#that he spends everyday thinking of what he would say if Grant came home how he would convince him to stay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelisverba · 3 years

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thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

* * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n.

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

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

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

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

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tenswrld · 3 years

Text

old enough to understand

mark lee x reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff

summary: now that you’re older, you seem to finally understand how mark makes you feel

a/n: came up with this at 2am while listening to my mark lee dedicated playlist and pluto projector came on and u already know that one part made me emotional also do u like my doodles i made on the photo ^^

growing up, you were surrounded by the concept of love. you witnessed it with your parents, when you got your first pet, and even when you took your first bite into your favorite fruit.

when you first met mark lee at the age of 6, you didn’t think that the word love would apply to him. at least, not in the way that you knew it.

“no! it’s mine, i don’t want to give you any!” the young boy yelled.

“you can just go get more! i just want some watermelon!” you screamed back.

“go get some yourself!”

angry, you stomped away towards the table of adults. “mrs. lee, mark won’t give me a piece of his watermelon.”

the older woman laughed softly before getting up and leading you to the table of fruit. “forgive him, watermelon is his favorite. i’ll be sure to make sure he shares next time, okay?”

while you ate your own fruit alone in the grass, mark came up to you scratching his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “i’m sorry for being rude...i just really like watermelon...”

you narrowed your eyes at him before bursting into a fit of giggles, offering your own watermelon out to him. “it’s okay, mark, i like watermelon too. i understand.” he took the piece that you held out to him and took a seat next to you.

when you first met mark, you didn’t think anything of him except for that he was the dorky boy next door who seemed to reserve the concept of love for his favorite fruit.

in middle school, you and mark seemed to clash heads more often than not, and you found it hard to stick around him. desperate to seem cool in front of the new friends that he made, mark steered away from you and teased you whenever he saw you in the halls. you almost despised him in your middle school years, but no matter how much teasing he did mark always waited for you outside of the school gates and walked you home safely.

though he was still unsure of the role you had in his life, mark knew that he wanted to keep you around.

in high school, your parents fantasized about the idea of the two of you dating, but you and mark always recoiled at the thought. friend groups and social status set you and mark even further apart and before you knew it you became a messenger to girls who wanted mark to call their own. when you got your first boyfriend in sophomore year, mark tried to warn you that the guy was no good, but like always you never listened to him. when he broke your heart, you expected mark to scold you and tell you he told you so, but he provided you comfort in his arms instead.

though he didn’t love you then, mark vowed that he would never let your heart get broken again.

when it came time for you and mark to go off to college, you found yourself a lot more upset than you had initially thought you would be. you were excited to go off and find yourself elsewhere, but something about not having the silly, brown haired boy by your side 24/7 felt strange. granted, you two weren’t as close as your six year old self thought you would be, but you found that you and mark held a special type of bond that you feared you wouldn’t find anywhere else.

you still hadn’t figured out your love for mark lee, but you knew that leaving him was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

“just...promise to call often, okay?” you told him as you walked with him to his car, a box of his things in your arms.

mark’s lips curled up into a smug smile. “why? gonna miss me that much?”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re making me regret saying that. you’ll be lucky if i don’t block you after this, idiot.”

mark laughed loudly and you found yourself smiling softly at the sound. you placed the box in his truck before you both turned to each other. “i’ll text you everyday and call when i can. don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily. you’ll probably be hearing about my uncontrollable gas everyday so if that’s not what you’re looking for then...”

you laughed and shoved his shoulder, mumbling for him to shut up. “it’s gonna be weird without you, i think.”

mark shrugged. “yeah, well, we’ll see each other again. just think about it like that time where you got so mad at me for blowing up your house in minecraft that you ignored me for a week!”

mark expected you to laugh but became concerned when he saw your lip quivering and your eyes threatening to spill tears. “y/n? sorry, is that, like, a sensitive memory?”

when you suddenly wrapped your arms around his torso and mumbled a soft ‘i’ll miss you’ into his chest, mark cursed at himself for being the first one to fall in love.

___

“isn’t it like 4am for you? you should go to bed,” you scolded him half heartedly. you sat at your vanity on facetime with a sleepy mark as you did your nightly skincare routine.

mark groaned through the phone and shook his head. “but i wanna talk to you,” he whined groggily. “i miss you.”

your cheeks heat up and you smiled shyly. “i miss you too, mark.”

mark blinked slowly with a tired look, his hair all messed up and his face in need of a shave. he watched you silently as you rubbed your moisturizer into your skin, smiling at the sight. “...you’re really pretty you know that?”

you froze and chuckled nervously, keeping yourself busy with your moisturizer so you didn’t have to see the way mark was looking at you. “you’re talking nonsense again.”

he grumbled, “i’m not talking any nonsense. you’re so pretty, y/n, i miss seeing your face. i hate facetime and my shit wifi.”

“you’re rambling, marky, go to bed,” you ushered him, this time grabbing your phone to look at him.

he smiled fondly at you. “i like it when you call me marky.”

“okay, i’ll call you it more if you go to bed.”

mark huffed and complied, bidding you one last goodbye. “fine. i miss you so much, y/n, call me tomorrow.”

“okay, i will.”

“promise?” mark asked softly, peeking open one eye to look at you.

“i promise, you big baby.”

“okay, goodnight. love you,” mark mumbled softly into his pillow, already half asleep.

your breath hitched in your throat at his words. you two hardly ever said that phrase to each other but you began to realize that nowadays mark seemed to say it quite often. before, you’d probably make a face in disgust at the cheesiness, but now it only made your stomach sick with butterflies.

“yeah, love you too, marky. sleep tight.”

already fast asleep, mark stayed silent. your thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button, but you waited a few more seconds just to look at how peaceful mark looked. you could see the sky turning from a dark black to a paler blue from his window, making you frown since the boy had stayed up so late. before you could look at him any longer, you ended the call and sat back in your chair.

loving mark lee had always seemed impossible to you, but now you realized that it was the one thing that you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

___

you spent a lot of time thinking about your feelings for mark while you were away and most of it was you being in denial. you thought that maybe it was just because you weren’t used to being so far away from him, but deep down you knew otherwise. your friends had tried setting you up on blind dates, yet no one seemed to fill in the gap that you felt you had in your heart.

after you finished your first year of college, your mother began to pester you about having a boyfriend for you to bring home for the holidays. yet no matter how many guys you thought about, your mind would always bring you back to mark.

it was now christmas time and your family and mark’s family were going to have a small get together, meaning that you and mark would get to spend time with each other in person again. you weren’t sure if you should tackle mark at the sight of him, but you figured he would do the same to you anyway.

“y/n, sweetheart! my gosh, it’s been so long! you’ve grown up so well,” mark’s mother cooed as she gave you a warm hug.

you chuckled and returned her hug, replying with, “thank you, mrs. lee. it’s nice to see you again.”

she playfully nudged your shoulder. “any boyfriend yet?”

you laughed awkwardly and shook your head, looking away. “oh, um, no...not yet.”

she beamed. “mark will be happy to hear that.” she said it so fast that you almost didn’t catch it. “he’s out back waiting for you. i told him i’d tell him when you got here, but it’ll be a nice surprise for him,” she winked.

you thanked her briefly before making your way to the backyard excitedly. you thought that you’d be more nervous facing the boy you loved but, frankly, all you wanted to do was finally tell him that you loved him.

when you opened the door mark immediately turned his head, expecting to see his mom, but his facial expression completely changed when he saw you. he ran up to you with the brightest smile on his face and engulfed you into his arms. you laughed joyously into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as humanly possible.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that,” he mumbled into your hair.

you smiled against his shoulder before pulling away to look at him. the two of you held eye contact for what felt like an eternity before mark finally returned his arms back to his side.

“even though we call everyday, it feels like i’m meeting you for the first time all over again,” mark said with a light laugh.

“i hope i lived up to your expectations, then,” you joked.

mark smiled fondly at you before brushing snow out of your hair. “definitely above expectations.”

you blushed at his comment but thanked the cold weather for hiding your rosy cheeks. before you could make more small talk, mark burst out into another sentence.

“y/n, i have to get this off of my chest before i explode,” he blurted.

your eyes widened and you nodded your head. “oh, um, okay, what is it?”

he gripped at his hair and turned around, beginning to whine. “oh my god, i’m gonna sound like the biggest idiot on earth. please don’t hate me after this.”

“...what did you do, mark?”

“i didn’t do anything! well...” he faced you again with a sigh and grabbed your hands taking you by surprise. “y/n, i’m in love with you. and i know you probably just see me as that stupid annoying boy your mom forced you to be friends with but i’ve loved you for over a year and it’s driving me crazy and i-”

“mark!” you interrupted him, placing a hand over his mouth. he looked at you with wide eyes while you smiled at him, practically glowing with happiness. you removed your hand from over his mouth and he sighed again.

“just reject me so i can go cry in my room.” mark shut his eyes and prepared himself for rejection but it never came.

“i love you too, mark.”

mark opened one at to stare at you suspiciously. “...really? like, seriously?”

you chuckled. “yes, really. for a few months now.”

“wait, you’re not pranking me or anything, right?” mark asked with a small laugh.

you glared at him. “mark...”

“i’m sorry, i’m just really surprised!” mark opened his mouth to say something but then gasped and dug into his back pocket to grab something.

when he pulled out a small piece of mistletoe you seemed to fall in love with the brunette boy all over again. he grabbed one of your hands and gently pulled you closer to him, using the other hand to hold the mistletoe over your guys’ heads.

“i brought this just in case. i know that you’ve always fantasized about a moment like this so...” he said sheepishly. “kiss me?”

you laughed and brushed his hair out of his eyes before cupping his cheeks and placing a soft kiss on his lips. you felt him smile into the kiss, making you laugh and pull away.

“been waiting for that one too, huh?” you teased.

mark waved the mistletoe above the two of you and shook his head. “less talking and more kissing please...”

it took you over 10 years for you to realize that you loved mark lee but, if you had to, you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark lee oneshot #mark lee fluff #NCT #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct oneshot #im so bad at writing confession scenarios im so sorry #superm #mark lee oneshots

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universalistotalis · 3 years

Text

You fool

Gojo Satoru x Fem reader

Angst

1.7k words

Masterlist!!!

“Do you Y/n, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?” Your eyes glowed as you looked at the love your life standing in front of you. This feeling of elation was something you never thought of experiencing in the past but here you are, fueled by passion and love for the person made for you.

“I do.” Your voice echoed in the venue.

Gojo Satoru’s dazzling eyes burned on your form as he too was fueled with the same passion and love for only you. The both of you had been through so much together. And as his sight was fixated with the image of your eyes, he can’t help but have a trip down to memory lane.

La la la la

La la la la la la ~

Gojo’s voice echoed the halls playfully as you walked down the makeshift aisle lined with a red carpet in one of the hotels you both went to. The sides were designed with white and pastel colors of cloth, dotted with pink roses and yellow daisies. No one was around the marriage booth exhibit so the both of you, being the wacky couple that you were, barged in and played pretend.

Although this wasn’t pretend for Gojo. He may be smiling as if he was about to share a joke but his heart was beating like crazy while he’s looking at you, walking to him, who’s standing in front of the printed altar. He was singing the Bridal Chorus but stopped as you made your way in front of him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, babe.” He whispered as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

He was delighted as you blushed dangerously at his words. After all these years, you were still affected by his charms.

