faye, it was an exceptionally important time, the anniversary of summoning Eresh. She wanted to track the days since they’d met, but time was strange during the Grand Order and it was too difficult to pinpoint the exact day. So she settled on today.

An anniversary meant a celebration, and while Eresh was a fickle goddess, never wanting to be too exuberant or spend too much money, she did appreciate some small gestures, and even then, she could even be persuaded to allow gifts if phrased the right way.

The day was important after all, so Faye decided to pull out all the stops. She had gotten Ishtar and Quetz to distract Eresh all day, keeping her busy with different things to do for the kids and different messes to clean up. It worked splendidly, it gave Faye more than enough time to plan her festivities.

She recruited Atalante into helping with decorating the kitchen with all sorts of streamers and lettering while Faye prepared dinner. It wasn’t going to be anything too fancy, Faye only knew how to cook a handful of things, after all, but what she did learn to cook was a special dish for the two of them.

A special stew, one replicated from what Sidri helped make while at the Chaldean Embassy in Uruk. Plenty of love was thrown into the mix on top of all the ingredients, she’d wanted to join them for dinner during those long nights, but was never able to leave Kur while the threat of Tiamat raged.

Faye: We never would’ve made it out of not for her.

Faye’s mind wandered absently as she stirred. She thought of the flowers that Merlin made bloom in Uruk. The awe on Eresh’s face when they first sprouted, life in the underworld. She thought of the trip to Uruk, the trials that kept shrinking Ishtar. A chuckle escaped Faye as she remembered how tiny Ishtar got, how powerless she ended up being with her Authority sapped. Faye continued stirring as she her mind kept wandering. She remembered the first interaction she’d had with Ereshkigal, their talk in the middle of the night, when she’d just thought that she was some version of Ishtar. The small encouragements she kept giving the Master of Chaldea.

A timer dinged. The stew was done, any more heat and it’s burn. Faye took it off the stovetop as Atalante came up to her.

Atalante: Master, the decorating is done.

Faye wiped sweat off her brow and turned.

Faye: Thanks Atalante, I knew you’d be able to help. I appreciate you taking the time, this would’ve been a nightmare trying to do all this alone. I’m going to nah be to compensate Ishtar too.

Faye rubbed her brow, but gave a smile to Atalante. Atalante returned to smile.

Atalante: Now is that all, Master?

Faye: Yes, thank you again, Atalante. It should be about time for the others to bring Eresh in.

As luck would have it, a knock came at the entrance to the kitchen. Atalante bowed, taking her leave as Ishtar floated in, covering Ereshkigal’s eyes.

Eresh: Why must I cover my eyes, Ishtar? We’ve been at this all day!

Ishtar: It’s a surprise, you’ll see!

Ishtar removed her hands from Ereshkigal’s eyes, revealing to the goddess the scene before her. Paper lettering and streamers were strewn about, a still-boiling pot sitting in the center of one of the cafeteria tables, bowls ready. Most importantly, Faye was standing in front of her goddess, smile wide. Eresh covered her mouth with her hands, her surprise apparent. Faye held out a box in her hands, neatly wrapped with a bow on top.

Faye: Happy Anniversary, my Goddess.

Eresh: Oh, Faye. You did all this?

Eresh took the box and then hugged her master, squeezing her tight, hers beginning to form in the Goddess’s eyes.

Faye: Well, my goddess, present first or dinner?

Eresh: You made dinner too?

Faye: I did, a replica of the supper that Sidri made us back in Uruk. I, uh, knew you always wanted to join usZ

Those same tears that formed had now begun to fall as Ereshkigal wordlessly motioned to the table. The two had their meal, the stew as delicious as Faye had remembered, maybe less so given the ingredients she had to adjust. It was hard to find true Babylonian Boar meat nowadays. As the two finished, the box with a ribbon sat at the edge of the table. The contents weighing heavily on Eresh’s mind as she glanced over.

Faye: It’s okay, you can open it.

Eresh nodded, reaching over and bringing the box to hear and unwrapping the ribbon. The wrapping paper came off easily, leaving a small wooden box beneath. Eresh’s tender hands opened the box.

Within lay a small necklace, a pendant in the shape of an intricate golden skull with ruby eyes and small, delicate carving on it strung with a golden thread.

Eresh: Master... I love it. It must have cost a fortune.

Faye: No price is too high for you, my goddess. Plus, this was a gift as well, so you needn’t worry about it.

Eresh: Faye, I....I don’t even know what to say.

Faye leaned over the table and kissed her goddess.

Faye: You don’t need to say a word.

Eresh kissed her love again, a deep, tender kiss.

Faye: My goddess, will you...stay with me...tonight?

Eresh nods, tears streaming freely from her eyes.

Mentions:

Thanks for the prompt @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @waitingforeresh

#ereshkigal #Faye #FayEresh #my mastersona

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

The Doctor was in her office, but she’d stopped working several hours ago; in fact, when Orchid came by to ask about her squad’s upcoming deployment, she found her at the empty assistant’s desk with what looked like a full-blown toolbox at her side. “Good afternoon, Doctor. I didn’t come at a bad time, did I?”

“Oh, hey, Orchid! Nah, I’m just working on some’n for my anniversary.” She held up the ring she was working on. “It’s our first, so I wanna do some’n extra special, ya know?”

“Anniversary? I didn’t know you were even seeing anyone. Who’s the lucky guy? Or gal, either way.”

That earned the Liberi a smile. “Blue, Glaucus, and I are going on six months now.”

“Huh. Like, all three of you together?” She whistled. “I think one’s about all I can handle.”

“I think that’s partially because of who that one person is, though.” The Doctor’s smile was somewhere between caustic and glacial as she fired off her retort.

Orchid sighed. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there...So, do you have an update for me on when my team’s heading out into the field? Poppy’s trying to schedule chainsaw lessons with Blaze, and it’s probably better for those to happen on deployment rather than in one of the training areas.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” She rolled her chair across the floor to reach her computer. “Lemme see where I put you...”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Blue Poison was sitting at the counter with a pencil and pad of paper, sketching and erasing more than she ever had before. Cakes were supposed to be her thing, so why was this so hard…

“Hey, Blue!” Gummy walked in, a box of ingredients in her arms. “Everything okay? You looked stressed.”

“I’m making a cake for my anniversary today, and I want it to be perfect...but I don’t know how to make it look the way I want it to.”

The chef set her box on a side table. “Maybe I can help? Mousse has been-”

“Hi, Gummy!” Speak of the Feline, and she shall appear. “Oh, Miss Blue? You look worried.”

“Mousse, you showed up just in time! Blue’s baking an anniversary cake, but she’s worried it won’t look good. Can you help us come up with something that’ll really wow her special someone?”

The Anura mumbled, “Someones. I have two girlfriends.”

“Sure, I can help!” A black cat appeared out of nowhere with her sketchpad. “What kind of cake do you want to make?”

“...A wedding cake.”

While Rhodes Island’s best bakers conspired to craft the perfect anniversary cake, Glaucus tinkered in her room, looking through schematics to find the pieces she needed for the ideas in her head. It wasn’t every day she had something to celebrate, so she felt like she really had to make this special, but she was quickly discovering she didn’t have many ideas that made good toys. “Hmm...The Doctor said she’d like something she can set on her desk, and Blue likes watching the clouds on the top deck. Maybe something held in a magnetic field that has a liquid component? That would be interesting, and it shouldn’t be too hard to make. I will need a container of some kind for it, though.”

*knock knock* “Glaucus?” That was Mayer’s voice at the door. “Do you have the prototype for the magnetic field generator model?”

“One second.” The Supporter engaged her exosuit, walked over to the table she set the model on, and opened the door to hand it to the Anaty at the door...

...Who looked behind her and saw what she was working on. “Has it already been six months?”

“Hmm?” Glaucus followed her eyes. “Yeah. I want to make them something like levitating lava lamps. Actually, can I borrow a few Meeboos? I need some help with the containers, and I’m not entirely sure what I want to fill them with for the best effect.”

“I’ll do you one better and help you myself. It’s been kind of a slow day, but helping you out might teach me something I can use on the magnet-powered Meeboo!”

With a little trepidation, she let Mayer inside. “Alright, you can help me out. We’re gonna need two of them.”

“Obviously.” The Anaty chuckled. “What else would you do, ask them both to share?”

“...I am so glad I work with someone this perceptive.”

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

The Doctor’s shift came to an end, and she returned home with a trio of rings in her pocket, eager to start celebrating. She wondered if her girlfriends had gotten as into this idea of anniversaries as she had; for her, it was a brand new type of memory, one that, even as an amnesiac, she knew was a new sort of experience, and one she was looking forward to having many more of...

‘Home’ for the trio was the Doctor’s suite, partially because it’d been the largest of their three rooms, partially because she was the only one who didn’t need a separate workshop for her stuff, and partially because her room had been site zero...entirely by accident. All three of them being there had been intentional, at least - Meteor had held a meet-and-greet sort of thing for the more introverted folks, the sort of event only a team mom could have considered and then kept enjoyable, and afterwards Blue and Glaucus had taken up on the Doctor’s offer for a nightcap.

They quickly discovered none of them could actually drink alcohol, each for a completely different reason, so it’d turned into the three of them talking the night away instead. The Anura made a remark that this was the most of Glaucus’ voice she’d heard since they’d met, and the Supporter admitted with a blush that this was the most comfortable she’d felt around a pair of people since she’d arrived. That got the two of them talking about life before Rhodes Island; Blue reminisced about walking hand-in-hand with friends, which prompted the Doctor and Glaucus to ask why she didn’t at RI. She sighed, saying most people were too scared of the possibility of her poisoning them to consider it - and before she could even finish the sentence, they’d each grabbed the hand closest to them with a level of coordination they couldn’t have even planned.

Man, that was a fun night.

Anyway, the Doctor went to unlock her door, only to have Blue open it for her with a bright smile, already out of her work clothes and in something casual. “Welcome home~ How was work?”

“Slow as hell, honestly.” She went for a kiss, encouraged by the frosting on the Anura’s upper lip. “You made dessert, I take it?”

“You’ll see. Glue got back a few minutes ago and went to the bedroom to change, if you want to join her.”

A shrug. “I think I’ll keep you company until she’s out. Did you burn yourself, dear?”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” She shook her head. “I dropped a beaker and cut myself while cleaning up. Nothing serious.”

“Gotcha. Hey, that was quick!” They both turned to watch Glaucus walk out of the bedroom.

The Supporter waved. “Didn’t need to do much. Are we ready to start?”

“Yeah, let’s do it!” The Doctor rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see... this...cake...Holy shit.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Blue,” Glaucus agreed, swooping in to take her hand as their third tried to figure out how to tackle the three-tiered titan in front of them.

She giggled. “I’m happy you both think so. I had some help planning it, but it turned out even better than I expected.”

“This reminds me of something,” the Doctor noted as they took the topmost layer for themselves, “but...I don’t know what.”

“It’s a wedding cake,” the Supporter replied.

The Anura nodded. “I’ve always wanted to try making one, and I thought this was as good a time as any. Is it good, Doctor?”

“You know how addicted I am to your cakes, Blue.” She’d already eaten a third of the portion she’d retrieved. “I’m happy there’s enough of this one to last a couple days.”

“Once we’re done eating, I have something as well.” Glue chimed in while it was on her mind. “We should wait, though. The frosting might stain them.”

The Doctor flashed her a thumbs up, and after they’d had their fill (keeping in mind they were planning to go out to eat), Glaucus went back to the bedroom and returned with a pair of blue boxes with green bows on top, each manageable with one hand. “They’re a bit fragile, but I think they’re pretty neat.”

“...This is magnetic, isn’t it?” The Anura opened her box and pulled out a small double-capped cylinder with two distinct layers of liquid along with a flat black base.

“How do we turn them on?” The Doctor wondered aloud. “I don’t see a switch or any- oh, wait, it’s this, isn’t it?”

The Supporter smiled as she found the clicker she’d taped to the top of the box. “Green turns it on, red turns it off; both are gradual to ensure the cylinder doesn’t move too fast and shatter.”

“That’s really co- no, this is awwwwesome. I’m totally taking this to my office.” She’d expected it to float, because Glaucus’ thing was magnets, but to spin as well? That was next-level shit.

“You color-coordinated them as well,” Blue noted with admiration before kissing her on the cheek. “It reminds me of a stormy evening sky.”

Glue blushed. “Then I’m two-for-two.”

“Oh! Speaking of, I made us something, too!” The Doctor fished in her pocket, found the rings, and kept her hand there for a moment.

“...You’ve talked about making jewelry on slower days,” the Anura said, “but it’d be a pain to keep three chains in one pocket.”

Glaucus had to sit down, as even with her exoskeleton on, her knees suddenly felt weak. “Blue, I think I know what she made.”

“Let me know if you guessed right :D.” She held out her hand, and there were three rings - simple silver bands, nearly identical except for differently-colored stones on top - one sapphire, one amethyst, and one citrine.

“I was.” The Supporter fell sideways, laying across Blue’s lap. “We already have the wedding cake.”

The Doctor balked. “Not that I’d say no, but it still feels kinda early for that.”

“All in good time. I’ll consider it a promise for the future.” Blue accepted the amethyst for herself and put the sapphire ring on Glaucus’ finger.

“Same...” Glue, it appeared, was down for the count. “I might need a minute before...dinner...”

That was just fine in their book; the Doctor helped the Anura take their sluggish girlfriend somewhere more comfortable before disengaging the exoskeleton for some late afternoon cuddling. Despite all the blue in their lives (I mean, just look at those color schemes), life had never been brighter...

