#(I was a minor when we brought him to england so we couldn’t do it under my name)
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#I know my dog passing away is my moms loss too but like. she got totally wasted and now I have to sorta look after her while I’m grieving#as well. I’m like explaining every step to her like to a child. having to relive his last moments and why he had to be put down. to try and#rid her of her guilt because she had to sign the papers even though I would’ve if he was registered under my name#(I was a minor when we brought him to england so we couldn’t do it under my name)#and it’s genuinely not a secret that I’m the person my dog was closest to ever we spent the most time together I was his owner and bestie#so it seems a bit backwards that I’m sitting here having to comfort my drunk mother while she’s wailing ‘what am I gonna do without my toto’#when she sees him for an average of 3 or 4 hours a day#I know that’s awful I’m not trying to say the love is less but I just want to be allowed to grieve him peacefully without having to take#care of a 50 year old in the process#mrow.org
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Edge of Seventeen - Chapter Five.
HUGE thanks to everyone enjoying this and leaving such wonderful commentary! :)
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 2,856
Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!
“I hope you don’t think this is crass or nothing, but it must pay well, being a botanist, for your mom to be able to afford such a fucking nice house,” Angel commented, lying in bed with Bella, content and comfortable after their second round of sex that night.
She looked up at him from where she’d been lain against his chest, reaching to stroke the side of his neck. “It isn’t crass, it’s quite legitimate a wondering, what with the price of La Jolla real estate, especially on an ocean front property,” she began, sitting up properly, reaching for her cigarettes. “Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be able to afford a house like this as a single woman, no matter that her salary is pretty decent. When dad died, though, his life insurance meant that the mortgage on our old townhouse was paid off, so when she sold up prior to us moving here, she had a very large wedge of cash to spend on a nice home, London property going for what it does.”
He could imagine, being that it was the capital city. “What was your old place like?”
She reached across to her nightstand, grabbing the large, black stone ashtray with the Aboriginal paintings all over it, one that she’d bought from a car boot sale for three pounds. She missed scouring those with her mother on a Saturday morning during the summer. “It was like this, but on three floors as opposed to two. Our house was five bedrooms because mum and dad always intended to have more children. They nearly did, but mum miscarried who would have been my little sister when I was four.” When pausing for breath, Angel squeezed her thigh, smiling thinly. That must have been tragic for her mom, he thought, losing a baby and then her husband three years later.
“Anyway!” she brightened, shifting a little. “The house. It was bloody lovely, eclectic, just like this place. It reminded me so much of my dad. I think that’s the reason mum stayed there, even though it was way too big for us and freezing cold in winter. We struggled to afford to heat the rooms we weren’t in, so we had an abundance of thick socks and lots of blankets, big sweaters that my gran would knit for us, too.”
“Was it just as full of plants as this place?” he asked, turning onto his side.
“Oh blimey, yeah. My dad always used to despair at seeing another one being brought in, saying the same thing every time, ‘Deb, if these were cats, you’d be in crazy cat lady territory by now’ whenever he noticed something new, and he always did.”
“Crazy plant lady,” he snickered softly. “So, you got anything you like to collect, other than the, one, two... thr... four fucking guitars you have in here?”
She snorted a small laugh, feeling a little called out. “Well, they’re all special for a reason. The acoustic on the wall was my first, but it plays like shit so I don’t use it any longer. The wood got warped in a pipe leak back in England, but I can never part with it. The other three are all new, as I couldn’t bring my old ones with me, so the black Les Paul is because I love the sound of it, plus is replaces my old one, and the Fender Venus is because it’s the model Courtney Love played for some of Hole’s more notable performances, so I had to have it. Then the newer acoustic is simply because I needed one that actually played, so I got this from a second-hand instrument store in San Francisco.
“As for what I collect, it would be anything with this.” She held up her first finger on her right hand, tapping the gem set in the silver ring. “Amber. I’m a fucking hoarder! Cherry and honey ambers are my favourite, and blue, too, but it’s so rare to find it and stupidly expensive whenever I do see it turn up. But yeah, I love it, it’s so pretty.”
Angel nodded, grasping her dainty hand, pulling her down against his chest again. “A mental note has been made of that.” he began, fingers lazily wandering up and down her spine. “But now, though, it’s time to make use of some other mental notes I’ve made.” Sliding down the bed a little, he lifted her leg to rest over his hip, his mouth laying hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck and chest, his hand slipping between her legs, beginning to stroke at her. Pleasingly, she was still silky from their earlier passions, his long fingers gliding through her folds, tongue tickling at her collarbones while laying soft strokes over her clit.
Her nerves began to bounce in awakening immediately, her hips softly swaying against the drag of his fingers, Angel moving to suck at her nipples, the pretty, little pink buds pebbling against his tongue. A rush of heat began to flush through her core, his fingers pushing within, teasing the coil to wind tighter with her as she panted, soft moans pooling in her throat, the pleasure snapping through her.
He worked her with talented strokes, fingers curling, pummelling within her until she cried out, his mouth gliding back to her neck, Bella clasping his face in her hands and lowering her mouth to his, reaching between them, her hand curling around his cock, satin swathed iron, too deliciously hard to resist. Pushing him onto his back, she straddled his hips, guiding him to her dewy hole and sinking down, little shocks streaking through her as he stretched her again.
As she rode him, she wondered to herself how on earth she’d gotten so lucky. He was good to her, he made her laugh, he was loving, he was gorgeous, the fucking body, the big dick, the sexual prowess. Angel Reyes was the entire package. The only thing she found mildly worrying were his criminal activities, knowing that maybe one day, they could result in him being taken from her, to a prison cell for a lengthy stretch, or worse. Instead of panicking, she reasoned that in that moment, he was right there below her, inside of her, leaning to kiss him, his arms wrapping around her as he began to fuck up into her rapidly, evoking her bliss filled cries, Bella losing herself to the near crippling pleasure.
They slept after that, but both awoke extremely horny a few hours later, had sex again, drifted off once more, and then again after they’d been awoken by Bella’s alarm at 8am. She hated having to detangle herself from him, wishing they could stay in bed. She had a job to get to, though, Angel too as he had ‘outlawing shit’ to attend to, as he worded it while they ate toast in the kitchen.
“So, I’ll pick you up again at six?” he asked, after pulling up outside of the salon, leaning back against his bike, sharing kisses with her, reluctant and then some to let her go. She was staying at his for the rest of the weekend, since she only had an afternoon at college on Monday, so would get to sleep in with him two mornings in a row. She could barely wait to spend time with him uninterrupted by life, nowhere to go, no one to see. Just them.
“Yep, see you then. Love you, baby,” she cooed, kissing him.
God, how good it felt, to hear those words from her. “Love you too, B. Have a good day.” Putting his helmet back on, he started his bike and road off, Bella heading into the salon and getting the coffee order, surprised not to see Yolanda, the owner there, since she usually did visit of a Saturday. She was one of those women who owned an entire chain of businesses, though, salons and nail bars stretching right across San Diego, so divided her time as best she could throughout all of them.
Once hot beverages and slices of caramel laden brownies had been purchased, Bella headed back to hand them all out, going over to wipe down the wash basins and chairs after the first two washes of the morning. It was her, chief stylist Bridgette, colourist Gloria, and black hair specialist Ruby, a six feet five, louder than hell drag queen (who came to work in full drags, too!) in that morning, the gossip fluttering through the air as usual.
“Now, ladies,” Brigette began, her head turning in Bella’s direction. “I think we need to address the fact that little one here turned up this morning on the back of some guy’s Harley, meaning I sense some serious girl talk coming!”
The rest of the staff and few clients alike began fussing, Bella ducking down behind the wash basins, hiding.
“Mami, come on! It’s just us girls!” Gloria cooed, leaning over and grasping Bella’s arm, bringing her back up again. “Oh, look! She’s gone bright pink!”
“Awwwww!” the women all chorused, Bella covering her face with her hands.
“Come on, honey,” Bridgette prompted, combing through her client’s hair ready to do her dry trim. “Tell us all about the guy, because from what I saw, he was hot!”
Bella eventually got over her shyness, taking a big swig of her coffee as Gloria led her back to sit next to her in one of the wash basin chairs. “Okay, so his name is Angel, we’ve been dating for three and a half weeks, so it’s all really new, but oh my god, we are absolutely crazy about each other! He’s so different to other guys I’ve gone out with, which fair enough has only been two, but yeah. My ex-boyfriends were both just that, boys, but him?”
“Child!” Ruby interrupted, coiffing her client’s hair with a comb and volume spray. “I saw him this morning, too. You ain’t in your boy phase any longer. That’s a man you got yourself there, sugar!” she exclaimed, all the women cooing a chorus of ‘oooooh!’
Bella fanned her cheeks, feeling herself growing warm in the blushing department again. “Yes, yes, he most definitely is. And I knew that already about him, but last night, he proved it.” More cooing. “Five times.” The women exploded.
“Yeah, girl!” Ruby hollered, scurrying over to offer a high five. “She got the D!” The women were all whooping and laughing, Bella finally feeling a little more comfortable. How could she not be, though? The small salon had a wonderful vibe of sisterhood. “We want the details now, Bella! Don’t y’all be holding out!”
“Alright, what do you want to know?”
“Size?” Bridgette, Gloria and Ruby all chorused at once, snickering thereafter at themselves.
“Erm... big,” Bella confirmed.
“How big?” Gloria questioned. Everyone nearly died when after looking around, Bella picked up a can of root lift spray and held it aloft. “Yeah, pretty fucking huge!”
“And did he know what he was doing with it, honey? Because it’s just the worst, when you get with a guy who’s hung and then he doesn’t have a clue how to use it!” Bridgette’s client asked, turning in her seat a little, Bridgette paused from her snipping for a second.
“Oh my god, he bloody knew! And it wasn’t just that either, I mean... am I alright to go into details?”
She was so cute, the women thought, all gesturing rapidly with their hands. “Yes, chica! That’s what we want!” Gloria confirmed.
“Alright, so like I said it wasn’t just that he knows how to fuck like a fucking champion, the bloody foreplay game he has is unreal! With my last two boyfriends, the first couldn’t even find my clit, the second just pressed and poked at it like he was flicking a light switch on and off, but Angel? Oh my god, girls. He knew! Not just where it was, but exactly how to touch it! I mean, I had a little preview of that before with him, but it was nothing like last night. I’ve never had a guy make me cum before him, and last night, I came so many fucking times, I could barely shut my legs once he was done! I swear, he’s just... magic! Sexual voodoo!”
“Praise be!” Ruby hollered, all the other women scream laughing and cheering, even more so when Gloria picked up her phone and scrolled her music library, linking it to the shop speakers, the opening bars of Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa beginning to play.
“You feeling these song vibes, baby?” she asked, Bella in hysterics.
“Oh blimey, yes!” Gloria threw her head back and laughed, entertained as ever by her British-isms, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet to dance in the middle of the tiled floor. It was just another typical morning in the salon, all girls together, laughing, being silly, having fun. It reminded Bella of a scene from a feel-good chick flick, but it wasn’t. It was her life, and she loved it. She had her band, her friends at the salon and now, the man of her dreams. The man of her dreams who was in love with her, and she him.
The day went quickly, luckily for Bella, climbing onto the back of Angel’s Harley again at just gone 6pm, being whisked away to Santo Padre. He took her back to his first to drop off her stuff, shower and change before they went out, as well as other things he’d had on his mind pretty much all day.
“Oh, I appear to have a very gorgeous, very naked shower friend,” she purred, feeling Angel patter his fingers up the back of her thighs, his breath hot at her neck before he scattered kisses there.
“You do,” he hummed, one hand slipping between her legs, the other winding around her, stroking her tits. “One who wants to bend you over and fucking pound you until you scream.”
She grinned, a little gasp leaving her mouth when she felt two fingers slide deep inside her. “Words I’m very fond of hearing.”
Feeling her tighten around his fingers, the sumptuous, warm hug went right to his cock. “Thought you might be.” She felt as if a rainbow blazed through her, each colour a different hue of her arousal, his other hand sliding down over her wet skin, joining the other at her apex, rubbing sweet heat at her clit with his middle finger, his mouth attentive at her neck. Her body rocked back against his, the width of his firm chest her anchor, turning her head and receiving kisses edged in smouldering sin, her arm reaching back to graze his scalp, a soft moan tumbling from her mouth into his.
She felt as if tiny firestorms burned through her, turning, kissing him with force, her nails raking down his chest, his big cock hard at her abs, Angel grunting lustfully when she reached to grasp it.
“Uh, uh,” he mumbled, removing her hand. “Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles.”
Bella arched an eyebrow. “Oooh, I think I like you forceful.”
He smirked, watching her turn. “You’re about to like me a whole lot more in five seconds.” The thick spear of him parting her sweepingly had her gurgling in delight, suddenly unbothered that her hair was becoming drenched when she’d intended to keep it dry. Why not get wet all over?
His big hands clutched her waist, watching himself sinking into her, the way his cock parted the pretty petals of her cunt making his pulse throb, his hands gliding to grip her ass, trying to contain himself, but failing. Oh, how he failed, but to Bella, it was the furthest thing from it, feeling his one hand grip her hip, holding her steady as he fucked her with brute force, the other hand pounding off her butt cheeks in turn, the spanks echoing through the bathroom.
It was absolute sexual carnage, Bella feeling herself turned inside out quickly, her ascension blazing, Angel’s chasing it like flames meeting tinder, both of them cresting loudly and without reserve, his hand sliding up her back, clutching at her hair to yank her back to standing straight, the move all rippled in the lingering dominance, but his words anything but.
“Fuck, I love you, baby.”
They were meant to be going out to eat that night, but after they’d made their way from the bathroom to his bed and enjoyed one another for a further hour, decided ordering in was preferable. Pizza, hanging in his sweats while Bella looked adorable swathed in one of his t shirts, and the hilarity that was his introduction to the Monty Python movies, of which his girlfriend was a huge fan, was all Angel needed.
It was simple with her, stress free, drama free. It was everything he needed but hadn’t know he did until he’d found her. For the first time in years, he was truly content, and it was because of her. As far as he was concerned, he’d found his person. This? This was for keeps.
A/N - Please, be good to your author and reblog if you enjoyed this. Don’t want to reblog because it doesn’t match the aesthetic of your blog? That’s fine. Leaving a little comment of appreciation goes a long way!
#angel reyes#angel reyes fanfiction#angel reyes smut#angel reyes imagine#angel reyes x ofc#angel reyes fanfic#angel reyes fic#mayans mc#mayans mc fanfiction#mayans mc smut#mayans mc imagine#mayans mc fanfic#mayans mc fic
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Let’s Just Forget for a Little While
I almost didn’t post this because I worried Al was too ooc. But then I’m like “Boy has been through a lot and he’s mentally drained so he can be a little emotional over Arthur’s condition because it’s just one more thing that makes him feel like shit.” And at this point the two have made up so they’re a bit more willing to be honest with each other. Also that could just be because I’m tired and everything seems terrible when I’m tired lol. Anyway enjoy
Rating: T
Relationship: America + England, minor AmeLiet, minor GerEng
Word Count: 798
It had been a fun night; lots of music, laughter, drinks, and good food. Alfred couldn’t have asked for a better birthday party. But all parties had to come to an end, and the night was starting to wind down. After kissing Tolys goodnight and watching him get into a taxi to return to his hotel, Alfred figured he better check on his house guest.
He passed by the kitchen, finding Ludwig humming to himself as he watched over a kettle on the stove. No doubt tea for Arthur. No wonder the Brit seemed to be in a better mood since he started dating the German if he was catered to like this all the time. Speaking of Arthur…
When he reached the guest room, he found the doors leading to the small balcony were open, and Arthur was leaning against the railing, cane propped up next to him. He looked rather calm despite having been coughing up blood and unable to stand on his own for the past couple of days. Alfred joined him at his side.
“It was the perfect night for a party,” Arthur noted, voice raspy from coughing all day.
“Mhm. I couldn’t have asked for a more clear sky.”
“You mean ‘a clearer sky,’” Arthur muttered.
Normally, Alfred would be annoyed at such criticism, but it was a sign Arthur was feeling better. Just this once he would let the Englishman get away with it. “You should be resting,” Alfred said instead.
“Bah…I’m feeling better already. Plus, I needed some fresh air anyway.”
Alfred should have been happy with that news, but his chest still felt tight and a painful feeling was knawing at him in the back of his mind. They were getting along fine. Not as well as when Alfred was a child, but considering everything that had gone down between them, they were getting along great. So why was it that Arthur was still getting sick around the 4th of July?
“I know that face Alfred,” Arthur cut in, “I don’t want any more apologies or you blaming yourself.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You don’t need to. This is my own doing because of my own stupid decisions.”
“But I–”
“You know what I’ve been thinking,” Arthur continued as if he didn’t hear Alfred. “Maybe this…sickness…is caused by me. Like my body is punishing itself.”
Alfred’s stomach twisted. “Arthur…”
“It would explain so much. I did a lot of terrible things to you and your siblings. Leaving you for periods of time, not explaining important things about our kind, just leaving you all to your own devices while I fucked around and avoided my problems. All things I can’t blame my bosses for. Your independence–” Arthur broke out into a cough, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth. Alfred kept his eyes on the sky, unable to bring himself to look and risk seeing blood. The Englishman cleared his throat before continuing: “What I was trying to say was that it was a wake-up call. I didn’t want to admit it for a long time, but I messed up, and to make up for it, I tried to be better for Matthew and later Jack and Robin. But perhaps, subconsciously, I feel there is more to atone for, so on this day I always get sick.”
“Just stop it,” Alfred shouted, gripping the banister, “I’m sorry I even brought it up.”
Arthur blinked. “F-Forgive me for rambling,” he eventually said after a moment of finding the right words. “It doesn’t matter now what the cause of this is. We just have to deal with it, I suppose. After all, I have been doing so for two hundred years.”
“I said stop it,” Alfred cried, “You’re bringing the mood down.”
“Alfred?”
“Just…ugh!” Alfred pulled Arthur into a tight hug, clinging to him almost like he did as a child, nose buried in his neck. Arthur tensed, having not expected the sudden affection. “Sorry...These past few years have been a lot, and I just want to forget about our problems for a bit.”
Arthur let out a tired sigh and patted the younger nation’s back. “Indeed they have been. Would you feel better if I went back to bed?”
Alfred nodded, though not quite done with his hug. “Do you think you’d be up for some cake? I had Mattie set a piece aside for you.”
“That sounds wonderful. It will go well with my tea.”
When Alfred pulled away, there was a small smile on his face. “Let’s get you to bed first,” Alfred stated, leading Arthur back into the room.
“Yes, yes,” Arthur sighed with an eye roll.
By the time Arthur was situated, and Alfred returned with cake and Ludwig in toe with tea, the Brit was fast asleep.
#hetalia#hws#hws america#hws england#atlantic bros#minor gereng#minor geruk#minor ameliet#hurt/comfort#angst#fluff#fanfiction#hetalia fanfiction
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far from love - part nine
a/n: by the time this posts from the queue, I’ll have watched no way home. this will be getting a continuation once I deem it having been a good amount of time since the movie came out - also when I figure out how I want to write it. so this isn’t the last part officially, but for now, it’ll be a while before part ten
warnings: language, fighting, gun/blood mentions, minor character death(?)
pairing: peter parker x silk!reader
word count: 3.6k
masterlist ~ requests are closed ~ part ten
~
"Yeah, that doesn't look promising."
You and Peter were staring down at the swirling storm cloud just above the London Tower Bridge, and you were trying not to feel sick at the height.
"I didn't think our first time in England would be like this," Peter agreed, looking about as anxious as you were feeling. "I was kind of hoping to walk on the bridge, not, uh, fall on it."
"I just wanted to be annoying American tourists," you complained, pinching your nose, "Not fight some psycho children-murdering actor with drones."
Peter grimaced, "We should go. That reminds me that every second we waste, MJ and Ned are in more danger."
"Yeah," you were hoping to prolong diving into a massive storm cloud (fake or not), but he was right. More anxiety swept over you at the thought of anything happening to your friends.
Your new suits were much nicer than the stealth ones Fury provided. Despite that, you still couldn't wait to go back home and have your own suit back. If you made it home.