“Y-you’re not bad yourself.” You stuttered.

He laughed loudly at how cute you were being. It amazed him at how comfortable you were in his presence now. In the past, you could barely look at him in the eye, let alone talk to him... but now look at you!

Your chuckles mixed with his in the silence. After catching your breath, your eyes scanned the vicinity before pulling one of his hands. “C’mon, Satoru. We have to go.”

You expected him to agree and walk away with you to another place but he held his place, a foreign smile formed on his lips. It was not the playful smirk you were so accustomed to seeing, but it was so sincere, so full of love that you stared at it for a while. His hands removed the blindfold that covered his eyes and you silently gasped at the sparkles in them as the light illuminated the magnificent pale blue orbs. Then, he encased your hands in his before he took a deep breath and said…

“I love you. I thank all the gods everyday because out of the billions of people they built, they led me to you. I’m so glad I found you.”

“I mean you have six eyes so…” You snorted, even though you felt electrifying tingles from your head all the way to the tips of your toes.

He laughed again and hissed. “Stop ruining the moment!”

“Okay, okay. Continue, my lord.” You bowed respectfully, playfully.

He chuckled once more and hooked your chin on his fingers. “This. The way you make me laugh, the way you make me this happy, it’s enough… more than enough for me to stay and fight for you. Sometimes I wonder if it ever is legal for someone to be so perfect. You understand all parts of myself that I don't even notice. When you look at me, you don’t see that all powerful being everyone is talking about. You see me… the real me.”

A sigh escaped his lips, his eyes gloss over his thoughts. “I can never let them take you away from me. They’ve taken so much already and I am not going to just stand here and lose you.”

“Satoru—“

You suddenly felt a pang in your chest and the rapid fatigue overcome your body. After all the fun and games, you two were still in hiding. Hiding from the world, hiding from his family, both of which would never see you as a worthy match for the most powerful sorcerer of all time. He was destined for someone greater, someone better, someone of another godly descent! They didn’t care if she wasn’t born yet or was still wandering the streets of the world, clueless of his existence, but they are sure as hell that it wouldn’t and can’t be someone like you. Over their dead bodies!

Sometimes you believed them. You let their words and judgments cloud your mind but before they can take over, his voice guides you out.

His grip tightened on your fingers, eyes finding yours and holding your gaze. “I will not lose you. You’re the only right thing in my world and I intend to keep you with me for as long as I shall live. You showed me the love I never thought I deserved. You showed me immense kindness that I never thought someone could possess. You made me believe in the good. You gave me a reason to live everyday with a purpose in my head. You keep me sane. Alive. Free.”

“Oh Satoru.” You smiled through your tears at his revelation.

“I’d choose to spend all my infinities with you. No pun intended.” He joked, even when there were tears brimming in his eyes.

“I’d gladly spend them with you too.” You whispered, marveling at the warmth of his hands, wiping the tears away, erasing all the pain of the past, of the judgments and hurt…

“Stay with me.” He whispered back but you hear the tone of desperation in his voice. He was no fool. He could see you cracking at all the comments of his family and strangers alike. He would always thank you for being strong and for holding on…

You sighed as his lips found yours. Warmth coursed through your veins as you felt his soft breath brush your face. This is what home felt like. Suddenly, his tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip, asking you to give him entrance to the warm interior. And you did. It was a desperate kiss of tongue and teeth clashing, of heavy breaths and tight grips. There were no inhibitions, no doubts. You both were so in love with each other, refusing to let one another go, refusing to leave each other’s sides…

But eventually, both of you faded. There were trying times, too much of trying times actually… and you two are but victims to emotions, and it came to a point where love just wasn’t enough. So you let each other go, breathe, and fly away.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The pastor announced.

Gojo had to look away from the sight of you landing your lips on another, other than his. He thought he was going to be alright when the both of you agreed to go on separate ways. He reasoned that you both needed to grow in your respective fields, to grow as a person. He deluded himself that you could only do this when you both were away from each other. And maybe after, you can both come back to each other's arms but he knew that was too much to ask.

He was the one who kept asking you to shun out the harsh words from everybody even though he knew how much pain you had to endure. Now, he can’t help but feel guilty as he was the one who got swallowed up by those judgments until it ate him whole. It was supposed to be you and him against the world but he turned against you too.

The pain in your eyes were unbearable when he said his goodbyes. What happened to his speeches about making you stay with him? What happened to his promise of protecting you from all the barriers that separated you from one another? What happened to his love for you?

“Gojo sensei.” Megumi called while patted his back. “Are you alright?”

Gojo pushed his dark- rimmed glasses to the bridge of his nose while displaying a playful smirk. “Of course! I’m so happy for her! Look at them! Such a lovely couple!”

His blood boiled at the sight of you. He preferred to be battling cursed spirits than to be in this damned wedding. But he had to see you. He had to see if you were alright. He had to see that you were truly happy without him.

“That should have been me, Megumi.” He whispered to the man beside him.

“You’re crazy, sensei.” Megumi scoffed.

He chuckled. “No, no, I’m serious! I was supposed to propose to her that day! Can you believe it?!"

“Sensei—“

“This ring…” Gojo’s fingers reached for his pocket where he fetched a dazzling, silver, and diamond band with both your names engraved in it. “...is supposed to be resting on her finger, not that trashy one the other bastard got her.”

He sighed. “I never knew why I postponed though. Live in the moment, my ass! I'll do it next time, my ass! I'll make it the grandest, my ass! Look where she is now!"

"Hush!" Megumi's hands flew to his babbling mouth that was shouting all of his regrets.

Gojo's body deflated at the millions of ways he could have done the proposal right even when it's now useless to think of. "Maybe I took her presence for granted. Maybe I thought that she would always be there. Maybe I thought she would never leave. Maybe I thought that she would want to spend all her infinities with me.” His voice faltered at the end as he heard your voice saying the same words.

His eyes closed shut, remembering the promises you made to each other. “She meant it though when she said that. And when she said she loved me. She was so ready to be with me, so ready to fight for me. I’m the fool for letting her go.”

Megumi’s eyes filled with concern for his teacher, much like an older brother. He has never seen him at this state, all weak to the knees.

“Say, Megumi- chan.” Gojo’s lopsided smirk appeared again but everybody knows he’s not in the mood for any jokes.

“Yeah?”

“Does she look genuinely happy?” He asked, staring into the void.

Megumi’s eyes trailed from Gojo to you, who was smiling dearly at your beloved husband as you shared a dance in this reception. Your eyes were visibly twinkling under the lights and you looked like you can’t see anybody but the person in front of you.

“Yes, she does.” He replied.

“Then, let’s go.” He smiled sadly before sighing defeatedly. The ring was again tucked in his pockets, hidden, never to be seen by you, worn by you, cherished by you.

As he walked out of the doors, he took one last glance at the love of his life.

“If I could, I’d carve all the roads of infinity to lead you back to me. Maybe by then, I could have a chance with you again. I love you, I always will.”

His footsteps led him away from the venue. Away from you. But his heart stayed in your presence and his mind repeated the same thing over and over again.

Gojo Satoru, you fool.

---

Just painted Gojo Satoru and my head was like, "Why not write angst about this guy?" Lol

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hope you're all okay!

Reblogs are appreciated! <3

Masterlist!!! Read more here hihihi

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whorefordazai · 3 years

Note

Hey thereeee, your headcanons with s/o being a parental figure to Q just slapped me with a big fat UWU (also, maaaybe the reason why Chuuya puts up and tends to Q is because they were granted an ability that drove people away from them and only used Q as a weapon and took advantage of their ability, just like Chuuya when he was young, im crying- im just gonna say my request before I sob on this for a week straight haha)

If it is not too much, I was wondering how Dazai and Fyodor (separately) would react to s/o pampering them and taking care of them after a bad/busy day from work? So if it's alright can I have some headcanons?

They're both the same breed of bastards but I have a soft spot for them and wanna shower them with love and affection, like maybe making their fav dish and drying their soft fluffy hair for them while giving em soft kisses??? Anything fluffy goes, I just *holds them close. I just wanna take care of em.

Thank you! I also completely agree on the Q thing. sobbing🙏 alright, time to write about my favorite mass murderers🤩

s/o pampering their boyfriend

ft. dazai | fyodor x gn! reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

Dazai

Dazai exhaled with a quiet groan, taking off his coat and placing it on the chair. Today had been a particular pain-in-the-ass day for him.

He was solving a case with Kunikida, and they had won. Unfortunately, he was beaten up quite bad. That was one of the disadvantages to his ability-Yosano couldn’t heal him.

“Osamu? You’re home.” Your voice called out, a smile tugging on your lips. But it quickly dimmed when you saw your boyfriend’s beaten up body.

His mouth formed into a serene smirk. He held out his arms like a little kid, still sitting on the chair. You chuckled and gladly walked to him.

“Ah, darling. I’m so happy to see you.” Dazai mumbled, nuzzling into your stomach. His hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“I made your favorite dish, crabs. Why don’t you go take a shower first?” You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair.

“oO see, I would take a shower buutt...I can’t leave any lovely darling all alone, can I? Plus, crabs are waiting for me I-!”

His words were immediately silenced when you smashed your lips onto his. His hands made their way to your cheeks, caressing the skin under your eye.

After a few moments, you pulled back to see a very stunned Dazai.

You laughed and pat his cheek. “We’ll continue this after you take a shower and eat dinner.”

His eyes blinked a couple times, registering what had just happened. Eagerly grinning, he furiously nodded his head and zoomed to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, you brought out two glasses of wine to drink later on.

Walking out of the shower, Dazai took in the familiar smell of the crab he enjoyed so much.

“Hey, your hair is still wet.” You eyed your boyfriend, grabbing the towel in his hands and motioning him to sit down on the chair.

He smirked, obeying your orders. You took the towel and began drying his wet hair. It was silent between you two, except for Dazai humming his signature suicide anthem.

Without saying much, you set the towel down and hung your arms over his shoulders. You peppered soft kisses on the back of his neck.

The mood was just right...

Until Dazai’s stomach let out a grumble of hunger ಥ‿ಥ

“Let’s eat now.” You laughed, ruffling his hair. Dazai jokingly frowned, crossing his arms and pouting to the side. A mischievous smirk played across his lips.

“Fine. But I’m getting my way with you once this is over.”

I know these aren’t exactly headcannons, but I just couldn’t help myself😭

Fyodor

It wasn’t everyday that your boyfriend came home pissed off and in a bad mood.

Because usually, all his plans went well seeing as though he was the smartest out there (or so he loves to say...and you believe him)

The days where he comes home in a bad mood, you know exactly how to help him.

Make him his favorite Russian dish🥰!

Although Fyodor would never admit it, he loves it when you pamper him. He finds it so strange how you care enough to memorize his favorite food, how he likes to spend time, and all the details he thought were so pointless.

“Ah, Fyodor. You’re home.” Your warm smile greets him as he walks into the room.

“Hello, my love...” his eyes soften as he places his hands on either sides of your cheeks, putting a light kiss on your forehead.

“Hm...is that my favorite dish I smell?” He perks up at the wonderful aroma surrounding the both of you.

The two of you have a wonderful dinner. Afterwards, Fyodor takes a bath.