#arknights #glaucus (arknights)#blue poison (arknights)#i'm still in shock how long this got #and how it refused to be written faster #guess the sea slug energy kinda spreads don't it?#get it cuz Glaucus is a sea slug?#eh?#...anyway happy anniversary to my favorite frog and her two girlfriends #arknights fic

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1989dreamer · 3 years

Text

FTH-2020-Seventy-Five Percent

For @fandomtrumpshate‘s 2020 auction, big thanks to @evanesdust for bidding on me and for being so patient.

AO3 link

Summary: Stiles and Derek are roommates at college, and living together is going well considering Stiles is harboring the hugest crush on Derek. When Derek needs an emergency date to his sister's tenth anniversary dinner, Stiles agrees. He doesn't expect it to get messy. He's kept his feelings in check for three and a half years. Spoiler alert: it gets really messy.

From this prompt. “We’re fake-dating and I’m supposed to publicly break up with you but you’ve been irritating me lately so instead of dumping you I publicly proposed to mess up your plan and now we’re getting married, fuck” au.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Pining/Mutual Pining, Minor Misunderstanding, Human AU (full tags can be found on AO3).

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“I need a date,” Derek says apropos of nothing, and Stiles carefully sets down his brush, leans across the aisle, and stares at his friend. Derek flushes. “I mean,” he all but spits out between gritted teeth, “that my sister is having her tenth anniversary dinner, and I am the only single one in the family. If I don’t have a date, I’ll spend the whole time being accosted by my relatives.”

“And that’s my problem how?”Stiles asks. He goes back to his painting. The life model flexes just a tiny bit, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“It’s your problem now because I will pay you to come with me,” Derek says, an undercurrent of threat in his voice. Or tears. Could be tears. Derek sounds mad when he’s about to cry sometimes.

Stiles sets his brush down again. Of course Derek would hit him where it hurts the most. All of Stiles’ meager earnings from his part-time job go toward keeping his Jeep running so that he can make the trek back up north to visit his dad when he’s on break from school.

“How much?” he demands, hating himself for being this easy.

Derek looks relieved. It’s a good look for him. Although, Derek looking good is any day of the week. “Thanks. Like three hundred for the day of? Maybe fifty for each additional thing that comes up?”

“And how often will things come up?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. I’m sure at least some of my family will want to call you to make sure that you’re real.”

Stiles claps a hand to his chest. “You haven’t told them about me?” he asks, pretending to be scandalized.

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “I have told them about you, but in the context that you’re my best friend at college and we live on opposite sides of the state.”

“So they don’t think I’m real?” Stiles asks, not sure if he should be insulted or not.

“The most common thing I’m asked about you is ‘What is a Stiles?’” Derek grins, private and sort of cheery. “I’ve kind of stopped referring to you by name now. Just easier that way.”

“Hardy har har.” Stiles pokes Derek. To be completely fair, their freshman year, when Stiles would go home, he’d complain to his dad about his unfairly attractive, selfish, loud, attractive roommate. His dad had been convinced that Derek didn’t exist until he met him when Stiles was emptying his dorm room.

Now he and Derek have an apartment off campus, and Dad keeps trying to get Stiles to invite Derek to Beacon Hills because he claims he should at least get to intimidate his son’s future husband before their wedding.

Never mind that Derek has never even been seen with any dates, much less given Stiles any hope that he could possibly have a chance with him.

Until now. Except not really, because Derek just needs a pretend boyfriend, not an actual boyfriend.

“Why me?” Stiles asks, squinting suspiciously at Derek as he tries and fails to draw the absolute lounge of the life model. Stiles is recommending that Isaac never model again. It’s too much ego and not enough clothes, although Isaac did keep his scarf draped artfully around his neck when he dropped trou. “Why not Boyd or Erica? I’m sure either of them would be pleased to play Derek Hale’s date for a night.”

Derek shakes his head. “Both of them have already met my family. And so has Isaac. We were all friends in high school. You’re the only one I talk about regularly. It’d seem too weird if you weren’t the guy I was secretly pining after all these years.”

Stiles intensifies his squint. “Am I?” he asks bluntly.

“Are you what?” Derek refuses to make eye contact, making quick lines with his charcoal across his drawing of Isaac.

“Am I the guy you secretly pine after?”

“No…?”

Stiles throws his brush at Derek, not even a little sorry when it smacks against his chest and Derek complains that he’s wearing his favorite shirt. It’s not his favorite shirt. Stiles stole that a year ago and has yet to return it.

He’s a bit of a stalker. It’s a habit he’s trying to break. He will break. When he and Derek have graduated and gone their separate ways. When all they’ll be in a few years is the occasional drinking buddy, living too far to justify visiting more than once every couple years, work and life getting in the way of their friendship.

Stiles shakes himself. “So don’t make it a question.”

Derek sighs in defeat, handing Stiles his brush back. “Look, Laura already thinks that you’re my secret boyfriend.”

“I thought they thought I didn’t exist,” Stiles says, bitterly. He takes the brush and lays it down, turning to face Derek. Then he gives Derek a tissue to at least wipe off most of the paint. Too bad it’s oil and will stain.

“Laura helped me move in this year. She saw you and your dad from a distance and I pointed you out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I could have met your sister?”

Derek squirms. “Yes?” he hedges. “But she was asking all these weird questions like our first kiss, where we go on dates, if we’ve gone all the way yet. I didn’t want you to deal with that, so I distracted her until she had to leave.”

“So I get to meet her now?”

Derek nods. “It is her anniversary after all.”

“Cool.”

Then Stiles ignores Derek in favor of finishing as much of his painting as he can before class lets out.

~ * ~

Lunch is leftover chili with homemade cornbread that Derek made earlier. Stiles taps a pen on some paper, thinking over all the things he knows he should put into a contract of sorts for his and Derek’s arrangement.

Stuff like pet names, PDA, just what they’ve “done” as a couple, how long they’ve been dating, and just how long they are supposed to be together before they break up.

Derek sees the list, scratches out pet names—“Trauma,” he mutters as explanation—and adds the terms of payment as well. He also writes down that the breakup should be public so that Derek can take time to “recover” without his family breathing down his neck.

Overall, there’s nothing really objectionable to pretending to date Derek aside from the fact that Stiles would much rather actually date Derek, but how to tell your presumably-straight roommate that you wanna suck his dick and kiss his lips?

Derek gathers the dishes and starts washing them. “Hey, so, my lab is today, so I’ll see you after 5:00. We can talk more when I get home.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles has to run himself or he’d stay and watch Derek clean up. It’s almost like a dance when Derek really gets into it. Stiles likes to park his butt on the couch and watch him while he pretends to do his homework. If Derek’s lab runs late, it explains why he’s cleaning now. Which means that not only will Stiles miss it because he needs to go to class, but it will be his turn to cook and clean tomorrow.

Ugh.

Stiles had considered Derek selfish freshman year because Derek hadn’t known how to share a room. He’s not sure why though, it’s not like they were each other’s first roommates either. Now Stiles feels selfish because he doesn’t mind cooking or doing chores but he had enough of that at home and was hoping to relax at college.

“Hey, see you tonight?” he asks, Derek waves in response.

Stiles goes to class, the pit of his stomach rebelling with every step. Why are things different now? Derek doesn’t want to date Stiles. He just wants to get his family off his back.

Concentration is out the window, so Stiles just spends all his class time thinking up the various scenarios that his and Derek’s plot could go so, so sideways.

By the time he makes it back to an empty and sparkling apartment, he’s nearer to a panic attack than he has ever been in the last three years including the whole fiasco with his first roommate during freshman year.

Stiles goes to wash his face, hoping that the cold shocks his system enough for him to stave off the attack, but Derek finds him there a few hours later, and Stiles has no memory of it.

Derek gentles him through the remainder of his attack, sets him up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and his favorite movie, and then just sits in silence while Stiles tries to process the fact that he just had a goddamn panic attack over pretend dating his roommate.

After another movie, Derek moves onto the couch, letting Stiles snuggle into his side.

“All good?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I will be though.” He waits for a few minutes, long enough for Derek to lean against him and start drowsing. “Tell me about your family.”

Derek yawns. “Well, you know Laura, the one who’s celebrating. She’s older than me, by like a million years. Made her insufferable growing up. And then there’s Cora, who’s about four years younger than me. We were rivals growing up. Every crush I had, she had too. And she’s kissed about half of them. I have a couple older brothers who are even older than Laura and even more insufferable, but in the way that us younger Hales are the dirt under their shoes. Especially my youngest sister. She’s the baby of the family and the most normal. But I guess it’s because my parents were tired when they got around to raising her.”

“Hmm, so many Hales to meet.” Stiles’ heart beats extra hard at that. Not only does he have to pretend to date Derek, but he has to pretend to date Derek in front of—Stiles counts on his fingers—seven Hales that aren’t Derek. Five sibling Hales and two parent Hales.

“And my uncle Peter,” Derek adds, drowsily. “He’s a dickhead. He’s also as old as my brothers but he was far more invested in causing drama with the younger Hales.”

“Laura too?”

Derek nods. “Laura especially. He almost wasn’t invited to her wedding. I will be very surprised if he doesn’t do something that gets him kicked out of her anniversary dinner.”

“And you want me to meet them?”

“Well,” Derek hedges, and that hurts so much and so viscerally that Stiles climbs off the couch and goes to the kitchen to pretend to drink a glass of water from the tap. Derek follows him after a minute. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. You’re my best friend. It’s just that they don’t have the greatest track record with people I bring home.”

“What, like I’m not good enough for you?” Stiles fans the flare of anger growing in his chest. Anything but another panic attack is preferred.

Derek sighs. “It’s a dumb test. I think everyone goes through it, but I don’t know because I don’t participate. I mean, it’s dumb to make your sister’s boyfriend hate her family when before he wanted to be with her, right? It’s like we’re trying to scare them off.”

“So like they’re not good enough for the family,” Stiles repeats.

Derek’s shoulders fall. “I guess. I always hated it, so I wouldn’t bring anyone home so that they couldn’t do that to them.”

“Partners,” Stiles points out.

“What?”

“You said ‘sister’s boyfriend,’ so this assholery only happens with potential partners. Is that it?”

Derek frowns at him before nodding, understanding dawning on his face. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“So, I’ve never met your family because…?”

The absolute look of panic that flashes across Derek’s face is in parts thrilling and heartbreaking to see.

“I understand,” Stiles says. “Well, it just means that I truly am the right choice of friend to take home to mother.”

Derek barks out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, sure. Please don’t call my mom ‘Mother.’ It makes her unreasonably angry. I think she thinks it makes her sound old. I think she sounds older when my nieces and nephews call her grandma.”

“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Stiles asks, suddenly, acutely aware of just how much he doesn’t know about Derek. It makes him feel like a chronic over sharer and like Derek doesn’t fully trust him.

Derek shrugs. “I think Laura has three kids and my brothers each have two, but that was last Christmas so they could all have more on the way. I have five nieces and two nephews that I know of.”

“And we’re driving down to Chula Vista, right?”

Derek looks relieved, grabbing at Stiles’ floatation device of a conversation change. “Yeah, yes! Definitely. I mean, it’s about seven hours. We could take a flight down, it’d probably be quicker, but more expensive. And besides, this means that we can leave whenever either of us want to.”

“Yeah, how’s that going to work?” Stiles points, and they head back to the couch. Derek sits, angled so that his knee is brushing Stiles’. “Do I just say, ‘Laura insulted me, I want to go back to college now’?”

“Absolutely yes. If any of my family makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, let me know, and we’ll leave as soon as possible.”

It’s a nice reassurance, and Stiles hopes to assuage all his fears as easily, so he and Derek spend the rest of the night, until Derek falls asleep, discussing the finer matters of how to “date” a Hale.

~ * ~

The rest of the week until Derek’s sister’s tenth anniversary dinner blurs by. Lots of packing for what is essentially just a day and a half, getting Boyd to agree to look in on the apartment even though they have no pets or plants that require sitting, and arguing over whose car they’re taking. In the end, Derek agrees to allow Stiles to drive his Camaro for a short stint, and they depart, happily, on Friday after classes.

The drive is uneventful, even when Derek oversleeps the first leg and Stiles ends up driving two thirds of the way to their destination. Derek doesn’t even grump about it, just smiles dopily until he notices Stiles looking at him, and then he steps on the gas.

They pull into the drive of an enormous house at about 11:00 pm. The whole house is lit up. Stiles snorts awake to stare at it.

“That’s your house?” he squeaks.

Derek shifts, uncomfortable. “My parents’ house,” he says. “They’re rich. I’m not.”

“It’s a big house.”

“Yeah. That’s because my uncle and his family live with them, and I think Cora still lives at home and so does Laura and her family.”

“And you? Are you going to live at home when we graduate come spring?”

Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his door, shuts off the engine, and pops the trunk.

Almost immediately, the door opens and a very pregnant woman waddles out to stare at them, her hands fisted on her hips. The light from the porch illuminates her perfectly.

Derek hands Stiles his suitcase and then starts up the stairs. When he reaches the woman, he takes a step back.

“Cora?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Who else would it be?”

“But aren’t you dating what’s-her-name?”

“Lydia, and yes. We decided we would use sperm donors.” Cora rolls her eyes. “You would know all this if you talked to us more than just at the holidays.”

Chastised, Derek ducks his head. “Sorry.”

Stiles thinks it’s been awkward long enough, so he sticks out his hand. “Stiles Stilinski. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hale.”

“What kind of a name is Stiles?” Cora asks.

Derek clears his throat. “He’s my boyfriend. And Stiles is a nickname.”

Cora gives Derek a flat look. “Your boyfriend?”