Peter held his hand out, and you didn't hesitate to take it. "Remember the plan?"
"Yes," you let out a nervous sigh, "I'll go find MJ and Ned and make sure they're safe while you distract Mysterio and disable the storm. Then I'll come back and meet with you once Happy is with the two of them. We'll end it."
"Remember," Peter suddenly took both of your hands, making you stare him in the eyes. "Whatever he shows you, it's not real. He's probably not alone in this and has something planned to distract you. Trust your senses. He doesn't know I'm alive, that's our only advantage - but I know he's prepared for you."
"Gee, thanks," you could imagine your expression was anything but thankful.
"Ready?"
"Nope. Let's go."
"One more thing," You turned to ask him what else he could possibly need to say, but instead he brought his free hand to your face. He gave you enough time to tell him no, or even just push him away, before he brought he pressed his lips against yours, in a much quicker kiss than the first time. You just stared blankly at him when he pulled away.
"Sorry," he almost half smiled. "You can yell at me for that later. Didn't know if I'd have the chance to ever do it again."
Then he jumped out of the jet. You could barely form words as you watched him spread his arms and his new suit's side wings appeared, carrying him into the storm.
"You motherfu-"
"Y/N, go now, I can't hover here forever!" Happy shouted, and you shook off your fear before bracing yourself, and jumping out of the jet.
-
Surprisingly, it wasn't hard to find MJ and Ned, but that didn't make you less worried. If you could find them easily, you were sure Stark's drones could find them just as fast. As much as the last thing you wanted to do was watch Flash's live streams, it did help you locate where they were - which appeared to be right outside London Tower.
You found them slightly separated from the rest of the class, only Flash with them, which wasn't ideal. Despite that, you reached them, ignoring Flash's shocked face as his hero's partner randomly showed up. Even with the outfit change, you were easily identified as Silk, you were sure.
"Follow me, now!" You gripped MJ and Ned's hands as you ran them to where Happy was planning to park the jet. Flash followed, which you supposed you would just have to deal with later.
"What's going on?" MJ yelled, luckily not saying your name.
"Mysterio has another plan, and he's after you all, I need to find somewhere to hide you guys from his drones!" You yelled over the sound of screaming and drones flying through the air. You located Happy's jet up on the street across from the Tower, and seconds later saw him hurrying over to your group.
The storm appeared to be gone - Peter has disabled it in the time you were trying to locate MJ and Ned. However, thousands of drones were flying around the area, and you couldn't just stand there and try to locate where Peter was. All you had to do was hand the group off to Happy and-
A loud explosion nearly knocked you all off of your feet - you saw drones circling the jet that was now blown up. Happy was closer now, pointedly waving at the Tower, and you got the hint.
"We need to go into the Tower, come on," you pushed them towards the tower's entrance, where no one else seemed to have the same idea, and were instead running away. While you didn't know much about the tower, you figured there had to be places for them to hide out.
Happy caught up and you ushered them all in, planning to break away and go help Peter - but not even seconds later several drones turned toward you from the sky and started flying towards the group.
Mysterio must have caught on to where you all were. You had no doubt he could see you, probably safe in the Tower with his drones protecting him. You narrowed your eyes and couldn't help but flip off a drone that surely had a camera as you ran after the group.
Your strength was enough to pull two large doors closed, but you knew it wouldn't last.
"Is Spider-Man gonna save us?" Flash squeaked, and you gave an annoyed huff.
"You're lucky if I save you," you muttered, pointing back to the hall, "We need to get deeper, those drones will break this door down in a second."
You spoke too soon. The doors shuddered behind you once, and that was enough for your group to break out into a run again.
"Happy, go hide them - I'll hold these drones off!"
Happy didn't hesitate to keep them moving, though you could hear protesting from Ned and MJ and complaints from Flash about not being able to stream this. You shook off your annoyance and turned to face the three drones, trying to remember to trust your gut. Nothing that appeared real could be trusted.
"I can see you made it here to see the show, Y/N," you heard Mysterio's voice growl through one of the drones, and you resisted the urge to punch one. "Sad that I can't finish this with you in person, you proved more resilient than I expected. I guess I'll just settle for Peter, if he makes it up here."
That, as disturbing as it sounded, was relieving to hear - Peter was still alive.
"Try all you want," you snapped, clicking a part of your webshooters. You had made a few adjustments on your suit that you thought might come in handy when facing electronic weapons like drones.
Two of the drones started firing - you immediately jumped up, doing your best to twist and flip out of the way of shots. You remembered several months ago, Peter telling you that your senses would save your life in a fight one day, and he was right. It wasn't as difficult to concentrate on avoiding shots while also webbing the drones and swinging them against the wall to attempt to break them.
You did start to panic, however, when one of the drones went after your friends.
With some difficulty, you shot a web at an overhead beam and swung yourself up on it. The drones followed easily, but you kicked off the beam at just the right time, landing on top of one of the drones.
The other drone immediately shot at you, and you yanked the one you were standing on up, effectively causing them to start shooting each other. You flung yourself off the drones and slid down one of the walls, breathing heavily as they both fell down, being shot too much to function any longer.
Unfortunately, you didn't have time to rest - you felt a huge pain in your side that indicated the stupid thing got you, but you still couldn't stop. You could hear the other drone shooting something loudly, that sounded like glass. Your friends must've hidden behind something on display that had bulletproof glass.
It was a struggle to make it to them with your side hurting as much as it did, but you were able to. For some reason MJ had a massive spiky weapon in her hands, and she dropped it when she saw you. You were a little late - just as you webbed the drone, it managed to break the glass, sending shards flying everywhere.
It flew backwards and smacked you hard in the chest, making you crumple against the wall. Black dots blurred your vision, but you managed to press the side of your webshooter with your newly installed electric webs. The drone shuddered and died, and you could barely hear Happy's voice before your vision went completely black.
-
"When is she going to wake up?"
You could faintly hear voices as you started to come to - your head was throbbing and your chest was aching, as well as a sharp pain on your side. The light in whatever room you were in was bright, and you couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes yet, knowing it would hurt.
"Anytime, hopefully. We've ended the medically induced coma, and we expect a full recovery - she'll just need rest, and time."
"Okay, thanks," you recognized this voice, and figured already who it was before they spoke because you could feel his hand in yours. You assumed the second voice, who you could now hear leaving the room, was a doctor.
Peter sighed next to you, and you could hear him typing on his phone.
"Medically induced coma, huh?" you mumbled before opening your eyes, trying not to smile when you felt Peter flinch. "Getting knocked out did not feel very 'medical'."
"Oh my God," Peter let out a quiet laugh, and you finally blinked a little, though your sight was still really blurry. "I thought I'd be here for hours, waiting for you to wake up."
"You know I'm not that patient," you replied, finally getting a better look at the room around you. You already figured you were in a hospital, but based on the accent of the doctor and how nice this room seemed, you were still in London. You didn't even know how long it had been.
"Can I get you anything? Water, food?" Peter asked eagerly, squeezing your hand. But you just shook your head, wanting answers before anything else.
"What happened?" You asked, hoping your eyesight would adjust. It was easy to see the yellow and green bruises dotting his face and how red his eyes were, though.
"You got shot," he said carefully, and you could tell he was angry about that based on how quickly his tone changed. "And you hit your head really hard. The doctor said your memories of the fight would be kind of fuzzy for a few days. Fury agreed to let you rest before we recoup and have any discussions."
"But you got him, right? Mysterio's in jail or something?"
"Of course," he said quickly, "He-he's dead, Y/N."
You sat up quickly, way too quickly, and Peter brought a hand to your shoulder to gently force you back down. "What?"
"His drones malfunctioned," he bit his lip. "I don't really know what happened, the last few minutes were-were kind of a blur."
"Are you okay?" You asked, noticing how off he seemed, which you expected. But something else seemed to be bothering him, but he didn't seem keen on sharing.
"Me?" He scoffed, "Look at you! You were out for days, Fury and Hill had to come up with the biggest lie I've ever seen for your mom, we're still stuck in London, I-I thought you weren't going to make it-"
"Hey," you interrupted him, "I'm fine, Peter. Honestly, I-I'd have never known it was that bad."
"Liar," he frowned at you, and you tried not to wince when you laughed, knowing it really was bad from how much your chest ached.
"Seriously, it feels like a blur," you rubbed your head, "The doctor must have been right about my memory being fuzzy."
"What do you remember?" He seemed anxious again, and you knew what he was referring to.
"I remember you kissing me when I had asked you to wait until New York to discuss whatever this is," you gave him a look, but you both knew you weren't really upset. He had given you plenty of time to say no if you didn't really want him to kiss you. And you definitely didn't want to say no.
"I told you, I would keep trying until you explicitly told me to leave you alone," he reminded you, seeming a little more relaxed now that you were joking with him again.
"I don't want you to leave me alone," you said a little too quickly, which made him grin, "I'm still going to be mad at you for a while, but...but I don't think it'll last that much longer, if I'm being honest."
"Take all the time you need," he couldn't hide his smile now, as he took one of your hands in his. "I can wait."
"We'll talk about it more in New York, when my brain doesn't feel like it's been deep fried," you chuckled, leaning back against your pillow again.
"Yeah. I suppose we will."
-
Your mom was in hysterics when you and Peter got back, which you expected. Luckily, there was no suspicion from her - many people were injured in that fight, and you just happened to be one of the unlucky casualties.
After promising your mom you wouldn't do anything crazy for the next few weeks, she finally agreed to let you continue your part time work at Oscorp. She didn't know, after all, that you had advanced healing, and you were already feeling better by the time your plane touched down in New York.
She also didn't know that you were meeting with Peter every night for patrol.
He hesitated a lot at first, unsure if you were faking being better just to be able to patrol again, but eventually he caved. It was weird - you were still a little startled that he would openly take off his mask and talk to you now.
The more he fell back into old habits, the more you started feeling...off. He would start cracking jokes, like Spidey did, and you would have trouble making yourself remember that they were the same person.
In fact, the more you patrolled with him and he would act like Spidey usually did, you started thinking about the several months that he had lied to you. How even with your other friends, you and Peter were friends again like nothing had changed, like he hadn't one day randomly decided to cut you off.
But he did.
This was why you needed the time to think about it and actually talk to him about it once you returned to New York - you hadn't even properly confronted him about kissing you before jumping out of the jet, much less him kissing you when you still didn't know it was him.
One evening after Oscorp, you went to your meeting spot early, staring out at the setting sun over New York. It was past time to have this talk with him, you knew that. It was also evident that he was waiting for you to give him the go ahead to take things further, like you knew you both wanted. But you knew deep down that that wasn't the right decision.
"Hey, Y/N/N," You knew he was there, but his voice still almost made you flinch. He dropped down next to you, taking his mask off and smiling at you. You did the same, tugging yours down and having a hard time meeting his eyes.
"We need to talk," you said carefully, not wanting him to jump to assumptions. "We never had a proper discussion when we got back to New York, and we can't avoid it."
Again, there was that buzzing feeling, like two magnets trying to pull you both together. You could tell Peter wanted to embrace that, and come closer to you, but he waited.
"Alright. So what...what do you want from this?" He got right to it, gesturing between you both, as though he already knew what you would say. He forced the next sentence out, "Continue as we were, or-or more, or...nothing?"
"I don't really know what I want," you admitted, seeing his expression waver slightly. "I thought I did, but being back home is making it more...more real, I guess? Patrolling with you and knowing that you were Peter the whole time is...it's making me hesitate."
Peter didn't say anything, knowing that you were right. It was different when you thought he was dead and that he was going to die - and while you still felt the same about him, remembering things you shared with Spidey were really things you shared with Peter, brought back a lot of trust issues.
"I meant it, when I said I wouldn't leave you alone unless you want me too," he swallowed, "Do...do you want me to?"
You shook your head. "No, I-I think I just want time. Honestly, Peter, think about it - we haven't been friends in nearly a year. I was friends with Spider-Man, not you, because I didn't know you were him. I think I need to adjust to that again before I can think of anything more. And I think you do, too. You had feelings for MJ before I became Silk, remember?"
Peter bit his lip. "They weren't as strong as they are for you. And they're gone now, completely gone."
"That doesn't mean they didn't exist," you countered, though his words made your stomach flip a little. "We got thrown into something really traumatizing and...I think we both should have time before we approach the subject again. Don't you?"
"You're right," he admitted, his shoulders slouching slightly, "Of course you're right. But I have to ask if I have a chance, at all, ever. Or if I've fucked up too bad."
"You know how I feel about you, Peter. You will probably always have that chance. I just don't know how long it will be before I'm comfortable enough to have that conversation with you."
"That's fine," he nodded, "I said it before, Y/N. I'll wait as long as you need."
You wanted to believe that. But there was a part of you that couldn't fully trust him to wait, as much as you wanted to. There was a part of you that would probably always believe that he might change his mind and walk away, and you didn't want to admit that that was probably a large part of the reason as to why you were asking him to take time so you could both think about this.
You had to give him a chance to walk away, just like he had to give you the same chance. It was easy to remember how quickly he broke off your friendship. Clearly everything was different now, but that hurt still remained. You couldn't let yourself jump into a relationship with him before rebuilding your friendship first. You both deserved that.
"Thank you," you said quietly, not really able to resist the buzzing in your senses any longer, so you leaned forward and hugged him. He didn't wait even a second before wrapping his arms tightly around you, too.
"Are your senses going crazy right now?" He asked quietly, sounding unsure.
"Yeah. Do you think something's-?"
You didn't get to finish. He abruptly let go of you and turned you around to face what he was seeing - one of the largest screens in New York was showing a breaking news segment. For a moment, you almost wanted to open your mouth and ask what was so important about another JJ Jameson special - but then you saw the pictures displayed, despite not being able to hear it even with your enhanced hearing due to the distance.
Maybe Peter's hearing was better than yours.
"He set me up," he said, his voice sounding on the edge of anger as we all fear. The video showing appeared to be from Mysterio's suit when him and Peter were fighting on the London Tower...you concentrated hard on what he was saying. You didn't catch the rest of the video before JJ Jameson was talking, but you could hear him loud and clear.
"Spider-Man and Silk appeared to cause the destruction in London, Prague, and Venice earlier this month. Mysterio, a hero who gave his life for our planet, was murdered by Spider-Man after this video was taken. As you could clearly see, Spider-Man ordered the attack on civilians in London using stolen Stark technology, and no doubt his partner was Silk, who was also reported to be in London at the time of this attack. And that's not all, folks."
A scratchy video of Beck came up. He looked beaten and bloody, facing the camera and looking back like he was being attacked. You knew anyone watching this that didn't already know the truth would have bought anything he said.
"Spider-Man's real name is-"
You gripped Peter's hand hard as it cut out.
"Spider-Man's real name is Peter Parker."
~
tag list:
@somefuckshit1 @hufflepuffseeker @nocturnalms @sanniesdiary @peter-parkers-passport @chosuah01 @runawaywithmyghost @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah
#peter parker x reader#peter parker fic#peter parker reader insert#spider-man x reader#spider-man fic#spiderman x reader#peterpparkerwrites masterlist#my writing
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Good girl - Charlie Weasley 18+
18 +
Hi <3
This was a Charlie Weasley request, let me kow what you think!
REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Female Reader
Warnings: Jealous Charlie, Oral (male receiving), fingering, spanking, sir kink?, bathroom sex
Minors DNI
--------------------------
It was Ron’s birthday and the whole Weasley family and friends were in a pub in Diagon Alley celebrating. Everyone was so excited to see Charlie and his girlfriend Y/N back home from Romania.
Charlie was currently sat with the twins and Sirius whilst Y/N danced with Hermione. “You enjoying being back mate?” Sirius asked and took a sip from his beer.
Charlie shifted slightly in his chair, making sure he could still keep an eye on Y/N. “Yeah it’s great, Y/N loves it the most I think, as much as she loves working in Romania, she misses everyone here”, the two continued their conversation until Charlie got distracted.
One of Fred’s mates stood behind Y/N, hands on her hips whilst she danced. Charlie calmly excused himself from his position beside Sirius and made his way over towards Y/N. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the guy.
“Ow Charlie” she squeaked and tried to keep up with his steps. He pulled her over the dancefloor, down a corridor and into the toilets. “Charlie let go!”.
He shut the stall door behind them and let go of her wrist, “what the fuck was that!” he growled out, hands folded over his chest.
“What was what?” she threw her hands up dramatically and stared up at him. She knew what she did.
“You know what! He had his hands all over you!”
“Lower your voice” she hissed “We were dancing!”.
Charlie's hand came up to wrap around her throat “He. Was. Touching. Whats. Mine” her eyes widened, her panties dampening slightly. Jealous and angry Charlie didn’t come out often, but when he did it was amazing. It would usually end with Y/N not being able to walk straight for a few days.
“Maybe that's what you wanted” he tightened his hand slightly before loosening it again, “to have some random guys hands all over you, such a little slut”. His hand moved from her neck to her jaw and he held her chin between his thumb and index finger tightly, “is that what you wanted?”. His tone was harsh and his eyes burned into hers.
“No sir, don’t want anyone else”.
“Prove it, on your knees”. He let go of her chin and she dropped to her knees, eyes looking up at him waiting for instructions.
“Fuck, did his hands feel that good on you that you forgot everything I like?”
Y/N shook her head, “no”, hands going straight to unbutton his trousers, his left hand caught both of her hands whilst his right tangled in her hair, pulling it back so she looked up at him. “No what?” he questioned, jaw clenched.
“No sir” she whimpered.
“Good girl”.
He let go of her hands and she made quick work of getting them off, “now suck my cock like good girl”.
She gripped the base of his cock and ran her hand up and down slowly, Charlie tugged at her hair again “I said suck”. She wrapped her lips around the tip, easing slightly before taking as much of him as she could. She pulled back and spit onto his cock before wrapping his lips around his cock again, her hand wrapping around and pumping what she couldn’t fit.
Low groans left Charlie’s mouth, his hips thrusting towards her. Her hands rested on his thighs whilst he fucked her mouth. His tip hitting the back of her throat over and over as she gagged.
The door to the bathroom opened and he pulled his cock out of Y/Ns mouth before pulling her up by her hair slightly. He leaned down to grip her thighs and pulled her up against him.
He sat down on the closed seat,his cock resting against his shirt, pre-cum and saliva creating a damp patch on it. He put his fingers to his lips telling her to shh, he lifted her dress up and pulled her underwear to the side. His eyes met hers and she nodded. He pushed two fingers into her mouth, her saliva coating them and then he wrapped them around his cock. He repeated the process but brought his fingers down to her pussy.
“Didn’t even need that” he whispered in her ear before positioning her over his cock. She lowered her hips, hands wrapping around his neck. Charlie pulled her in for a kiss to keep her quiet. Y/N went to move but Charlie held her in place “sit still”.
“Yes sir” she whispered seductively in his ear before lightly peppering kisses along his jaw and neck.
The bathroom door shut again and Charlie was quick to stand up and push Y/N against the wall. His cock was still buried in her tight pussy, he kissed her roughly, hips not moving an inch.
“Please sir” she mumbled into the kiss.
“Please what?” he kissed down her neck, nipping and sucking until little bruises trailed down to her tits.
“Please fuck me”.
“But only good girls get fucked” he said teasingly.
“We were just dancing” she rolled her eyes and he pulled out of her.
She looked at him in the eyes, “say that again, I dare you” the teasing tone left his voice. He quickly turned her around so her chest was against the wall. “Go on”.
“We were just dancing”
Smack.
“What was that, didn’t catch it” Y/N felt her underwear get even wetter, her thighs dampening a bit. She knew he was jealous, she knew how to mess with him. They hadn’t fucked the whole time they’d been in England and she missed it.
“We were just danc” Smack. “Charlie!” smack. “I didn’t do anything” smack. Smack.
Five smacks landed on her arse. “You let him touch what’s mine” his voice was full of authority “or maybe you want to be his now, is that it?”
“Charlie no”. Smack.
“That’s not my name,” he said through gritted teeth, another smack hitting the red raw flesh.
“I just want you, only you. Need you now sir” Y/N whined as a tear ran down her cheek. Charlie ran his finger up her slit.