There’s a catch though🥰

You and him always take any chance you get to take a bath together. It’s not even sexual sometimes, it’s just the two of you facing each other in a warm bubble bath.

It’s the only time he’ll ever take off his hat💩💓

He’d love it if you washed his hair for him. Massaging his scalp with your hands, soap duds surrounding the both of you.

He’d let you place soft kisses everywhere on his face or neck (it makes him feel really loved)

You’re glad you get to see this special side of Fyodor that no one else in the world does🤫

You’d pat his hair dry with a towel, his back leaning against your chest on the bed. On the days he’s too tired to play his cello, the two of you snuggle up in bed with the lights off.

I don’t see Fyodor as much of a cuddler per say, but I definitely think he’d hold you close to his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist.

Like I said before, Fyodor always finds it strange how you manage to do so much for him even though you’re not obliged to. He’s never had anyone care about him as much as you do.

He’s not used to affection but if it’s coming from you, he’ll gladly take it🥰

#bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazai headcanons #dazai imagines #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor headcanons #dazai x reader

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indiee19 · 3 years

Text

Coax Me Out Of My Low

Alex Turner x reader

Summary: You comfort (Humbug!) Alex

warnings: insecurities, slightly suggestive

Word count: 1629

A/N: not really a big fan of this one, but it’ll do. Also, I haven’t proof read it soooo

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You stood in the kitchen, snacking on some chips, wondering when Alex would be home. You missed him a lot, even if he was only gone for a day.

Without him home there really was nothing for you to do to pass the time quickly. The only things that seemed to pass the time to some extent was to either eat your heart out or to sleep. Not that you minded doing those things, but you would get bored just sitting, eating, sleeping, watch tv, repeat.

The door opening and closing snapped you out of your thoughts, Alex was finally home.

You put your nearly empty family sized bag of chips, that you didn't mean to nearly finish in an hour, down and walked over to Alex who was taking off his shoes and jacket.

His hair looked ever so amazing, long, fluffy, and soft. You would run your fingers through forever if you could. His white button up untucked from his trousers as normal, two buttons undone at the top. His trousers perfectly accentuating his slim figure. Nearly the same Alex that you saw everyday. Except for one thing, his smile was gone. Normally he would come home with this big beautiful smile that could cheer anyone up on any bad day. But, not today.

"Hey, Alex, how was your day?" You asked, hopefully to figure out what was wrong with him at the moment. He hesitantly replied, "Yeah, love, it was - it was good. Just like yesterday and all the other days before."

He walked past you, normally he would give you a kiss after not seeing you the whole day but he barely acknowledged you now.

You started to wonder if you had done something to upset him, that could be the only reason he was being like this, right?

You walked into the living room to see if he was there, he wasn't. That's when you heard the shower running upstairs. You decided not to go up there for privacy reasons and for him to have some space, alone time.

Forty-five minutes passed before the shower had stopped. When he didn't come down immediately you assumed that he was drying his hair with the new hairdryer that you'd just bought for yourself and occasionally, him. But, the dryer sound didn't echo through the house like it normally did which led you to two conclusions. That one, he didn't wash his hair since you're not supposed to do it every night and he washed it the previous night, or two, he didn't care about it being dry at the moment.

You decided to go upstairs, looking in the bathroom to find him laying on your side of the bed on his back, left arm by his side the other on his stomach, hair dry just like your first thought.

You walked over to him and sat down beside him. "You alright, Al?" You questioned him, rubbing his arm comfortingly. He was dressed for bed in only his sweatpants.

"Yes," he said nonchalantly, not looking at you or acknowledging you beyond that.

"Are you sure, because you didn't seem like it when you got home," you questioned him further, taking his right hand in yours, trying to interlock fingers with him.

He didn't answer you nor interlock his fingers, pulling his hand away from your. "Al," you said, trying to get him to talk to you.

"Alex, Alexander, please answer me, I just want to know if you're-" you tried to say but he cut you off.

"I'm fine alright, now go!" He yelled, motioning his hand for you to leave the room.

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes and got up, walking out of your bedroom. He had never yelled at you before which made you all the more confused. You walked to the guest bedroom, which was just down the hall from yours and Alex's bedroom, locked the door, laid down on the bed, hoping that Alex would calm down.

You laid there for a few minutes, you tried to take a nap, hoping that you could forget what had happened, but when you tried to, Alex knocked on the door. "Love, will you - will you let me in, please?" He asked from outside.

"Are you going to yell at me again?" You said under your breath, thinking that he wouldn't hear you, but he did. "Love, please. I'm sorry for yelling. Just let me in and we'll talk," he replied.

You scoffed and sat up, walking to the door and unlocking it to be met with Alex's big, adorable chocolate brown doe eyes. You walked back to the bed and sat on it crossed legged. Alex sat down beside you, pulling you in for a small hug, kissing your head.

"I'm so, so sorry for yelling at you, love," he said, pulling you closer to him. "When I saw that you 'ad tears in your eyes, I knew I did summat wrong."

"Did I do something wrong?" You questioned, looking up at him. He shook his head, "No, love."

"Then why are you acting like this? You've never yelled at me, you always tell me about things. Tell me what's wrong, baby," you replied, pushing some hair back that had fallen into his eyes.

"I-I don't - it's just. . . . . it just feels like I'm not good enough, you know. It feels like I can't do anything. Feels like I can't write fucking songs. I-I mean I can write songs, but they're all absolute shite, he explained. "And sometimes I feel as if I'm not good enough for you and that one day while I'm at the studio or while I'm on tour, you'll meet this better looking guy and you'll pack up and leave without telling me and I'll come home to an empty house."

You could've cried at the words he was saying, you would never leave him why would he think that? And his songs were most definitely not shite. "Oh, baby, come here," you said, hugging him tightly, his head buried in the crook of your neck. You kept hearing him mumble things but couldn't quite make them out.

He laid down and you followed, cuddling up to his side. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You asked after a while, slightly sitting up. Right now you would literally do anything to make him happy. "I don't know. I just really need motivation, I guess," he replied.

You thought for a moment, an idea coming to you not long after.

"I could be your motivation," you suggested, hoping that would work. "No, I couldn't do that to you," he said.

"But I want to. Please, for me," you insisted, batting your eyes at him, knowing that he couldn't resist you whenever you did that. "Fine, but just this once," he sighed. You smiled and sat on him to be situated in his lap. His hand came up to the zipper on the jacket you were wearing and slowly pulled it down, helping you take it off once he was down with the zipper, leaving you in your tank top.

You leaned down to kiss him, moving from his lips, to his jaw, then after pushing back his hair, his neck, choosing a spot and lightly sucking on it, staring a hickey. Once you were sure that a bruise had formed, you sat up to take off your shirt. But when you sat up, you noticed that Alex had tears in his eyes.

"Al, are you okay? Baby?" You quizzed, wiping the few tears that had rolled down his face. You moved off of him, bringing him in for a hug. He buried his head I your chest, letting all of the tears go. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cried, holding you tighter.

"For what, Al?" You asked, just wanting him to be okay. "For not spending more time with you, a-and not not being the best boyfriend, and taking you for granted," he said, crying even more.

"Alex, listen to me," you stated, he looked up at you, his eyes red, his cheeks stained with tears. "You're an amazing boyfriend, you can't help that you have a busy schedule and you spend as much time with me as you can, and you don't take me for granted. You always do whatever it takes to cheer me up and you make me feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world," you explained to him, wiping his tears for hopefully the last time today.

"Thank you for that, love," he said, burying his head back into your chest. "Is there anything else I can do?" You asked. He replied saying something along the lines of 'just hold me for now.'

A few minutes later you decided to get up, lightly pushing Alex off of you. Once you were standing up, you turned around to see a confused and still slightly sad Alex. Looking at you with those big doe eyes he asked, "Where are you going, love?"

"Let's go lay down in our bedroom, okay?" You stated, holding your hand out for him to grab. "Okay," he nodded, grabbing your hand. You both walked down the hallway to your bedroom. Alex went to go lay down on the bed, confused again about why you didn't join him in the bed. He quickly found out though whenever you changed into his white, long sleeved shirt that he wore the previous day.

You walked to the bed and crawled under the covers with Alex right beside you, wrapping an arm across your stomach, kissing your collarbone lightly. "Goodnight, love. I love you so much," he said, now happier but sleepily. "Goodnight, Al. I love you too."

#alex turner smut #alex turner fluff #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #fluff #suggestive

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kung-laos-hat · 3 years

Text

Fool

Kung Lao x Fem!Reader

Warning: Contains major spoilers from Mortal Kombat 9, including quotes from the actual script. :) kinda follows the canon but also doesn’t considering this is an x reader ‼️Not Proof read yet‼️

AN: words of affirmation and acts of service love language goes brrrrr

Summary: Kung Lao is devastated that his best friend and the girl he loves get to complete in the tournament without him, so he does what any sane person does: sneaks his way onto the island and challenges Scorpion in an attempt to impress the reader :D

“We’ll be back before you know it, Lao.” (Y/n) said, placing a hand on Kung Lao’s shoulder.

He chuckled nervously and nodded, trying his best to seem at ease but the uncertainty in his eyes gave it all away. It didn’t matter how long they trained or how prepared the elder monks thought (Y/n) and Liu Kang were. (Y/n)’s attempts at comforting the young man were fruitless.

It wasn’t just that he was worried for his childhood friends’ safety. There was no denying that was definitely one of the reasons he was reluctant to see them off, but aside from that he was envious. And how could he not be? The two of them were chosen by the elder monks to represent their section in the tournament where some the greatest fighters would be present.

Sure, he always knew the elder monks would choose (Y/n). She was the perfect fighter in his eyes. (Y/n) was clever, cunning, and quick on her feet. It just made sense that she’d be the first choice.

However, that left that second slot open for debate, and the primary candidates were Liu and Lao. Now Kung Lao promised himself that no matter what the elder monks decided, he wouldn’t let that drive a wedge in his relationship with his cousin, and he’d been fairly true to his word so far. He was proud of Liu, really.

But time went on and Raiden suggested that it’d be best for Liu and (Y/n) to train together in private, allowing them to grow accustomed to each other’s moves, strengths, and weaknesses. This would come in handy if the two of them should ever find themselves in a position in which they had to fight opponents together. Of course, Liu and (Y/n) already had established a close friendship, but there was nothing wrong with a little refining.

Lao had no problem with this, that is, until the tournament grew closer, and he began to see less and less of the duo. (Y/n) in particular almost seemed to be avoiding him, but Kung Lao knew her better than to assume that was the case. Yes, Liu Kang and (Y/n) were close, but not as close as Kung Lao and (Y/n). The three of them were the best of friends since childhood, but Lao always felt like there was something special between him and (Y/n) that just wasn’t present in her relationship with Liu.

(Y/n) had her fair share of sneaking out, having midnight conversations, and causing mischief amongst the other pupils, with Liu, sure, but it was Kung Lao she always turned to when in need of comfort. Somehow (Y/n) preferred to talk about her problems with Lao, and boy did he love it when she did. It was like seeing a completely gentler, more authentic side of her.

Because of this, Lao simply noticed things about (Y/n) no one else did. He knew what made her happy, and when one night she expressed how anxious training made her, he began to go out of his way to do some of her daily chores along with his own or do little things such as make her a snack. Of course, his pride would never allow his to flat out tell her he’d be doing all of this just because.