Derek nods. He looks so nervous. He hasn’t looked this nervous since he and Stiles were paired together after the first rooming fiasco.

“Well,” Cora eyes Stiles with a disapproving glare, “I guess you’d better come in and meet the rest of the family. The ones that are awake anyway. Be extra quiet: the kids are asleep.”

Inside is just as opulent as the outside, perhaps more because inside is completely lit up and doesn’t have to battle the darkness of night.

There are portraits of what must be the Hales and their families everywhere, tasteful crystal décor, and polished marble floors.

It’s very austere, and Stiles understands why Derek said his parents were rich but not him. Stiles has seen how Derek chooses to decorate, and it’s in warm tones with soft surfaces and very limited bits of chrome.

Twin sweeping staircases stand guard at the end of the foyer, leading up to what presumably is more austere marble and crystal, severe lines of cold.

Two handsome people, the woman is an elgant black gown, the man in a black suit, Windsor knot in his silver tie, stand in front of the staircases. Cora stops next to them, says something lowly, and then heads upstairs. Nervously, Stiles clings to his suitcase and follows as Derek walks, spine straight, face blank, toward what must be his parents.

His mother lifts her head, and Derek stops in his tracks.

“Wonderful of you to join us, Derek,” she says, like she’s a queen surveying her subjects and finding them very lacking. Stiles had thought his clothing, a dark t-shirt covered with an open blue flannel shirt and khakis, was fine in Berkeley. Here, it’s completely out of place. Derek’s outfit of a maroon shirt and dark slacks looks a little less out of place, but far too casual for this foyer.

“Mom, Dad,” Derek returns, and it is so incongruous with the image they’re presenting that Stiles has to stifle a hysterical laugh.

After a few more moments, Derek’s parents break, and smiling, they all but run to Derek and hug him at the same time. Derek’s father disentangles himself first, turning to Stiles and offering his hand for a shake.

“So this is the man who’s caught our little Derek’s heart?”

Derek flushes at his father’s words, but he doesn’t disagree.

Mr. Hale grins, using Stiles’ hand to tug him into a quick hug. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

“Uh, thanks?” Stiles doesn’t wriggle free, but it’s a near thing. Derek must realize how out of place he’s feeling, still reeling from the complete change in demeanor, because he laces his fingers through Stiles’, grounding him.

Talia nods at their hands. “And how is the relationship? Single rooms?”

Stiles coughs to cover another laugh. He and Derek share a bedroom in their apartment—it was cheaper than two bedrooms—so they should be okay sharing a room. A bed might be another matter, but they’ve been living together at college, so if they’re dating, they should already be comfortable with seeing each other naked, having morning erections around each other, and all those other embarrassing things no one ever talks about happening when people start having sex with each other.

Derek blushes. “It’s a little new, the relationship, but it’s strong. We can be trusted to be in the same room.”

“It’s late,” Derek’s father says. “Let’s get you boys settled, and then we can all talk tomorrow.” He looks at Derek with kindness in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

The room he and Derek are deposited into is medium sized. Stiles would have thought all rooms in the house would be enormous. Derek watches him studying it before explaining, “I went through a phase where I didn’t want anything from my parents, so they moved me in here. It used to be a closet, but it was the smallest they were willing to let me be without me moving out.”

“How old were you?”

Derek shrugs. “I was ten.” He frowns at Stiles’ sudden chuckle. “I was very self-righteous. I thought we were bad because we were rich and I didn’t want to be.” Quieter, he adds, “I was very bullied in school.”

“So was I,” Stiles reveals. “I always pretended that it didn’t bother me, but it did. It’s why I chose Berkeley. Close enough to go home to see my dad, but far enough away that I didn’t have to see my tormentors again.”

“I’m glad we found each other,” Derek says. He points at his bed, a single twin. “You can have the bed. I’ve got an inflatable mattress around here somewhere. I can get that blown up and sleep on that.”

Stiles is too tired to argue. It’s only a little after 11:00 pm, but they’ve been driving for most of the day, and he just feels under stimulated and uninterested in anything except brushing the gnarly taste of garlic pretzels out of his mouth and collapsing into a deep, refreshing sleep.

“Bathroom?”

Derek points down the hall, and Stiles takes his travel bag with him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but it certainly isn’t a soft coral pink bathroom with matching rugs, toilet cover, and shower curtain. It’s hideous. Stiles loves it.

Everything was getting a little too marble for his liking. This shows a human side to the Hales.

Because he’s Stiles, he snoops a little. Finds magazines in a holder on top of the toilet. Gross. Finds extra soaps and feminine products hidden in the cabinet under the sink. Cool. Other spare products and towels are kept behind a closed door. Good.

Overall, the bathroom passes muster enough that he feels comfortable scrubbing his teeth clean, scraping his tongue, and washing all evidence down the rose quartz-colored sink.

Derek comes in before Stiles finishes drying his hands on the fluffy, rose-scented towel.

He does a double-take at the room, digs under the sink for a little while, and stands up. “We’d better leave no evidence that we were ever here,” he says, ominously. “The bathroom’s been redone since I was last here at Christmas. I think that means, especially because her favorite color is pink, that this bathroom is Lydia’s and we shouldn’t ever be caught in here.”

“How unhygienic,” Stiles replies, pointing at the magazines. Derek claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sudden bark of laughter.

“I agree. But honestly, it’s probably a lot more hygienic than your phone.”

Stiles bumps shoulders and then heads back to the room. Derek has indeed found and inflated an air mattress. Stiles crawls onto it to test the bounce, and oh, there’s his pillow. For some reason it’s on Derek’s bed. He grabs it, tucks it under his head, and just like that, out like a light.

~ * ~

Stiles wakes up to a warm body next to his, someone’s leg wound around his, someone’s head on his shoulder. He blinks up at the ceiling, watching as the sunrise fills the room with a lovely, rosy glow.

Then he remembers where he is and what’s supposed to be going on and sits up, arms flailing as he tries to dislodge himself from a very deeply asleep Derek.

He hears a clicking sound, and his head snaps around to find an elegant strawberry blonde in very tight blue wrap dress aiming a phone at him.

“Whasit?” he grumbles, glad that both he and Derek apparently decided to sleep in their clothes. Usually, they’re both strip down to boxers kind of guys. It makes it hard for Stiles to sleep sometimes when he just really wants to lick Derek’s abs or jerk off over him. And apparently there goes his morning wood.

“It’s just payback,” the strawberry blonde says, loud even though it’s obviously early. Derek jerks awake, snorting, and gasping like someone doused him with cold water.

It doesn’t help Stiles’ inappropriate boner at all.

“Payback for what?” Stiles asks. He’s never met this woman. Why does she need payback?

“Oh hey, Lydia,” Derek says, gruff. Sexy morning voice alert. “What brings you to our room today?”

“Someone used my bathroom.”

“Didn’t used to be your bathroom,” Derek responds. He turns to Stiles. “Stiles, this is Cora’s fiancée, Lydia. Lydia, this is my boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Hmm, so he is real,” Lydia remarks. She snaps another picture, says, “Stay out of my bathroom or I’ll expose your sleeping arrangements to Mom and Dad.”

Derek yawns, lazily slipping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and using the lax grip to tug him back down. “Mom and Dad already know we’re sharing a room. It stands to reason that we’re comfortable sharing a bed too. After all, we’ve been living together for almost four years now.”

Lydia huffs and flounces out of the room, but Stiles saw on her face; she lost and she knew it. And she didn’t mind.

Derek adjusts his grip, nuzzles into Stiles’ neck again. “Hope this is okay?” he murmurs.

Stiles swallows hard. “Yeah,” he grits out. “This is perfect.”

Still, Derek rolls away from him. “I’m going to get up now. It’s the perfect time for a quick run. There’s a bathroom down stairs, third door on the left. Ask my mom or dad if you can’t find it. Don’t trust anything Lydia or Cora tell you.”

He grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase and heads out.

Stiles flops back on the bed, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Derek’s leaving feels like dismissal and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he was being a little too enthusiastic, i.e. the boner, or not enthusiastic enough.

It feels horrible, like a pit is growing in Stiles’ stomach, and he realizes that he won’t be able to maintain the charade of being Derek’s boyfriend without someone on his side.

But he’s in Chula Vista, not Beacon Hills. His dad is a whole ten hours away, and Stiles hadn’t realized that he only has one friend in the whole world.

How Derek is more sociable than him, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that if he doesn’t spill to someone, he’s going to break down, and the public breakup won’t be public nor a breakup.

He’s sort of saved when Cora knocks on the door and comes in before he can do more than say, “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to apologize for Lydia,” Cora says. She sits on the bed, cradling her stomach. “Mom and Dad are humoring her because her parents just got divorced and she’s not taking it well.”

Stiles studies her. “You weren’t this nice last night,” he says, hoping that she isn’t offended. When she throws her head back and laughs, he lets out a little sigh of relief.

“No. I’m not a night person.” She rubs at her stomach, catches herself, and sits on her hands. “Look, the baby likes to tap dance on my bladder, and whoever said morning sickness was only morning or just in the first trimester lied their fucking head off. I was startled when Derek brought you home. He’s been talking about his roommate nonstop. I actually thought you were dating before now, but he never said your name, always claimed we’d think you were imaginary if he did that.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “Whenever someone stumbles over my real name, I tell them I go by Stiles, and every time, I get, ‘What kind of a name is Stiles?’ instead of ‘Cool, something easier to say.’ It’s discouraging.”

Cora’s hand comes up to pat at her belly, and she frowns down at it. “I swear I’m not usually this tactile.”

“It’s okay. It’s your body. Hormones and all.”

“Tell me why you decided to date my brother. Did he finally get his head out of his ass and ask you?”

Stiles coughs. “Uh, sort of?” He winces. “I mean, yeah, he finally asked and we made it official, but I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since high school, and Derek’s never been with anyone else as far as I know.”

“That’s it exactly.” Cora points at Stiles and he looks down at himself. He’s not bad looking—if his dad can be trusted—and he’s been making more of an effort with even his casual clothes since he and Derek began living together. “Derek doesn’t date. So why you? No offense.”

“Some taken,” Stiles replies. He shrugs at her. “I don’t know why.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Cora hauls herself up, shakes her head, and sinks back to the bed. She pats next to her, and Stiles hesitantly joins her.

She leans in close. “So, how much is he paying you?”

“Wh-what?”

Cora has a gleam in her eyes that makes Stiles entirely uncomfortable to be trapped here with her. “I’m guessing that you and he aren’t really dating, but since it’s Laura’s tenth wedding anniversary this weekend, he doesn’t want to be bothered by the copious aunts and grand-aunts that like to pinch his cheeks and ask when he’s bringing home his bride. Ergo, you, because my brother may be many things, a coward, spineless, and utterly useless at getting dates, but he does have a soft spot for you.”

Stiles stands up. “Derek isn’t spineless or a coward,” he says, angry at her. “Why would you even say that? Do you even know your brother? He was terrified to come to college. I don’t know why. He hasn’t shared that with me yet. But when I needed a roommate after my first roommate turned out to be the biggest bastard on campus, he stepped up. We’ve been friends since. It was a natural progression of our relationship because, yeah, we fell in love with each other.”

Cora grabs his wrist. “Don’t leave. Not yet. I’m sorry.” She tugs, and he sits. He’s breathing hard, heart beating a little too fast. He doesn’t know why he got so angry except for the fact that he knows the true Derek, the one who likes cooking and cleaning and studying microbiology and taking life art with Stiles just so he’d know someone in the class.

Cora takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I said that about Derek. I just needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That you love him too.”

Stiles blinks. Derek doesn’t love him. Not like that.

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Derek loves you. He won’t admit it but it’s in his voice when he talks about you. It’s in the way he won’t let anyone call you imaginary but also won’t reveal your name, because he’s trying to protect you. I don’t know. I do know my brother, and I know that he loves you, and you love him too.”

Stiles doesn’t even know where the tears come from, but he finds himself sobbing on Cora’s shoulder as he confesses that Derek did actually hire him precisely for what Cora accused.

She listens patiently.

Then. “You’re both the biggest idiots.” She throws a roll of toilet paper at him. “Kleenexes get a little rough on the nose when you’re prone to hysterical fits,” she explains to his raised eyebrow. “Quadruple ply is a Godsend.”

Once he’s dried his face and blown his nose, Cora takes his hand again. “Look, I get it. I do. Our family can be overbearing. It was hell keeping them off Lydia’s and my backs long enough to have the discussion about children. And we’re not even married yet. But trust me on this: Derek does love you.”

“So how do I get him to ask me?” Stiles asks. “I mean, after all this. We’re supposed to have a public breakup after this weekend.”

Cora laughs. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed they let you sleep in the same room if you do that.”

“I’m serious. I’m supposed to break up with Derek so that he can, I don’t know, save face with his family. I guess because they’ll never see me again.”

She nods. “Makes sense.” She tilts her head, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’ve got it: instead of breaking up with him, you propose to him. Confuse him. If he really likes you, he’ll probably say yes, and you can be engaged for however long you like. If he still wants to break up with you, then he can’t do it without a little shit sticking to him.

“Oh, I know! You can do it when we go to the mall!” To Stiles’ confused face, she explains, “It’s a tradition to do a scavenger hunt in the mall after a celebration. After we celebrate Laura’s anniversary, we’re going to the mall. It’ll be the perfect place to propose. Or breakup.Whichever it ends up being.”

“One problem: how am I supposed to live with Derek if he says no?”

Cora shrugs. “I don’t think he will, but you could make him move out if he does.”

“Another problem,” Stiles says. Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a ring. I don’t even know Derek’s ring size.”