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” his finger teased her entrance, a small moan leaving her lips at the contact. “All this just so I fuck you? Such a needy slut”. Three fingers thrusted into her “Why didn't you ask like a good girl? Why did you have to act like a brat and let that asshole touch you”
“Please sir, want your cock”
“Oh yeah, how bad?”
“Please fuck me, I need it, I need you”.
Charlie took away his fingers and replaced them with his cock. Y/N’s knees wobbled as she tried to keep herself up right, his hands gripped her waist as he thrusted into her with no mercy.
Her moans were so loud, she’d be surprised if the music booming outside was loud enough to keep them quiet. The bathroom was filled with Charlies grunts, Y/N’s moans and the sound of his hips against her arse.
Y/Ns left hand dropped off the wall and reached behind her, Charlie laced his fingers with hers as she gripped him tight.
“Fuck youre so big sir, love it when you fuck me”
“Take it like a good girl, always so good when you get what you want” his hand on her waist lowered slightly so he could toy with her clit.
“So close sir, can I cum?” she whines, legs starting to shake from how well he was fucking her.
“Beg” At this point Charlie was holding back his own release, desperate to make her pay for letting some guy touch her, he debated on not letting her cum but he couldn’t do that to her. Not after them both waiting this long.
“Please sir, promise I’ll only dance with you”
“Only want you Sir”
“Please let me cum”
“Please please please” she said in between loud, high pitched, pornagraphic moans.
“Cum” was all he had to say before the coil inside her snapped, her body shook against his, her orgasm hitting her hard. The way her walls clenched around her, had Charlie filling her up with his cum.
His pace slowed as he pulled her up so her back was against her chest. “Good girl” he cooed, “such a good girl for me”, her eyes fluttered open as he pulled out of her, kissing her cheek.
He turned her around and kept his hands on her waist, her legs still visibly shaking. He pulled her panties back over to cover her leaking cunt and fixed her dress.
“Was that too much?” he asked, slightly concerned.
“No, it was amazing” she giggled and pecked him softly, “but honestly, we were just dancing Charlie”
“Watch your mouth” he teased and smacked her arse over her dress.
“Ow” she hit his chest playfully “We better get back” Y/N walked in front of Charlie back to the party room, no one had really noticed they were gone. Charlie made sure to keep his hands on her waist so she didn’t fall.
They sat back at the table and were met by a smirking Sirius. “Alright mate?” Charlie asked and took a sip of his drink.
“Yeah good, so Y/N are you sure you were just dancing?” he winked at the couple, Y/N turned red whilst a cocky smirk took over Charlies face. He stood up patting charlie on the back before squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Oh to be young and in love, next time stick a note on the bathroom door” he laughed as he walked away.
-------------------------------------------------
MASTERLIST
Taglist
@amityyyjade @garbdump
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Ahh!! ♥️ 🥰 💕 i loved your Friedrich imagine but now im so sad that its over! What am i to do now? 😂 it was so good and one of the highlights of my day when i say you had posted! Im going to miss it!!! Any way we can get a head cannon of after post of them with children and just their life in London with the Bridgerton fam?
thank you so much!!!!! i get very emotionally attached to my characters and since this is the first series that i didn’t give up on midway i love them even more :’( so i am equally sad that it’s over now. But don’t worry they’ll come back regularly! and there are more friedrich to come babe don’t you worry
okay enough said. here ya go! and also can i get a whoop whoop for the hot dad club of the bridgerton sons and sons-in-law????
Friedrich and Y/N had a huge estate on the outskirts of london and a townhouse in london
after their honeymoon in prussia (which was absolutely spectacular)
the two went back to their country estate, expecting some peace and quiet
but nopee
the first thing they heard when they came to the doors was a deafening yell
hyacinth had spotted their carriage from the upstair window even from quite far away
then the doors opened to reveal your entire family in the foyer, running around like it was their house
“WELCOME HOME!” Gregory said, practically jumping on the both of you
“Who gave them the keys?”
“I did,” Friedrich said with a grin
“they’ll never leave now. are you happy?”
“very!”
it made you wonder whether you were the bridgerton in this relationship
he adored your siblings, especially the little ones
and they were obsessed with their cool brother-in-law
he was much more tolerant of their antics than you
he let them do whatever they want at your house
which Mama would never allow back at home
when your little girl came along
Friedrich and Simon would arrange almost daily playdates
you’d think they were hosting similar activities to the club that anthony used to go to
but no
they talked about babies, all about babies
sharing recipes and whatnot
you and Daphne had no complaints
you were allowed some free time to sit down and catch up while your husbands gushed to each other about your kids
if Friedrich couldn’t be there, you bet he would make you recount everything
and by that you meant EVERYTHING
even the minor details like what faces they made when they tried strawberries for the first time
“they liked it”
“liked it how?”
“i don’t know??????they just did.”
(Simon would always have the details)
when it came time for your siblings to get married and have kids of their own
the boys made a whole club-“fab dad club”, “dads of the (bridger)ton”, “GDOAT-greatest dads of all time”, “you love your dad more and you know it.” all were working titles although the last one seemed to be the favorite
highly exclusive
they met up once a week at your townhouse in london
and it’d definitely be everyday if you and your sisters had allowed them
when your husband was not obsessing over his kids and their cousins with simon
he’d be accompanying you and your baby to the park
the ladies of the ton would swoooon at the sight of the prince and princesses of prussia :)
“oh my goodness, what preciousness!”
they would curtsy to your baby girl who would be asleep
the queen would invite your family over for dinners and tea parties in the garden
would 100% show your kid off to every visitors
king george seemed to love having a little kid around
it gave him peace
and that gave the queen peace
after seeing how precious your little girl was the queen had zero grudge against you and friedrich
well maybe a little
but she would show it in little jabs “don’t be clumsy like your mother” she’d say. “don’t marry anyway lesser than you, sweetheart.”
Lady Violet and Frederica are pretty similar when it came to their grandmotherly instincts
they’d bring tons of gifts over
Lady Violet brought new clothes from the modiste every week along with fresh produce
even though you had an entire wardrobe full of baby clothes from daphne and a garden full of vegetables in the backyard
she would still bring more
Frederica would take with her from prussia all the delicacies and souvenirs for all of you
souvenirs as in jewelry and first edition books from the royal library
she once brought a diamond tiara
it was definitely not made for babies
but she insisted that it’d be the baby’s when she could wear it
you had no clues how she managed to pack all of them and travel with so much luggage from prussia to england
they would both teach your girl to be a lil badass and she’d definitely grow up knowing her worth
you and friedrich were just living in complete bliss
and were certainly expecting more bliss to come ;))
#bridgerton#prince friedrich#bridgerton imagine#prince friedrich fanfiction#prince friedrich imagines#prince friedrich x reader#simon basset#daphne bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#anthony bridgerton#colin bridgerton
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the one where you’re Harry’s tailor
@theasstour and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.
Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content
NORA’S MASTERLIST | SARAH’S MASTERLIST
There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.
Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.
He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.
“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.
The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.
“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.
“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”
“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag, “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”
Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.
You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.
“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”
“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”
Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.
“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”
He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.
“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”
“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”
Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.
“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”
You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.
“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”
Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.
“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”
You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”
“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”
“Like…?”
Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.
“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”
You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.
Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”
Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”
“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”
Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.
“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.
“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.
“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”
Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.
“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.
“Know a Brit when I hear one.”
You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”
He did.
You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”
“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”
“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.
“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.
“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.
“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.
“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.
Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”
“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.
“Both.”
You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.
“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”
“Preferably not.”
“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.
“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”
Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.
“Try to relax.”
“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”
The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.
“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”
You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded.
“Ever had someone tailor you?”
You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”
“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”
You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”
“Count me in after July.”
“Oh?”
“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”
“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”
“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”
You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”
“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”
The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.
“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”
“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”
“Where abouts are you going?”
“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”
“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.
Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”
“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.
“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”
“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.
“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.
“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”
“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.
“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”
“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”
You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”
Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.
“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.
He didn’t respond.
“Harry?”
“Huh?”
You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”
“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.
“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.
You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.
“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.
He hissed.
You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.
Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”
Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”
You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”
“Exactly.” Harry translated.
You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.
“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”
“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”
You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”
“And you’re a tailor.”
“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”
“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”
“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”
Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”
“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”
“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.
Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.
“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.
And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.
You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.
The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.
You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.
“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.
“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”
It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.
“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”
Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.
“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”
“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”
“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”
“No, that’s art, babe.”
You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.
“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”
You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”
“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”
“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.
“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”
The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.
“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.
“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”
“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”
He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”
You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.
“It fits.”
“Nothing bad’s happened?”
You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”
“Harry ruining the suit.”
You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”
“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”
You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”
“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”
“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”
“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”
“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”
Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”
“Do not know. I really don’t.”
He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.
You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.
The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.
Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.
“I-“
“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”
“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.
“I’m not taking your word for it.”
This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.
However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.
You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.
But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.
Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.
But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.
People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.
“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.
“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”
Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.
“Why’d you do that?”
“You were being rude.”
“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”
You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.
Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.
“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”
You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.
Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.
You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.
You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.
“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.
Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.
“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.
“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”
Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.
Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.
You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.
You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.
Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.
“Mi scusi, signora.”
You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.
“Harry?”
“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.
“What are you doing here?”
“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.
“Wha - how are yo-?”
“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.
“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.
“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”
“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”
“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”
Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.
“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”
He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”
“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”
“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”
Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.
“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.
“You too, doll.”
“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.
“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.
“Of course he did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”
“He’s not.”
“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”
“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”
“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”
“Just him?”
It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.
“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.
“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”
“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”
“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”
“Course, of course.”
“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”
The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.
“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.
“‘M terrified.”
You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.
“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.
“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”
“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”
Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.
“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,
Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.
But none of that held your attention.
In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.
And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.
Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.
“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.
The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.
“How are you feeling?”
Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”
That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.
The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.
There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.
The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.
“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”
“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”
“That will have my head if I get too close.”
“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”
Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”
“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”
“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”
You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.
Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.
“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”
“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”
You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.
“I don’t!”
“Alright, mate.”
Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”
You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.
“Who’s Jack?”
You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”
“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.
“None of your business.”
Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”
You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.
“You’re seeing him then?”
You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”
“Oh, come on!”
You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.
“Is he fit at least?”
“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”
“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”
You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.
“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”
“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”
Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.
“What?”
Alessandro shrugged.
“No, what?”
“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.
You rolled your eyes.
“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”
“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”
Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.
Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.
Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.
“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.
“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”
“I know.”
You bit your lip, not looking back at him.
“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”
You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”
“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”
Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”
Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”
You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.
“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.
“He is.”
“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.
“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.
You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.
“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”
Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.
“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”
Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”
“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”
“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”
“You’re absurd.”
At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.
Especially Harry.
His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.
“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.
“I know, I was watching.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”
His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.
“Alright. Good luck.”
But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you proud?”
The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.
“Always proud of everything you do.”
It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.
A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.
“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”
The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”
You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.
“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.
A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.
This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.
“Thank you.” You whispered
“For what?”
“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”
“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.
Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.
“What?!”
“Mhm.”
“Together?”
“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.
“How come?”
You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”
Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.
“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.
It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.
Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.
You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.
“I see why you like this so much.”
Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.
“Hmm? Why’s that?”
“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”
“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.
“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”
If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.
But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”
“Harry -”
“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”
Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.
“Just look around an-”
“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.
“Wh-“
“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“
“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”
“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”
Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.
“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”
“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”
“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”
The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.
You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.
There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.
“Packing up so soon?”
“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.
“How many this time?”
“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”
“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”
“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”
“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”
“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”
“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”
“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”
“And some dates, no?”
“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”
“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”
“Details of what?”
“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.
“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”
“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”
“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.
“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”
“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”
“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”
“Have fun my prodigies!”
Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.
“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”
“Hmm?”
You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket. He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.
“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”
Harry laughed, “He means well.”
It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.
“You think you’d do another?”
“You think I’d be asked to do another?”
Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.
“What are you doing?”
“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”
“Huh?”
“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”
“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”
“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”
He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.
“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”
That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.
“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”
“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”
“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”
You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.
“Lallo?”
“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”
“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.
But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.
However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.
You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”
“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”
“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.
Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.
“Looking forward to having some time off?”
“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.” you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”
“You’re really wonderful, you know.”
The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.
“Here we are!”
Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.
“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.
“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”
The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.
“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!
“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.
“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!
You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?
Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”
True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.
“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”
“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”
“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”
“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”
“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”
“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”
You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.
“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.
“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”
“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”
“I knew it.”
“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”
“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.
“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”
“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”
A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.
“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.
“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”
“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”
“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”
“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”
Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.
“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”
“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.
Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.
“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”
“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”
“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”
“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.
“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”
“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.
“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”
“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”
“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”
“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.
“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”
“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”
“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”
“He’s got a point you know.”
“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”
“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”
“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.
“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”
“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.
“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”
“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”
“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”
“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”
Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.
A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”
“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”
You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.
“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had
“What?”
“Really?”
“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”
Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes, “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”
“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”
“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”
“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.
He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.
It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.
“Care to dance?”
It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.
The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…
Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.
You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.
“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.
You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.
“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.
Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.
You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.
“What’re you doing?”
His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”
You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.
Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.
Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.
You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.
“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.
“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.
“Alright, I’ll get off-“
“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”
You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.
The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.
You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.
Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.
You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.
There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.
You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.
Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.
You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.
You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.
He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.
You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.
He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.
“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.
You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.
Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.
“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.
“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”
Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.
“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.
“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”
You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.
“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.
“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.
Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.
“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.
“That just happened.”
“We just did that.”
You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.
Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”
“Dunno.”
“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”
“Harry, I-“
“-Please.”
You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”
He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”
“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.
“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”
“Good.”
Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”
You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.
Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.
The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.
It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.
Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.
“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”
“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”
Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.
Harry
Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x
Harry
Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x
You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.
“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.
“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.
Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.
So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?
#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles blurb#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles imagines#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shots#harry styles blurbs#1dff
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The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Three
Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader
Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.
Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death
Words: 2496
Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!
A/N: Hope you guys had a wonderful Christmas! Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged, I love you all! xxx
Chapter Three - She is a Diamond
Nerves swarmed and came to a rising bubble in your stomach on the afternoon of the meeting between your future husband and his friends. The meeting was to determine the unknown problems and strife that England was now facing. You were worried for a multitude of reasons, England was meant to be your new home and you wanted to be safe, you didn’t want to be led like a lamb to slaughter. If it was rebels rising in the North then you knew of one sure way – the only way – to prove that England was strong and it was something that you were not ready for.
You had decided to dress in a rather conservative dress today – it felt like it was crushing your internal organs – instead of your usual pretty ethereal dresses. You wanted Sirius’ friends to take you seriously, you had a voice and they needed to hear it.
Sofia caught your eye in the mirror as she was intricately braiding your hair and she smiled at you as she squeezed your shoulders gently, “I’m nervous Sofia,” you admitted and Sofia nodded in understanding.
“Making peace is frightening, Your Highness but Sirius is incredibly lucky to have you, as is England.”
You frowned at her as she stepped away from the golden gilded mirror, “what do you mean?”
Sofia bit her lip as she fiddled with her fingers and you could tell that she was trying to be diplomatic with what she said next, “forgive me if you think that I speak out of turn but Queen Lily probably has no experience of diplomacy because she was never supposed to be Queen. But, you, you were raised to be a Queen; your father took you into his council meetings. You know what you’re doing and I know that the Duke will listen to you.”
You knew that Sofia was right, the Queen seemed nice but she had only been a minor Lady before King James took her to wife so she wouldn’t have been taught the art of diplomacy, “she’s the Queen, and we shouldn’t talk about her like that. When we’re her ladies we need to help her,” Sofia smiled and nodded at your kind words, “I should get going, what are you going to do while I’m gone?”
Sofia shrugged as she played with the ends of her hair, “I might take a walk around the gardens,” she flushed and you smirked, knowing exactly what she was thinking.
“And daydream about the Duke of Warwick?”
Sofia’s blush only deepened at your words, “maybe.”
You giggled and kissed both of her cheeks before you left your chambers and set off for the council chambers. It was a dreary day that was full of much rain but like usual, you kept the window cracked open a little bit. When it rained it carried the smell of strawberries growing on the wind and it filled the hallways with the sweetest scent. It managed to cheer everyone up, even on the greyest day.
You gently knocked on the ajar door before entering the room and the three men got to their feet at once, “Your Highness,” they chorused, inclining their heads.
Sirius smiled at you, he looked gloriously handsome in robes of periwinkle that brought out the soft stormy colour of his eyes. He kept eye contact with you as he took your hand and lifted it to his lips to press a soft kiss upon it. The look in his eyes made your cheeks flush and your heart flutter as pleasant warmth spread through your bones.
You cleared your throat as the air felt thick and heavy, “my Lords,” your voice sounded breathy and you could have sworn that Sirius’ eyes darkened slightly. Sirius gestured for you to sit down and the three Lords followed suit, “so, what have we got here? What’s the trouble?” you asked.
A muscle fluttered in Sirius’ jaw as he threw the letter down in the middle of the table, “there’s trouble brewing in Cumbria, small villages have been raided and pillaged and bandits have been attacking travellers on the Kings Road. It could be peasants but it could be rebels rising up against the King. Unrest is already stirring in London, people are starting to lose faith due to the Queen’s inability to get pregnant,” his voice was gentle but his words were harsh.
You saw a flash of red before your eyes, “that’s not her fault!” your voice was sharp and you saw Sirius flinch slightly, you sighed and placed your hand on his knee, “who’s lands are they?” you asked, maybe the Duke of Cumbria would be able to shed some light.
“Well, that’s the problem,” Remus started, “they’re the King’s lands, he’s yet to appoint a Duke, there have always been rebels in the North so he’s hesitant to let his rule go,” you raised an eyebrow in slight confusion, “there was a Duke and a Duchess once, Tom Riddle and his wife who were both executed for practicing witchcraft. Riddle claimed that his wife had given him love potion and he was executed by association. The Riddles used to rule the country before they were overthrown by James’ grandfather.”
You were silent, who would dare commit such crimes on lands owned by the King? “was there no heir?” you whispered and Remus’ face grew solemn.
“He was executed in the tower of London, James’ father was a witness, he used to tell us the story when we were children.”
Bile fought its way up your throat as tears stung your eyes and you thought about the horror of a poor child being killed for his parent’s sins, “that’s awful,” you whispered and you felt Sirius’ hand squeeze yours gently.
Remus hummed in response with a worried expression on his face as he looked over at his best friend, “we need to do something about this, whether it’s a group of peasant or a group of rebels, we need to make England safe, like it was in times of old. Can you send any of your men to investigate and deal justice if needs be?”
Sirius shook his head as his long fingers pressed into his temples and your heart melted for him, “I’ve got no men to spare, they’re holding Calais in case our enemies rise up, it truly feels as though we have no allies,” he hesitated as he lifted his head and you could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, “we need to send a spy – if it is rebels – somebody that they won’t expect.”
Peter, who had been silent for most of the meeting – he had no art for diplomacy – made a small scared noise and you bit your lip. Peter wasn’t the bravest of men, that much was true but he would be the most inconspicuous spy, no one would ever suspect him. However, something gnawed at your conscience and it was his face. Peter was trembling, his small eyes were watery and he seemed to know what everyone else did, he looked scared. He looked just like a little boy and you remembered just how young he was, how young you all were.
Whatever happened you couldn’t let Peter go, not when he looked scared to death, your heart wouldn’t allow it. Instead, you sacrificed yourself and the handsome man sitting at your side, “the common people – and all people – need to believe in you again, in King James, in England, in all of us. We need to give the appearance that we’re strong and Sirius is right,” you gestured over to him to find that he was listening intently with his eyebrows drawn together, “we have no allies but there is one way, the only way to ensure that we get them. We need to give the people a spectacle and a reason to celebrate. We need Spain, we need a wedding,” you looked up at Sirius from beneath your eyelashes.
Realisation dawned on his face as clear as day, “Y/N, no” he trailed off, saying nothing more.
“It’s not what I want,” you sniffed, feeling tears sting at your eyes, “but we need allies, we need Spain,” you hadn’t wanted to marry him so quickly, you were becoming fond of him but that wasn’t enough.