No, it was always,

“I just happened to make too much to eat by myself.”

“Don’t look too deep into it. If I didn’t do your laundry for you, you’d probably let it lay around your room. Then you’d have nothing clean to wear and you’d start stealing my clothes.”

Soon enough, Lao’s thoughts were flooded with nothing but (Y/n), and everyday he was forced to remember that she and Liu Kang were spending more and more time together, and eventually would be sent off to potentially die. This not only rubbed salt in the wound of not being chosen, but created a new fear for the poor young man.

God, what if (Y/n)’s opponent didn’t spare her? Would Liu Kang or Raiden interject? Kung Lao knew he would. He’d do anything to keep her safe. Hell, he’d throw away his pride and get on his hands and knees to beg if it meant saving (Y/n).

Was that why Liu Kang was chosen and not him? Because he was a better match for (Y/n)? Did the elder monks think he was more capable than him than much? Or was it (Y/n) who chose Liu Kang to fight beside her?

Now here he stood before her, soaking in her presence potentially for the last time. (Y/n)’s hand lingered on his shoulder a little longer, then she signed and took both of his hands in her own.

“What is it?” She asked, looking up expectantly.

Lao blinked, “What?”

“You’ve got that look on your face. Y’know the one that screams ‘I’ve got something to say, but I’m a wuss so instead I’m going to dwell in my room immediately after you leave,’” (Y/n) teased.

Lao half smiled and pulled his arms away. “It’s nothing, I’m just worried for you two.”

(Y/n)’s face softened and she offered him a small smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. Liu Kang’s bad temper, maybe, but I’m sure I’ll be okay out there.” She opened her arms and embraced Lao, which he quickly accepted.

“After all,” (Y/n) said pulling away slightly and flicking the tip of Kung Lao’s hat, “I trained with the best.”

“We’ve got to get going!” Liu called out from a few feet away at the enterance of the temple.

With that, she placed a small kiss on Lao’s cheek and ran off to join him and Raiden.

“You better return in one piece!” Kung Lao called out jokingly.

“If I don’t, you better build me a cooler body!” (Y/n) laughed, waving her hand over her head.

With a flash of light, the three of them were gone.

___

So far the introduction to the tournament was running smoothly. (Y/n) had managed to hold pleasant conversations with a few other competitors, including one by the name Johnny Cage. (much to Liu Kang’s distain. Apparently Johnny had accidentally disrespected Raiden and was under the impression that everyone there was just really into roleplay. But aside from being a little arrogant, (Y/n) didn’t mind him.)

(Y/n) had been selected to do a quick demonstration fight against none other than Princess Kitana, who put up a good fight but in the end didn’t stand a chance against her. While the princess laid half on the ground, (Y/n) was given the option to either finish her off or spare her. Despite (Y/n) choosing mercy, Kitana didn’t take this defeat well, but did her best to maintain her composure as the two retreated inside to tend to their wounds.

“...Why did you—,” Kitana began in a low whisper. (Y/n) turned to her and helped her hand, palm out, in front of her chest.

“You’re an excellent fighter. One with true talent, princess, believe me.” (Y/n) chuckled, “To take a life such as yours would be a waste. Don’t let one little defeat become a deterrence.”

The ghost of a smile graced Kitana’s lips. “You know, you’re a fool to be so kind to your enemies. The next time we meet might not be under such pleasant circumstances.”

(Y/n) huffed, “A fool, yes, but at the very least I’ll be remembered for it.”

———

The fighting continued on without the two girls for a while until Shang Tsung granted an intercession. (Y/n) made her way to Liu Kang’s side and nodded at him. He glanced down at her neatly bandaged hands and huffed in amusement, knowing damn well that when they returned home, his companion planned on showing off her “battle scars” to Kung Lao in an attempt to impress him. As they waited for the next match to begin, Liu Kang filled her in on what she’d missed during the Johnny Cage versus Reptile fight.

“I wish you could of been here to see it, (Y/n). I got second hand embarrassment from how arrogant he sounded.” Liu rolled his eyes.

(Y/n) stifled a giggle and covered her smile with her hand, but as she did this, she noticed one particular bodyguard’s eyes watching her intently from behind his helmet.

He was a bit of a distance away, but somehow it felt like his stare was burning through (Y/n)’s skull, and the very thought of that sent a chill down her spine. She awkwardly cleared her throat and turned to face the other direction, her fingers slightly latching onto Liu Kang’s arm defensively.

The rest of the day was nothing short of eventful. Raiden had requested that she accompanied him into the underground sections of the island, where she became acquainted with Sonya Blade and Jax, and even got to witness Sonya fight a man named Kano. Johnny Cage and Liu Kang eventually joined them, and there they established a sort of team while Raiden explained the severity of losing the tournament.

Afterwards Sonya and (Y/n) parted ways with the men and accompanied each other to their designated bedrooms, which, luckily, were located across from each other. As they walked, the two women got to know each other a little better. Sonya told (Y/n) more about how she came to meet Jax, her life in the army, and how she eventually ended up on the island. In turn, (Y/n) told her about her life with the White Lotus Society and Raiden. They went back and forth, trading silly childhood and training tales until they came across a certain mural in one of the main hallways.

(Y/n) paused in front of it and smiled fondly at the depiction of a man standing victoriously over his enemy on a great cliff or something of the sort.

She turned to Sonya and smiled excitedly. “The Great Kung Lao,” she explained, “He’s a legend back home. Truly one of the greatest fighters the White Lotus ever produced.”

She proceeded to retell the story of Kung Lao’s victories back in the day, and Sonya listened intently.

“So that’s your motive then, huh?” Sonya chuckled.

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Well I’ve got my mission to save Jax, Cage wants his fame... what about you? What’s your motive? Aside from the monks selecting you, that is.”

(Y/n) glanced back up at the mural, then back to Sonya. “A descendent of his— the great Kung Lao, I mean.” Suddenly (Y/n) felt incredibly shy and began to fiddle with her hands.

“Liu Kang?” Sonya tilted her head.

“No!” (Y/n) exclaimed, laughing slightly, “A friend of ours, actually.” As she spoke, her tone was laced with a certain fondness.

Sonya smiled, “A friend?”

“Yes, Miss Blade. A friend. Anyways, he helped me create all of my best moves. I hate to admit it, but I basically modeled my fighting style after what he taught me when we were kids.” (Y/n) faintly blushed and smiled to herself.

“So... that’s it then? You want to impress him?”

“I mean— I just—,” (Y/n) struggled to find words, “I mean of course that’s not all of it. Of course I’m here to protect the Earthrealm first, but...”

She glanced up at the mural once more.

“I don’t know, I want him to see how much I’ve improved recently.”

Truth be told, (Y/n) had always admired Kung Lao growing up, but it wasn’t until around their late teens or early twenties that she’d began to admire him a little more than usual. And because of that she’d begun to lose her focus around him. Sure, he had always been terribly strong, smart, and witty beyond compare, but as they grew (Y/n) began to notice how charming he was or how nice he looked without his gear on.

Or even how differently he treated her compared to everyone else.

———

The next day the fighters returned to the island’s arena. Shang Tsung and the monks took to their spots while Quan Chi stood at the foot of the throne.

Liu Kang and (Y/n) exchanged anxious glances At eachother. After the events of last night, (Y/n) could tell her friend’s nerves were a little shaken, despite how composed he seemed. She silently patted his back as a masked guard crossed his arms and moved a little closer to where they stood with Raiden.

“Kombatants! the next match will now begin!”

In a burst of flames, Scorpion teleported into the center of the arena. Everyone gasped in awe, and (Y/n) and Liu Kang shared looks of pure admiration.

“Scorpion!” Shang Tsung called out, “Specter of the Netherrealm! Resurrected by the sorcerer Quan Chi! Who among you is worthy of this challenge?”

“Where is the Lin Kuei Sub-Zero? He killed my family and clan. I will have his head!” The masked man snarled.

Without order, the mask guard standing closest to Raiden promptly walked to the center with Scorpion, discarding his mask and armor as he went.

“I accept the challenge!”

(Y/n)’s face fell. She knew that voice, and it definitely wasn’t Sub-Zero. She looked up at Liu with a worried expression, and he returned her stare with his own.

“Kung Lao?” He whispered as he turned back to the two men standing before them.

“Nevermind the Lin Kuei. Now you face a Shaolin.” He announced.

“Kung Lao, what are you doing here?” (Y/n) muttered under her breath.

The man ran two fingers over the brim of his razor sharp hat and turned his vision toward where (Y/n) stood with Raiden and Liu Kang. He pointed directly at the girl.

“(Y/n).”

Oh god.

“I dedicate my soon to be victory to you, my most prized companion.” He said firmly.

She looked around the arena at the other fighters with a mortified expression and caught Sonya and Johnny hiding their smiles under their hands.

“Please don’t do this, Kung Lao.” (Y/n) begged, sweat beginning to form on her temple from the sudden embarrassment she was feeling.

“It has to be done.” He said, assuming a fighting stance.

“All this nonesense to impress (Y/n) (L/n),” Scorpion huffed, “You will regret your impulsiveness.”

The fight commences, and although Kung Lao is a master of the Shaolin arts and a great fighter, his attempt at overpowering someone who’s spent years trapped in the Neatherrealm soon proved to be futile. (Y/n) could feel herself cringe at every severe blow Scorpion landed to Lao’s torso until he ultimately beat him into an unconscious state on the floor.

(Y/n) tore away from the crowd and rushed to Lao’s side, swiftly but gently lifting his torso onto her lap, cradling his head in her arms as his hat laid in the dirt beside them. Scorpion looked down at her, the pity in his eyes seemed almost unbearable to (Y/n).

“He is not yet a warrior. I apologize, (L/n), I did not mean to cause you embarrassment.” He nodded.

(Y/n) shook her head and let out a small laugh. “Don’t be sorry, Scorpion. There’s no bad blood between us.”

“Kung Lao!” Liu cried out shortly after as he jogged over to aid them.

He thre Kung Lao’s arm over his shoulder and housed him up, carrying him out of the arena as Lao came to. Raiden and (Y/n) followed shortly behind.

“Listen when your elders speak!” He scolded, “You could not win this fight! And lost it at the expense of both you and dear (Y/n)’s expense!”

“Master, please, that’s enough. He meant no harm.” (Y/n) defended as they entered the main hall.

Raiden sighed angrily, “Take him to the nursery and get him cleaned up.” With that, he turned back around.

———

“Are you sure you want to tend to his wounds by yourself? It’d go a lot faster with my help...” Liu Kang said as he stood in the doorway.

“It’s fine, Liu,” (Y/n) waved him off, “It’d look bad if both of us weren’t present during today’s fights.”

(Y/n) turned around and subtly motioned to Kung Lao, who was spread out on a bench, and shot Liu an expecting look that said, ‘Get out, dumbass, I want to speak with him in private.’

Liu Kang mouthed a silent ‘oh,’ in realization and nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Take care of him, and I’ll be back later to check on the two of you.”

He eagerly left the room and shut the door behind him, leaving the two together in awkward silence.

(Y/n) sighed and turned to the cabinets to retrieve a towel and bandages.

Kung Lao sat up and huffed in annoyance, “Why must the two of you talk about me as if I’m not here, (Y/n)? I’m perfectly capable of tending to myself, you don’t have to stay.”