“That’s easy enough. I have everyone’s ring sizes. I’m the official jewelry expert in the family. That’s why.” Stiles nods. The Hales are so weird, but he finds it endearing. He supposes the Stilinskis would be just as weird to the Hales with their traditions. “Anyway, I’ve got the perfect ring for you to use.” She struggles up and then waddles toward a room three doors down the hall from Derek’s closet room. Stiles waits for her at the door. When she comes back, she tosses a small black box at him.

He flips it open and stares down at the silver band set with a single black cubic zirconium stone. Cora’s right, it’s perfect. It’s neutral enough to go with Derek’s wardrobe full of warm tones and dark pants, but also enough of a statement to bring attention to the fact that he’s wearing an engagement ring. Classy but not overstated.

Derek does have a few bright shirts mixed in, but he doesn’t wear them anywhere but around the apartment. Stiles thinks it’s because they’re gifts from him and Derek likes how soft they are. It makes Stiles unreasonably happy whenever he catches Derek wearing one of them.

“Are you positive he’ll say yes?” Stiles asks. He really doesn’t want to destroy his and Derek’s relationship. Although, he has a feeling that they’re already way past that.

“About seventy-five percent,” Cora says, and because they’re at her room, she shuts the door in his face before he can complain about those odds.

Stiles wanders back to Derek’s room. He keeps staring at the ring. It’s too soon to propose, right?

They’ve only just started dating, right?

They’re not really dating. It won’t be a real proposal. Right?

He closes the box and hides it in his pillow. Then, he grabs a change of clothes and his travel bag and heads to the downstairs bathroom for a quick shower.

~ * ~

Over the course of the day, Stiles is introduced to far more people than he ever expected to meet, and is frankly exhausted by the time they all pile into vehicles, he and Derek riding with Derek’s frankly frightening Uncle Peter and his partner, Freddie, to go to the restaurant.

The ring box is secure in his pocket, and he does his best not to touch it, aware that as the “new” significant other, he’s being subjected to a lot of interrogations, hugs, and all around suspicion. Through it all, Derek stays by his side, directing him away from the more prying of the aunts, or having him hide in an empty room until someone can make an announcement that makes Derek’s boyfriend seem like old news.

Finally though, they all sit at six tables pushed together, a buffet against the back wall of the room. The restaurant is owned by a pair of great aunts who insist on Derek and Stiles sitting next to them so they can gossip about the changes at California University-Berkeley.

“You know, Marsha was a co-founder of the first LGBTQ organization,” the more wizened one states. “How’d that go for you, dear?”

Marsha rolls up her sleeve to show off a large scar. “Thirty stitches and an expulsion.” She winks at Stiles. “And I’d do it all over again because it’s how I met the love of my life.”

He smiles politely. “I’m glad times have changed,” he says. “I don’t think I could scar as neat as that.”

“Well, that’s Diana’s doing. Such steady hands even as she berated me for putting my life in danger.” Marsha sighs wistfully. “Some things don’t change.” With sharp eyes, she pokes at Stiles’ soul, and he shudders at the sensation of being seen and known. “You may think you’re not scarred, but you are.” She turns to Derek. “Make sure you treasure this boy, eh?”

Derek nods almost frantically. He grabs Stiles’ and his aunts’ glasses. “Refills?”

“How long have you been together?” Marsha asks, and Stiles knows he should stick to the script he and Derek came up with, but he can’t. So, he leans in, like he’s telling a big secret, and whispers, “Three and a half years.”

Diana whacks at Marsha’s shoulder. “That means they’ve been steady since they met,” she excitedly exclaims. Stiles flushes at the sudden eyes on their end of the table.

“What I meant,” he stutters out, under the heavy, heavy gaze of, like, a million Hales, “is that we’ve been dancing around each other for years. We’ve only just decided to make it official.”

Derek plops down the glasses. “Don’t scare him,” he chastises his aunts, and by extension, all the nosy, nosy relatives. “I actually happen to love him, and I’d appreciate not having to find him again when you all chase him away.”

As if practiced, all the Hales go back to their own plates and conversation.

Stiles leans into Derek, gratefully sipping at his Sprite. Derek leans back a little, and they balance nicely. Until Stiles remembers what he’s planning to do during the after-dinner excursion. Then, he just sits there while Derek chats amicably, offers to refill Stiles’ plate, and almost holds his hand whenever he gets up from the table.

After the meal, Peter and Freddie give them a ride to the mall. Surprisingly, Peter hadn’t done anything to get kicked out, like Derek had predicted. Stiles thinks it’s because whenever Peter opened his mouth, Freddie squeezed his leg. Someday, Stiles thinks, if things work out, he and Derek could be like that, communicating with just a touch.

At the mall, Laura and her husband, Jordan, hand out a sheet of paper with things to find, and the Hales disperse, a literal army of at least thirty people, led by Marsha and Diana on their motorized wheelchairs.

Stiles allows Derek to hold his hand as they follow along more sedately. Stiles isn’t going to participate in the scavenger hunt, too nervous and afraid that if he uses it as a distraction, he’ll forget why he’s really here.

They get to the second level, and Derek points out a few things on the list, but Stiles has had enough. He sees Cora and Lydia in the crowd and makes his way toward them. Cora catches his eye and nods.

Stiles takes a deep breath, drops Derek’s hand, and then kneels down before he can think about it.

Derek turns to see what’s up and claps his hands over his eyes, like that’s going to make Stiles stand up again.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Derek, love, can you look at me?”

Derek shakes his head. He’s blushing, hard. Probably because they’re in the middle of a crowd. Apparently neither of them quite care for the public spectacle. Good to know.

Stiles pulls out the ring box. He takes another deep breath, teetering on the edge of backing out and letting Derek think it was a prank.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia both stand, hands clasped together, staring wide-eyed. Cora knows it’s not fake, so why does she look so invested?

Faintly, Stiles hears someone say, “Go for it!” So he gathers his conviction and opens his mouth.

“Please open your eyes,” he says, softly. When Derek does, Stiles is surprised to see tears there. “Derek Hale, I love you. I know we haven’t been dating for very long, but I already know I want to marry you.” And suck your dick, but Stiles doesn’t say that out loud. There are children present for God’s sake. “We go together like two things that you wouldn’t think would be good, but then they end up being the perfect pair. And I don’t ever want to give that up. Please say yes?”

Derek is already nodding, his expression goes from obviously embarrassed to fond and soft, in a way Stiles is entirely unused to seeing from him, even after living together for most of three and a half years.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia begin jumping up and down, squealing. Startled, Derek glances back at them before quickly focusing on Stiles again. He helps pull him to his feet and then wordlessly extends his hand. Stiles slides the ring onto his finger. Cora was right about the size and about the style. It fits perfectly, and Derek smiles at it.

Something warm blooms in Stiles’ chest, and it’s because he put the ring and the smile on Derek.

And oh fuck. Oh fuck, he just proposed to Derek fucking Hale and has gotten a yes. Fuck seventy-five percent. Fuck being unsure if his love is unrequited. Stiles leaps into Derek’s arms and is met with a completely off-kilter, totally unbalanced, completely perfect imperfect mashing of lips and noses, and they tumble to the ground, Stiles on top.

Derek is laughing, patting at him, but he also isn’t saying get up.

That’s Lydia, tugging at them. “Do you know how many germs are on this floor?” she grouses, but despite the hard edge from this morning, she keeps smiling at them like she actually likes them.

The rest of the Hales appear suddenly—probably summoned by a text—and all of them, not a one of them looks angry, they all look happy, pleased, already singing congratulations.

Cora raises her phone to show them that she recorded it all, everything, including what was their first kiss.

Oh shit. He’s so fucked. But he’s so happy too.

Cora’s right that they can be engaged for however long they need. At least they are engaged.

~ * ~

The rest of Saturday passes in a whirlwind, and Derek never stops smiling. The whole drive back to Berkeley on Sunday is spent in contented bliss, and when Derek isn’t driving, he just stares at the ring.

About an hour from their apartment, Derek pulls over, and Stiles jerks awake.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, but Stiles can hear it in his voice. Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks again, gentling his tone.

Derek takes off the ring and hands it to him. “Thanks for that. I really liked it.”

“Liked what?” Stiles stares at the ring. It looks wrong in his hand and not on Derek’s finger. It’s only been there about twenty-four hours. It shouldn’t look wrong, but it does. “Is this about the agreement?”

“Yeah.” Derek clears his throat, a clear sign that he’s about to start crying. He looks heartbroken. “The agreement. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Stiles asks. He turns the ring over, grabs Derek’s hand, and slides it back on. “Your sister already told me that you’re in love with me. I’m in love with you. I proposed-proposed to you. If you really don’t want to marry me, at least wait until we’re home before you break my heart.”

Derek just stares at him.

Stiles waves his hand by his head. Maybe he’s just too tired of this damn charade that they never should have done. Maybe he just wants something for himself for once and he’s willing to fight for it. “I know, you told me don’t believe what Cora says, but she also said you talked about me incessantly ever since you met me. Dude, we’re in love with each other, and yes it sucks that it took making up this fake dating thing for us to realize it, but if you think that I’m going to just roll over and say, ‘Hey, that was great, let’s never do it again,’ then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Derek covers the ring with his other hand, watching as it peeks through his fingers. “You’re in love with me?”

Stiles feels like snapping, but doesn’t. “Yes.”

Derek nods. “Thanks. I-I love you too.” He puts the Camaro in drive.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Stiles doesn’t feel relief at things being in the open nor at the sight of the ring on Derek’s finger where it belongs.

Instead, he feels dread rising. Something is going to happen when they get back to their apartment, and it might just be the end of them. Stupid, stupid, they just confessed their feelings for each other. Things should be looking up, not down.

Derek parks and immediately goes to grab their suitcases from the trunk. Stiles heads up the stairs to unlock the front door.

“So, I want a redo,” Derek remarks suddenly, his tone forced into easy and cheery.

Stiles pauses where he’s unlocking the door. “Redo?”

Derek moves closer, shoves the suitcases aside, and brackets Stiles’ head with his hands. He leans in until their faces are just an inch apart. “A redo.” And he kisses Stiles, and even though the doubt is still there, warring in Stiles with the warmth of knowing he has Derek’s love, it gets a little smaller when he falls back against the door and Derek follows him in.

“I am gonna suck your cock so good,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips.

“Not if I suck yours first,” Derek returns.

And that is the story of how Stiles and Derek finally stopped pining and started boning.

Cora tells the story of how they got together at their wedding five years later, conveniently leaving out the part about being seventy-five percent sure that Derek was in love with Stiles, but Stiles forgives her because while she may have been only seventy-five percent sure, he and Derek are both one hundred percent in love and getting married.

~ The End ~

#FTH2020 #evanesdust #Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

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Edna Briggs-Writing Prompt # I’ve Lost Cont

Today's entry was suggested by my best friend, Chenoa. This entire premise was hers and despite my encouragement that she write it; she did not feel like she could. So, I told her I would write it for her. I hope this is what she envisioned, equal parts sad and wholesome.

Enjoy my dearest!

“How long will it be tomorrow, Edna?”

“Sixty-five years.”

“Sixty-five. That’s right…”

The man knew very well how many years it would be that he and his wife would celebrate their marriage. Sixty-five years, tomorrow. Wrinkled hands found more delicate ones, pallid and cool to the touch.

“You still…can’t remember.” There was a weak puff of laughter as Edna turned her head and regarded her husband warmly.

“That’s why I need you here Edna,” at this, the man’s voice cracked with the tightness that formed in his throat. “I’ll never even remember to feed myself.” The pair chuckled softly. Edna patted the top of her husband’s hands.

“Yes, you will Jim.”

That was all she said as she smiled through brimming tears. Edna laid in the comfort of a hospital bed within her own home, in her living room, to be exact. The couple had a large family, and their bedroom was so small that Jim barely fit inside next to both the new and old beds. So, their five children deemed it necessary to move Edna into the main room so that they all could sit beside her—them and their ten grandchildren. It had been two years now that Edna was on hospice and an amazing feat considering the doctors thought she would pass on within the first six months. Edna clung to life the way she held fast to Jim’s hand, with nothing but love and enthusiasm. It was noticeable now, perhaps only to Jim, that Edna’s fingers did not grab hold so hard. In the slipping of her fingers, he felt the waning of her soul and it brought his head down upon her chest as she breathed in and out. So long as he could hear that thrum of her heart, he would know peace. Into the early morning hours, they whispered between them of all life had brought. They shared tender kisses and caresses that Jim desperately fought to commit to memory. Each tickle of her fingers at the back of his neck was etched into his bones and stored away in every fiber of his muscles. Jim would not forget. Somehow, Jim fell asleep. A grown man of ninety-five laid on his wife’s chest, back hunched forward and his arms draped over her; one behind her head and the other over her thighs. Jim fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the look of absolute tranquility upon Edna’s beautiful features. Without moving, speaking, or thinking, Jim knew. Edna was no longer on this plane but, she had made it to midnight. They celebrated their sixty-fifth anniversary in the darkness of their living room.

The days that passed next were a blur. Perhaps one day, Jim would come to and the memories of Edna’s memorial service, her funeral, the crowds of people that came to honor her memory; maybe he would recall it. Today, he sat silently in his living room, the vacant hospital bed beside him. A few of his children were bustling in the kitchen, cooking, and making sure Jim had easy options for food because the man was proficient with a grill and that was about it.