Remus and Peter stayed silent as they glanced at Sirius, awaiting his response, “we can’t,” he whispered, his eyes were soft and gentle.
“Do you know of any other way Sirius? My father won’t send the Spanish men we need without our wedding. Our wedding is the only way we can rely on this alliance and I won’t allow anyone to be sent over as a spy, not yet,” you glanced over at Peter who gave you a shaky thankful smile.
Sirius stayed silent, a troubled look on his face, “that’s settled then,” you sniffed as you stood up, feeling your heart beating wildly, “excuse me my Lords. Good day,” you excused yourself without looking at Sirius or waiting for a reply.
Once you were in the hallway, you steadied yourself with a hand on the cold stone wall, you felt faint and your breathing got shallow. You were going to be a wife soon, you had had no choice.
----------------------------------
Sirius sighed through the cold air as he dragged a hand through his hair, he had been searching for the Princess for ages now, and he had cut the meeting short to search through his huge chateau. He couldn’t find her anywhere, she wasn’t in the library or in the portrait room, and they were the two places where she loved to sit for hours. It had stopped raining now so he decided to look for her in the gardens, the trouble was there was so many of them, and it could be dark before he found her.
He slipped on the rain soaked grass as he made his way across the wet lawn, a million questions running through his head at once. Why would she sacrifice herself? Sirius had never wanted it to be like this, it felt like it was a forced marriage. Sirius had wanted to wait until they got to know each other better and when she felt comfortable but that was all over now. As soon as the people got wind of a wedding that involved a Princess they would want to see results immediately.
Sirius finally found her sitting on the bench of the water fountain in the rose garden; Sofia was sitting with her arm around Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N’s eyes looked red and bloodshot, it looked like she had been crying but she was still beautiful. How was she still so beautiful? Y/N looked up as she heard Sirius approached and she wiped her nose and got to her feet.
“Y/N,” Sirius sighed as he reached out and cupped her cold cheek with his warm hand, Y/N let out a breath as she leaned in to his warm touch, placing her hand over his, “why? Why would you do this? I thought we had an agreement, we would get married when you were ready and not a second earlier.”
Y/N bit her lip and looked away from him as she watched the water trickling into the fountain with a sad look in her eyes, “you’re sweet Sirius,” she started in a shaky voice, “and I’ll always be grateful for that but the rest of the world won’t wait for us. People who want to attack England and overthrow King James won’t wait for us; they’ll see a moment of weakness and strike like a viper. We can’t afford to lose this war Sirius; too many lives are at stake, yours included.”
“I understand that Y/N,” Sirius whispered gently, almost like he was whispering to a lover in the dead of night, “but you have no duty to the people of England, you have no duty to try and save them.”
Y/N looked back at him and smiled weakly, the light in her eyes was back and a flush started to rise up from her neck before it settled in a light dusting on her cheeks, “no, you’re right, I don’t have a duty to the people of England, and it’s not them I’m trying to save. I’m trying to save you, and your friends who have always been so kind to me. I’m trying to protect you and our marriage is the only way that I can do that, so I’ll make the choice willingly.”
Sirius felt hot tears sting at his eyes, he had never felt so protected by anyone, not his King and certainly not his mother, at that moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss her but he felt that that wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead he pulled her into a tight hug, he heard her laugh as she wrapped her arms around him and Sirius buried his nose in her sweet smelling hair, “thank you,” he whispered against her hair.
Y/N pulled back and smiled up at him, “you’re welcome and I know that we may not love each other but I want us to be in this together,” she smiled when Sirius nodded with a grin, he wanted that too, “so,” she started as she took his arm and started to take a stroll around the gardens, “know any good places to get married?” she laughed.
“Well, there is my family chapel but it’s sad and dark, its where my mother got married, it’s not fit for such a young and beautiful princess,” he grinned over at Y/N who flushed and she tightened her hold on Sirius’ arm, “there is a place in the woods where a little chapel dwells, right in the thicket of trees. In times of old it was said that Englishmen found fairies in the trees and mermaids in the babbling brooks.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him entirely unconvinced, “are you serious? Fairies and mermaids?” she snickered, “who came up with that rubbish?”
Sirius smiled, “I found in a book of local legends,” he shrugged, “and I’ve been to visit it and it really is beautiful, if those creatures did exist then it would be a perfect habitat for them, it feels like it’s steeped in magic. There’s a cluster of cherry blossom trees that hides the chapel and its grounds from the world. It’s one of the most amazing places,” he smiled wistfully.
Y/N gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling and her lips were parted slightly, she had a beautiful expression on her face but it was an expression that Sirius couldn’t decipher, “that sounds wonderful,” her voice got all breathy again and she leaned her head against Sirius’ shoulder, a nice warm weight, “looks like we have a wedding to plan.”
“Yes, it seems that way Your Highness,” Sirius grinned, feeling his cheeks dimple as he lifted up her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @squ1dward @2410slb @sunles
#sirius#sirius black#sirius orion black#pads#padfoot#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black fluff#sirius black angst#sirius black au#au#harry potter au#marauders au#royal au#royalty au#sirius x reader#sirius x reader insert#sirius x y/n#sirius x you#you x sirius#sirius black x reader#Sirius Black x reader insert#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#you x sirius black#remus lupin#peter pettigrew#tom riddle#marauders#the marauders
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Just Friends (Part 2)
Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.
Word Count: 3.7K
Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader
Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol).
Chapter Note: Thanks for your kind words! So nice to feel the love in this community. Feel free to ask and hit me up if you want to be on the tag list, have questions, suggestions, etc. /Best!
Tag List: mysearchforgratification lonelydance
Other Parts: See Masterlist
You were trying to count eight hours ahead but with each passing margarita, the math was becoming harder and harder to do. Eventually you just opened the app on your phone and let it do it for you; it was almost 11 a.m back in England. If you went to the coat-check immediately you could call your old lab-partner Laura on your way home and get a much needed update on the project you'd both been working on before your American exchange program had started. Constantly being eight hours behind was rough on keeping in touch, and right now you missed everything back home - even the stupid yeast cells from your project that had kept dying on you and Laura.
You were just about to message Laura and tell her that she should be expecting a call from you shortly, when you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly above you. You slowly looked up from your phone only to see the snarky blonde mystery man from earlier towering above you, clutching two drinks.
"Hi," he smiled as you looked up at him.
"Mystery man," you nodded in greeting.
He sent you what seemed to be his signature charming smile and you realised that his right incisor was just a little bit crooked. It was annoyingly cute.
"Mystery girl," he winked at you, "mind if I sit?" he said as he made himself comfortable on the cushion next to you.
"Uh, I guess not?" you raised an eyebrow at him.
"I brought you another double Margarita," he handed you one of the drinks he was holding, "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he nodded towards the lit phone in your hand.
"No, uh, not at all. I was just typing up an email for work," you tossed your phone aside.
The blonde mystery man sent you a sceptical look, "who types up emails for work after they've had a million drinks? Not to mention; at 2.30 in the morning?"
"What can I say except welcome to my story: the life and death of a temporally challenged European in America."
Mystery man laughed at your words, "yeah, you're far away from home, aren't you?"
"Oh what gave it away, bruh?" you said slowly, doing your best to fake a Californian dialect.
Mystery man almost choked on his drink, "You're British?" he asked with a smile while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nice to finally see his human side.
"English," you nodded.
"Definitely far away from home then," mystery man nodded, "you here on holiday?"
"I'm actually here for a couple of months in a mandatory exchange program as part of my PhD."
"PhD, huh?" He looked impressed, "damn, I could tell you were smart."
"Well," you said quietly, turning your eyes away from his burning gaze.
He sensed your discomfort at his statement and continued, "What about your friends over there? Why aren't you out dancing with them?" He pointed towards Miranda and her two friends on the dance floor.
You were just about to tell him about your situation with the three girls when you realised something, "hey; how'd you know they're my friends? Been keeping an eye on me, have you?" you laughed at his suddenly stiff smile.
"Well," he ran a hand through his blonde hair while licking his lips slowly, clearly trying to come up with a clever answer, "I couldn't just let you leave before you've found out where you know me from, now could I? Have you given it more thought?"
"No, I actually haven't thought about you at all," you teased him, earning yourself a sincere laugh from the guy, "but... that being said; I'm no closer to guessing it than I was a few hours ago. Although I am sure that I've seen both you and your friend before. So if you have any ideas, I'd be much obliged."
"Hey; I don't know," he shrugged, "I'm just trying to get you to admit to your obvious pick-up line."
"That was not a pick-up line!" you chuckled, "I was genuinely wondering where I've seen you before."
"That's what they all say," mystery man rolled his eyes with a playful smile on his lips, "you're lucky it worked, you know."
"Too bad it didn't work on your friend though," you clicked your tongue, mocking him before continuing in a whisper, "it was intended for him."
He clutched his heart in mock offence, "Ah!" he exclaimed as if he'd been shot, "sadly, that's what they all say too..."
"Aw, you poor man," you smiled and took a sip of the drink he had handed you.
"So why aren't you out dancing with your friends? They seem..." he hesitated as he looked them over, "...fun?" he tried.
"I think you just answered your own question," you laughed.
"Good point," he mumbled.
"Why aren't you out dancing with your friend?" you nodded towards his friend Diggs who was casually moving on the dance floor next to a swarm of girls who all seemed to want his attention.
"Well, I've been patiently waiting for the only interesting woman in here to go dance so I could casually bump in to her on the dance floor. But apparently her ass is glued to this booth. If I was out grinding on Diggs, I wouldn't be able to talk to her - Which would really be a shame as she is without a doubt the prettiest woman in the room," mystery man smiled.
You made a gagging noise at his horrible attempt at flirting.
"Over the top?" He laughed.
"Way over the top!" You joined in, "remember; I'm British. We like it low-key."
"What? You want me to invite you out for tea and scones instead?" he said in a horrible cockney accent.
"It wouldn't hurt your chances," you laughed, "but I'm good with the margarita for now."
"So you don't want to go out with me?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Nope."
"So the way you were staring at me and Diggs earlier really wasn't an attempt to flirt?"
"No," you laughed at him. He looked almost shocked.
Mystery man squinted his eyes as if seizing you up, "You're completely unfazed, aren't you?" He said.
"About what?"
"Well about me being charming as fuck of course," he said with a chuckle.
"Meh," you shrugged. It wasn't true. You were completely mesmerised by him. But he was acting too cocky for you to not give him a challenge.
"Meh?" He repeated.
"You're bloody cute - I'll give you that. But you're a silver tongue, and well... let's be honest; you need the rejection."
"Are you challenging me?" He raised an eyebrow at you, "it feels like you're challenging me..."
"Hey, no need to feel down by the rejection. I'm doing this for you. I have your best interest of heart," you laughed, touching your heart with the palm of your hand.
He looked you over for a couple of seconds, "I cannot figure you out."
"Well that's a good thing, isn't it? Keeps things interesting."
"Yeah, you definitely strike me as a girl who keeps things interesting... What's your name?"
"You can call me -" your eyes landed on the drink in front of you and you remembered the bartender’s words from earlier, "- Margarita Girl. As that is probably how you're going to remember me after tonight," you smiled.
"How about breaking-my-heart-girl?" He smirked.
"Ah see; you're doing it again," you pointed your finger at him and he laughed at you, "you're way over the top. Keep it low-key for Margarita Girl, damn," you laughed.
"Okay, so we're really not doing names?" His smile grew wide. He was probably already thinking about how hot it'd be to fuck a girl's brain out without even having to bother to learn her name first. Textbook fuck boy.
"Let's keep it interesting," you reciprocated his smile with a small shrug, "what can I call you?"
"You can call me whatever the fuck you want," he said cockily, probably realising that by asking for his name, you'd agreed to spend more time with him.
"Okay, Margarita girl and Mystery Man it is."
"Sounds like a superhero duo," he smiled.
"Interesting. What are our powers?"
"Well, in line with our names: you're intoxicating as fuck luring in all the bad guys, and I have the ability to turn invisible."
"Only creeps want to have a superpower where they can vanish on command," you laughed at him.
He was about to retort when he was interrupted by a male voice coming from beside you, "Hey Rafa!"
You'd been so fixated on the blonde man in front of you that you hadn't even seen Diggs approach your booth with a swarm of girls at his heel.
So his name is Rafa? Odd, you thought to yourself but had enough decency to pretend that you hadn't heard.
"What's up," Mystery man - or Rafa apparently - responded to his friend.
"The bar is about to close. I'm thinking about grabbing a cab home. You coming?"
Rafa looked at you briefly before answering, "I think I'm good for now, bro."
"Alright, see you tomorrow then," Diggs padded Rafa on the shoulder before heading towards the door.
Rafa turned his attention back on you and stared at you with a small smile playing on his lips, "So bar's closing down in a bit," he said, "maybe we can squeeze in another drink somewhere else?"
"Yeah, no," you shook your head, "I think I'm about to head home. I have a long walk ahead of me. If you're fast, you can still catch your friend and join him in that taxi though."
Rafa looked at you, "do you live far away from here?"
"I live over on the corner of Mayflower and Lafayette," you responded, "it's roughly a 30-minute walk or something."
"Yeah, I know where it is - I live close by," he eyed you carefully, "if you want to, we could walk together?"
"Taxi doesn't sound too enticing?"
"Meh, I'd much rather take the walk," he shrugged
"Alright then," you nodded, "I guess I wouldn't mind the company."
"Aw," Rafa said, "I think that's the sweetest thing you've said to me all night!"
No more than ten minutes later, you were both wearing your coats and were headed in the direction of the townhouse you were sharing with another British girl, Samantha, who you'd met online a couple of weeks back.
"So how do you find California?" Rafa asked you after a couple of minutes of walking.
"I like it. It's different, that's for sure," you sighed, "but I think it's quite great here."
"Different how? Are you from a small town or something?"
"I'm from a small town called London. I don't know if you've heard of it?" you teased him.
"Hey, don't get smart with me," he laughed, "But in all honesty; apart from the obvious, how is L.A. so different from London?
"You know... London's population is almost twice as big as that of L.A., yet somehow everything's just bigger over here."
"Yeah," he nodded, "I could imagine. I remember the first time I was in L.A... It completely blew me away."
"You mean you're not from here?"
He shook his head, "I'm from up north. I moved here a few years back to focus on my career."
"Yeah? What do you do?" You asked curiously.
"Hey; what's the point of not having names if you know all about my career?"
"That's not fair. You already know that I'm a nerd," you winked up at him, pronouncing the last word as he would've.
He smiled down at you, "yeah sorry for calling your field of work nerdy earlier," he laughed awkwardly.
"I work in a lab. It is nerdy to be honest," you laughed, "no need to worry."
"It's just... I don't think I've ever pictured anybody looking like you to... you know.... actually be a nerd," he chuckled.
"We come in all shapes and sizes," you winked up at him and noticed how his smile grew wider, "as I'm sure people in your line of work do."
"Smooth u-turn you just did there," he laughed at you, "Well," he drawled, "if you absolutely must know, I moved to L.A. to focus on my music."
"You're a musician?" You looked up at him. Of course he was. Probably one of those douchy John Mayer-types who brought their guitar everywhere and always had to play Wonderwall at every. single. party. "Is that where I know you from? Am I currently being walked home by a well-renowned musician that girls from all over the world would be dying to be serenaded by?" You laughed.
"I assure you that millions of girls would kill to be in your position right now - but I highly doubt that it's because of the music," he chuckled, "I don't even have an album out."
"What kind of music do you do?"
"Rap mostly," he said proudly.
You looked him over; you would not have taken him for a rapper. "Oh, that's... cool," you said quietly.
He looked at you with a bemused smile, "what? You don't like rap music?"
"I hate it..." you whispered with a chuckle.
"WHAT?" He bellowed while looking at you with huge eyes, "are you insane?"
"Right after accordion-music, it is the worst genre there possibly could be! It's probably what they play for you when you enter the gates of hell."
"I've finally done it," Rafa looked shocked, "I've gone and found the only person in L.A. that doesn't like rap. You're probably the type of person who'd murder me in my sleep!"
It made you laugh loudly, "well how else would I know what kind of music they play you down there." He chuckled at your comment and you continued, "sorry. It's just not really my style."
Rafa clutched his chest, "I'm offended! How can it not be?"
"I didn't grow up with rap music," you laughed, "Name one famous British rapper!"
"Uh, easy!" He started counting on his fingers, "Skepta, Dizzee Rascal, Giggs, Doctor Green, The Streets, Stormzy - should I just keep going?"
"Okay, okay you've made your point. Apparently, I'm uncultured."
"So, what do your uncultured ears like then? Adele? Ed Sheeran? One Direction? Should I throw in some Spice girls?" He joked.
You smacked his arm lightly, earning yourself a low chuckle from him, "oi, the fact that I'm English doesn't mean that I only listen to the pits of British music."
"Sorry," he continued in a chuckle, "but I am genuinely interested."
"Well I'm not going to tell you now. You'll just mock me!"
"If you don't tell me, I'll keep assuming the worst."
"That's not my problem," you laughed at him.
He blinked twice, his charming smile still in place, "You are easily one of the most interesting women I've ever had the company of. You keep surprising me."
"I'll take that as a compliment," you smiled up at him.
"Oh, you definitely should."
You kept walking side-by-side for a couple of minutes, talking about the differences between life in L.A. and life in London. Just like when you had observed him at the bar, he talked with much vigourosity, hands flying everywhere as he spoke, his fingers slightly brushing against yours on several occasions. You had no idea whether he was doing it on purpose or not.
He was in the middle of a story about something that had happened to him earlier that evening when you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks. He looked at you with raised eye brows, "what? Was my story boring you?"
"Not at all. But this is me," you nodded towards the small townhouse in front of you.
He let out a soft whistle, "Nice place. You live here alone?" He took in the building.
"I know it seems childish at my age but since the rent is expensive for a common student I atually have a room mate..."
"Having a roomie is not childish," he laughed, " I know society would have you believe that, but fuck 'em. It's much nicer than living alone. I have a roomie too; Diggs - you know, the guy you met earlier tonight."
"Oh! That's why he asked you to come home with him," you teased him.
Rafa shot back his head with laughter, "you really thought we were an item or something?"
"Hey, who am I to judge?"
Rafa continued to chuckle, "I love the man but it's completely platonic. Also; he's too ripped for my taste," Rafa joked.
"Waaaaay too ripped!" You chimed in, rolling your eyes to match Rafa's.
"So manly!"
"Too manly!" You continued in an over-exaggerated tone.
"...And he definitely doesn't have enough tattoos!" He continued.
"That man is a boring plain canvas," you joked.
"I keep telling him that a tattoo on his pec would do him good. But - sigh - he never listens."
You looked him over and couldn't hold back a small snicker, "Strong words coming from you."
"Yeah? What do you mean?"
"You're not exactly the 'tatted up'-type, now are you?"
"I have several tattoos," he chuckled.
"Eh, you do?"
"Yeah," he nodded with a vibrant smile, "on my chest and arms."
"I did not see that coming," you laughed.
"See - I can be interesting and unpredictable too," he looked awfully proud of himself, "How about you? Do you have any?"
"I do," you nodded, "just a small one. It's embarrassing really..."
"Yeah? Where?" He smiled sweetly. Even though it was dark, you could easily make out his charming crooked tooth.
"Uhm..." you contemplated not telling him but ended up thinking to hell with it, "it's on my inner thigh," you said carefully. Talking about your dumb tattoo that was located at a highly sexual place wasn't exactly something you'd normally do with men you'd only just met.
"Inner thigh, huh?" He licked his lips while examining your face, "not gonna lie; the thought alone turns me the fuck on!" He laughed, "why don't you invite me inside so we can study eachother's tattoos?" He took a step closer to you. The sweet, charming guy who you'd had the pleasure of walking by your side was suddenly replaced by the fuck boy from the bar.
"You really don't waste your time, do you?" You laughed at him. Men you'd been on several dates with back home in England hadn't even been half as forthcoming as this guy was and you hadn't even known him for more than a couple of hours.
"Sorry," he shrugged while not looking the least bit apologetic, "I might've had a drink too many, but all I've been able to think about tonight has been how I want to take you home and get to know you better," he said while leaning in and stroking his thumb on the side of your arm, "you seem... different."