(Y/n) furrowed her eyebrows together but said nothing. She continued on gathering her materials and laid them out on the counter beside them.

“Are you upset with me? Is that what this is?”

Still nothing.

“What? Do you want me to apologize? Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, (Y/n)—,”

“Why are you here, Lao!?” She interrupted sharply.

He scoffed, “Proving I’m equivalent to Liu Kang.”

(Y/n) shook her head angrily. “Why!?” She dipped her small towel in a bowl of water and squeezed it. “You don’t have to prove anything, I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t—,”

“Then help me here, Lao. Explain— Did Raiden... or the elder monks— did they say something to you?”

“That’s not it.” He glanced down.

“Did something happen? I don’t—,”

“It’s you, (Y/n). You’re the reason.” He blurted.

The room was silent again.

“Oh.”

(Y/n) slowly turned around and made her way over to Kung Lao, beckoning for him to give her his arm. She avoided his gaze as she placed the damp towel over a large gash in his shoulder.

“I’m very sorry then... Whatever I did, I didn’t mean to make you feel this way.” The heartbreak in her tone was prominent.

Kung Lao sighed, “No— sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s my fault.”

(Y/n) paused, “What do you mean?”

Lao timidly placed a hand on her shoulder. (Y/n) looked up at him in confusion and scanned his face. He was giving her the same look he had on the morning she left for the tournament. The one that made it seem like he desperately wanted to say something but didn’t know how, or couldn’t muster up the courage to flat out say it.

Kung Lao groaned and burried his face in her other shoulder.

“I like you.” He mumbled, “There, I finally said it. It’s foolish, isn’t it? That I did all of this just because I wanted you to admire me back? I knew the elder monks didn’t choose me for a reason. I’m sure I couldn’t have handled the tournament, anyways—,”

“That’s not it at all!” (Y/n) cried, gingerly wrapping her arms around his torso, “It’s my fault you weren’t chosen, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t understand,” He said, looking up.

(Y/n) sighed, “It was originally supposed to be us two. At the tournament, I mean. The elders said our fighting styles complimented eachother the most out of the three of us. But then I started to slip up during training whenever you were around. I’m sorry, I thought they’d replace me with Liu Kang, but—,”

“They replaced me instead...” Kung Lao finished.

“You are no lesser of a great fighter than Liu Kang. It truly is my fault, Lao.” (Y/n) confessed.

Kung Lao blinked and was silent for a moment. “So... you were slipping up because...?” A cheeky smile slowly made its way onto his face.

(Y/n) signed and hid her face in the crook of his neck.

“I like you too, you idiot monk. I always have.”

Kung Lao laughed, “Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“What didn’t you tell me!?” (Y/n) argued playfully.

“What? Was doing all your chores and things not enough of a sign for you?”

“Well, clearly they weren’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been so stressed over the matter.”

“Oh goodness...” Kung Lao chuckled.

They two sat there, holding each other, for a moment until (Y/n) pulled away.

“I have to finish cleaning your wounds, Lao.”

He nodded and sat up straight, removing his shirt so (Y/n) could clean the wounds on his chest.

As he looked down at her hands, gently pressing the towel to his wounds, applying the medicine where needed, and wrapping them up neatly, his eyes couldn’t help but trail over her lips. This wasn’t the first time, naturally, but know that he had confirmation that she was finally his...

He swooped down and captured her hips with his in a chaste but sweet kiss that lasted no more than a few seconds. (Y/n) stared up at him in surprise.

“Too soon?” He half laughed.

She shook her head, “Not at all.” (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down for a real kiss.

Their lips locked softly once again, and the two of them could feel the sense of pure joy and excitement building up in their chests. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered closed as Kung Lao deepened the kiss. As Lao moved his lips against hers, it tasted sort of metallic from the dried blood that remained on Lao’s lips beforehand, but (Y/n) didn’t seem to mind.

When they finally pulled away, Kung Lao rested chin on top of (Y/n)’s head.

“You’re a fool, Kung Lao,” (Y/n) said endearingly.

He kissed her hair and let out a small laugh.

“For you, perhaps.”

#liu kang #mk kung lao #mk liu kang #mk raiden #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1995 #mortal kombat 2021 #kung lao x reader #mortal kombat kung lao #kung lao #mortal kombat fandom #mortal kombat fanart #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat raiden #mortal kombat liu kang #mortal kombat 9

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself.

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence.

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal.

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left.

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold.

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.' You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse.

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back.

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips.

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope.

'Not here,' he replied.

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure.

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter.

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening.

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years.

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree.

He frowned and nodded.

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him.

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.'

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?'

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.'

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.'

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.'

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.'

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.'

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive.

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?'

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?'

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…”

“Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door.

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there.

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?”

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

"Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said.

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry.

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could.

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice.

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head.

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request.

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied.

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was.

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second.

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her.

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered.

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered.

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful.

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him.

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted. And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper.

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers.

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable.

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer.

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

#murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

Text

Willow

Pairing: Ray/Reader

Description: You came to the countryside thinking that you would be able to get away from everything that had been bothering you lately, and while you had more time to yourself to explore your passions and hobbies; It seemed as though something was strange about this little cottage. Some of your things have been disappearing without a trace or an answer, and you want to get to the bottom of it. But, are you ready for what you'll find at the end of the secrets?

Pocket Ray! Based on a drawing posted to @dailysaeran.

Pocket Ray x Reader

Word Count: 10308

[Read On AO3]

It started as rather odd. That is to say, when you moved into this old house that belonged to your grandmother, you never thought that this place would feel like it could ever be your home.

It wasn't like the house in the city that you had grown accustomed to over your entire life. It was so different from the city lights and the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

It was a lot quieter in the countryside.

There weren't a lot of neighbors around.

There weren't a lot of people to speak of, but there were a lot of animals and a lot of nature to speak of. It was quiet but in a comfortable way that made you feel strangely welcomed. It may not have been what you were used to but that didn't mean that you were averse to it. It was a new opportunity and you wanted to try to make good on it.

You'd been down on your luck over the last couple of years. It had been hard scraping by trying to do your job and trying to make ends meet to keep your apartment.

You were from humble beginnings and you were determined to try to work your way to the top as you could do.

It wasn't always easy but you weren't upset that there were a few extra steps along the way. Hard work wasn't a bad thing. To be able to prove with your own hands that you had done something all by yourself was kind of an amazing feat. Your parents always said that hard work was worth the trouble in the end.

You didn't have anything against that. It was true for people that were just trying to make do with their life with what they had. Life did not seem to have the same plans in store for you that it had for your parents. That was almost a given over the last couple of years of your life.

It all just changed when you got sick.

Things that used to be easy for you just weren't anymore. That old saying was, you don't know what you had until you lost it, was ultimately a true saying for you. You didn't realize how many things that you had taken for granted until it was already too far gone from your reach.

Things that used to be easy for you just weren't as easy to do anymore. It made you feel like you had hit a wall and you couldn't get up again.

Grief and mourning were something that you had to come to know very well. Acceptance was still something that you were working on, though, your therapist had said that it was normal to have bouts of anger and frustration and all kinds of feelings about what you were dealing with.

Life tended to be messy and there was no denying that you were learning how to deal with that.

They say that Rome wasn't built in a day. You tried to take that to heart as you were trying to make sense of what you had lost and what you could do to help better cope with the changes that had come in your life as well as everything else in between and beyond that.

A part of that change was getting a change of scenery. Your grandmother had offered to let you come and stay with her in the countryside for the time being so you could work on finding yourself again. You could take time off of work and you wouldn't have to worry about trying to keep a roof over your head while dealing with your health.

The fresh air was supposed to do you some good and give you peace of mind about everything that was going on and you were determined to try and make the best of this situation. Though, you hadn't spent much time with your grandmother before so you had your work cut out for you.

It was simply because you lived in two different places for such a long time that travel was kind of hard. It wasn't that you didn't want to see her or that she didn't want to see you.

It was just that circumstances had never worked out the way that they needed to in life. So it was an adjustment period, doing your best to learn what was okay with her and what wasn't. Her kindness and empathy were something that your parents had often said that you had gained from her without even really knowing it.

You would often hear them say that you were so much like her but you never knew how to respond to that.

She was a modest woman with modest means. Her house was a cottage in the middle of absolute nowhere, but she took great care in everything that she touched.

Her garden was her haven, and it was the first thing that you can see when you drove up from the old road. Not only were her flowers carefully tended to and mended to every single day, but she made sure that her vegetable garden was also flourishing. She had everything that she could ever want without having to travel far to a store.

She was very self-sustainable and you respected the heck out of that. You want it to be more like that. It was just hard to get the time to do that sort of thing when you were always working. Now it's a very least you didn't have an excuse to get out of that. You could try out things that you always wanted to. Your grandmother was very supportive of that.

So, not only did she get to help you take a break, she got some help in her garden and her kitchen.

Your grandfather had passed quite a few years ago so she didn't have many people to consider company apart from her few neighbors and the people that she knew in her town play dropped by now and again. You imagine that even if you liked being alone, it could be pretty lonely if you didn't see people now and again.

So, being here now all you could think about was how nice it felt to not be around people for once. You were used to being crowded and surrounded.

If there was one thing that you had always wished for in the city, it was being able to spend more time in the park. That was the only place that you ever got to get away from the asphalt and cement that surrounded your life. Now that you were here, you felt more at ease with yourself. The fresh air did feel good, and just being in a place where you can hear yourself think was nice.

For now, you could see yourself staying here for quite a while.

It was nice to have that peace. You were settling into this space as best you could, and each day was more curious than the last as there was a lot to explore. This house had seen better days but it was sturdy and well-built together. The worn wood and aged paint were charming as the ornate knick-knacks decorated her household.

Sometimes, it reminded you of a little dollhouse.

Homey, charming, and almost like a fantasy.

It was quaint. You liked it, but your parents thought that it was too old-fashioned. When you were growing up, you always had modern things in your household. Technology was the way of the world and accepting change was important as the world developed and shifted from the way that it once was.

However, there was no denying that there was a charm and a need for things of the past as well. That is to say, just because something can be created a different way doesn’t mean that it’s better than the way that worked for centuries. One thing that you knew that you preferred to do by your hand instead of by machine was sewing.

You liked being able to work with your hands, knitting, curling, sewing, everything of that variety was something that kept you busy and able to focus on something that wasn’t the ache in your body. It was a hobby that you had taken up as a child but had lost the time to do it as much as you enjoyed as you finished schooling and headed to work.

Now that you had more free time than you knew what to do with, you went back to working on small crafts. You started with mending your grandmother’s worn and frayed clothes that needed some care. It shifted into a lot more than that as you offered to take care of things that her friends needed some help with.

It was busywork, for sure, but you liked being able to do it for others. Sitting out on the porch by the flowers as you mended rips and tears with little patches and flowers on the clothing. Some of the neighbors had children and a lot of them appreciated that you could add cute touches to their things. Some of them offered to pay you for your time, but you shrugged that off.

It was just something that you liked doing. You weren’t doing it to make cash and you didn’t need anyone to pay you back for that sort of thing when it was just a friendly gift to others.

The Kim family and the Kang family were ones that you often worked with to do all sorts of things for. Yoosung was visiting from college and he had plenty of clothes to mend that he hadn’t even considered could be spliced back together. Then there was Jaehee who ran the local cafe, who loved when you added little decals to her sleeves.