“Papa, we cut up some fresh fruit it’s in the fridge. Make sure you eat it up, so it doesn’t go bad.” Jim’s oldest granddaughter was talking to him, but Jim was in his cushioned armchair, staring out the sliding glass door that led to their patio. All of Edna’s flowers popped vibrantly against the emerald hues of their meticulously watered grass. Jim wondered if it would all die within a few short hours once the little garden realized its tender was gone. That was good, appropriate, even. The flowers should no longer grow if Edna did not keep them; just as the sun should not rise or fall so long as Edna’s chest was still. Jim looked up at the blinding rays of the celestial body. It seemed he had not yet convinced the star to cease its normal cycle because how could life possibly go on without Edna Briggs. How, could it.

Eventually, Jim’s children and grandchildren left. He was sure it was not an easy choice for them. While he was absentminded and aloof, it did not go unnoticed the way they lingered in the doorway or how they looked at him with concern in their eyes. Jim waved them off with a brave little smile. Then they were gone, and the house was horribly quiet. There was no talk of the gossip at Bingo, no asking what time ‘Jeopardy’ would be on even though it came on every night at the same time; there was a lingering aroma of food, but it was not Edna’s cooking. Jim sat in his armchair. Jim stewed in the silence and looked out the back door until the light dissolved and nighttime fell. This was how he passed most of his days for a week. People called; he did not answer. The only communication he managed was a short text asking his children not to come—he needed time. Jim ate halfheartedly but per his granddaughter’s wishes, he did not let the fruit go bad. She had worked so hard, after all. It was on the sixth night that Jim finally turned on the television. There had been no sound for so long that it almost felt like an intrusion to hear the people in the commercials talking. He left it on and eventually, he fell asleep in his chair with one hand resting on the end of the hospital bed. That was how they had gone to bed many times over the last two years.

Jim was snoring for several hours when a sound finally woke him from his dreamless stasis. It was not the incessant dinging of bells on whatever game show had just come on—he had slept through that many times. There was a clink in the kitchen. Jim and Edna had no pets and had lived alone for a number of years after their children grew up. In Jim’s mind, there was no reason for any part of their home to be making noise unless someone else was in it. As that thought occurred to him, Jim grew very still, eyes wide open and desperately peering through the darkness. Jim had never felt scared but as he sat, totally alone, he felt that sick heat creep into his belly and spread like fire through his veins. The man was paralyzed in his chair, sinking deeper and deeper each time he heard that clinking noise. It was different and seemed to be moving around the kitchen. There was a certain tone of the porcelain in the sink when it was hit; it was very different from the sound that was produced when the marble countertops were bumped or the wooden cabinets. From what he could hear, it sounded like someone was cooking a full meal inside his kitchen. Jim’s jaw clenched. This was silly. The man, finding all the courage of his younger years rolled to his feet and turned to look back. The kitchen was in full view from the living room, there were no walls separating the adjoined spaces. So, when he looked, there was no mistaking what he saw. There was nothing to block him and his glasses were poised on the bridge of his long nose. Jim’s jaw went slack, and he was certain he was either dead or on his way to the grave.

“Edna, what in the hell are you doing?” The little old lady looked exactly the way Jim had last seen her save for the color in her cheeks. That ever-present vibrancy that Edna had when she was alive, her youthful glow, it had returned with a new fullness.

“Well excuse me, Jim, I’m making your late-night snack like I always do. I am more than happy to stop if you’re going to take that attitude with me.” Jim stared. Jim stared for a long time, so long that Edna rolled her eyes. “Tuna fish and saltine crackers, it’s your favorite.” A small plate plopped onto the counter and slid toward Jim. The man looked down for a moment but immediately brought his gaze back to Edna for fear she might vanish.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this but—”

“I’m dead! I know that Jim, I’m not stupid. Someone’s got to come along and take care of you. You said it yourself a week ago, you’ll forget to eat. Then what? Then I have to spend eternity with you too?” Edna smiled after that. It was full of knowingness and patience because she was, indeed, fully aware of her circumstances.

“The—the…the grandkids…they left some food—Edna! How…” Jim was taking cautious steps forward and he found himself vaguely wondering if there was some sort of technology, he wasn’t aware of that could project life-like images of loved ones into your home. Was this some sort of invention created for coping with loss? Jim’s brown eyes did a quick scan of the kitchen. He saw no indication of a projector. There was nothing out of place in his old kitchen, except for a perfectly intact Edna standing in the middle of it.

“Simple. I didn’t want to leave,” Edna shrugged and gave the plate another inch toward Jim. The man had approached and was well within range of the plate now. He looked at Edna incredulously before he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her. She was whole and smelled like his favorite perfume; she had worn it every day since they had met. Jim wasn’t fully aware of it, but he was weeping. Into the meticulously done curls that framed Edna’s head and neck. That familiar tickle of her fingers at the nape of his neck only made him cry harder because his memory had failed him. In the short time away from his wife, Jim had already forgotten what the scrape of her nails felt like on his skin. Edna embraced her husband in the kitchen, endlessly. Only when he was ready to lift his head did she take a small step back and smile up at him. “They really should change that whole ‘till death do us part' bit. It doesn’t have to end there, not if you don’t want it to.” Jim laughed. For the first time in a week, he was smiling, and it felt like rust was crumbling off all the unused facial muscles.

“Well…what do we do?”

“What do we do? Jim I’m going to sit down and watch my shows, it’s only ten-thirty. Now eat!” Jim was given the plate of crackers. He tested its weight; he poked the bottom of it to see if his finger would go through. It didn’t. Finally, he ate a cracker with a scoop of Edna’s infamous tuna salad, and it tasted like home. Jim was not sure if he was crazy or if the Lord had bestowed a miraculous blessing upon him but, he would not question the extra time. Quickly, he shuffled after Edna who was crawling into the hospital bed already glued to the television. Jim sat in his armchair munching and constantly glancing over at Edna to make sure she didn’t get swept away into the ethers.

This was how life went on. Learning the extent of Edna’s abilities happened quickly. Jim soon learned that his children nor his grands could see her despite her standing in the foyer to greet them alongside her husband. No one else saw Edna. She did, one time, touch a dishrag without thinking and when it moved on its own their eldest son yelped and jumped away from it. Jim quickly offered up that it was simply the wind from the open window in the kitchen. Luckily, that was all it took to convince his son that there were no ghosts in the house. All the while, Jim looked at Edna who had her little hand over her mouth, giggling. Edna got to enjoy her family from a distance, something that both made her happy and hurt her. Jim could see the longing in her eyes as Edna sank to the floor to sit by their grandchildren who played, oblivious that grandma was right beside them. There was much that Jim found cruel about Edna’s current existence. While she cooked and cleaned and took care of Jim as well as she had in her living days—she could not enjoy the material things of the mortal world. Edna could watch television, listen to music, and sit beside Jim while holding his hand. She did not get to taste food or hug her kids; she did not have the luxury of soothing her grandbabies or walking outside. Edna had tried to leave the house multiple times, only to tend to her garden but every door in the home seemed to be a wall. Edna could not leave. The pair existed within the living room and kitchen. Eating and watching television. This was their new routine. Edna did not sleep; she didn’t need to. She would stay up and watch Jim, hold his hand, pet his hair; anything to keep her busy through the hours he was not conscious of her. As the months passed, Jim watched these realities affect her though Edna never complained.

One evening, the couple sat watching another ‘Jeopardy’ rerun. They chuckled a little here and there. Edna had made Jim a small platter of cut up meat, cheese, and crackers. She was always feeding him much to his family’s approval—they had predicted Jim would lose weight in the following months after Edna’s passing. They had no idea she still wandered through the home.

“Edna.”

“Yes, dear?”

“How long are you going to stay?”

“That’s a funny question. Funny, because the answer is obvious, isn’t it?” Jim looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m staying until it’s your time.”

“Do you know when that is?”

“No. That’s none of my business, even as a ghost.”

“It could be years.”

“It could be.”

“My grandfather and my father lived past one hundred.”

“Yes, yes, you have good genes. I know.” Edna said it with an air of annoyance like they had this discussion many times over when she was alive.

“My point is, you could be doing this for five more years if not more.”

“You could also die tomorrow,” she quipped.

“Are you going to live every day hoping I die tomorrow?” At this, Edna laughed and shook her head.

“No. Of course not Jim, I want you to enjoy every second of life. Watch the babies grow, watch our bigger babies grow even more. Feel the sun on your face. Tend to my flowers. Eat good food.”

“And what about you?” Jim was very serious, and the tone of his voice had changed from amiable and inquisitive to firm.

“What about me?”

“I suppose you think it’s fine for you to keep on living in this undead existence. Where you get to experience none of the pleasures you just listed off for me.”

“I get to be with my husband. That is the greatest pleasure.”

“Is it, Edna? I see how much you want to hold those grandbabies. The look on your face while I’m eating something you’ve made but you can’t even taste it. Is this really existing at all?” Edna looked at Jim. There was a long discussion had between them, without words. Jim’s eyes were glossy in the way that spoke of tears unarrived but waiting in the trenches. The line of his mouth was hard set and that horrible lump in his throat was thicker than before. It had taken him months to realize it; to see the selfishness of what he did. Jim kept Edna here. It was a blatant fact. No one else could see her, they had accepted her death and let her spirit soar free. Jim did not. Jim carried the burden of damning his wife to this listless life as a specter when she was deserving of so much more. “Edna, you have done what you needed to in this life, tenfold. You raised a beautiful family, we did, together but we both know who did most of the work. I am not blind to that. You have been an excellent grandmother to those babies, and they will grow up to know unconditional love and how to bake the best pies for Christmas. You took care of me, God, you still are! Even in death. This is not your eternal rest, Edna. This is not the peace you have earned after such a full life. It was full, wasn’t it?”

Edna sat on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap as she faced Jim. Tears streamed down her face. The weight of this new existence was taxing and harder than she imagined. Participating in life from the sidelines. Watching but not doing. Living but not living at all. “It was very full, Jim. The best life I could have ever wanted and then some.” Edna’s petite shoulders shook with sobs and Jim rose and sat beside her on the bed; he encircled her in his arms and pressed his face against her neck.

“I love you Edna Briggs, but this is not the existence you were meant to have. It is time for me to let you go,” he whispered. Jim breathed in as deeply as he could. Memorizing every dip and curve of her body as if he had not already done that over the last sixty-five years. The smell of her perfume. The smoothness of her skin. The sound of her breath as she wept. These were all important pieces of information, things he would store away and remember on days when he missed her. Every day. Jim would remember it every day. Jim and Edna wept together, just as they had the night she passed. They squeezed one another and eventually fell back on the bed. Jim felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, and he knew, deep in his gut, when he woke tomorrow Edna would be gone. “I promise, I’ll see you soon. I love you so much. You have been the most amazing wife a man could ever ask for.” Jim’s hands were in those bouncy curls, fingers wrapped around Edna’s skull as he touched their foreheads together. “I won’t last long without my other half, but I’ll make sure the grandbabies are skilled pie bakers before I go.” They laughed. The room was quiet except for their sniffling. “It’s okay to go, I love you.” Edna kissed her husband’s face, his forehead, and lips. Edna fell asleep. Finally. She had not realized just how tired her soul was until her eyes closed and she drifted off into the most peaceful slumber within her husband’s arms.

When Jim woke the next morning, he was alone, as expected. Despite the hole he felt in half of his heart, Jim smiled. Edna was finally at peace and that alone brought him more joy than anything else.

#creative writing #OC #writing prompt #My writing #thesolitarystripe #romance #wholesome #writing #tw death #tw natural death #writers on tumblr

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shes-an-oddbird · 3 years

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Sunflowers, Snapdragons, Roses and Daisies

Dousy Week Day 2 - Prompt : AU - A Flower Shop and Fake Dating AU in one

Actually a little Multichapter AU fic I’ve been working on for awhile. Enjoy :)

Summary: While covering a shift at Jemma’s flowers shop, Daisy must help a customer with an unusual request. When they discover flowers may not be the right thing to solve Daniel’s problem, they work out a new solution.

AO3

The custom of bringing flowers to a date, while once a staple, has become an outdated practice and is regarded as an old-fashion tradition, now considered unnecessary outside of special occasions. To avoid social faux pas these occasions should be limited to anniversaries, holidays and birthdays; never first dates where the gesture may come off as creepy or overstepping.

Seriously, Daisy thought. Of all the creepy things men do, bringing flowers to their date hardly qualified. Why did Jemma even have her reading this book? That was that kind of mentality that was going to put her little flower shop out of business.

“Excuse me miss, I could use some help, when you have a chance.”

Daisy nearly falls off her stool. She looks up to see a handsome man standing on the other side of the counter looking around uncertainly. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even heard the door open. She wants to swear, mostly because she’s already messed up but also because she really doesn’t want to help anyone. Despite what her name might imply, she knows next to nothing about flowers. She was only supposed to cover the desk and phones while Bobbi was out today.

She falters, trying to assess the situation quickly. She could do this, it was just flowers. She looks the customer over, thinks again that he’s a good-looking guy, wearing a nice, if a little stuffy, suit. He probably just needs flowers for his wife or girlfriend. She glances at his hand. Girlfriend then.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I was just caught up in my book.” She closes the book, giving the impression of her full attention. “What’s the occasion, anniversary?” She hopes it is. You give roses on an anniversary, even she knew that. It’s funny, she thinks in the back of her mind, at another time, when she wasn’t trying to save Jemma’s shop from a horrible review, she might realize it was odd to wish for the good-looking guy with the polite smile to be taken but Bobbi has already warned her about that. All the decent guys who come in are already spoken for.

“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.” He answers sheepishly.

“Ok, well, let’s hear it, I’m sure we can find the right thing.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the book. Where was Jemma? She was supposed to be back from the greenhouse by now.

He seems to consider his answer carefully before replying. “It’s more of a congratulations.”

“That’s not so bad,” she flips the book back open, prepared to check the index. “What are we celebrating?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s probably not in your book.”