"Okay; full disclosure," you said with a sigh, "you're cute and all, but I'm not going to sleep with you."
He sent you a pout, "why not?"
"Well, as much a turn-on as it is to have a grown man beg you for sex," (he laughed at that), "I'm not going to have casual sex with someone I've only just met."
"Who says it has to be casual?" He smirked while leaning even closer, "I can do you good."
"God, you're insufferable," you rolled your eyes at him while fighting the urge to just jump him.
"But the good kind of insufferable, right?"
You laughed at his remark while slowly leaning closer to him, "no," you whispered.
"I'm really fighting hard not to kiss you right now," he groaned as he released his lower lip from between his teeth, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth. His put hands on your waist, and he was slowly edging his face closer to yours.
Your fingers easily found the back of his skull, and you softly nuzzled with his hairline, silently telling him that it'd be alright for him to kiss you.
His hungry gaze was fixated on your smile as his lips came crashing onto yours, finally closing the distance between you completely. As soon as your lips touched, he stopped dead in his tracks however; he was clearly waiting for you to take the next step - which you did, but not as fiercely as he would have hoped; instead of attacking him - as he was used to when he normally whipped up this move - you captured his lips in a soft, tender kiss, lips barely touching but still with so much raw emotion spilling into him, that he was left with a weird feeling in his chest. He thought to himself that the way you reciprocated the kiss almost was... loving? It was definitely something he hadn't tried in years.
He was about to pull you closer and advance further into the kiss, when you pulled your face away from his and whispered, "I've had a great night tonight. Thank you." You stepped out of his arms.
"Ah, you're being serious," he said with just a hint of hurt to his voice, trying to pull you back to him without any luck.
"Yep," you laughed while turning away from him.
"Hey," he called from behind you, "will I see you again?"
"You know where I live, don't you?" You looked at him over your shoulder. His hair was a mess and he was looking at you all innocently while you continued to walk away from him.
"What? You want me to make a big romantic gesture or something?" He laughed.
"You have my address, do what you want," you smiled before turning away from him and towards your front door.
You heard him groan from behind you as you put your key in the door, "Hey, I don't even know your name!" He bellowed.
"It's Margarita Girl."
"Aw, come on. The least thing you could do is give me your name," he called from the pavement.
"Goodnight Rafa," you laughed before the door closed shut behind you.
#rafael casal x reader#rafael casal#daveed diggs#blindspotting#rafael casal imagine#smut#rafael casal fanfiction#bay boys
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The Story of Us-Chapter 1
Jily (James Potter/ Lily Evans), minor wolfstar
Word Count: 1366
Modern Muggle AU. When Lily Evans meets the man across the hall due to a fire alarm, she has no idea that a new chapter of her life has begun. Featuring a librarian Lily and sports journalist James.
Masterlist Read on AO3 Chapter 2
Chapter 1- I was enchanted to meet you.
Of course, the fire alarm would go off right as Lily was getting her bath ready. Lily cursed but was grateful that she hadn’t yet stripped down.
She grabbed her keys and phone and slipped on shoes before heading out the door. She almost went to the elevator before she remembered that one had to take the stairs in case of emergency.
She didn’t see anyone until she got to the third floor. Most days, she was thankful to have the top floor of her apartment building, but this was one of those times where she wasn’t so pleased.
Lily was surprised by the number of people who filled the parking lot. She didn’t think the building was that big. She knew that they needed to stand back, so she went to her assigned parking space. She heard fire engines in the distance and for the first time, Lily wondered if there was an actual fire. The alarm in her apartment went off every time she popped some popcorn.
She leaned against her car, the same old Toyota that she had bought right before uni, and opened her phone. She wished she had brought the book she had planned to read in her bath, but settled on mindlessly scrolling through social media, thankful that September hadn’t brought in cold weather, as she was wearing a t shirt and shorts.
She was seeing which former classmate had gotten engaged this week when she glanced up and saw a man holding a large, fluffy ginger cat.
The man was handsome, a mop of curls on his head and thick black glasses. He was tall and had nice arms, judging by the way his t-shirt hugged his arms.
He walked to the car besides Lily, meaning that he must be her neighbor, as the parking assignments were done by apartment number. The man unlocked his the door to a newer looking Volvo and gently sat his cat down in the backseat.
“What’s your cat name?” Lily asked, as he closed the door. The man turned and smirked.
“Buttercream,” he replied. Lily smiled and laughed a little. The man had a little bit of a Scottish accent as he talked.
“That’s an interesting name for a cat,” she said.
“He was named at the shelter. I didn’t have the heart to change it,” he replied. He leaned against the side of the car. Buttercream peaked up from the window beside him, wondering why his owner put him in the car. The man ran a hand through his hair. “So, we must be neighbors.”
“Seems like it. When did you move in?” Lily asked. “Last I checked an old man named Sal lived across from me.”
“I moved in about two weeks ago,” he replied.
“Nice.”
It was quiet for a second. Lily turned and faced forward to see the fire truck arriving, it’s flashing lights blinding her a bit before they turned off. She wondered what happened to Sal for a minute.
“I’m James, by the way,” the man said. Lily turned back towards him, Sal forgotten.
“I’m Lily. Pleasure to meet you,” she said, flashing a polite smile.
“How long have you lived here?” James asked, putting his hands in his pocket of his sweatpants.
“About a year now,” Lily said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I moved here when I graduated uni.”
“Oh nice. I just graduated,” James said. “Would have been sooner but I had to take some time off.”
“What did you study?”
“Sports Journalism and Broadcasting.”
Lily hummed. “And you landed a job here? I didn’t think we had any professional Sports teams here.”
The man tsked.
“That’s where you would be wrong,” he said. “Our lovely town has a professional bowling team.”
Lily couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.
“Do we really?” she asked. James nodded, a bright smile on his face.
“We do. The Cannons,” he said. “Practice every Thursday at the Hog’s Head Bowling Alley.”
Lily giggled a little more.
“So where do you work?” she asked.
“The Prophet. I cover all secondary schools sports and the Bowling team,” James said. She liked that he seemed thrilled that that was his job. “What about you, Lily?”
“I’m a librarian,” she replied. “Actually at the branch just down the street from the Prophet offices.”
“Oh that sounds interesting,” James said. Lily was pleased to see that he looked like he actually meant it. Most people had one of two reactions when Lily disclosed her profession. The “that sounds boring” and the “why that?”.
“Did you go to uni for that?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m working on a post grad degree now,” she said. “I want to run the whole library someday, you know?”
James hummed and looked thoughtful for a second.
“You know,” he began. “I never thought that you needed a degree to be a librarian.”
“Not a lot of people do,” she replied. She looked from James to the window of his car, where Buttercream was swatting at the window. She smiled a bit.
Silence fell again and Lily felt the need to say something.
“So, where are you from?” she asked.
“Scotland. Elgin to be exact,” he replied. “It’s near the Loch Ness.”
“And Inverness,” Lily supplied. Outlander was a guilty pleasure of hers so she was quite familiar with the fictional version of that area.
James cocked his head to the side.
“I think you’re the first Brit I’ve ever met that knew that,” he said. Lily laughed.
“I could tell you why, but I think you’d laugh at me,” she said. “I would expect you to have a thicker accent than you have though.”
James sighed. “Unfortunately, I spent way too much time at a British Boarding school.”
“Probably so posh they didn’t like the Scots much?” Lily asked.
“Yep. Tried to beat it out of me but it still lingers,” he said. “I can’t speak a lick of Gaelic though.”
“Neither can I,” she said. She felt smug as James laughed.
“So, care to tell me why you’re so familiar with the Scottish Highlands?” he asked, crossing his arms.
Lily looked away.
“I said you’ll probably laugh at me for it,” she repeated.
“I promise I won’t.”
Lily thought for a second. She normally wasn’t ashamed of her love for the smutty books, normally defended them to critics who say they aren’t real literature, but she reserved from actually saying anything. Maybe because she never had to talk about the books with a Scottish person before.
“The series, Outlander,” she said. She looked back at James, whose expression hadn’t changed.
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said.
“It’s a book series,” she supplied. “There’s also a television show.”
“Hmm. I’ll guess I’ll have to look into it. It may make me homesick though.”
The firemen started leaving and the others in the parking lot started heading back towards the building.
“Well, I guess that’s the all clear,” James said.
Lily waited for him to retrieve Buttercream, who let out a large meow as James scooped him up. He held Buttercream close to his chest.
“So, where are you from?” James asked as they started walking.
“Cokeworth,” she replied.
“I can’t say I know where that is,” James asked.
“I wouldn’t expect you too,” she replied. “It’s just a small town North of London. Dead in the middle of England.”
James nodded and they walked back in. Buttercream wasn’t a fan of being jostled up the stairs, as he meowed so loud it echoed through the stairs, causing Lily to laugh.
“So Lily, I’ll guess I’ll be seeing you around, then?” James asked as they neared their doors. He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more unruly than it had been.
“Of course,” she said. He smiled and grabbed his keys out of his pocket.
Lily told him to have a nice evening before she unlocked her door and went to her apartment. She went to go drain her cold bathwater and decided a shower would have to do.
Later, she went to grab the book she had intended on reading in the tub, but stopped short. She grabbed her copy of Outlander instead.
#jily#james potter/lily evans#james potter#lily evens#harry potter#Muggle AU#minor wolfstar#inspired by taylor swift like always#marauders era#sirius black#remus lupin#jily fic#jily fanfic#Harry Potter fanfic#James x Lily
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Forgotten Favourite | [ Lagertha x Reader, Ubbe x Reader ABO ]
❛ pairing | ubbe x reader, referenced!lagertha x reader and ragnar x reader and ragnar x lagertha x reader, lagertha x astrid
❛ type | triple shot [SFW this chp]
❛ summary | once upon a time, when things were simple, it wasn’t so difficult to keep Lagertha’s attention. Now that she has Astrid, that’s something else entirely. Maybe Ubbe can help.
❛ tags | ABO, Alpha!Ubbe, Alpha!Lagertha, Omega!Reader, Older Reader, Polygyny, some hallucinations but very minor, angst heavy, much sads reader, but maybe she can get back her voice, dub!con (this chapter has nothing too graphic), chasing, non-canon compliant.
❛ sy’s notes | “Shithead Ubbe” in action.
“Are you well?”
You looked into her eyes, steely and calm, and nodded. Your gaze fell back to the pool of mead between your clean fingertips, chewing on your lower lip. Her hand ran by the neatly woven braid that tumbled down your chest, imbued with gems she brought you from England, and they’re all pointless. If they no longer caught her attention, that was.
“Are you sure?”
“I must be tired, Astrid. I’ll go rest.”
“Should I come with you?” Astrid asked. “It’s…” her hand drops, hovering then at your stomach. “Unsafe.”
“No, no. Don’t strain yourself.” You quipped quickly. “She’ll be looking for you. It is only Kattegat, after all.”
You slipped outside of the Great Hall where a ravenous feast waged the night away on the back of barrels of ale and heaps of bread and fish. She was only a few crowds away discussing alliances with men that she’s earned the respect of being the single most important valkyrie with women like Torvi and Gunnhild. Women of the shield and sword; strong, sexy women like them.
Perhaps that was why she lost interest.
You were regretfully pathetic with a sword. In the world of the House of Lothbrok, you know that outside is not a place you can stay for long being so bad with sword, shield, and even your own fangs. Perhaps its curiosity that led you outside that night. Would she come find you after all these years? After moments turned to minutes, you exhale a cool breath of air.
The answer was plain.
You stepped away from the Great Hall and looked toward the pins with quiet fat piglets, illuminated by the forgiving full moon in the sky. The red hue indicates the start of the festival. Time for sex, drinks, and bond gifting. The mother squeals sound painful as they rutted against their mother for milk before their night’s end.
Your fingers ran across the mark upon your neck. There’s no fancy sigil there, no glowing golden marks, nor claims. Just… the knowledge and reminder of her scent, hurtling you toward a better time. The vastness of the memory is both wide and deep. It would consume you if you let it. It feels less of a bond and more of a distant memory.
“Is something on your mind?” you lifted your eyes from your prison of self-pity to look behind your shoulder. It’s as if the world comes into focus when you recognize him standing there-- Ragnar, his rugged face fading, smoothing-- and no, it’s not Ragnar. Not the man that would steal away in a moment to find you. That face is too smooth, too princely, entitled. It’s Ubbe. He stands a reminder of his father before him when things were easy and good-- and you mattered. He speaks. “You weren’t inside with Lagertha.”
“I didn’t take it anyone would notice.”
He gazes out toward the empty wooden homes, then back, training his eye upon your mutual bonded neck. Your fingers fall away from your neck. “Everyone notices when an omega goes missing.”
It gives you a moment of pause. In the bright moonlight, his long rolls of hair mimic Ragnar’s. Though they weren’t thick and there were no searing tattoos across the expanse of his pale skin. Not like Ragnar’s. How chiseled his body was, cut by scars his younger doppelganger lacked, the likes of the fishhook that dragged from his chest to his bicep. It pangs, strangely, and the memories with it.
And yes, in the heat of the night, under Lagertha’s comforting touch, how he used to sink into you thrust by thrust. You scanned Ubbe over, dragging the soft fur over your shoulders, and stand upright. “Your father told me that once.”
Ubbe’s slender lips pressed together-- firm on thoughts that you could never touch. He ignores the comment. “Come back inside.”
It’s not a request. It’s an order. He must think that he has something over you to speak to you in such a way, flat and dry, but level in as many parts with commanding. He’s speaking to the wrong woman. Your eyebrows knit together.
“I am not going inside, Ubbe. I am tired of being a wallflower for one night.”
As dramatic as that knowledge was, it was a fact. You had put effort into looking like this, weaving the pearls, fluttering your lashes at her, the only beg for a night. You knew as well as she did that you wouldn’t beg. You were too proud. As was she.
“She’ll miss you.”
Your lip twitches. You look up to hold his gaze, when you can’t anymore because it’s too painful to tell him. Inevitably, you scoff and look at the band around your finger. “We are old enough to be without one another. She has Astrid.”
He grunts. Bent his head down with a small kick out of the rock under his leather boots. Then turning one way before another, he steps forward into your space. As a bonded omega, you instinctually lean away from him, though his arms are unoffending turned one over another, rather than raised against you. His breath is warm against the cool air of the night. “Then let me walk you to your cabin.”
You couldn’t shake him if you tried. You took the first step toward the dusty street that would lead you to your cabin when things had gotten too loud. Bjorn, Astrid, and Lagertha would undoubtedly drink and talk. Bjorn might venture off for sex. Astrid and Lagertha would go to bed together and-- you shook your head to the thought. Your earrings jangle with it.
“Is it an offer or a demand?”
“Maybe both,” Ubbe follows your quick steps with wide strokes. He’s a big man, perhaps bigger than Ragnar, reflecting his mother’s size. He’s like his father, and yet, nothing like him. His eyes share that same heavy shadow after you, but they lack Ragnar’s curiosity. Not in the absence of it, but the purity in which Ragnar was willing to learn.
“You’re approaching a heat. That is why you wanted to leave.”
You stop.
“Is this what--”
“Another strong scent. I thought you were barren. That’s what I’ve been told, after all.”
This then is the part where your lips part, unable to speak your truth. There’s something off-putting about the way he puts it. It isn’t that he’s necessarily off. In recent years, your heats had been coming with less frequency. Your hand feels itchy, fingers twitching, your words were growing in your mind, and failing to come off your tongue.
There’s nowhere to run.
“Ubbe--” you took a step back, then another, and Ubbe doesn’t mind. It excites him. His eyes are wide blown, rimmed with a blue that was clearer than the sea. He is strange. Most men would turn away from older women and yet-- he comes closer. “When was your last rut?”
“Why does that matter?”
He knows why it matters. You know why it matters. It was pure instinct for Ubbe to mate. It did not matter what Torvi or Margrethe said of the matter. You had only thought you were exempt-- given who your woman was. He feels huge compared to your body, illuminated only by the soft glint of the moonlight-- moonlight. It shone in the sky in brilliant disarray. It was a full traitorous moon.
Words fold on one another in your chest, rising and falling with renewed effort, as if to know what he was about to do. Your eyes make the mistake of latching upon his, delving into deep eye contact, one where his eyes look infinitely darker, and where you’re petrified to break it as if to know that the first one who released it would be the first one to act.
There’s something to be said for an old omega-- they know how to run, how to escape the advances of a drunk alpha, who caught a little bit too strong of a whiff of something he was never entitled to have. But, as alphas go-- once the scent was imprinted in their memory, they would never let it go. You know you don’t stand a chance at outrunning him. He’s too young, too spry, too ready. And you had just fallen headfirst into his trap of the perfectly calm carer.
You pivot your heels and run an omega’s run.
Her name is on your tongue like a chant, sobbing past the frustration of your woven sandals snatching sand through the alleyway. He’s not at all like Bjorn. Bjorn you can outrun, his shape isn’t made for long-distance runs. He’s heavy muscle and bad decisions. When you’re faced with someone like Ubbe, limber and quick, you know there is an issue.
It’s too easy for him to slam into longhouses. You scramble over the empty barrels of ale, scratching with desperate squeaks crying out to the stragglers on the streets for someone to hold him back. You fall on the other side of the barrels, catching your long skirts in bundles, and rush out the alleyway.
And it’s quiet.
Your head snaps down the alley where one sole barrel rolls on its side onto the ground. On the other side, it’s eerily still. The only noise is that of your chest rising and dropping to the tune of Kattegat’s rich ocean some great distance away. His scent is there, foggy and strong, seeping into your lungs in suffocating realization. It hits you all at once, connecting your back to an abandoned barn, where only slaves and pigs lived.
“Don’t move.” He’s so strong, pinning your hips to the barn, that you don’t realize how strongly he’s crushing you, ensuring you couldn’t run. Or think. Or cry out with his mouth fitted clasped over your neck. His gnashing fangs bite the fight out of your lungs, snapping time and again, and it hurts, but what can you do?
You sought something out— anything that is a bridge between reality and the teeth sinking into your neck. That encouraged the flow of your juices over your thighs and an undoubted excitement of the hunt. Instead, you’re so full of the rich, syrupy scent of a lover that reality melts like a pat of butter under summer day. It’s all Ubbe, flooding your nose, infesting your senses.
It hurts. And yet, it soothes the distant ache of your loneliness.
@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor
#Ubbe x Reader#Ubbe/Reader#Lagertha x Reader#Lagertha/Reader#vikings imagines#vikings imagine#vikings/reader#vikings x reader#honestsycrets imagines
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we'll meet again (bucky barnes x oc) part two
series summary: Eleanor, Steve and Bucky, the trio that relies on one another, face the horrors of war and the consequences of other people's actions, which ultimately puts their friendship to the test
chapter summary: Eleanor learns about Captain America and her other best friends disappearance whilst getting some heart-breaking news herself.
warnings: mild violence, mentions of war and deployment, mentions of illness and sickness, talk of pow
a/n: thank you to all that are reading this !!
word count: 2.7k
previous part
~
MONDAY, JULY, 15
It’s been one month on the frontlines. It’s much worse than what I've ever faced at the hospital back home... But I’ve made some friends. Cassidy and Whinny, they’re both from Queens. My sisters were happy to see me, as I them. Only God knows how many more men have to become injured before this fighting stops, I feel so sorry for them but I try my best, sometimes I wonder if my best is enough.
+
TUESDAY, AUGUST, 21
Today was tough. Cassidy was injured by one of the soldiers. He panicked when we tried to stitch his shoulder. I guess he thought he was still on the battlefield.... It was horrible. Jasmin has been transferred even closer to the front-lines, I know she’ll make us all proud. I hear people saying that the 107th had been stationed with us a few days ago, but I've had little time to try and locate him, it is a big base after all... Unfortunately I wish it were bigger. I think it's been almost two months since they arrived. I’m beginning to fear the worst.
+
FRIDAY, OCTOBER, 8
We received word that many of the 107th had been taken prisoner, along with a few others from other divisions. I’ve been so sick and worried about Bucky. Nothing has come back to us Nurses yet about anything. I hear people say there's not going to be an attempt to rescue them. It just causes me nausea. I’ll cross enemy lines myself if that’s what it takes to bring him back home safely.