You had your work cut out for you, to be honest.

Being able to do these things helped you get your mind off of everything.

You were grateful for a chance. This was kind of a luxury. You knew that many people wouldn’t be able to have something as simple as this. It wasn’t fair, but you were taking what you could get at this point. Being worried about others when you were meant to be taking care of yourself sounded a lot like you. Being too selfless until it ran you into the ground.

At least, this time, your grandmother clapped you on the shoulder before you got too deeply involved in something that was over your head. If you couldn’t be firm, at least she could be blunt when she needed to be. You imagined that came with age and with time.

Though, you were fairly sure that you weren’t going to figure how to do that yourself any time soon. As long as she was around, you weren’t too worried about that sort of thing.

You just let yourself settle into your routine as it started to become something daily. You would wake up and tend to the garden before your grandmother woke up, just starting the water system and tending to anything that needed help.

By that point, she’d be awake in the kitchen making breakfast and you’d join her afterward. A nice meal, and then you two broke into whatever you needed to do that day. For her, that was a lot of crafting or tending to other matters, and for you, that was working with your hands or just resting when you felt the need to lay down.

Lunch and dinner would be sprinkled in there at some point, then you’d take a long shower and go to bed. Rinse, dress, and repeat. Not too complicated, not too simple, and just the right time to do everything. Though, as of late, you had started to notice little things that didn’t quite make a lot to sense to you. It was nothing…

Well, you wanted to think that it was nothing, but as the little incidents became more and more apparent to you, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was something that had happened before you came here, or if it had started after you’d arrived.

The thing was when you were cleaning or looking around for supplies anywhere in the house, be it for sewing, or cooking, or what have you, one or two little items would always…

Go missing.

At first, you thought that maybe you misplaced a few things, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to misplace something.

Though, you would always find it placed somewhere that you’d been last without a lot of trouble. It was just that you couldn’t find any of the missing at all. It didn’t seem like your grandmother noticed, either. She didn’t seem any the wiser that things were being put in a different place.

She never said anything about it.

So, you didn’t want to bring it up if it was nothing at all. It was likely nothing but it kept happening and it kept nipping at your heels every ofter day that you checked with your things now and again. Which lead to you thinking that you were losing your mind. It just didn’t make sense.

It was little things. Things that you wouldn’t miss or even notice if you hadn’t been working with them often.

If you had been back at home, going to work often, and not checking with every little detail of the house, you wouldn’t have noticed a missing thimble or a few spare pins disappearing. You would always pause when it was a few old scraps of fabric, as well, but it could’ve been just that you tossed it and forget.

It could’ve been waved away like that since it was always older pieces in your supplies that went missing. But, it just seemed odd that this was happening now of all times. These were items that you were working with on the regular, though, so you did notice when something wasn’t quite where you left it the last time that you used it.

You tried not to make a big deal of it because well, you might have been tired lately because of how easily you were worn out with your health… it wasn’t impossible that you just forgot where you placed something. You just had a lot of free time on your hands and maybe you were making something out of nothing.

“It’s probably nothing,” you muttered underneath your breath. “You’re just getting overwhelmed from having nothing to do for once.”

So, for the time being, you decided not to make a fuss about it. It wasn’t like it was stopping you from doing what you were doing. It didn’t keep you from continuing your work. It didn’t stop the process. It was just a few missing things that didn’t mean much in the scheme of things but it irked you just a little bit whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Apart from that little situation, things were peaceful here.

You liked it, by all accounts, and whenever your parents asked how you were feeling, you could honestly say that you were as good as you could feel, circumstances allowing. It could be hit or miss sometimes, but it was better. The fresh air was doing you good and so was the chance to just be yourself.

Unfortunately, the last couple of days had been harder for you and rather trying at times. It had been difficult to get out of bed and get around due to the pain. Sometimes you just felt too tired and lethargic to do the things that helped placate some of your nerves.

It didn’t keep you from being able to certain things, but not having the energy made it difficult to even try. So, you didn’t bother to try to start anything that you would be too tired to work on if it got to be too much at some point during the day. As frustrating as that was, you were doing what you could, as best you could.

So, you wound up playing some music on your phone and laying back, listening to the sounds of your favorite playlist while the rain fell in the background, tapping against the roof in a lull that you got used to until it became a part of the background noise.

It had been stormy and that certainly had played a bit into how much energy you felt had been taken from you. That was one of those things that you always heard your Grandmother mention once or twice. As silly as that sounded, you huffed, grumbling about how “you weren’t old even enough to feel the weather shift with your joints yet.”

After two days of being trapped in the bed, you were happy to spend your evening outside in the garden. Your grandmother was spending her evening at the local café, so you decided to tend to some of the flowers. A few weeds had sprung up that needed to be taken care of as well as trying to mend the fence that kept some of the wild animals from sneaking into the garden for a snack or two.

It took your mind off of everything, and you almost forgot about the missing items as you were working outside underneath the sunshine and clouds. A forgotten memory just meant to slide away just like something that happened once or twice that never happened again. This time, you knew that you were losing your mind about what you’d lost.

Because it wasn’t something old that went missing this time.

One of the neighborhood girls had asked you if you would make an outfit or two for one of her toys and you decided to take her up on the request. It didn’t take a lot of fabric and it didn’t take too terribly long to piece things together. Frankly, it took thirty minutes tops if you wanted to nit-pick the details.

It was easy… and it wasn’t hard to make another outfit, but it was the principal of the thing. You knew that you set it down on the floor because you had been working on the carpet earlier during the day. You could have sworn that you left it right there with your supplies, but it wasn’t there at all. It was like it never existed.

You were certain now.

There was something or someone moving things in this household that you couldn’t see. Your gut assumption was that there was a spirit in the household that wanted to play pranks on you or something, but your grandmother was the one that built the house in the first place so that didn't seem very likely. So you had to get rid of that ridiculous possibility.

It was your only working theory.

It wasn't like you were sleepwalking in the middle of the night and moving everything. It certainly wasn't your grandmother playing a harmless little joke on you. At least, if it was a joke, she would have already told you or at the very least made it more obvious that it was a prank.

It was just a pink little sweater. How could a pink sweater have gotten that far away from you?

Now, this was just getting ridiculously silly. It didn't make any sense whatsoever! You pursed your lips, trying to make sense of the muddled thoughts that were running through your brain trying to give you some kind of answer. Nothing was coming to mind. It seemed like it should still be there.

You tried to look around the room but to no avail could you manage to find what you were looking for. It seemed as though it had just vanished out of thin air. Which, it shouldn’t have. You knew where you left there and you knew that you weren't losing your mind. It certainly wasn't you misplacing your memory either. So, what was it?

Or rather, who was it?

By the time your grandmother returned home, you asked, “Hey, you didn’t happen to move one of my sewing projects, did you? I remember putting it down before I went to take care of some of the chores, but it wasn’t where I left it.”

“Hm. I tend to leave your things where you left them since you have a system that doesn’t make much sense to me. I’m afraid I didn’t touch anything today, dear,” she explained, looking just as puzzled as you were about the matter. “Perhaps, you placed it down when you left to go and see how things were doing outside after I called you. It couldn’t have gotten very far.”

It wasn’t a prank, then.

She didn’t have any explanation, either.

You didn’t want to worry her or overwhelm her with something this small, and she was right. It was probably nothing. It was more likely that you had just moved it and forgot about it. But, you felt like you had set that thing down and left it right where you could return to it. There had to be something about all of this that just wasn’t adding up.

The last thing you wanted was for her to think that you were having trouble with your memory, too. So you just waved it off and decided to investigate this matter on your own. You pondered if there were mice around that could’ve taken a hold of your things. It wasn’t a stretch for animals to take things and move them somewhere that you wouldn’t be able to find them unless you spent a day undigging everything.

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m just out of sorts, lately. I feel like I’ve been misplacing stuff but you know me. I used to get lost trying to find my bedroom as a kid,” you cracked a joke and tried to wave off any of her worries. It was a mystery, but, it was a shame that you would have to start over on what you did.

That fabric that you used had been nice, too. Soft fleece, but you’d added some flower embroidery to the collar and sleeves just to spice it up and make it look like it was a bit more sophisticated. Probably a bit more effort than the printed looks that people would make for a lot of toys, but you liked making things seem more mystical than cheap.

Sighing, you spent the rest of the evening creating another top, and this time, you made sure that it was back in your bag so you could run it over in the morning. Not sitting on the floor, and not out in the open in case something else happened to sneak away with it before you could see what it was.

It wasn’t that much trouble.

This was something that you were good at and it was easy to make another, but again, the sheer principle of the thing was the point!

It just irked you because you put a lot of care into everything you made, and you wanted it to be going to the right people that deserved it. You were the kind of person that wanted to make good on your promises to people, even if it was a gift. It was better to do the right thing than it was just to ignore it. So, you sighed.

Whoever had gotten their hands on it, you hoped that they needed it. Otherwise, you were going to slap your wrists and scold yourself for making an anthill out of nothing. You went to bed later than usual because you were still riled up about this. Seeing as there wasn’t a lot else for you to deal with or think about, it was easy to fixate on that one little thing.

You tossed and turned for a while in the sheets, eventually deciding that you would try to make the best of the night and get something to drink to soothe your exhaustion. Your grandmother always kept the set out for tea in case she wanted to grab a drink and not worry about grabbing the things from the cabinets and wasting more of her time whenever she wanted a pick-me-up.

Not bothering to turn the lights on, you set the pot on the burner and flicked the gas on so it could start warming up things for you. You glanced out of the window and noticed that it was a dark night. It wasn’t rainy or anything of the sort, it was just cloudy and most of the moon was out of view, which meant that the room was barely illuminated by the fire.

Not that you minded, you knew the room by heart already so you didn’t trick or bump into things.

Curiously, though, you heard the sound of something… skittering across the wood. That drew your attention away from the pot as you looked over your shoulder and tried to see what had made that sound. It was faint, almost so quiet that you barely would have noticed it if it hadn’t been for the stillness of the night.

“...?”

As far as you could see, there was nothing in the room with you. You glanced down the hall and noted that your grandmother’s room was closed. It wasn’t her doing things at this hour, and not you making sound, either. Pausing, you ran your hand against the wall until it brushed against the light switch and illuminated the room once again.

The kitchen was empty. There was nobody there that you could see with the naked eye. That sound had come from somewhere behind you when you were working and had been soft enough that you could’ve assumed that it was just a branch tapping against the household, or maybe one of the local animals that stopped by for a snack or two.

Nothing.

It was supposed to be nothing.

This was the point that you were starting to think that you were losing it.

You could understand a few missing things here or there, and even misplacing your projects because you weren’t used to having all this time to do things, but hearing bumps and noises in the night and there being not a thing to explain it? You were going to lose your mind if you didn't figure this out! But, how could you find something that you hadn't seen before?

You sat down at the table in front of your cup and paused. Now, there was something very curious about this scene.

There were two very small pieces of chocolate by the cup that you knew that you hadn't placed there. Even more puzzling, you squinted at the cup, thinking that it had been placed upside down instead of upright. That was different.

You leaned over a bit more and jolted back against your seat almost instantly. There was something in the teacup.

It wasn't empty!