Daisy shakes her head. “This book comes with the Dr. Jemma Simmons stamp of approval, if it can be said with flowers, it’s in this book.” Or so she’s been told.

“My ex-girlfriend is getting married.”

Oh.

“That’s – well that’s, kind of passive aggressive, but some of these flowers do have pretty cruel meanings, I’m sure we can get the point across.” It makes him laugh which is great because that’s what she’d been going for. He was right, that wasn’t an easy one and she didn’t have a clue where to start. “OH! We have some great discount bouquets!”

“No, no, um, I’m happy for her, for them, really.” His shoulders are still shaking from laughing and she notices his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners, but after a moment of quiet he does let out a heavy sigh. He still needed something.

She gives him back a sympathetic smile. “My friend, she’s the owner, she should be back soon, if anyone can figure it out, she can.”

“No more faith in your book?”

“Umm.” Daisy flips the book to the list of flowers and their meanings. It was an insane amount of information, most of which was irrelevant according to Jemma. Customers who didn’t have much to spend asked for something pretty and simple. Customers with money to spare asked for something different. Nine times out of ten they didn’t care what the flowers meant, they either wanted a deal or to make a statement. She assumed in this guy’s case it was less about saying the right thing and more about not saying the wrong thing. He certainly couldn’t send roses to his ex to congratulate her on her wedding. But maybe some flowers with no romantic connotations. She could probably manage that. “You know what, I think we can put something together.”

He smiles back at her gratefully and follows her to the worktable set up in the middle of shop. Strewn across the table are rolls of red and blue ribbon from where she and Jemma had been finishing up some wedding flowers earlier that morning. She pushes it all aside into a messy pile and can hear her friend’s scolding tone about a neat workspace being a happy workspace.

“Does she have a favorite flower?” Daisy asks as lays out some paper the same way she has seen Jemma do.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, no problem.” Daisy looks around the shop. “Okay, what about – yellow!”

“I’m sorry?” He asks, not understanding her outburst.

“Yellow flowers, there are usually no romantic undertones associated with them.” She recalls as she grabs bins of yellow sunflowers, carnations, and daffodils, deposits them on the table and goes back around for the daisies, roses, and tulips. Eventually the table is full and Daisy returns her attention to the book.

By this point the customer has taken a seat at one of the stools by the worktable. He’s watched her shuffle around the store with amusement written across his face and now as she settles down to sort out his request he finally speaks again.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She looks up.

“Even once?”

“No.” She answers truthfully. She’s been caught, no point in lying about it. “But I’ve watched Jemma do this a million times, it’s not that hard.”

She expects him to stand and leave. Find a flower shop with a competent salesperson and a shelf dedicated to flowers for awkward occasions. Instead he remains seated. “Alright, where do we start?” With a surge of confidence, she continues.

She looks at the flowers. “Which do you like?”

“Damn.”

“Still no good.”

“Disappointment and rejection, probably not going to work.” Daisy sets aside the yellow carnations. “I thought for sure, I mean we sell a ton of these.” So far, they have had to discard the marigolds, the roses, the chrysanthemums and nearly everything else she’s familiar with. The sole survivors are the daisies, the tulips and the sunflowers, and even those were on the fence.

They’d been at this for nearly an hour now. Daniel, he had eventually introduced himself, had made himself comfortable, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He was happy to fetch and return whatever she requested. Daisy, twice, had to stop to help other customers and each time he apologized for taking up too much of her time and insisted he could come back later.

She refused. They would figure it out even if it took all day.

“Who even decides these things,” Daisy groans as she rearranges the flowers in front of her. “Dark thoughts, false riches, who looks at bright yellow flowers and thinks that?”

“Sounds like someone with a broken heart.” Daniel replies.

“Maybe.” It was the best explanation she could think of. She scoops up the flowers and drops them into a vase so she can see them standing up. They flop lifelessly. She grabs up some of the filler greens to support them, but it still looks a mess. “This would be so much easier if you just hated your ex like a normal person.”

“She’s not the problem, if I could just go to the wedding I wouldn’t need the flowers at all, I could just bring a toaster oven or a blender or booze, like they registered for.”

Daisy sighs and shoves the vase away. “Why can’t you go to the wedding?” He must have been invited it he has the gift registry.

“I can, I want to,” he pauses, “you don’t think it’s weird, to go to your ex’s wedding.”

She shrugs. “Not if you were invited and as long as your happy for them, and you know, you’re not still in love her with her or anything like that.” Now she takes a moment to pause. “You’re not still in love with her, are you?”

Daniel’s expression turns soft and his tone is nothing but genuine when he answers. “No, I care about her, truly, she’s one of my closest friends, but I am happy for them.”

“So go, I see no reason why not.” She encourages. “Please go, because this is a disaster.” She gestures to the flowers.

“I don’t know, its growing on me.” He pulls the vase towards him and adjusts some of the flowers. Daisy immediately realizes he’s avoiding the ‘why not’ and while its not her place to pry, she’s curious now.

“What is the real reason you don’t want to go?”

“It’s that obvious?” She nods. “It’s really not them, it’s everyone else who will be there, we all work together and they know that when things ended between me and her it was really more on her and I was the one left with a broken heart, if I go, I just know I’m going to get that look, that poor pitiful Daniel look, all night long and I already get that enough of that as it is.”

“Why is that?”

“Hmm, oh.” Daniel stops fussing with the flowers. He turns on the stool and tugs up his pant leg to reveal a metal prosthetic.

“Oh well that will do it.” Her surprise gets the better of her and she doesn’t realize till after the words are out how they may have sounded. “Sorry, that was rude.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, it’s okay, I rather people didn’t make a big deal of it.”

She understands. Not what it was like to have a prosthetic leg of course but to have attention for something connected with less than pleasant memories.

The bell above the door jingles, pulling Daisy out of her thoughts. She looks up to greet the customer and instead see Jemma entering the store, a slight squishing sound following her as she trudges to the counter and dumps her bag and keys across it.

“You will not believe – “

“It rained?” Daisy interrupts.

“No, it did not rain,” Jemma runs her fingers through her damp hair trying to make it presentable. “The sprinkler system in the greenhouse went berserk, drenched my phone so I couldn’t call out, I had to run to get Fitz and drag him back there to fix it, I’ll be lucky if everything isn’t ruined.”

“That’s sounds terrible.” Daniel’s sympathetic reply catches Jemma off guard. She spins around with a look of horror on her face that fades just a bit when she sees them.

“Oh! I didn’t realize, Daniel Sousa – ” She surges forward, hand outstretched and a wide grin on her face. Daniel jumps up from his seat to meet her halfway and shake her hand in hello.

Daisy looks back and forth between them. “You two know each other?”

“Daniel is a regular customer.”

“Flower shops have regulars?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “It’s so lovely to see you again, its been a bit since you’ve been in – “ She trails off, her eyes going wide as she spots her pristine workspace in perfect disarray. Daisy stands and attempts to position herself in front of the table to hide the mess. “What brings you in today?” She asks distractedly.

“It’s a long story.” Daisy is forced to move aside as Jemma steps forward to examine the bouquet Daisy had only moments ago deemed a disaster.

“Oh, I think I’d like to hear it if it somehow ends with this.”

“It’s my fault really, I wanted to send flowers to Peggy and her fiancé, as a sort of apology for not attending their wedding, Daisy was trying to help me put together something that would properly express that without sending the wrong message.”

“I see.” Jemma collects the last bins of flowers and returns them to their homes.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Daisy whispers to him.

“I feel like I just got you in trouble with the principal.”

Jemma returns to the table and inspects the bouquet again. “Well I can see where you were coming from here Daisy, but I told you, most people don’t read much into the meanings behind the flowers.”

“You’re the one that gave me the book!”

“Yes, and in that book, it also tells you that it’s not customary to send flowers for a wedding.” Daisy frowned. She hadn’t gotten to that part. “That said, I’m afraid flowers aren’t going to solve your problem Daniel.”

“That’s okay, it’s probably a sign that I just need to suck it up and go, let everyone whisper over their cake about poor single heartbroken Daniel a little bit longer.”

“That does sound truly awful.” Jemma says gently.

It does, but in that moment Daisy is struck by an idea. “Hey wait, why don’t you just bring a date?”

Daniel looks sheepishly at the ground. “I, I haven’t got anyone to bring.”

“Perhaps you could go out and meet someone new.” Jemma suggests.

“I don’t usually connect with people that fast and the wedding is this weekend.”

“Well it’s not like she has to be the love of your life or anything.”

“Daisy makes a very good point, you could always invite a friend.” Jemma suggests but Daisy already knows that won’t work either, a friend won’t eliminate the look of pity from his colleagues faces. She has only known Daniel for an hour but she’s already on his side. She wants him to have it all, to attend the wedding for his friends and to give a proper screw you to his coworkers. “What you need is a fake date, someone who you can pretend to be invested in just enough that they know you’re over your ex but not enough that the next time they see you they think to ask about her.”

“OH! You should take Daisy!” Jemma looks absolutely giddy, as if her sudden exclamation is a stroke of genius and hasn’t caught her best friend completely off guard.

“Wait what?”

“Well why not, she’d be the perfect fake date, no one will know her, you two clearly don’t mind spending a bit of time together, unless you made this mess all in five minutes,” she gestures again at her worktable. “And I promise under this apron she’s a total babe, no one would look at you and feel sorry for you, I promise.”

Daisy does notice that she is not the only one embarrassed by this proposition; Daniel looks flustered and unsure how to handle having a date just tossed at him. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“She wouldn’t mind, she really needs to get out more anyways.” Daisy slaps Jemma’s arm.

“I get out.”

Daniel shifts uncertainly. “Still, this wedding is kind of a high profile event.”

“She cleans up really well.”

Daniel’s eyes go wide. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” He looks frantically back and forth between them, “I’m sure you do, it’s just there is going to be a lot of people there and possibly media.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe how ridiculous the notion is and again Daisy finds herself wondering who exactly this woman is. In fact, it has gotten to the point where she kind of wants to meet these people.

“Actually, it might be kind of cool.”

“What?”

Daisy considers for a moment longer before confirming her answer. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind, besides I feel like I’ve got to see this through to the end now, since the flowers were kind of a bust.”

It takes him a full minute to catch up. “Um, the wedding is Saturday, if you’re free?”

She nods.

“Okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You’re really sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be great, we can give those gossipy coworkers of your something to really talk about.”

“Alright, great.” He looks at their flower project and turns to Jemma “Can I still buy these?”

“You don’t have to – “

Daisy cuts Jemma off. “Oh my god no, this is, it’s really my problem, you can take the cost out of my pay Jemma.”

“No really, I actually kind of like it.” Daisy doesn’t believe that for a moment, but she also can’t think of any other reason why he’d want to keep the sad little bouquet.

Maybe Jemma does though? She smiles happily and scoops up the vase, “let me wrap them for you.”

#dousy #aos fic #dousyweek #Daisy Johnson #daniel sousa #my fic

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

I think I’m gonna marry you

I just want to say that Charlie McAvoy is the loml and all of the gifs that come up when I search his name are gifs I already have on my phone and use for reactions or to annoy my friends and I’m not sorry.

But I got to see my AP kids from student teaching today! Their AP Chem exam is tomorrow and I miss them and it was so nice to see them and calm them down a little bit before tomorrow.

This was requested from the fluff prompt list, and I low key love this one so I’m praying y’all do too ???? Here’s the original request!

10. I’m going to marry you one day

_______________________

Five Years Old

“I know moving to a new place is scary, sweetie, but we aren’t going to move back to Minnesota, I’m sorry. We’re going to be here for a while, God willing,” your mom crouches down to meet you at eye level. Your dad got a new job in doing something at JFK, which meant uprooting your family to New York. You ended up in Long Beach. On the beach. A Minnesotan on the beach. You didn’t know much, but you knew enough to understand that you hated it without wanting to give it a try. You just stare at your mom, a pout on your face, surrounded by the boxes your family has yet to unpack in the living room. “Why don’t you go down to the beach with me. Maybe you can make some friends that will make this a little easier?” You nod your head. She takes your hand, leading outside and down to the beach.

People were out surfing, kids playing in the sand, moms reading on the beach. It was hot, the air felt dry even with the water right there. You can feel yourself start to cry, even as your mother drags you down to the sand, setting out a blanket from the bag you didn’t realize she had with her.

“Charlie! Come back here!” you hear someone yell as a ball comes rolling towards you, landing at your feet. A chubby little boy, about your age, comes running towards you. You pick up the ball, handing it to him. “Sorry about that,” the woman you assumed was his mom comes running up to him. “If you come back here, expect this a lot,” she says to your mom.

“Oh, it’s fine. We just moved here, so a familiar face would be nice, especially for my daughter.”

“That’s great! We live here, too, just up the street. I’m Jennifer, this is my son Charlie.”

Your mom introduces the two of you, Charlie’s mom offering to have the two of you go and sit and talk while you and Charlie play in the sand. You had no concept of time, but you felt like you were playing with him for years. You loved sitting in the sand, rolling and throwing the ball back and forth with him.

When the sun started to set, your mothers get you up to bring you back to your homes. With one hand in your mothers, you use the other to wave Charlie goodbye.

“I’m marrying her one day!” you hear Charlie tell his mother, both mom’s laughing as you went inside for the night.

Fourteen Years Old

“Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” you whisper, pulling him into your bedroom from your second-story window. He somehow managed to find his dad’s ladder, sneak out of his own house with it, and climb up to your window.

“It’s my last night before going to Michigan until college and my family had me so busy that I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you.”