~
Eleanor spun around in fright as someone shouted her last name. She located her Second Lieutenant Jones from across the room and nodded as the older woman frantically gestured for her to hurry with her task. She pulled the large stack of gauzes to her chest and raced across the dirty floor of the tent, dodging and weaving out of the way of the sick and injured men.
“Leave them and go,” Lieutenant Jones said to her without a sparing glance once the items were placed on the tray next to her.
She nodded and quickly left the tent. Once she shut the curtains behind her, she looked upwards and inhaled deeply, her bloodshot eyes scanning the starry night sky.
Just breathe, she reminded herself.
“Hey girl, you coming to the mess-tent for dinner?” Cassidy asked Eleanor, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
Eleanor gave her a small smile and nod, shaking the bloody images of what she had just seen free from her mind.
“It's been a big day, Cass,” Eleanor sighed as she walked alongside the older woman through the makeshift street that was surrounded by raggy pin-up tents and scratched up vehicles. The mess tent wasn’t too far away; the sound of chatter from the entire camp could be heard, indicating that it was going to be busy inside.
“I could tell. Oh, your sister, I don’t know which one they’re identical, I mean they’re twins of course they are, but she said to tell you she received a letter from your mother. Word is that she is doing swell, which is surprising because of how difficult these times have been for everyone. My parents are back in Queens trying to keep the bakery running the last I heard from them,” Cassidy chattered, barely taking a breath. She had an impulsive tendency to ramble, and the majority of the time her rambling wasn't even a consistent narrative, it just jumps from topic to topic.
Eleanor awed quietly and said, “I hope it all works out for them.”
Cassidy thanked her as they entered the tent and lined up in the short line of people waiting to receive their meal. The majority of people in the tent were the nurses who had just come off shift, Eleanor being one of them.
They spoke quietly to one another about their home life when Cassidy brought up Bucky. Eleanor had a minor panic episode a few days ago during the middle of the night and because it disturbed everybody in the tent, she was forced to explain. The thought of Bucky being out there somewhere, hurt and alone, caused her to become physically ill. She spent the rest of the night praying that he was safe and would be found soon, along with the rest of the other soldiers.
“So are you like dating or something?” Cassidy asked Eleanor as they both stepped up to grab a premade tray with a plate of food on it.
“No, he’s one of my best friends.” They both sat down at a half-full table.
Cassidy grinned and nodded her head. “Just friends huh? I’ve heard that line a million times, and let me tell you this darling, it is a big fat lie. I once knew this guy who dated this girl but the whole time she thought they were just friends-” She paused to take a sip of her drink before continuing, “he would take her out, buy her things, make sure her family was well provided. He was a real gentleman and always put her first. Now, she had no idea he was doing this to impress her, she just thought that’s how all men were seeing as she grew up living in the lavish side of town ya’ know? Then the day came that she met this snotty-nosed bachelor, a real piece of work, but he had the dough, and I mean the dough…”
Eleanor felt her eyes glaze over as she listened to Cassidy lose track of what they were talking about to begin with. When her gaze landed on the newspaper that belonged to the nurse in front of her, she felt her eyes widen in surprise.
“Can I borrow this?” Eleanor asked and grabbed the occupied nurse's hand. She nodded and pushed it forwards.
Falling silent, Cassidy realised Eleanor wasn’t even listening to her talk about the various items the piece of work’s brother had bought simply because he glanced at them through a window.
“Oh, my, Captain America,” Cassidy hummed as she looked over Eleanor’s shoulder to stare at the front page that displayed the patriotic symbol of hope. “That’s a man right there.”
Eleanor was baffled.
There was no way that could have possibly been Steve! It looked like him, a lot, other than how large he was, and, well, it did say Captain Rogers in small print under the big lettering of Captain America: Coming To a Town Near You.
She had far too many questions.
“That’s Steve,” Eleanor gasped out as she frantically flipped through the paper to try and find more pictures just so she truly could confirm whether or not that was her best friend.
“You talk as if you know him.” Cassidy took another spoonful of potato and shovelled it into her mouth as she eyed Eleanor.
“It’s because I do. I grew up with Steve, h-he’s my best friend.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes, “so who’s your best friend crazy woman, Captain America or the Barnes guy? You know you’re really making your way through them, and I gotta say, it is impressive.”
“No, no… No, we all grew up together. It says here he’s supposed to be here in two days.” Eleanor looked to Cassidy on her right, who was beginning to worry about her friend's reaction to the news of Captain America.
“Wow, everything's sunshine and lollipops for the one-o-eighth, huh? You get to see your life-long best friend and I get to see how that man's tooshie looks in that suit… What? No, don’t give me that look- Don’t roll your eyes! You know my mother used to always say, Cass if you keep rolling your eyes like that and the wind changes direction, you’ll be stuck like that forever, and I always took it as a word of warning, unlike my brother who was the biggest troublemaker on the block. Let me tell you about this one time he shoved my cat into the sewer…”
+
“How are you feeling, Harry?” Eleanor asked the young man as she gently wiped his brow with a cool wet cloth.
“Pretty fly, miss,” Harry stuttered out his reply with a shaky smile.
Harry had been her patient for less than 20 hours. He was brought in with various broken bones, a large head gash and a high fever. He wasn’t supposed to have made it through the night, but he pulled through thankfully. He was still rather sick, including being underweight, but Eleanor couldn’t deny the fact that he still was very appealing.
“Well, I’m going to make sure you sweat this fever out and are up on your feet in no time… Well, foot,” she smiled and looked down at his right foot that had been wrapped in a cast.
“No, no you’re going to heal me completely,” he awed and looked at the roof of the tent.
“Remember my job is to just make sure you’re stable enough to be transported to the hospital. Now, hurry up and take these so I can go see the show,” Eleanor said in a joking manner, but she was very much serious. She was desperate to see Steve.
“See the show? You’re just going to leave me here alone?” He asked, trying his best to hold himself up on his elbows. Eleanor rolled her eyes and gently pushed him back down. “Don’t leave me here Eleanor, please,” he begged as he took the pills from her open palm.
Eleanor sighed but said nothing as she handed him a small canteen of water. She reached over to the other bed and pulled a small fold out chair towards Harry, where she opened it and sat down.
He smiled at her and said, “thank you.”
Giving him a small smile, Eleanor attempted to strain her ears for the sound of the girls singing on stage less than one hundred meters away.
“So where are you from?” Harry asked her, watching the way she hesitated to tear her gaze away from the outside.
“Brooklyn. You?”
“Ah, I’m from England. I gotta’ say, and I do hope I’m not crossing any boundaries here miss, but I don’t see a ring on your finger there.”
Eleanor laughed and looked down at her bare finger as Harry smiled.
“I’m not married- Nor do I have a boyfriend,” she added when he readied himself to ask another question. “Trust me, I know how strange it is, I heard it daily from my mother.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s strange,” Harry said and shrugged his shoulders the best he could lying down. “But it’s not common to be what, twenty-one?”
“Twenty four.”
“My apologies, twenty-four, and still single. Lord knows my mother had already popped out me and my brother by that age. You must have a lot of problems,” Harry said. He remained tense until she laughed at his attempt at humour. “What is it really? I mean, you’re real pretty, you’re smart enough to work here…”
Eleanor nodded her head in thought as her stare landed on the ground.
“I’ve never really been interested enough in anybody. Nobody had really caught my eye yet.”
“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”
“You're calling me a liar?”
“No, I’m just saying that you told a lie whilst giving you a kind of formal/ informal title.” Harry shuffled onto his side to face her as she jumped to her feet, assisting him in rolling over. “You can tell me anything, we’re practically best friends.”
Eleanor felt the laugh bubble in her chest but she tried her best from laughing, knowing that it would be giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had made her laugh numerous times in a short period of time.
“His name is James,” Eleanor admitted as she lowered herself back down into her seat. She kept her voice low as she continued on, “he’s been one of my best friends for over a decade. He’s just… He’s always been so sweet to me, and he’s always been supportive of all my choices. Not to mention he’s rather handsome.”
Harry smiled widely and awed. “Well, I think he’s a fool for not asking a pretty girl like you out on a date.” Eleanor looked at him with a small smile. “Which is why I’m taking the leap of faith here and asking you out on a date myself. This weekend at the pub in town.”
Eleanor hummed and crossed one leg over the other. “You’re not really my type,” she told him, fighting the smile on her face as he put his head back on the small pillow with a laugh.
“C’mon, you don’t think I’m rather attractive? I think the headband makes my eyes stand out,” he said with a small hum afterwards. He gestured to the white bandage wrapped around his head that was holding the gauze on his gash. She hesitated in answering and he saw. “Just humour me here Eleanor,” he said quietly, a small, but charming, smile on his face.
“Fine, but I’m not dancing with you if you’re wearing that ridiculous cast on your foot,” she said, rising to her feet.
Harry smiled and nodded his head as she picked up the washer that had fallen onto his cot. She dipped it into the cool water in the bowl next to her feet before wringing it out and placing it back on his heated forehead.
"You're still burning-"
“Nurse Hope?” Eleanor looked to her left at the soldier before nodding to let him know that he had her attention. He stepped towards her and held out a note to her. She placed the wet cloth down and wiped her hands on her apron before taking the yellow note from him. He saluted her before leaving the tent.
Harry looked away from Eleanor as she opened the paper, for he knew the contents.
Eleanor subconsciously began to read the letter out loud, “The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regrets that your sister Lieutenant Nurse Jasmin C. Hope-Lloyd was killed in action… on the first of November... in Austria…” She raised her eyebrows as her words faltered.
“Excuse me,” Eleanor said to Harry and spun on her heel.
Find Mary, Eleanor thought to herself repeatedly as she left the tent and began marching her way down the dirty and dusty street. Above her, the clouds rumbled and threatened to cry on her.
Find Mary.
The noise from the men watching the show began to fade as she picked up her pace, her eyes frantically scanning the tents in hope of seeing her sister.
A loud shriek caused her to stop and look to her left in between two soldiers tents. She saw the same soldier that delivered her the letter leaving one of the nurse’s tents.
Eleanor ducked between the two tents and almost ran into a passing Corporal, but she was moving too fast for them to even stop her. She pushed the curtain of the tent aside and instantly spotted her sister standing next to a cot, one hand covering her mouth, the other hand shakily holding a familiar yellow letter.
“Mary?” Eleanor asked, suddenly feeling much younger as her sister’s misty eyes looked up at her. Mary gave her a look as her hand left her mouth. It was the same look she had given her when they had found out their father had died all those years ago. Eleanor remembers it so clearly, so vividly.
Mary rushed towards Eleanor and wrapped her arms around her tightly, her free hand cradling the back of her head.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Mary muttered as a shaky sobbed shuttered in her chest. “It’s going to be okay… Oh, God!” Mary cried out and looked up as Eleanor rested her head on her sister's shoulder, the numbness causing her to remain still.
~
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x oc#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfic#sebastian stan#steve rogers#captain america#catfa#tfatws#the winter soldier#we'll meet again#eleanor hope
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She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 9.9k
Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths
Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.
And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.
Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.
The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.
She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.
It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.
She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.
By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.
The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.
(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.
She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.
It was easier for both of them that way.
The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.
“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”
That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.
She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.
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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.
Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.
Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.
Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.
Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.
The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.
“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”
There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.
“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”
Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”
“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”
“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”
“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”
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Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.
She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.
The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.
“What experience do you have?”
(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.
“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”
The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.
(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.
(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.
She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.
There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.
For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.
At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.
The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”
“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.
He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”
“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”
His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.
“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”
“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
German.
(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.
“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”
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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.
He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.
Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.
He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.
Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.
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He reminded her of her brother.
That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.
Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.
Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.
She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.
They all paid special attention to Steve.
Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.
Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.
Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.
In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.
“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”
“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.
Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”
(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.
She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.
She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.
“I agree.”
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“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”
Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.
“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.
“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”
Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”
(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”
Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”
“And did you listen to him?”
“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”
“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.
Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”
“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”
Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”
“It’s easier having you here too.”
(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.
She missed him.
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Erskine. Gone.
Would this war take everyone from her?
(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.
She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.
His work was gone. Erskine was gone.
He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.
She summoned a tear, more than one.
They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.
Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.
Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.
“(Y/n), he’s gone.”
Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.
What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.
It felt like hearing her father was gone again.
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They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.
“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”
“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.
“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”
“His legacy,” she answered immediately.
She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.
What did it all mean?
“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.
“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”
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“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”
Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.
A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.
It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”
(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”
“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”
“Would you?”
“What?”
“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.
“You know I would,” Steve admitted.
“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.
(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”
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It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.
They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.
Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.
The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.
(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.
(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.
The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.
“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”
(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”
“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”
(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.
“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”
“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”
“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”
The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.
(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”
The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.
(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.
“What happened?”
“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”
“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.
“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.
The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.
“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.
“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.
“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”
(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”
With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.
“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.
“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.
“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.
“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”
(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.
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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”
“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”
(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”
“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”
(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.
“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”
It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”
“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.
“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”
(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”
Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”
“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.
“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”
(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”
“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”
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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”
Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.
She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.
“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”
“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.
Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”
Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.
(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.
The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.
“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”
He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.
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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.
She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.
None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.
When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.
“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.
From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.
She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.
“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”
It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.
Peggy. It was Peggy.
She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.
She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.
Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.
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“So you’re a hotshot then?”
Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.
“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”
“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”
Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”
“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”
“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”
“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”
“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”
“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”
Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.
She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.
She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.
“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.
“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”
It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…
She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”
She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.
He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.
She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.
She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.
She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.
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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”
(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.
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“What happened?”
She found Peggy first.
“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”
(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.
There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.
“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.
Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.
“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”
“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”
Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.
“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.
“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”
Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.
(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.
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Was she cursed?
She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.
Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.
She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.
She’d told it all to Bucky.
Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.
Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.
She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them. And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.
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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.
She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.
Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.
Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.
(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.
“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.
The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.
“Steve!”
Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.
“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.
“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”
He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”
“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”
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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.
She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.
She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.
That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.
She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.
Maybe she was just full of it.
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“He should’ve radioed by now.”
She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.
Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.
He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.
How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.
(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.
“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.
“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”
“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”
(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.
“No!” He immediately shot out.
“Yes.”
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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.
The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.
He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.
With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.
“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”
(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.
Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”
“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”
“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.
“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”
“And you think one nurse is going to help?”
“I’m not going to hurt!”
Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”
“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.
“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”
(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.
“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”
“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”
Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.
She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.
Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.
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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.
(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.
Tanks.
She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.
Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.
She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.
It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.
English words. American accents.
“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.
“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.
They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.
“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.
Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.
“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.
“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”
(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”
Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”
He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.
“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.
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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.
“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”
“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.
“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”
“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”
Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.
Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”
“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.
“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.
(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”
“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.
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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”
Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.
Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.
He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.
He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.
They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.
Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.
It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.
He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”
“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.
Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.
“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”
“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”
Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.
“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.
“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”
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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.
Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.
“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.
She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.
Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.
It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.
“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.
“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.
“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.
“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.
“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.
“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.
“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”
Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.
Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.
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What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.
She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.
She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.
Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.
But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.
Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.
Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.
“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”
(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.
She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.
Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.
Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.
His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.
“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.
“About what?”
“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”
“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.
Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”
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Taglist
Forever Taglist:
@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight
Marvel Taglist:
@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars / @hermione-is-my-queen
#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#winter soldier fanfiction#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#avengers fanfiction#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes one shot#avengers one shot
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MAG 019 - Confession (part 1)
Summary: Jonathan reads the first half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”
Our first two-parter! Not that I realized that when I listened to the episode the first time, despite it being right there in the title, because I have the observational skills of a blind muskrat...but I’m excited because I know there will be more multi-parters in the future. I like the episodic format right now, but I know that as Things Begin To Happen, I’ll appreciate the increased breadth and depth of longer stories.
89 Bullingdon Rd is the third street address featured in the series so far, the other two being 93 Lancaster Rd in episode 5 and 105 Hill Top Rd in episode 8. Unlike the first two, however, this one actually exists - kind of. According to google maps, the house numbers on Lancaster Rd in Walthamstow run from about 1 to 85, and the numbers on Hill Top Rd in Cowley run from about 1 to 75. But 89 is right in the middle of the range of house numbers on Bullingdon Rd in Cowley, and while google maps says there’s an 89A but not an 89...it’s close enough. On one hand it’s super cool that these locations are relatively real (the towns are real, the streets are real, it’s just the exact buildings that aren’t). On the other hand 89A is a little too close to 89, and I wish Jonny had picked a number completely outside the range of addresses like he did with the first two, just to avoid crazy fans descending on real people’s houses.
It is definitely worth noting the proximity of 89 Bullingdon Rd to 105 Hill Top Rd. They’re only about half a mile (or about a kilometer, since this is in the UK after all) away from each other as the crow flies. And for both of them, the location itself seems to be tied to the paranormal happenings of the episode(s) they’re featured in. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik feels that unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, which stops as soon as Father Burroughs arrives. In this episode, Father Burroughs feels that same unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, and it only stops when Ivo uproots the tree. And in this episode, Bethany claims her problems are being caused by the Bullingdon Rd house itself, though she doesn’t explain what made her think that. But it’s very concerning that she can’t seem to see the only creepy thing about the house that we’re aware of: the old Latin word written in faded blue paint on the exposed wall.
The word “mentis” is Latin alright, but Father Burroughs translates it as “mind” which...isn’t quite right. “Mentis” doesn’t strictly mean “mind”, it means “of the mind”. The endings of Latin nouns change based on how they’re used in a sentence, so if you’re talking about the word “mind” as the subject of a sentence (or as the word in general) it is “mens”. “Mentis” is specifically the possessive form of the word. I don’t know whether this was deliberate or accidental on Jonny’s part, since if you look it up the dictionary entry shows “mens, mentis”. (It’s standard practice to include both the “subject” form and the “possessive” form in the dictionary since they’re different.) It makes me wonder if this word was part of a phrase and if there were other words hidden under the wallpaper. (Also, small shout-out to anyone reading this who is also a Latin geek, and I hope I explained it well enough that the non-Latin-geeks also understand that explanation.)
On the subject of language, this isn’t the first time Latin has appeared in connection with the paranormal. Ex Altiora, the Leitner found in episode 4, was written entirely in Latin (including the title), and the Lord’s Prayer was written in Latin on that long strip of singed paper found in the second trash bag in episode 5. It’s interesting that the same constellation of details from the trash bag incident are also in this episode: Latin, Christianity, and burning.
Latin isn’t even the only dead language to make an appearance this episode. When describing his experiences performing exorcisms at the beginning of the episode, Father Burroughs recounts: “I was once cursed at in Sumerian by a young man who was illiterate.” In episode 12, the phrase muttered by the hospitalized man that seemed to summon the “lightless flame” contained the word “Asag”, which is the name of a Sumerian demon that could boil fish alive in their rivers. Father Burroughs doesn’t appear in episode 12, but if he had been at that hospital, I think he would have pegged that guy as possessed and wanted to have an exorcism performed. So is there a connection between Sumerian and possession and burning? And how do all the different dead languages that have appeared so far (Latin, Sumerian, and Sanskrit) fit together?
I am also very interested in that nurse, Anna/Annie/Anne Kasuma/Willett. (Seriously, how many names does one person need?) For my purposes, I’m going to call her “Annie” because she seems to go by that. In this episode’s statement (made in 2011), Father Burroughs gives her surname as Willett, and in Jonathan’s wrap-up at the end of episode 8 (which he recorded in late 2015 or early 2016), Jonathan gives her surname as Kasuma. As an older, fairly conservative Catholic (she was a member of the congregation at Father Burroughs’ church, fully believed in demonic possession, etc.), it is highly unlikely that she changed her name for any reason other than marriage or divorce. Ivo Lensik described her as “Malaysian”, and Kasuma is an Indonesian name, whereas Willett is found overwhelmingly in predominantly white countries (the U.S., England, Australia, and Canada are at the top of the list of countries where the name is found). So it would make the most sense to me if Kasuma were her maiden name and Willett a married name. BUT when Jonathan mentions her in the wrap-up to episode 8, he calls her “Mrs. Kasuma”. Since everything else fits with the idea that Kasuma is her maiden name and Willett her married name, I’m thinking Jonathan just messed up the honorific, since he also referred to “Miss Popham” at the end of episode 15 when “Popham” was very clearly Laura’s married name. (This overly detailed surname analysis brought to you in part by my ongoing obsession with genealogy. If anyone reading this has anything resembling a passing interest in the subject, feel free to hit me up about it. I will gush.) All of that nitty-gritty was not without purpose: I think she’s important somehow. I could be reading too much into things, but why would Jonny give her a name change if it weren’t somehow important? Even I realized the nurse from episode 8 and the nurse from episode 19 were the same person on my first listen-through, when I missed or forgot 90% of the details in any given episode, so I don’t think he was trying to trip us up. And she has a direct connection to 105 Hill Top Rd: she grew up on that street, and had a lot of information on the property’s history dating back to before she was born, possibly indicating her family lived on that street even longer. But we haven’t met anyone else with either surname, so for now that’s where it stands: possibly a lead, muddled with a probable mistake.