"Um," you found yourself speaking aloud to the air, pondering if an animal had decided to make a house out of a cup. It wouldn't be the oddest thing that you had seen. "...?"

You brushed your finger against the edge of the rim as not to frighten whatever was hiding. It could have been a little mouse or something. They could be kind of skittish of humans, right?

"It's okay," you coaxed. It felt a little silly to be speaking like that… but, it hadn't exactly been normal lately. You might as well try to embrace that. "C'mon, little guy, I won't hurt you. A teacup isn't exactly a safe spot for you."

Just for good measure, you removed your hand from the cup and made sure that it sat in your lap so whatever it was wouldn't be scared if they were anxious about something much bigger than they were. Much to your surprise, something did seem to respond to your request.

You weren't sure how to describe what you saw. A little face peered over the edge of the teacup, trembling like a leaf in the wind as he made eye contact with you. The surprise was very well written all over your face. That wasn't a mouse at all! That was a… well, it was a tiny person.

He seemed scared. You imagined that you would be scared if you were staring at this person that was hundreds of times your size by all accounts. You rubbed at your eyes to check to see if you were seeing something, but as it turned out, you weren't.

"You're…"

"I'm sorry, please don't kill me!" was the sound of his voice as he sputtered and tried to stay right where he was. He seemed scared out of his mind. His tiny digits clung to the glass. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken your things in the first place. I was trying to bring you a gift to say sorry!"

He seemed to think you were going to cause him harm. You may have been surprised by him but you certainly weren't going to hurt this little person. You shook your head, "I… wait, wait, slow down. I'm not going to hurt you. I just met you. I have no reason to do anything of the sort."

That surprised him. He hurriedly rubbed at his own eyes to wipe away some of the tears that escaped him. "My brother said that all the beans are dangerous. But, he's been gone for a long time and I… um… I'm sorry, bean. I'm sorry."

You cocked your head, "...Bean?"

"Um, bean, like… a human bean. You're a human bean," he seemed to be calming down but you made no move to get closer to him or make him uneasy. "Is that… is that not what you call yourself?"

You blinked, "Oh! You mean human beings, not human beans. That's what we call our race of people but not all of us share the same kind of name. My name is [Y/N]. I'm sure you have a name, too. I don't suppose they would call you… I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know what I would call you."

He eyed you for the longest time as he thought that over and then suddenly sat back down in the teacup. He seemed to be shaking his head back and forth, muttering to himself about something. Maybe he wasn't supposed to tell you these things?

He mentioned a brother, though.

Did that mean there were more beings like him around the house?

It was at that point that you made the connection of his words. Why he seemed very apologetic… Why he had mentioned that he was sorry about taking something of yours. You peered over once again and got a good look at the little shirt that he was wearing just so happened to be the one that had gone missing earlier.

"That looks rather dashing on you," you commented. "I see why you were apologizing to me, now. Please, don't feel like you need to apologize for taking something of mine if you are putting it to good use. I was making a few of those little shirts for someone, but if you need them, I'd rather you put them to use. But thank you for apologizing. I was worried I was losing my mind. I'm glad to know that my things are being used."

"You're not mad?" He asked, surprised.

Why would you be mad?

Sure, you had been irked that it had gone missing, but you could always make another for the little girl. It was just for a toy. This was a person… er, he had human proportions but he was just rather small. He looked just big enough to fit in your hand. You weren't going to test that, though.

It would be rude!

"Nope! It doesn’t bother me. I would appreciate it if you ask me next time you would like a shirt or something, though. You see, I'm an amateur seamstress and I can make all kinds of things without a lot of trouble. You can just ask if you want something. I imagine it must be hard finding things in your size."

It would be a fun challenge. You liked having a challenge. It was always interesting to try new things. Though, that was up to him if he wanted it. He must have had a good reason for taking something of yours in the first place and you weren't going to force him to tell you or give it back if he needed it.

"It's alright," you added. "I promise. I'm kind of relieved that I found you. It's nice to know that I was able to make something that can be useful to you."

"I'm a borrower, not a thief," he said, quietly. He leaned up and helped himself out of the teacup as he slid down against the table. "I am only supposed to take things that won't be missed. It was still very wrong of me to take something new. My brother said that we have to be respectful to the beans, even if they can hurt us, too."

Where had you heard that word before?

It sounded like something that you knew about… something deeply rooted in your memories of childhood. Like a story, you once heard. Was there some kind of story that your mother used to speak of when it came to something like this? You couldn't put it to memory but it felt like there was something on the tip of your tongue when it came to that word.

Why did it sound familiar?

"You borrow things?"

"Just little things… things that you wouldn't think too much about. Sugar… small bits of food, this and that, and fabric sometimes… I promise that it's nothing bad. My brother is gonna be so mad at me! I'm not supposed to be talking to you," he glanced around the kitchen with a nervous look in his eyes. He seemed to be searching for someone to scold him for speaking to a human.

"Because you can be in danger if the wrong people see you?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's just me and my grandmother in this house right now. I don't think she would hurt you, either. If that's something you're worried about."

He looked down.

There was a lot more going on in this house than you were aware of. A lot more than you knew that your grandmother was aware of, too. You hadn't seen your night turning out this way but you were far too awake now to think about going back to sleep. You weren't sure that you would be able to trust someone if you were in his position.

Still…

"Thank you for the gift," you bowed your head to him. At the very least, you were going to make sure that he didn't feel bad about this sort of thing. "I do appreciate it. Feel free to keep what you took. I sincerely don't mind."

He hesitated for a moment as he glanced between you and the other side of the room.

He had to be in a hurry, then. He seemed to want to leave sooner rather than later. Maybe he had somewhere to be or he was just antsy that someone else might find him. His voice was soft as he said, "...Thank you."

You hesitated, if only briefly. You wanted to see if you could have one thing to ensure that this was real. You had given him your name, and you would hate to just call him after his race as he had thought you to be a bean. "Can I have your name, too? If that's alright. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. "

He hurried to the end of the table and paused before he looked at the ground, and then he looked back at you.

"My name is Ray," he said as the hum of your kettle began to hiss and cry out on the other side of the room. That meant you needed to grab it before it woke up the rest of the household. You rose from your chair and hurried to turn down the heat but by the time you turned around, Ray was gone.

Just as quickly as he had been standing.

Just as fast as he had appeared to you.

The only proof that he had been there was the tiny chocolates that he had brought to say he was sorry.

As you poured your tea into the cup second by second, you lifted one of the chocolates and tested to confirm that this was something that you had genuinely and not just a dreamy present that would go away if you blinked or were to turn your head.

It tasted really sweet and unlike any of the candies that you knew your grandmother had in the household. It certainly hadn't been borrowed from her things. Just another sign that maybe just maybe, Ray had been real. You spent another hour or so just sitting in the kitchen to ruminate over your encounter with the borrower who went by the name of Ray.

It felt like a dream.

And, when you woke up the next day, you simply knew that you had to check to see if you had the other piece of candy. You did. It was there. It hadn’t been a dream. Though, you didn’t know if you were going to see Ray again. No amount of searching and looking for things on the web gave you any answers to what he was.

You didn’t see anything online, but then again, it was kind of silly to be searching for stories about tiny people living in the walls of houses. At least, that’s where you thought that Ray was living. He had to be somewhere in the house. If he borrowed things, and it had happened a few times since you had been here, it meant that he had to be in this house.

If he wasn’t in the house, then at least, he had to be on the property close enough to stay safe. All the wild animals meant… that he couldn’t stray very far. That would be too dangerous for him to survive. You couldn’t imagine what that would feel like… you could kind of relate in a way that meant the feeling of knowing what it felt like to be…

Trapped.

To be bound between walls that you knew but didn’t know, as the factors around you began to spiral out of control day by day. You weren’t sure if you would ever get the chance to see Ray face to face again, but you did know that you were very mindful of the fact that you knew that he was there.

You wanted to make sure that he knew that you would keep that promise. This promise not to hurt him or make him scared of a human bean. He mentioned a brother that wasn’t around in the midst of what he had told you that night, and you were worried about that. Someone who could be so small and so vulnerable could’ve gotten hurt if they weren’t careful.

You had a countless amount of worst-case scenario thoughts for someone like Ray. You could only imagine what it was like for him. Even though you couldn’t quite come to his level. That experience was his and his alone. Even if you didn’t see him, you spent some time playing with your sewing kit to make some more outfits for him.

He had taken that sweater because he needed it. It could be chilly sometimes in this area, even with the sunshine. Being able to wear something that kept you warm was kind of a big deal for a lot of people. So, you set out trying to make him little sweaters and coats. You will say with honesty that you went a little overboard with some of it.

You had a lot of fabric prints and things that you wanted to try out. You would wave it off as you explore different ideas and styles, but it was the least you could do for your little borrower in this household. Who knew how long he had been there and how hard it was for him to borrow what he needed to get by!

So, what you did was wrap up the little outfits in tissue paper and put his name on them.

You weren’t sure if he could read your language, but it was small enough that he should know that it was a gift for him. You made sure to place it near spots that had little nooks and crannies in the walls that seemed like openings, but you weren’t going to try to pry something open and be the one to make your grandmother suspicious.

After you left them there for a few days, you noticed that the little gifts did go missing. Which meant that he had received them. You weren’t sure if he liked it, but if he took it, it meant that it would be going to good use. That’s all you wanted. Even if you didn’t know him very well, you wanted to make sure that he knew that his secret was safe with you.

You wouldn’t let him get hurt by anyone if you could help it.

It was quiet for a little while until it wasn’t.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting in front of the open window as the breeze rolled into the house. It was a nice sunny day, and you liked those. It wasn’t always easy to stay outdoors for long with how easily exhausted you could get, but you could sit there by a window and watch the world pass you by.

As long as you could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on your cheeks, you were happy to do whatever you wanted. Resting your face against your forearms, you stayed like that for quite a while until you felt the smallest nudge of pressure against your arm. You glanced to your right and realized that it was Ray.

He had found his way to the window’s edge that you were sitting right by.

“Ray?” you asked, quietly, as not to arouse your grandmother’s suspicion since she was in the other room. Certainly, it was Ray. He was wearing one of the outfits that you’d made for him with some of the floral prints. It was a cute little peasant top with sleeves that were loose by the wrists. “You’re wearing one of the shirts I made.”

His cheeks had the smallest hint of red to them. You almost didn’t see them with how tiny he was, but you noticed the way that he looked away from you, out towards the garden. He was looking at the same spot you had been. The little patch of flowers that rested underneath the old willow tree that your grandfather had planted decades ago.

Ray kept his face focused on the flowers instead of looking back over at you, “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course! I made those for you. I’m glad that you like them,” you smiled. You really did. It warmed your heart to know that you had managed to make something for him that he liked. “I wasn’t sure that they would fit but I modified some of the measures from what I saw with the first sweater and tried some new things. I think I got close without measuring your actual size, hahaha.”

“Thank you,” he bowed his head. His response was very polite. “I’ve never had new clothes before. My brother and I would stitch fabric together with what we learned when we were young, that’s why I borrowed some of your older things so I could make and mend some of my clothes, but it wasn’t working out very well on my own and…. I…”

“I am sorry about taking your things without asking, [Y/N]. Thank you for keeping my secret and for these… gifts… I really shouldn’t accept them but you made them for me. I’ve never received a gift before like this so I don’t know how to pay you back… I’m afraid that was the only treat that I had left…. the um, chocolates, I mean.”