“So you almost kill yourself by scaling the side of my house instead?” There was no way you could let your parents know that a boy snuck into your room at one in the morning, even if it was Charlie. “Besides, if you don’t say goodbye, then I won’t have to cry about you leaving in front of you,” you admit to him. He was your best friend. You spent the last ten years inseparable, you went to all of his hockey games, he came to all of your soccer games, all your plays and musicals, you took all of the same classes, had all the same teachers. Most people thought you were dating, but he was like your brother growing up. Plus, he was moving to Michigan for hockey, it’s not like you could start anything now.

“Like you crying in front of me is something I’ve never seen before,” he rolls his eyes, taking both of you to sit on your bed. “And I know you well enough to know that you would have cried even if you didn’t see me because of how dramatic you are.”

“Hey!” you try not to yelling, knowing your parents were in their room on the other side of your wall, “I’m not dramatic!”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. The only freshman at our school to be cast as a lead in both the play and the musical this year isn’t the least bit dramatic,” he lets out, bitterly sarcastic.

You both let out a quiet laugh. You lay back on your bed, looking up at the ceiling. “What am I going to do with you?”

He lays back, too, his head pretty much against yours, “Make new friends so you’re not a loner?”

“Shut up!” you say, giving him a light smack, which was the best you could do given the angle you were at, “I’m serious! Char, you’re my best friend! What are we going to do without being able to see each other every day?”

“Well we have phones, so we can text all the time, like we do now. We can Facetime and Snapchat every day. Actually, no. Facetime once a week, I can’t deal with you that much.” He lets out a laugh, waiting for you to respond or something, but you were too sad about the idea of him getting on that plane tomorrow and leaving you. “Hey,” he sits up, trying to pull you up with him. He turns and faces you, sitting criss-cross on your bed, his hands in yours, “You’re my best friend. Even with me in Michigan, we’re going to get through this. How about this. We’ll make a pact. If we aren’t seeing anyone when we’re thirty, we’ll get married.”

“Deal.”

“So I guess that means, I’m going to marry you one day.”

“I can’t believe you don’t have faith that I’ll find someone by then!”

“Well, you won’t. I will. I am going to be a professional hockey player, after all.”

You shove him back a little, “Rude!” both of you trying to contain your laughter. “I love you, Charlie,” you tell him through the last of your laugh.

He smiles, looking at your hands. “I love you, too, Y/N.” Before you know it, his lips are on yours. It was short, sweet, your first kiss. “I couldn’t leave without doing that,” he says, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving after you did that.” You both sit there quietly for a minute. “I think you need to go back Char, before your parents notice you’re gone.” He nods, opening your window to go back down the ladder. You close it behind him, watching him walk off down the street with it.

Twenty-Two Years Old

“Get out! Get out of my apartment! I never want to see you again!” you scream, tears going down your face. You felt anger, sadness, the urge to pick something up and throw it for the purpose of breaking it, confusion, every negative emotion that you could think of or ever knew came flooding through your body as you watched your now ex-boyfriend take his stuff and leave, probably to go crawling back to the girl he was cheating on you with. You had moved out of your parents home in Long Beach to Boston for him. Well, actually, you went to Boston College, then decided once you graduated to stay in the area and get a job in the city. Him being there was just an added bonus.

You follow him out, “I hope you’re happy with her, you jackass!” you yell, knowing it would piss off your neighbors.

Only one would actually care enough to poke their head out from their door to check on you. “Y/N/N, what the hell happened?” Charlie asks, closing his door and coming into your place. He may or may not have found you the apartment that was right next to him for you to move in to. It was great when both of you wanted to go home, like for holidays and stuff.

You close the door behind him, going to your bedroom so you could throw yourself on your bed as dramatically as possible. “He was cheating on me. He told me tonight.”

“He told you? I told you that two weeks ago that something was up.”

“The worst part? I blame myself. Then I blame him. But I don’t blame her.”

“Um, ok, you’re wrong,” he says, making you sit up as you roll your eyes at him. “You did nothing that would give him the right to cheat on you. And why wouldn’t you blame her? She’s the reason he cheated.”

“Yes, but she didn’t know he had a girlfriend. She doesn’t use social media and he never told her.”

“Then we blame him and only him. But you,” he says, taking your hand in his face, wiping the tears off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, “You are not at all to blame for this. You are the perfect girl. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

You wrap your hand around his wrist, letting out a small laugh. “Please, you of all people know that I’m not perfect. I just,” you stop yourself, sighing, “I just thought that he could be the one, you know?

“Oh, please. I was going to marry you before he even thought of it. We would have been celebrating our 50th anniversary before he even told you he was serious about you.”

“You can’t keep saying we’re going to get married, Charlie. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not? I said it the day we met. I said it the day I left for Michigan, and I’m saying it now. We’re getting married one day.”

“We’re not even dating.”

“Then let’s date.”

“Charlie, no!” you say, standing up and pacing around your room. “You can’t keep doing this to me! I just broke up with the guy I had been dating since I was seventeen. It’s been, what, not even an hour? I’m not ready to date anyone, let alone date you!”

“Fine. Then I’ll wait.”

Twenty-seven years old

“When Charlie and I were rooming in, I wanna say a hotel in Calgary, during our rookie season, we started talking about life, you know as guys do,” Jake says into the microphone, “and I’m not sure how, but we started talking about girls, again, as guys do. And I asked him if he had a girlfriend because he’s sort of a private guy. He starts to tell me about this girl that he met on the beach at home when they were five. He saw her and decided he was going throw her ball at her so that he had an excuse to go over to her and ask her to play. Luckily, their moms became friends so they got to keep playing with each other, and they pretty much became like brother and sister.

“He eventually moved around because of hockey, them keeping in touch to the point where she knew his teammates more than he did because she would be on Facetime with him all the time talking with them instead of him. Then they both when to college in the same city, her at Boston College, him at Boston University. They were natural enemies, blah, blah, blah. And then he started talking about how she had been dating this guy he didn’t like, because he was always convinced that he would end up marrying her.

“Flash forward a few years, he comes into practice, happier than I’ve ever seen him because she finally agreed to go on a date with him the night before. After practice he tells me, ‘I’m picking out an engagement ring for her, do you want to come?’” you hear people give a round of ‘aww’s’ and ‘how sweet’s’ as Jake continues, “Naturally, I tell him he’s crazy, but I go with him anyway, and he ends up buying the ring that sits on her finger right now, even though he didn’t give it to you for another three years after buying it.”

He picks up the glass of champagne in front of him, raising it, everyone around you doing the same, “To Charlie and Y/N. I’m not really sure how he managed to get you to marry him, especially since he’s been saying that he would for the last twenty years. I, personally, would find that creepy,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “but he was right when he said you were meant for each other. To many years of happiness with him. Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

Everyone toasts to you, clapping as the music starts back up again and your friends and family start dancing.

“I can’t believe it,” you say, looking at the scene of your wedding reception unfold in front of you.

“Can’t believe what, babe?” Charlie says, looking, too.

“Two things. One: that you let Jake give a speech at our reception. And two: that you were actually right about us getting married. How did you know?” He looks at you, beaming, “There was no reason why I wanted to go talk to you when we were five other than I knew that I wanted to. I said it then not knowing what it meant, but the older we got, the more I meant it.”

“Come here,” you tell him, giving him a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#charlie mcavoy #charlie mcavoy imagines #boston bruins #boston bruins imagines #bruins #bruins imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #nhl #nhl imagine

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sissytobitch10seconds · 3 years

Note

Hello! I hope you're having a good day :) I was wondering if I could request a continuation of "Missing Him"? It starts in October of fifth year, Harry and Ron are closer than ever, Ron has been there for Harry more than anyone with the exception of Hermione. Harry knows his bed is always open if he has a nightmare, he's the only one that can get Harry to laugh on his worst of days and Harry can vent to him and know his best friend will be there for him (part 1)

Prompt continued: Harry is starting to develop feelings for him and doesn't realize it. Ron is also starting to develop feelings for Harry but refuses to admit it, Harry has been through so much since Cedric's death and he feels telling Harry his feelings when he's still grieving is selfish. While the two boys are stubborn to realize their feelings, it's really obvious to everyone else that Ron and Harry like each other more than friends with the way they flirt, cuddle, share a bed and look at each other. On November 24th, Harry is having a bad day and is emotional, he snaps at everyone, gets into a shouting match with Umbridge and has a breakdown in the common room. Ron realizes what's going on, it's been one year ago that day when Cedric asked Harry to be his boyfriend after the first task. He comforts Harry by the fireplace and they have a heart to heart. Afterwards Ron hugs him and walks off. Hermione approaches Harry and asks what is going on with him and Ron. She makes Harry realize his feelings for Ron and the thought scares him. Was he ready to move on? Would dating again be disloyal to Cedric? He admits he doesn't think he's ready and Hermione tells him to think about it, he deserves to be happy again and something has happened between Harry and Ron. That night Harry has a dream, he sees Cedric and is speechless. Cedric tells him it's okay to move on and date again he wants Harry to be happy. A few weeks later Ron approaches Harry and tells him they need to talk Hermione had talked to him about his feelings for Harry and while Ron admits his feelings for Harry and Harry processes everything, he opens his mouth to tell him he's not ready when Cedric's words echoes in his head and going with his instinct he decides to give it a chance, he kisses Ron. They start to date but take it slow as Harry is still grieving. Six months later, it is the one year anniversary of Cedric's death. Harry realizes he is in love with Ron and knows Cedric would've approved of Ron. He was sweet, understanding when he needed to talk about Cedric, and made Harry the happiest he's been since dating Cedric. Harry had gotten brave enough to kiss Ron in public and show affection towards him, Ron also wanted to know everything about Cedric because he knows how important he is to Harry. Grief suddenly hit him thinking about Cedric, even tho he was happily with Ron he still missed his former boyfriend. As if on cue, Ron walks in and sees Harry upset he asks what's wrong and Harry admits he's really missing Cedric. Ron comforts him and he abruptly decides to take Harry on a date to get his mind off things, Ron dedicates their date to Cedric and he honors Harry's ex boyfriend by giving him gifts to remember him by. The last gift is the sweetest gift, it's a tribute to Cedric that Harry can carry with him so a piece of Cedric will always be with him. The date ends with Harry telling Ron he's in love with him.

You can also find this on Archive!

Harry stormed out of the classroom as quickly as his legs would carry him. He didn’t care about the eyes that were following him nor the things that were fluttering out of his open back and trailing behind him. Anger boiled in his stomach, flowing throughout every one of his veins. He grit his teeth together so hard that the muscles in his jaw ached. His hands were clenched into fists down at his sides, hard enough that it stretched the freshly acquired scars. His throat ached from how loud he had been shouted when he had finally lost his temper with the infernal professor. He didn’t care what she would be making him do or what kind of trouble she got him in, he couldn’t deal with her.

Not today.

When he got to the common room, he dropped his bag down onto the ground. He didn’t care about the semi-fragile ink bottles inside for his fountain pens as he discarded the weight. Luckily classes were all still in session so no one was around to see the massive tantrum that he was having.

The young teenager collapsed down onto one of the plush armchairs and brought his hands up to his face. He placed his fingers over his eyes and his heel palms pressed against his cheeks. A shuddering sob pressed its way past his lips into the still, open air around him. His shoulders tightened up and he could no longer stop the wrecked noises that were escaping him. The now-familiar aching reemerged from where it had been lying dormant and tore through him. Pain and sadness overcame him, ridding him of any anger or hatred that had been keeping him going that far. Now he was just exhausted and all he wanted to do was cry.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there while wallowing in his negative emotions, but a hand reached over and touched his shoulder. “Hey there, mate,” Ron’s forever calm and patient voice whispered.

Harry removed his hands from his face and then leaned into the hug that was being offered to him. He felt a pair of lanky arms wrap around him and bring him close to a living, breathing body. He could hear the rhythmic beating of Ron’s heart as his head was pressed against his friend’s chest.

His breath caught in his throat as the touch of his friend seemed to slowly ground him. He could feel the panic and fear slowly slipping from him and down into the ground. Normally he would have been filled with some kind of depressed melancholy feeling, but now he felt safe and peaceful. There was some sort of extra magic that only the redhead seemed to possess. SOmething that always managed to calm Harry down, even when he was in his worst moods.

“You alright, mate?” the soothing voice of the aforementioned teenager asked. One of his hands had moved up and now the exhausted student could feel nimble, long fingers carding through his wild locks.

“Do I look alright?” he laughed dryly.

Ron brought the other teenager’s face up so that they were looking at each other. His fixating green eyes scanned over the face of his friend as if looking for some kind of clue or hidden secret. “No, but I wanted to check. Sometimes you do look fine and you’re really not. So I wanted to make sure that there wasn’t anything you wanted to talk about that you weren’t saying.”

“I-” Harry stopped. His mind seemed to be lagging behind in the conversation. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer that, or if it really needed an answer at all. Finally, he just sighed and said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever really be okay again.”

“It’s okay to not feel okay, and it’s okay to feel like you’re never going to return back to normal. You went through a lot, Harry,” Ron murmured. They were sitting up now so that they were side-by-side while facing the crackling fire. The redhead reached over and threaded their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over the other teen’s knuckles.

“I know. You say that all the time,” Harry mumbled. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the fire and back at his friend. Something inside of him just didn’t feel right.

“But I mean it this time. None of us were expecting you to handle today well, and I think the toad knew it too. That’s why she was egging you on and saying those horrible things about you lying,” Ron said, his voice trailing off at the end. A grimace crossed his face just at the thought of what their teacher had said.