I was so glad when Father Burroughs made the differentiation in this episode between perception and will: “Bethany told me that her will was still her own, but she could no longer trust her senses, and had found herself doing much that she did not understand.” She tried to eat a small slab of slate, and she apparently couldn’t perceive the word “Mentis” that was literally written on a wall. This might be the first time that the author of the statement calls attention to the recurring theme I’ve been calling “altered reality”. This “altered reality” is a heavy presence in the second part of this two-parter, but I’ll wait to talk about that in that episode’s post. Coupled with this “altered reality” is the “eating of something you really shouldn’t be eating”. In this episode, it’s Bethany trying to eat a slab of slate before being abruptly pulled back to reality by Father Burroughs, only then realizing what it was. Hinted at in this episode, and shown in more detail in the next one (minor spoiler, I guess?), is Father Burroughs eating human flesh and only realizing what it was when the police arrived. The only other time I remember these two themes working in tandem is in episode 3 when Graham Folger ate a notebook. No one stopped him or made him realize what he was doing, so we don’t know for sure that his reality was altered, but it makes the most sense to me that he, like Bethany and Father Burroughs, truly didn’t realize what he was doing. I’m not convinced that the events of this episode (and the next one) are actually related to the notebook incident in episode 3, but it’s an interesting parallel.
On a completely unrelated note, I’d like to talk a bit about Father Burroughs’ “possession” itself. First off, I get that Bethany saying “I’m so sorry...it wants your faith” was supposed to be an ominous line, but why is that the only thing she said throughout the entire attempted exorcism at the hospital? She couldn’t even say, “Hey, man, this isn’t working”? All she could do was look at him with pity and say that? I’d be OK with those being her only words if whatever was “possessing” her also affected her speech the way it did to Father Burroughs later...but she specifically established that she was free to speak and act as she wished, it was only at certain times that her perception of reality was altered. So I’m a little annoyed at her for not giving Father Burroughs (or us) any kind of useful warning or helpful information during the failed exorcism.
I was really confused by the apparent theft of the sacramental wine, too. What was the significance of that? Was it just an example of something weird Father Burroughs noticed that keyed him in to the fact that All Was Not Well, or was there something more to it? (This is only a semi-rhetorical question - if the answer to this was said outright or implied in this episode and it isn’t a post-S1 spoiler, please do fill me in. I sometimes miss stuff that’s super obvious to other people.)
I also find it interesting that he can say “God” towards the end of this episode. He stumbled over it, but by contrast he was completely unable to say “Lord” and “Jesus” at the very beginning. Not sure if this is significant, since there’s no real difference between the words “Lord” and “God” in my estimation. Jesus is specifically Christian, and while “Lord” tends to be associated with Christianity, it’s not exclusive. “God” is the most general of the three terms, yes, but in context he is very obviously referring to the Christian “God”, so his difficulty with getting certain words out isn’t based solely on their contextual meaning. Jonny could have written it without him getting out the word “God” at the end and I think most people listening would have understood that’s the word he was going for. It’s either some kind of clue, or Jonny just got sick of stuttering.
Father Burroughs’ call for protection is the point at which he knows something is Very, Very Wrong, as he feels his lips move even though he himself isn’t moving them. But, as with so many of these stories, Things Were Bad Long Before You Realized It. Bethany told him “it wants your faith” years before the Hill Top Rd incident. He himself admits that his pride led to his downfall, since he initiated an exorcism/blessing on Hill Top Rd when he wasn’t supposed to be doing them at all. But it wasn’t just his pride - it was something taking advantage of his pride. I think that, as much as any person can be, Father Burroughs was a victim of whatever possessed him. He made mistakes in his life - his sins, if you’re looking at it religiously, as he did - but he never wanted to be evil or commit crimes like cannibalism. Like the characters in so many of these stories, I don’t think he deserved what he got, and I mostly just feel bad for him.
His call for protection, he says, was answered by something that was not God, and when Jonathan reads the words that Father Burroughs’ lips were forming (“I am not for you. I am marked.”) we once again hear that creepy static or interference. And I still can’t decide if this is supposed to be some kind of clue or if it’s just to make things creepier. It feels like a clue, but I can’t figure out what exactly it’s supposed to mean. Most of the times I’ve noted it appearing (probably not a complete list - I’m working on it) it appears during a specific quoted phrase or instance of someone speaking: “Can I have a cigarette?” in episode 1. “Isn’t it funny, Amy, how you can live so near and never notice. I’ll need to return the visit someday” from not-Graham in episode 3. “Some hungers are too strong to be denied” from Angela in episode 14. Laura’s sister Elena asking her “how lost I was, in a low, grating voice” in episode 15. If the examples were limited to things like this, then I’d say that it occurs whenever some as-yet-undetermined otherworldly monster is given a human voice to speak through. But it also occurs the first time Ex Altiora is said in episode 4 and the first time The Boneturner’s Tale is said in episode 17, as well as two different moments during the recounting of the story inside TBT. So how is it connected to the Leitners? It didn’t occur when Jonathan read the title Key of Solomon in episode 4, which is implied to be a Leitner. And there’ve been a few other occurrences where something obviously supernatural is happening but that doesn’t involve speech or quoted words at all: When Laura describes the light changing from appearing like an approaching candle to sunlight (which it still wasn’t...) in episode 15, and when Jonathan reads the description of the bleeding books in episode 17 (”red dripped and pulsed from the cart”).
I don’t know what to make of the creepy static yet. But my specific concern with the most recent instance, when Father Burroughs “said” “I am not for you. I am marked” is: Who are the “I” and the “you” referring to? Is the “I” supposed to be Father Burroughs, or the thing “possessing” him? And who on earth is the “you”?
This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!
#personal#liveblogging#is this liveblogging?#The Magnus Archives#guys this took me so long to write because I CANNOT BE SUCCINCT#nor can I leave anything out because IT'S ALL SO INTERESTING#I am so sorry
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List of wips - aka struggles
Call Me
A Jason Todd fic I started two years ago and still go back to poke at longingly, will the second and final chapter ever be posted? Who can know for sure.
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I tell myself that I don't need Anyone (But the truth is no one needs Me)
Another Jason Todd fic I haven't completed, posted two years ago for whumptober, it was the only day of whumptober I participated in, intended to be full of Captain Atom and Jason Todd interacting during the fall out of Bludhaven getting chemo'd but he doesn't show up in the first chapter and have you ever tried to read Infinite Crisis? It's a fucking mess. With this wip I have a close to justifiable excuse in that I refuse to write without knowing the canon, and reading through all the canon that's relevant is A Task.
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The Monster in The Man
A Merlin fic floating around my drafts, currently at a good bit over 5k wherein Merlin gets POSSESSED by an old enchantment gone mad. Written because a Merlin fic I read ended on a horror style cliffhanger and I couldn't handle it so I charged my way through the first 2k of a sequel and I've been adding to it ever since. Angst with a hopefully happy ending, if I ever frikking finish it.
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The Dragon Lord
In the aftermath of his father's death after Merlin inherits his father's dragon lord abilities he notices some minor changes to his interactions with his friends, the thing is that Merlin is a dragon lord and unusually what he hoards is people, things might just turn out the better for it.
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Maelstrom
A Naruto time travel fix it fic that wouldn't leave me alone until I got the first chapter out, ironically it has left me entirely alone since I finished the first chapter and I have no idea if inspiration for it will ever return or when that will be.
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You Don't Know Anything
Long long ago in a land of asks and a time of legend @paradise-runway sent me a fic request for "one where the other Bat boys find out the circumstances of Jason's death and resurrection and their reaction?" it has been lingering in my drafts haunting me ever since, someday, someday I shall fulfill what has been promised.
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Of Curses and Covenants
A longfic exploring the magical underbelly of Gotham's history, focuses on the intertwined relationship of the Wayne Family and the Zatara Family brought about by how often Waynes through the generations have ended up being cursed. I have an index of all the curses ready, the problem with this one is the plot and the story.
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Vicki Finds a Bat (temporary title)
Vicki Vale stumbles upon a still alive young adult Jason Todd at a wafflehouse on the way back from snooping into Cobblepot's latest criminal schemes. Convincing the young man to go back home to his loving father might prove more of a challenge than she thinks however. (will have a happy ending if I ever fucking finish it, for now it looms in my drafts like an unhappy gargoyle)
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Hug Deficit
A fic about Jason being touch starved and his family fixing it, hurt/comfort all the way, post resurrection.
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Stephanie Brown and The Mansion of Man Pain
Robin Era Steph, she and Alfred have pumpkin spice lattes together, it's their thing because I say it is. Includes, Alfred raised 5 boys counting Bruce, he's not sure how to handle a little girl and Bruce trying to dad plus Steph trying her best. Would be a lot easier to write if I was any good at comedy.
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Another Time, Another Place
Some twenty years or so after their death, Martha and Thomas Wayne appear in the middle of Wayne Manor's ground floor parlour room, the major problem with this? Not only are Bruce and Dick away, Alfred's on holiday in England! Which is why Jason as the eldest has been unwillingly nominated by his younger siblings to deal with the situation at hand. Martha and Thomas in this are heavily inspired by @unpretty's amazing portrayals in her fics with them.
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Queen Blackfire and the Lazarus Lord
An au with Soulmate identifying marks: Jason Todd was having an okay time as de-facto leader of The Outlaws, a band of misfits and rebels with hearts of gold (or at least silver) saving the world the best they could and filling in the gaps the more straightforward heroes tended to miss while they were at it.
Then he found out he was soulmates with the Alien Warrior Queen bent on declaring war on planet Earth if the Justice League didn't find her soulmate for her.
Things with his friend, team mate and potential future sister in law Kori just got super awkward and the only good thing he can find about this situation is how angry (and protective? But maybe he's just imagining that) Bruce seems over the whole thing.
Side note: Kommand'r freaked out during the years Jason was 'dead' and accidentally brought peace to a huge chunk of space and intergalactic society via building up her empire after throwing herself into work to escape the grief.
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To Grasp The Hand of a Fox
Naruto and Kurama travel back in time to save the world but unfortunately they land in the same moment that Kurama's just been put under a genjutsu by Madara Uchiha, Naruto has to make his way to Konoha and wake Kurama up before the villagers seal him away inside Mito. Can he save his friend in time to save them all?
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Those Winter Sundays
Mcu fic. Snapshots of Tony working hard for the avengers and no one noticing. Civil War Team Iron Man.
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Salvation Rides a Solar Wind
Iron Man fic in a Science fiction / Western style fic where Tony's presence is described through the eyes of the aliens he helps. Au where the war with Thanos goes very differently. The type of fic that needs like 5 multi chapter fics in a single series to truly shine, hence why I will likely never finish it.
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And We Break Away Again
Jason goes back to Talia after Damian is brought back from the dead by Bruce. It's not that he begrudges his little brother his resurrection, the opposite, but he can't ignore what Bruce did to him by taking him to the magdala valley and he can't ignore what Bruce doing for Damian what he didn't do for him, (do for Dick, do for any of them besides the blood related one) means.
So he decides to go back to the only person who ever seemed to understand why he wanted to avenge himself in the first place, the only person who seemed to agree that he had a right to be angry that he'd died at all, the only person he can trust to hold him together while he feels like he's falling apart that won't judge him against the heroic mold while they're at it.
Not sure if this will be a oneshot or a series but we're going good Talia with this one regardless, DC's been ruining her lately but through fanfic all things are possible so fuck them.
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Fan The Flames
In the aftermath of a magical fire taking hold of the Daily Planet in Metropolis, Superman is missing, can Batman and the rest of the Justice League find their friend as well as the identity of the evil arsonist before Lex Luther does it first?
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In a Whisper (In a Wish)
Ichigo Kurosaki protects people, it's not just who he is, it's what he is, down to the core of his very soul.
The only problem is, that a few weeks ago he sacrificed half his soul to protect the world. It aches inside where he knows something important used to be. When everyone he cares for is avoiding him and he's starting to feel more like a shadow than a person, that aches at him too and he can't help but wish, quietly, privately, painfully, to himself if no one else that things were different, that he wasn't so broken or so alone. But if wishes were fishes they'd fill a whole sea (just be careful not to whisper them within the hearing range of the Hōgyoku).
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An Honest Conversation (Is A Bitter Thing To Crave)
Jason kidnaps Bruce but things don't go as Bruce expects. First of all the reason Jason was able to kidnap him was because Stephanie of all people was his insider, why would she support someone Batman knows she's only met once.
And second of all the reason he's been abducted - So that Jason can drug them both with the same substance.
And when Bruce asks what he's doing this for Jason only responds, "We don't trust each other enough to have a truthful conversation otherwise" and refuses to say anything more while they wait for it to kick in.
What will be revealed by this forced honest encounter on both sides?
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carrying the world on thin shoulders
Midoriya Izuku deserves better from literally all the adults in his life so this is part whump part hurt comfort part fix it fic that sprawls out from time to time but it's pretty bad tbh, at some point I'll probably make it neater and give it something resembling a coherent plot. Hopefully.
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Trust Issues
HP fic. Harry gets dosed with a potion that's supposed to reinforce your strongest survival instinct, the person who drugged him might've intended to be helpful but said potion happened to be at extra strength and he was given what would be a normal fix for the regular version but for this one is twice the recommended amount. Great..
The biggest problem about all this - beyond his internationally wanted godfather Sirius endangering himself by hiding out in a cave near Hogsmeade against all rational advice, his best friend Ron hating him, everyone in school besides his other best friend Hermione also hating him or avoiding him and the entire Goblet of Fire problem - is that he can't bring himself to trust anyone enough to tell them what's wrong.
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Truth is Treason in the Empire of Lies
A post marvel avengers story, thor pov probably, made because I like to dive into a pool of thor & loki sibling feels sometimes:
Starts off as Thor regales his new human shield brothers with the story of his banishment and return to Asgard ending with Loki falling into the Void and the Avengers have some questions, questions Thor had not thought of, remarks on things that Thor doesn’t know how to explain away.
After he goes to Loki’s cell and asks him some things he becomes more and more angry despite having no one he can punch > Gets drunk and criticises Sif and The Warriors Three after they try to calm him down > mention of Loki still being underage by Aesir standards during Thor 1 seeing as Thor was being crowned due to being of age in the movie > heavy inspiration drawn from queen regnant by peaceheather.
“For while the Treason I detest, the Traitor I love still.”
Currently just an outline.
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Separation
Split personality disorder Red Hood and Jason Todd, alternatively, Red Hood is a demon/parasite latched on to Jay.
A lot of work necessary considering right now it’s currently just an idea inspired by a cool tumblr fanart.
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A Trinity of Head Wounds
The dcu trinity in the aftermath of a fight against some alien invaders (or something along those lines), whump, hurt/comfort, starts with them arguing, ends with them bleeding on each other in a friendship way, whole thing should take place in a single room on the watchtower and be a oneshot so it's gotta be a short and sweet one-two gut punch with the feelings which is difficuuult.
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A Stark in The Stars
an mcu fic, a really over complicated mcu fic, mostly because of Steve Roger's timeline fuckery, Tony's alive but he's not supposed to be, but so are a lot of people who were dead but aren't now you might say what with the snap and the blip.
The thing is that Steve's timeline fuckery is making it so that everyone keeps getting confused between the two different timelines of events, obviously more confused the more that their characters were connected to the films/the events that were altered, the punchline of this particular fic though is that Tony's still alive and he's unaware of the timeline of events where he died.
And as he's currently in space he's also unaware that everyone on Earth thinks he's dead (because why wouldn't they? he died in endgame after all). That makes this fic super tough to write because like ultimate unreliable narrator right here and not sure how to tie in the whole 'oh wait actually everyone on Earth thinks I'm dead because of the canon timelines' thing in or at what point of the story to do that at. The fuckery of it all gives me a headache. Plot is hard.
Also all of that's basically background to the actual focus of most of the fic thus far which is Tony travelling around space in an Iron Man suit up until the point where it won't be background.
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Magic Chained
Merlin au.
When you put magic restraining cuffs on Magic himself you don't just bind him you bind all magic the world over. It is therefore, infinitely lucky that Uther Pendragon never became aware of this fact.
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A Child in The Cold
bnha
Midoriya deserves better also Recovery Girl and Aizawa have shit to answer for as far as I'm concerned.
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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 75: Paper Weight
Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 6. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Religion, joint issues, diet/appetite weirdness, brief transphobia adjacent anxiety, minor dehumanizing ghoul treatment. Uh. Not in that order. A slightly longer groundwork chapter, and continuing evidence that I am, in fact, criminally insane. [Updated 2021.07.12.]
“...[F]ixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.” -- Orwell’s 1984
______________________________
‘Choly woke to Sticks gently stroking at his long dark shock-streaked hair. He could not discern the time of day without any light sneaking in around the edges of curtains, and recalled their inn room did not have windows. The ghoul drew his attention back to him with a drowsy smile.
“Ready to start the day?”
To resist the draw to curl up into Sticks, ‘Choly stretched out with a yawn, only to jerk his eyes open. He laid on his back for some time. In the night, one of his shoulders had separated and dragged his neck out of alignment.
“--I’m not ready, but let’s start anyway. Angel, be a dear and turn the lights on, please.“
The Mister Handy puffed to life again. Reignition of its pilot light cast dim outlines to the space. Unveiling the Burlington glass fixtures returned the room to unnatural illumination by that strange red-green light which ‘Choly disliked intuiting as gold. By the time Angel had completed the task, Sticks had thrown himself out of bed to dress.
‘Choly managed to sit up, and palpated at his errant joints, using the mindful pressure of his fingertips to coax things back into place. Not dislocating his fingers in the process required what little focus he could summon without coffee or his reinforced gloves, but he could barely move let alone think straight with the strumming stitches radiating through his arm and neck. He squirmed inside, knowing he couldn’t help but force Sticks to bear witness to the strangled hisses and cartilaginous pops.
Angel presented ‘Choly a can, which he accepted half-awake. He put on his glasses one-handed.
“A canister of fresh water to start your day, Sir? I’ve only got the one at present, if you’d like to split it. More is on the way.”
“Would you be able to open it...?”
“I have no sharp implements,” it apologized.
“Give me that.”
Sticks snatched it playfully and held it between his knees while he reattached his Pip-Boy and left hand. He hadn’t quite got to buttoning his shirt just yet. He slipped the glove off his mechanical prosthetic, and produced a sort of multitool from the armature of the region analogous to the metacarpal bones. As the ghoul made use of the folding implement, ‘Choly watched the hand’s exposed mechanical parts in motion, intimating tendons and ligaments, not always attached to something resembling a bone. A dull pop liberated the can’s lid. Sticks took a few swigs and handed it to ‘Choly helpfully, before hiding the tool again and slipping the glove back on. He moved on to finishing with his shirt so he could tie his bow-tie blind, humor to his breath.
‘Choly simply sat there and observed Sticks at length, nearly altogether forgetting gratitude or thirst. Words failed him. Sticks ran his right hand over his one surviving curl of hair. The blond ghoul noticed him staring and sat up straighter.
“What?”
“A pocket knife? That’s allowed?” He kept turning his neck, head held at deliberate angles, seeking that last tweak of alignment his cervical vertebrae wouldn’t yield him.