You understood, now.

He must have had a lot of trouble trying to do that on his own. None of the needles that you had were made for someone his size. It must have taken forever to try and stitch together things with such a long point. You had to commend him, though. That hard work was a lot.

If all of the other borrowers were just as crafty as that, you were amazed at everything they were capable of in this world that was far too large for them. You had an idea, though. Just a little one that could let you assure Ray that he didn’t have to pay you back with gifts or anything. Sitting back, you let your hands rest against the worn wood.

“I didn’t eat one of them, actually,” you told him as the wind nudged its way into the room one by one. “I felt bad that you carried that much for someone like me. I was saving it so we could share it. It’s a lot nicer to be able to share sweets with friends. At least, I’d like to say that I think we could be friends, if that’s okay with you, Ray.”

This time Ray looked back at you, his hands folded in front of himself politely as he decided to think that thought over a few times. He knew that you wouldn’t hurt him, now, which was a good thing, but you weren’t sure if he was willing to hang around with you like an actual friend. He may have a lot to do or take care of.

“...Do you have friends, Ray?”

“I… I’m the only borrower in this house.”

“Oh.”

“My brother… My brother left a few months ago with another borrower we know because he wanted to find where our friend went… because he went missing one day and we got really… worried. But, he’s not back yet so… it’s just me here. I don’t have anyone. I try not to be much of a bother to the other bean if I can help it, but… when you came here, that meant that I have some new things to borrow to fix what’s breaking down without my brother here.”

“You’re taking care of everything on your own?”

“Yeah. It’s hard but nothing I can’t handle, nothing I don’t deserve for being this small and insignificant. It’s just the life of a borrower. It’s hard work and we have to do what we have to do to get by. I’m trying my best to make my brother proud since he left me here to handle things on my own for once.”

“Wow, Ray. You shouldn’t diminish your work. I don’t… I mean, I don’t know what you do around here,” you shook your head. “But, if you’re taking care of yourself and getting around this place on all your own, that’s amazing. Just because you’re small doesn’t mean that the things that you do are meaningless.”

You couldn’t imagine what he was doing as he lived in the walls and kept working with things in the house.

Did he mend things to pay back your grandmother for having the house that he lived in the first place? It was a possibility. But, trying to make sure that you had things to eat every single day and clothes to wear meant that he had to spend a while trying to crawl around the house to get what he wants.

“I’m so sure about that, [Y/N],” Ray said, gently. You were both staring at each other now with a quiet fever washing over the two of you. It seemed as the wind wasn’t loud enough to drown out a simple noise that existed between you. “But, that’s very kind of you to say to me. I appreciate what you have done for me. I would hate to burden you with my problems. But… I’m sure if I could be a good friend.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” you countered.

Ray thought about that.

“I guess… I guess you’re right about that,” he finally said. He seemed to be searching your face for answers to this. “I just don’t know how to be a friend to a human bean. It’s not something that happens. I’ve only heard stories about beans hurting my people or animals getting to us if we got too close to others. So I'm afraid that I'm not sure how I could be a good friend with you."

"Well, for starters, friends to do activities together. You go and do things that the both of you may enjoy. I'm sure that there's something that you've always wanted to do but you haven't been able to do, for example, so we could start with something like that. I have been able to do all sorts of things but, I'm sure that you weren't able to have the same opportunity, so, you could pick anything you want," you explained.

You weren't sure if you had ever been able to go outside before. If he did, then he might have been caught up with trying to make sure that nothing attacked him or got close to him that didn't need to be. There were a lot of things that you had been able to do in your life. So, if you were going to be friends with Ray, you would want to do things that he would want to do.

It would give you something to do with your time instead of just focusing all of your efforts on doing for others without doing for yourself. And, it may give Ray something to do so he wasn’t fixated on worrying about his brother. A little helping hand and distraction was better to

You had to admit you needed a break sometimes, much more than you wanted to admit, "We could share that chocolate together anywhere that you want to go if that's something you want to do, you know? I would be happy to take you somewhere in the house that you haven't had the chance to go to before."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere!"

Ray took another pause to think about where he wanted to go. But, after a few seconds of debating what he wanted, he decidedly pointed outside at the same time willow tree that you had been staring at for some time now and told you that he always wanted to go into the garden but it was always too dangerous for him because of the rabbits and other stray animals that would get into the garden.

He didn't want to put himself in a position where he could get killed or hurt. The last thing he would want to do is worry his brother if he ever returned home from his journey to find that there was nobody around anymore.

It was a simple request to be able to go outside but to him, it seems like a massive opportunity. It wasn't every day that he could travel a few feet in a matter of seconds instead of hours.

Although, he was going to have to stay out of sight if you were going to sneak past your grandmother to be able to go out the back door into the garden.

So, you tentatively offered him your hand and he climbed into your palm. He seemed a little shaky at first but you made sure to place your other hand underneath the one that he was standing on. You thought about the best place that you could hide him only momentarily so he wouldn't have to worry about anything, but all you can think of was the breast pocket on your sweater.

"I'll be quick," you told him. “Sorry if it’s a bumpy ride.”

“I’ll be okay!” He slowly eased his way down into the little pocket, making sure that his hands were resting against the Hem at the top so he could peek over the edge and watch as you were walking.

It was a quick walk back to your room to grab where you had wrapped up the candy and then you headed towards the kitchen to try and head out the back door before your grandmother could stop you.

You glanced down at Ray now and again as you made your way through the house, just making sure that he was okay and that he wasn't too jostled by being there. Though, he wasn't looking at you the entire time so you aren't sure if he was okay.

You were sure that he would speak up if it was uncomfortable. He seemed to be just watching how easy it was for you to move from room to room.

You didn't pause in the kitchen but your grandmother called over to you as you were just about to step outside and said, "[Y/N], dear, could you put away these dishes for me before you step out?"

You could have said no, but she would have been curious why you did. You always tried to help clean up. You glanced down but Ray seemed to get the hint. He let go of the fabric and slid down deeper into the pocket, out of sight and out of mind. You quietly said an apology to him for making him wait and did your best to help her put things back where they were meant to be.

It took a few minutes, nothing too serious, but it left you a little winded. You took in a deep breath and did your best to ignore it and the way your body urged you to sit down and rest for a moment. It wasn't going to hurt if you pushed it a little… Besides, it was just a short walk out to the willow tree.

By the time you got outside, you rested your back against the tree and slid down so you were propped up against the wood and your lungs could catch up with you. You hadn't felt this tired in ages, but you were okay. After all, adjusting to these varying energy levels was just a part of living with a chronic illness, as it was.

You gave a small tap on your pocket and helped Ray free himself from the fabric. He seemed to be looking at you with concern on his face. "Are you okay? Your heart started beating really fast…"

"I'm okay," you said, though you knew that you should wait to respond to him. You took in a breath and leaned your head back. There was a nice breeze today. "I get worn out fast sometimes is all. I came to live here because I'm sick and my parents and I thought the fresh air would help."

"I'm not going to die or anything. I'm just still getting used to my condition and everything, Ray. Sometimes I have really good days and other times I have really bad days. I don't have any control over what's a good day and what's a bad day. But, I don't think today is a bad day. I'm glad that I get to spend some time with a new friend. Thank you for being patient back there. Sorry that it took a few extra minutes."

Your reassurance seemed to make him feel a little better about his concerns for your safety. Now, that was something that you were used to when you were talking to people about your health. It didn't matter whether they were 6 feet tall or 3 inches tall, concern and compassion were very similar things. It made you feel warm inside.

"Oh… it's okay! I'm happy that you're okay," he said. Though he still seemed curious about the whole thing. "But… you didn't have to rush for me. I was okay waiting. It was actually kind of nice in the pocket. It was warm and I could hear your heartbeat. It was like getting a really big hug."

You wouldn't know it at the time, but Ray's face was illuminated in a dusting of red as he admitted that. He seemed to like this. It was a dangerous game to be getting close to someone so much bigger than him. But he seemed to be opening up to you and trusting you. You didn't want to take that fact for granted.

This was the most that you had talked to anyone at length in a long time.

That wasn't to say that you weren't talking to people in town and working with them. It was just that you were always trying to avoid your problems and you were just trying to find an excuse to talk about anything else. Oftentimes, it would be draining to talk to people about certain things that bummed you out. You didn't feel like you were trying to hide as you spoke to Ray.

He was ultimately very thoughtful. All of the things that he said to you were said with a gentle touch. You let Ray free from your hands as he got himself comfortable. He took a spot on your shoulder and he looked at the garden around you. He had never gotten a few like this before and it was increasingly obvious it made him very happy.

There were the small sounds of gasp and awes. Even over the sound of your heartbeat and the lull of the window. You can hear the way that he described what he was seeing to himself. It reminded you of the first time that you got to go outside yourself that you could remember.

Seeing all the flowers and seeing all of the green was very mystifying in person and there was no denying that there was wonder about the world.

He wanted to know about all kinds of flowers and if you knew the names of them. You didn't know all of them but you did tell him some of the ones that you did know, and that you were sure that there was a book somewhere in the house that you could try to read to him if he was curious about the flowers.

It seemed to perk his interest in a way you hadn’t expected. You were happy to see that he wasn't so skittish around you now. His inquisitive nature was something that you hadn't expected but you found it rather endearing. There wasn't a lot that you knew about certain things but you felt like describing what you could to him made him happy.

The two of you shared some of the chocolate. You snipped it in half and offered him the half that was easier to manage. Ray was happy at that. He mentioned that the last time that he’d been able to do this, it had been with his brother. But, they’d never been able to travel this far out of the house together because there was always something wandering the garden.

It tasted even sweeter knowing that you had been able to do something nice for Ray.

His life was vastly different than yours, but you felt a sense of kinship with him. You never thought that you’d find a peculiar friend when you came here to stay but now you couldn’t imagine not being able to interact with Ray. His kindness and thoughtful attitude warmed your heart to pieces.

Once your heart settled, you offered to help Ray explore some of the gardens as he wished. In comparison to the flowers, he was rather small. A flower was more like a tree to him. It hung high over his head and when he looked up, all he could see were the color tips hanging around him. He was awed and mystified.

It was like when you put a kid in a candy store.

“You’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah! I’ve never been this close, before. Thank you, [Y/N], thank you!”

“Hahaha… it was nothing, Ray. Friends do nice things for each other whenever we get the chance.”

“So, next time you’ll pick something that we can do together?”

“If that’s alright with you.”

Ray lingered for a time. His fingers brushing against the petal of a flower that you’d pointed out to him with a smile. This was the brightest that he’d seemed in a long time. “I think… I think I’d like that. There’s a lot of things that I want to try… I wish my brother was here to do them, though, but… he would tell me to do what I wanted, so I… I want to do things with you.”

You smiled, extending your hand to Ray as he rested his hand against yours. The size difference didn’t fail on you. The fact that he was meeting your touch and trusting you, did.

As silly as it’d sounded, you were happy to have a friend with Ray. It seemed like he felt the same way about the matter. You wanted to see where this friendship would take you. Where that strange fluttering feeling in your chest would take you if you followed the winding red strands that teased you to follow them down a hollowed path that you weren’t sure of.

You would find out.

And Ray seemed willing to venture down that road with you to find his answers.

“I’d like that a lot, Ray.”

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