“It’s… how am I supposed to deal with today? I would go and visit his grave, but I’m not allowed to leave the school grounds and his parents would be there because they’re always there and they don’t like me,” Harry began to ramble. He was worrying the edge of his vest in between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke. “I don’t know if I should be mourning, or celebrating, or what.”

“I don’t know either. I do know that I’m here for you,” he tried. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be saying here, but he knew that he wanted to make his best friend feel better. “You could always talk to me about him, or what today was like. It’s not like I was there to see you before or after the First Task.”

Harry laughed, “No, you were off being a git.”

“I was,” the redhead nodded in agreement.

The other teenager was quiet for a moment. He shifted around so that he was leaning into the warm body next to him. He placed his head on Ron’s shoulder as he began, “I don’t know. It doesn’t really feel like that all happened a year ago. It feels like both yesterday and another lifetime. We were both so filled with adrenaline that we were shaking. I could hear Fleur giggling every now and again in the medic tent too. I knew that we were all a little out of it, so I was kind of confused and skeptical when Cedric came up and asked me out. But it turned out to be really nice and I enjoyed it.”

“I know you did, because that was the first thing you told me about when we became friends again,” the redhead chuckled.

The painting into the common room swung open and the rest of their classmates began to file in. The class that they had left was the last of the day, so school must have been over entirely now. Ron dropped Harry’s hand and wrapped him up in a quick hug before his brothers started calling for him to go over and help them with some of the plans for their shop. Harry stared after him, a kind of wistful longing that he hadn’t felt in nearly a year taking over his heart.

“Harry!” Hermione squeaked as she spotted him and rushed over. She flung her arms around him and brought him into a tight hug. “I was so worried that she was going to hurt you like she already had with how much shouting was going on. I would have left with Ron but you know how much I care about my grades and I didn’t want to miss any of those stupid assignments that she gives us or any of the weird requirements that she puts on them-”

“Hermione,” he reached his hand up and peeled her off of him, holding her at nearly an arm’s length. “It’s okay. I know that you get all panicky and flustered when you even think about getting bad grades. And Ron was here to help.”

She calmed down a bit and moved so that she was sitting with her legs crossed in front of him. “You two are getting even closer, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked as he began to worry the edge of his vest between his fingers again.

“I just mean- well it seems like the two of you- I’m just saying that I’ve noticed some similarities between how you act with him and-” she paused, her face going redder and redder as she tried to figure out how to say her thoughts without triggering another crying and depressive fit from her friend. “I don’t know. Today probably isn’t a good day to talk about it anyway.”

“Does this have something to do with Cedric?” Harry asked, immediately cluing into something now that she had said that. He was still completely unsure of what she meant overall, but that set off alarm bells in his head.

She hung her head, toying with her fingers. “I was just thinking that you and Ron act a lot like I remember you and Cedric acting.”

The thought almost made Harry want to laugh, but then the panic caught up with him. He couldn’t deny that fact that his feelings for Ron were incredibly in line, if not a bit different, than what he had with his now deceased boyfriend. After the sudden realization of his crush, guilt began to creep its way up his throat.

How could he do this to Cedric? The two of them had been so in love, and had enjoyed so many wonderful experiences and emotions with each other. Was it really fair of Harry to have fallen in love after so little time? Was he even ready to move on or have that kind of a relationship with someone again? He had been so fiercely and intensely in love with Cedric, his death had hurt so badly despite them not having been dating for very long. Would he be able to do that again if something happened to Ron because they were dating? Would he be willing to put his current best friend and crush into even more danger now that they were on the brink of war? He already wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Ron and Hermione due to their friendship with him, it would be so much worse if something happened to Ron because of a romance.

Hermione reached forward, placing her hand on his leg. “Harry? Are you okay?”

He jerked out of his thoughts like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time after being submerged under water. He blinked a few times as he tried to finish reeling and come back to reality. “I don’t think I’m ready for this, Hermione.”

She gave him the look that she had fine-tuned over their years of friendship. It was one where she brought her lips into a thin line, knitted her brows together, and somehow managed to look both worried and disappointed. She grasped his hand and looked into his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I know that there’s probably a couple of things. You’re probably worried about what Cedric would think of you moving on, and if you should be moving on at all. I can tell you that you should. He wouldn’t want you mourning over his death for the rest of his life. I’m not saying that you have to get over your sadness, or stop missing him. But you should keep stepping into the future. You deserve to be happy again, Harry. You’ve been through so much.”

He looked away from her, back the orange and yellow flames that were crackling away in the hearth. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

---

He was able to recognize the room fairly quickly. He had spent hours and hours of priceless time in it, and some of his best bittersweet memories had taken place within its walls. It was an old, unused classroom. There were chairs and desks stacked against the walls. There were also broken wands, cauldrons, and other miscellaneous items stuffed into another corner. A small smile graced his face as he turned and saw the half dozen pillows spread out over a blanket while tucked into the only corner that wasn’t otherwise occupied with things.

He hadn’t even thought about this place for months. He had been so preoccupied with his apparent feelings for Ron and the nightmares that still plagued him, that this haven of safety and tranquility had completely slipped his mind. Harry crossed the space between him and the blanket. He toed off his shoes when he reached the edge and then laid down. His fingers were threaded together behind his head as he stared up at the dusty ceiling, pleasant memories drifting across his mind.

“I know we went on a lot of dates, but this one was always my favorite,” a voice that he hadn’t heard in several months chuckled from next to him.

Harry quickly placed his hands next to him and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He turned and felt his eyes widen in shock. The man that he had been desperately in love with only months prior to his passing was sitting next to him. Cedric had his legs tucked underneath him and was picking tiny lint balls off of the blanket, something that he often did to keep his hands busy when they were spending time together.

“Cedric,” Harry breathed.

“Hello Harry,” he smiled back, though there was a kind of bitter sadness clinging to his eyes.

“I miss you so much,” he was unable to stop himself as he lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the other teenager. The Hufflepuff complied, bringing him even closer and holding him just like he used to.

“I know. You care so much for people. I noticed that when you began to fall in love with me. And I’ve seen it again as you’ve fallen in love with someone else,” Cedric pulled away and cupped Harry’s cheek with his hand.

“I- I haven’t,” the other teen shook his head in denial. “I haven’t fallen in love with anyone but you. I love you.”

“Harry,” the Hufflepuff stopped him. His eyes were fierce and caring. “I love you. I have since I met you before the World Cup. I love everything about you. I love how passionately you do things, how stubborn you are when you witness injustice, and especially how wonderful and caring you are when you finally let someone in. I can love all of these things about you and still understand that it’s time for you to move on. I’m not here anymore,” he placed Harry’s hand on his chest while also holding his wrist as he had already moved his own hand from his other boyfriend’s face.

“I don’t want to move on from you. I love you.”

“I know that you love me. It’s fine to love me, and to never stop loving me. I’m not asking that of you. I’m asking you to let new love into your life,” Cedric murmured as he placed their foreheads together. “I want you to be able to have a full and happy life, even if you can’t have that with me. Please just be willing to let new people into your life the same way that you let me into your life.”

“I can’t,” he choked out. The tears were streaming down his face and he was quivering a bit. This almost felt like a rejection. How could the love of his life be telling him that he had to let go of what they had?

“You can. Harry, you’re so strong. I believe that you can let love in again,” Cedric kissed his forehead.

The fabric that he had been clinging to withered away and disappeared in his hand. He was sitting back on the blanket spread out on the floor, completely alone. He wrapped his arms around his legs and cried. It felt like he was losing his lover all over again. How could Cedric expect him to move on?

Let new love in.

Harry had already done that, hadn’t he? The thought both made his heart ache and flutter. He had already let a new love in, but he didn’t feel like he had really lost the love that he had for his now deceased boyfriend. Perhaps he really could move on and be in love with someone else, without betraying the old love that he had been clinging to for months now.

---

Harry had just finished changing after Quidditch practice. He tugged on his shirt sleeve as he got the cuff to come all the way down over his wrist while he walked. His bag was slung over his shoulder and bumping against his leg every time he moved his right leg. Behind him, someone called his name. He turned around, placing his hand around the handle of his bag so that he could keep it in place a bit easier.

His stomach did a somersault as he saw a head full of bright red hair and the goofy grin of his best friend rushing over the green. “Hey Ron,” he greeted, trying to stop the nervousness from bubbling up inside of him.

“So, I had something kind of serious that I wanted to talk to you about, but I wanted to make sure that you were okay with talking first,” he grinned, shifting back and forth awkwardly.

“I-yeah, I can talk,” Harry nodded.

The redhead offered him a nervous smile before he began speaking, “Okay, so Hermione did that thing where she sits you down like she’s going to lecture a child the other day and she told me something that kind of confused me? I thought that this could either be her reading more into things that she could, or it could be something actually good for me but either way I decided that this should be something that I actually talk to you about. Well, she told me that I needed to do it or she wouldn’t help me figure out what the Toad wants us to do in that forty page essay. Um, I guess what I’m trying to say is that Hermione told me that you have feelings for me? I thought that it was weird at first and her doing the thing where she decides that someone meant something or that they really want this the same way that she forced all of the house elves to have hats to try and free them,” he took a deep breath but kept going.

“And I think that if you have feelings for me that’s really great because I also fell in love with you. I know that I’m actually in love with you and I don’t just have a crush on you because this doesn’t feel the same way as it did with Viktor. I know that you probably don’t feel like you can ever love again given what happened with your first relationship, but I just wanted you to know that I love you, Harry. If you don’t actually have feelings for me and Hermone was just spouting nonsense again then I’m really sorry to be putting this on you when you already have so much going on but I think it’s more fair to both of us that you know. I don’t want things between us to change in a bad way, and I certainly don’t want to lose what we have. That time last year when I was being a prat was just the worst and I couldn’t bear to lose you again. I’m sorry if this is making things awkward-”

Before he could get another word out, the Chosen One took a few steps forward. He wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck and brought their lips together. The three actions took less than a second, but time seemed to slow down to a crawl once they had been finished.

The trick had worked, as Ron’s nervous tirade had completely stopped. The redhead stood there, dumbfounded for a moment as his mind reeled just like Harry’s had moments before. When he finally caught up with what was happening, his eyes fluttered shut and his hands moved up to the other man’s waist.

Their lips moved back and forth together in an awkward, slightly out of sync pattern. They were both obviously new to this, with both of them only having snogged a few people in the past, but they cared enough about each other that they were willing to try. When they pulled apart, they stood there for a moment with Ron’s hands on Harry’s hips, and their foreheads pressed together softly.

“Does-does this mean that you do have feelings for me?”

“What, do you need me to kiss you again to prove it?”

---

Ron felt his heart sink down into his stomach as he finished walking up the spiral staircase to their bedroom. Harry was sitting on his bed while staring down at his hands. They hadn’t had another incident like this in months, and it still broke his heart to know that his lover was hurting this badly. The redhead crossed over the space between them and got down on his knees in front of the other teen. “Harry?”

“Mm?” he responded, slowly coming out of his stupor as he looked up and at his boyfriend.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hands going to rest on the tops of Harry’s legs.

“I’m… thinking about Cedric,” he replied, shifting around nervously.

He didn’t say anything, just getting up from the floor and sitting on the bed so that they were next to each other. He reached his hand over and placed it on his lover’s leg, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Today is the one year anniversary of him passing away, isn’t it?”

Harry only nodded, tears and grief choking in his throat so he couldn’t get any words out. Ron grasped his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You want to do something to take your mind off of it? It’s still a Hogsmeade weekend and if we left now we could get there before they stop letting anyone through.”

“I think… I think I would like that,” he nodded after a moment of thinking.

The redhead stood up with a grin on his face. It was soft and compassionate, not overbearing and forcefully cheery like some of the other people Harry had dealt with. He grasped his boyfriend’s hand and walked out with him once they had both gotten their cloaks and shoes on. They were able to just make it down to the gates going to the magical town before they closed.

They walked hand in hand through the shops, stopping at all of their favorites. They were able to eat something and get a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks before they loaded up their pockets with all the sweets they wanted from the sweets shop. Normally they tried to limit themselves, but this was a special occasion. They were able to pass by the stuffy book store that Hermione always dragged them into, though Ron made a note that they needed to buy her something for her birthday that summer and she had mentioned a book in there that she wanted. Their final destination was the quidditch shop. It was considerably smaller than the one in Diagon Alley, but it was still big enough to carry some of the merchandise from the more famous teams as well as all of the teams that played for the UK.

Harry wandered over to the section where they carried some merchandise for the Hogwarts teams. It seemed kind of stupid, but they still enjoyed getting decked out in their house colors for each of the games. The Chosen One drifted to the section for Hufflepuff, looking over the yellow and black until his eyes found a commemorative pin for Cedric.

“Hey,” Ron whispered as he walked up behind his boyfriend. He placed a hand on Harry’s side and brought him into a kind of half-hug. “Do you want it?”

He looked over the pin. It was in the likeness of a snitch, with Cedric filling in the circular part. He was beaming and happy, just like he was when he won every match other than the one where Harry fell off his broom. It made his heart ache, but at the same time it settled a kind of calmness and tranquility over him.

“Yes.”

That was all his redheaded boyfriend needed to hear as he gently took the pin from the other teenager. He paid for it, along with another one of the obnoxiously orange Chudley Cannons broaches to go on his school bag. Harry stayed quiet as he watched his boyfriend pay for both of the pins and then walked out with him. Before they carried down the damp path that would lead them back to the school, Ron turned so that they were facing each other.

“This date can be in honor of Cedric. We’ll always remember him,” he said softly as he pinned the broach onto Harry’s cloak lapel.

The younger of the two felt his heart swell in his chest as he looked up at the freckled face of his boyfriend. “Keep this up and I’m going to fall even more in love with you.”

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