“See’s never asks me to show my hand,” he shrugged. “Half the time, they don’t even notice it’s not flesh.”
“This isn’t about your hand, and you know it.”
“Hey now. They’re fine with utensils. It’s got to be scarier than a butter knife to make them skittish. Really, though. Don’t mention it. It’d probably risk ‘em taking my whole hand, especially now that it’s wired into this thing.”
Sticks huffed a bit. Angel leapt to assist when his neckwear wouldn’t cooperate.
“Oh, do let me help you with that, Sir.”
“Thanks, chap. Hard to do without a mirror.”
“I brought in a hand mirror.” Unappeased, ‘Choly gestured to Angel for his hairbrush, which he set to using with his head dipped between his knees, desperate to couple the inversion of gravity with cadence of his brushing. Once he sat up again, he looked to Sticks. “Which, would it be all right if we brought in some things from the car? I figure that even if we get lucky today, we’ve paid for a week, so we may as well stay for a week. No sense in rushing things. Might miss something, if we do.”
Sticks tilted his head.
“I could warm to that. What all would you even need to bring in, though?”
“Little things,” he reassured a little too quickly. “Toiletries. Some spare clothes. Nothing too elaborate.”
“I don’t see why not.” He gripped his own knees. “Let’s knock that out. After, we can head to breakfast. Now. You want my help with your corset and stuff?”
‘Choly’s shoulders folded in as he worked at unbuttoning his shirt. His reservations came not from distrust but self-consciousness. Despite having partook in several kinds of sex acts with him already, he still preferred that the ghoul only see him naked from behind, if at all. But, he didn’t care to parse any selfishness or perversion in the offer: he wanted Sticks’s help. He’d be a hypocrite, anyway, to find fault in Sticks’s own enjoyment of the activity, when his very physiology provided the same passive delight for ‘Choly. He pulled the corset to him, and removed his shirt so he could hook the busks. Only then, holding it up against his front, did he relent to receiving help stringing the back. The more pieces Sticks helped him into, the more straightened out and held in place he felt. More clearly than usual, he craved the full-body orthotics set, in the expectation that with them he might feel normal again. Functional again. In any sense. In every.
He objected, mostly internally, that his brain would thrust heavy self-reflection on him so soon after waking. The idea of returning to bed enticed him again. No. Sooner than do so in the bathroom mirror, he pinned up a french twist blind and loose.
The two finished off the water before leaving the room.
They first stopped at the restrooms, where Angel waited just outside. ‘Choly flinched at the doorway, only to scold himself for even thinking he shouldn’t use the men’s room. He remained aware of others the entire time, relieved to go unnoticed and unremarkable. He insisted to himself that the night before had been a fluke.
Exiting the mall made ‘Choly wish he’d brought his visor inside. The garage’s luminosity wasn’t significantly greater than inside the mall, but the shift in hues to natural lighting pulsated in his right-sided cervical migraine. He didn’t think he’d gotten used to the limited color spectrum indoors so soon, yet here he was, nearly thinking seeing any color besides red, green, and gold signified he was seeing colors which didn’t exist. The intensity with which he saw cyan, magenta, and even white, he approximated to an aura migraine. The edges of his vision felt over-illuminated and blurry. If this sensitivity overload would take place every time he adjusted to and from Burlington glass lighting, he decided he would avoid going inside and out with any frequency for the remainder of their stay.
In the garage, mostly only the children paid any attention to the trio. So early in the morning, many inhabitants shared cinder block campfires to prepare community breakfast. On the way to Little Boy Blue, they passed through delectable aromas of sweet breads and pan seared meat.
Sticks opened the trunk for ‘Choly. Once he could tell ‘Choly intended to make use of Angel’s storage compartment to carry his things inside, he tossed in few of his own clothes too. He smirked at yet another of ‘Choly’s outdated behaviors:
“You packed like you’re on vacation.”
“A vacation with a purpose, perhaps. I’m grateful for it, though. It doesn’t seem this hotel has complimentary soaps.”
Sticks snickered.
“To broach a veritable elephant,” Angel stressed, “I must point out that while we may be booked for a week’s lodging here, you only have four Melancholia remaining, Mister Carey. In addition to our primary goal, we should stay on the lookout for toothpaste and mouthwash today. And we may no longer require them for first aid, but do recall that Stimpaks are the most important part of that recipe.”
Stimpaks. 'Choly paled at his oversight.
“Surely four of those things will get you through the week,” Sticks muttered. “You can’t swear off food now, with the biggest restaurant cluster in New England at the other end of the building.”
“...If I can help it.”
Sticks puffed up.
“Not if I can help it.”
The Mister Handy and chemist turned down the invitation to argument.
On their way back inside, ‘Choly saw Maury eating with a group of other settlers. He didn’t want to interrupt their meal, but he still waved. When See’s screened them, ‘Choly showed them Angel’s compartment again. Everything passed muster with security, albeit thoroughly rifled through. ‘Choly welcomed their return to the clear, dark uniformity of the mall interior’s red-green glow. They dropped off their things at the room, then went into the mall proper.
The Concourse seemed to only just be waking up by this hour. Most walked southward like them. Only half the stores looked open for business. ‘Choly looked to his Pip-Boy for the time. Just after nine. He accepted it and slouched as comfortably as he could atop Angel.
He figured most of the people headed to the food court were Laners, while the rest were probably visitors, or at least lived outside the mall. Along the way, he people-watched, eventually making a visual distinction between Laners and everyone else less by their routine and more through their attire. The fashion of mall denizens seemed to posit some commixture of Irish crochet, beaded silk, and embroidered tweed, bakelite and astrakhan, plus-fours and long trailing skirt hems, chemisettes and dickeys tethered with layers of scarves and shawls.
More people packed into the boisterous food court for breakfast than had for dinner. Even getting to the counter with the shortest line took patience, with hundreds seeking their first meals. Sticks ordered himself carrot pancakes, then turned to ‘Choly.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in breakfast? With the lines like this, I’m not ordering twice.”
Fatigued lyric traced his reply as he patted at Angel’s storage compartment to retrieve his Billerica Golf Course mug with a smile:
“You can interest me in a cup of coffee.”
The ghoul impatiently resigned to a smaller order than he’d liked, and flashed his inn room key fob to net a discount. He requested a plate from Angel, and took it and ‘Choly’s mug to hold out for the server, who confirmed, yes maple syrup, black no sugar, before plating up as requested. Twenty-seven pulls lighter, Sticks let Angel locate their seat with its higher passive senses.
‘Choly sat with his coffee warming his gloved hands for some time, content to let the aromatic steam roll over his face while he watched Sticks dig in with knife and fork. Angel set a Melancholia bottle on the table. Eventually, Sticks’s bites slowed, and he stopped to finish chewing. He cut off a forkful and held it out with a cupped hand beneath, optimistic the craving spurred ‘Choly’s attention.
“The maple syrup makes up for it being carrot.”
‘Choly eyed it. Sooner than admit due impropriety, he let him stuff the bite in his mouth. He had expected the syrup and apple compote to provide all the sweetness, but the finely grated root vegetable mixed into the batter contributed both sweet and savory. Against his better judgment, to quash any question altogether, he mooched a second bite as well with interest.
“Don’t you like carrot?”
“...Blueberries aren’t in season,” Sticks eventually smiled. “Now, I’d happily split these with you... or are you actually happy with that damn silt flour smoothie?”
“I’m only happy with my Melancholia, in that it doesn’t upset my stomach.” He opened it with his reinforced gloves, and thought to himself, This batch isn’t even cherry. It’s mint. “If you want my full faculties, you’ll have me with Mentats, Melancholia, and a cup of black coffee.”
Brow raised, Sticks frowned into his plate as he scrutinized where to cut off his next bite.
“Far be it for me to come between you and your faculties.”
Angel used the dish station at the far end of the food court to rinse their plate, mug, and utensils. Then, they got to skimming stores.
Beginning just outside the Customs House, they poked around any open store which appeared to carry armor or apparel. ‘Choly went by cane for the most part, and tried not to let interesting garments distract him or his cash from his goal. He wasn’t about to spend anything until he knew the price tag on liberating the leather orthotics from whoever might have them. Neither their descriptions nor the product photos in the catalogue produced results.
In one shop, Sticks unhelpfully described the item to the clerk, who immediately pointed them to an array of girdles and brassieres. Beet red and speechless, ‘Choly had to nearly shove away the salesmanship, no matter the young man’s encouragement or respect. Sticks didn’t know whether to find ‘Choly’s reaction revealing or amusing.
They passed crossway between the main entrance and Sutter Grove, only for ‘Choly to stop cold. Like some strange airport reunion, a loud, excited group of Laners fawned over a black woman with a shoulder-length white bob--white all the more stark in contrast to the red-green golden mall-sea. When Sticks noticed ‘Choly had stopped, he backtracked, eyes on the woman sooner than him.
“You need me to help you up on Angel?”
“Such accolades. What do you suppose she means to them?”
“From the look of her, she must travel a lot. They probably just haven’t seen her in a real long time. It’s not important. They’re going to Burlington Glassworks. They won’t have what we’re here for. Now come on.”
Head askew, ‘Choly watched the gaggle drag the overwhelmed yet pleasant woman across the Concourse and to the lighting store.
“I... I want to go in there.”
“Didn’t think you were particularly religious, but whatever. We can take a break and play tourist or somethin’.”
‘Choly almost objected, but figured he’d understand if only he satisfied his curiosity. If he recalled anything from the time before he’d stepped foot in the United States, he knew with certainty he’d been raised to abhor religious observance. At least, outwardly...
Myriad strange shapes the luminescent space, but the motif repeated in the glass art filled with glowing golden red-green fluid, that the neck swirled and looped around the body, then somehow reentered it. Bulbs were hung by these loops from the ceiling, some in knotted strings, while most other bulbs rested in metal fixtures reminiscent of egg cups. If not for the artistic shapes and the hue of light they cast, ‘Choly and Sticks almost considered it like stepping into the lighting department of a hardware store.
“Hierosacristan Fresnel!” The group begged, both in English and what ‘Choly could only presume was French. “Hierosacristan, tell us of your orbit!”
The staff had abandoned their posts in fascination of their visitor. Some showered her with sunflowers. Here, ‘Choly could see the woman wore an ornately embroidered shawl, fur-lined metal armor, and an all-black bodysuit. The woman could only oblige her admirers with a humility strained smile. A dozen or so stone park benches furnished the deeper half of the store, in two neat rows facing the back wall. ‘Choly sat at the last bench to watch, transfixed. Begrudgingly, Sticks joined him, and Angel, behind them.
As she spoke, Fresnel’s deep, silvery voice alternated between English and French, limiting ‘Choly and Sticks’s full comprehension. Her audience seemed more captivated by anything she didn’t say in English.
When she told them, “Qu’Atom vous garde,” they mirrored it in kind. ‘Choly filled in any gaps in the language barrier with presumptions of what little he knew of Orthodoxy.
“Much of my year I have studied in Thomaston... XXXXXXXXXX I wandered the Nashua ruins a bit before coming to the Lane proper... XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX I come to greet the granite... I must travel West before I return to Five Sisters. To report my findings to Grand Mother Skwodovska. But, I savor a leisurely return. My discoveries dictate my orbit. XXXXXXXXXX I Winter at the Lane for the first time... XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX ”
At some point in her speech, she took notice of their visitors. She broke away from sermonizing for the dozen or so practically clutching for her attention, to approach. ‘Choly straightened, expecting her to scold him. But she bowed to Sticks with grace, and held his hand in both her own. The ghoul fell speechless when she smiled up at him.
“What a blessing, that one of Atom’s beloved attends us. I never get the chance to speak with any Undying.”
Sticks let her hold his gloved hand, too, and laid on his charm.
“I’m impressed at our timing. We happen to be at Ant Lane right when such a highly esteemed Child of Atom has popped in.”
Again struggling with humility, she withdrew to stand. Taken aback by the sight of Angel, she hemmed into her fist.
“Forgive my start from the robot. One of my past orbits took me to the Commonwealth, and since my visit to the Cambridge Polymer Labs, I haven’t much liked the company of Mister Handies.”
“Cambridge!” Angel blandished. “Such worldliness.”
She appreciated that it did not take exception with her.
“My brothers and sisters show our devotion in a commitment to travel.”
“Forgive my stupidity,” ‘Choly asked, voice cracking, “but what exactly is a hiero...?”
The intense, robust woman half-sat on the back of the next bench to form her reply. Up close, ‘Choly could make out her face tattoo, of many concentric rings, emanating outward from one eye. Sooner than wonder what it signified, he could only imagine how much it must have hurt. The white bob was a wig.
“You speak Keb? No?” She became more particular in her words. “Among the Children of Atom is an order of scribes, historians, cartographers. We are the Daughters of Radon. We hail from the Rock of Ages. We document and research Atom’s holiest substances, such that any of Atom’s children can safely trace a path and greet everything She has touched. The rank bestowed of Daughters of Radon is Sacristan, keeper of holy spaces. Hierosacristans are the Daughters’ Zealots.”
‘Choly strained to follow along, teetering between looking lost and unintentionally judgmental.
“What interest, then, in granite? I heard correctly, that you intend to greet it? It’s very pretty, but really, I want to understand what has you all so enchanted. Is there correlation between granite and these glass lights?”
Fresnel smiled broad and beaming, nearly sarcastic in a way.
“A visitor from the Commonwealth. I see. The answer is Atom’s touch. We concern ourselves not just with nuclear bodies, but with large sources of granite, marble, and limestone. Anyone could observe these structures, both man-made and still-buried, but it takes the devotion of Daughters to listen to their histories.” A sigh and slouch announced her travel weariness. She pointed above them, to the hanging glass. “Everything is a vessel. We carry our world-soul. Nuclear bodies carry the Holy Light of Atom. And certain stones can carry recorded memories of the worlds which formed this one through Division. The Daughters are committed to documenting these memories, so that the Children can celebrate everything from the past which went into the creation of the present.”
‘Choly fumbled as carefully as he could. It fascinated him, that it seemed more and more that religious devotion tied directly into the creation and maintenance of the increasingly supernatural glowing glass fixtures--let alone that it had anything to do with radioactive material.
No wonder they appreciate Sticks. “And you... listen to the granite here?”
Sticks poorly hid his annoyance with a shift in posture and a grunt.
“Most granite is quite loud. The granite here... whispers.” Fresnel admitted. “The Children often call this place The Quiet Granite. You’re very new, and so eager to learn of Atom’s Kingdom... Are you here to let in Her Holy Light?”
“Until I stepped foot in here, I had no idea this place was a church. I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted to come in to see the lights up close. I’m fascinated that a substance could sustain luminescence without external excitation.”
Though his admission dulled her enthusiasm, his verbiage still held her interest.
“I’m not directly involved in glassblowing, so I know very little of it. The Glow is most remarkable, n’est-ce pas? Even if you’re here merely to marvel at our blessed work, you can still take a piece with you. You should speak with my brothers and sisters here. If you’re more than a scholar or tourist, the local Confessor can direct you to our body of scripture as well. I’m far better suited to geography than sermons.” Fresnel’s attention warmed back to Sticks. “Be no stranger to our space...”
“Sticks.”
“Be no stranger, Sticks.” She smiled, mirthful. “You and your odd friend here are welcome here.”
Before the game of Twenty Questions could continue, Fresnel stood to pat Sticks’s hand... and the top of ‘Choly’s head. The chemist frowned as she excused herself.
“Fresnel spoke directly with you,” a devotee said, behind them. They looked over their shoulders at the nervous man. “Is there anything I can do for you, Undying?”
“It’s Sticks,” he repeated, quickly growing tired of it. “We’re sightseeing, you could call it. I think this fella wants a souvenir.”
The man looked ‘Choly over and nodded, motioning for them to follow him to the counter. He produced an egg-crate tray of walnut sized glass baubles, and picked them up to swirl them around in visual demonstration.
“We’re blessed to meet a Hierosacristan.” He poorly contained his delight. “I wonder if she would permit that I be in her caravan when her orbit carries her onward.”
“Where is she headed next?” ‘Choly asked, moreso making conversation than wishing to know.
“The standard path for all caravans from Ant Lane to Burlington is Route 89, straight through the mountains. But, she mentioned traveling West. The Daughters of Radon follow the orbit of their heart. She may intend another orbit yet uncharted. --Forgive my gushing. You’re interested in a prayer armillary?”
“How much are they?”
The potentially inappropriate question caught in ‘Choly’s throat.
“Fifty-one pulls.”
“You don’t happen to take cash, do you?”
“Certainly. Our caravans do trade with more than just Ant Lane.” The Child picked up the tray’s edge to look at a note on the side. “One hundred fifty dollars.”
So deep in, he didn’t feel like he could say no thank you and just walk away. Not that he wanted to walk away empty handed after such a bizarre interaction.
“Tell me more about them. What makes them glow?”
“There are two aspects to Burlington’s glass artistry. We’re beholden to conceal our craft, but it’s perfectly safe for all Atom’s Children, blessed with the Endurance to withstand Her Light or no.“
In the remark, ‘Choly stifled a shiver at the possibility that the entire mall might be a religious settlement.
“The craftsmanship is remarkable.” His voice cracked. “How long do they last?”
“Years, if they must. But these smallest vessels are intended ephemeral: We encourage that you use them to seal a prayer, then shatter it someplace consequential to disperse the good will into the universe.”
“Are they... still safe if broken?”
“They are not grenades. And to drink its contents would be ill advised, foremost on account of the broken glass.”
“I would never have considered the fluid potable,” ‘Choly lied, having had the thought gifted him. He shakily produced the requested cash, and the Child let him pick one of the egg-like baubles. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you?” His beseeching, bleary eyes suggested more than simple commerce. “Do you require any arrangements? Any accommodations of any kind?”
Sticks eyed the tray with near disappointment, and rocked a bauble around in its cup with one finger.
“...You said they were fifty-one?”
“Take one, gladly!”
Feigning pleasantry, he picked one for himself. It exasperated ‘Choly that Sticks had not attempted to influence the price tag on his trinket, but only his frigid shoulders said as much.
“Thank you. Get to take a piece of this place with me, then.”
“But of course!” The Child nod-bowed to them both. “Qu’Atom vous garde.”
They mirrored the nod, caught in the uncertainty of pronunciation, and the uncertainty of appropriateness that they repeat it back.
‘Choly held his prayer armillary at his chest as they exited the Glassworks. He had no intention of ever break it. The thought crossed him as he glanced down at it, that he could place it in Angel’s storage for use as a perpetual light source, like the light to a glove compartment.
“...Angel,” he asked it, spellbound by the strange, vaguely oily, fluoresceinesque fluid, “you’ve got French programming, haven’t you? That was French, yes? What was she saying?”
“I believe it’s French, Sir. At least, partly. If I’m to understand Miss Fresnel, these Children of Atom worship gamma radiation... as well as something they regard as ‘foreign.’ ”
“Cultists, basically.” Sticks snorted.
'Choly didn’t care whether the Children’s religious motivations made any rational, scientific sense. It still burned him, that they’d given Sticks his trinket for free. The ghoul handed him his with only a vague smirk.
“I, you didn’t want one, then?” He had only starry-eyed gratitude. “Are you sure?”
“Why would I? I let them give it to me so they’d knock it off and let us leave.” The ghoul blurted out an abrupt chuckle and slung an arm around ‘Choly’s shoulders, to grip him a little too forcefully. He kept his voice down, cracked lips inches from ‘Choly’s ear. “Don’t make me go back in there. I get enough of that from you.”
-------------------
A/N: I anglicized the maiden name of Polish-French Marie Skłodowska-Curie, in the expectation that oral tradition would follow phonetically. (I also wanted to differentiate the Grand Mother from both Mother Curie III and FO4′s Curie, while still nodding to the historical figure.)
A/N: I’ve thus far gone all my life not knowing it’s pronounced Freh-nel or Fray-nel. Even my science teachers all pronounced it Fresnel. Hm.
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#fallout#children of atom#fallout 4#fallout fanfic#fo4 fanfic#sole survivor#ghoul oc#mister handy#melancholy#sticks#angel#child of atom#hierosacristan bernadette fresnel#the anatomy of melancholy
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