#I do wonder if she’ll ever pop back up again (and I sincerely hope she does) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysweetestcreature · 3 years

Text

Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies

Words: 24.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death...smut?

Summary: Why can’t two people who are meant for each other get it right?

***

They’re fighting again. All Y/n can do is shut her eyes in the hopes that when she opens them, everything will be okay. But no amount of wishing can drown out the noise.

“I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine! It’s not. You know it isn’t, Matt,” she hears her mother erupt between sobs. Lately, it’s been the same angry words shouted at one another over and over again. Y/n takes her baby sister, Ava, in her eight-year-old arms. She hugs the baby close. If she can’t block the screaming out, at least she can protect her sister from it.

“Grace, please.” It’s her dad’s voice. She’s never heard him sound so desperate. “What about our family? The girls need you. I need you! You can’t just walk away from us.”

There’s a sudden silence that follows. At first, Y/n thinks that maybe her parents have reached a resolution. Her dad has always been good at negotiating. It is his job, after all. She’s seen him in action whenever he brings her to work with him. Maybe he’s managed to work that same magic on her mum. She gently lays Ava down on the bed, creating a makeshift barrier of pillows on either side of her, before exiting the room and running down the stairs.

Before she can reach the bottom, she’s forced to a halt when she sees her daddy slouched over on the last step. His head is buried in his hands, his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. That’s a sight she’s never seen before. He’d always been the picture of bravery and strength, but now that’s been washed away and replaced with someone who looks broken beyond repair. She doesn’t recognize him.

Where is her mum? She slips past her dad, despite wanting to throw herself in his arms for comfort. Besides his sniffling, the house is quiet. There’s no trace of her mum. It scares her.

“Where’s Mummy?” she asks meekly, turning to her father.

He doesn’t respond, but instead, he brings his hands out of his hair, and stares painfully at the door. Without thinking, she throws it open, the sun’s light momentarily blinding her for a few unhinged seconds. It’s only the screeching of wheels on road that brings her back.

“Mummy!” she cries, running as fast as her short legs can take her. Her eyes begin to swell with tears. The black taxi is still, and she’s just able to stare at her mum through its window. “Mummy, where are you going?” she pleads as she bangs on the door, but her mother doesn’t even flinch. Why won’t she look at me?

The engine starts up, and the car begins to drive away. Y/n chases after it, crying out for her mum to come back. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me!” It picks up speed after it turns the corner. She feels herself slowing down, but even then, she refuses to stop. The distance between herself and the car becomes too massive.

“Mummy, come back!”

Arms envelop around her, and now she’s running on air. “Let her go,” her dad tells her, and she can feel his own tears against her neck. Her feet stop kicking, it’s like the energy has completely drained from her body. Her mind, however, is still racing.

***

A few days later, her daddy packs both hers and Ava’s bags, and loads them all into his car. She doesn’t ask questions, and instead busies herself with the fleeting landscape. A part of her had expected all that’s happened to be a part of some elaborate nightmare. But each morning, she wakes up to her parents’ bed left untouched, and her dad asleep on the living room couch. Ava is asleep beside her, and Y/n can’t help but think how lucky her little sister is to be living in ignorance. At three months old, she’s only just learned to hold her head up. Barely. Y/n doesn’t remember anything from that age, and maybe that’s a good thing. Had her parents always been this hostile towards one another? Had her mother done this before? What if she had? Does that mean she’ll eventually come back?

“We’re going to be staying with your grandparents for a while,” she’s taken out of her thoughts when her dad finally speaks up.

“Why?” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. They only ever go up to Nan and Gramps’ house during the holidays.

His fingers thump against the steering wheel, and he breathes in deeply as though to say something. It takes a moment before he answers her. “I just...I can’t do this alone.” His voice breaks, even though he tries to pass it off with a cough. “It’ll be good for us,” he says again. “You’ll see.”

When they hit a red light, he turns to look at her. He smiles weakly. No matter how much she wants to believe him, she still yearns for her mummy. It’s become especially hard in the mornings when her hair is knotted from tossing and turning in her sleep, and her dad can’t manage to tame it for the life of him. Her mum would often braid her hair, and like magic, it would remain intact all day. She always loved how gentle and soothing her mum would be as she brushed each strand with such care. That’s not to say that her dad isn’t trying, of course, but it’s just not the same.

***

Her grandparents live in a little town called Holmes Chapel. It’s pretty, she supposes. The buildings are a lot older, and the streets aren’t as busy as they are back home. She sits back and takes a deep breath. Her tummy flips a little when she thinks about how she might never see her old friends again, or her room, or even Mrs. Watson who lives next door (she would babysit Y/n and Ava whenever her mum had to run some errands).

When she looks out the window again, she sees Nan and Gramps stood on their front porch, smiles reaching their eyes.

“Where are my babies!” Nan exclaims, her arms stretched out. Her dad says a quick hello before opening up the back door. Y/n hops out, and her legs feel a bit unsteady from having been cramped in the car for all those hours.

“Hi, Nana,” she greets sadly. Nan’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem to let it deter her.

The elderly woman bends down to her height and gathers her in her arms. Over Nan’s shoulder, Y/n watches as her dad whispers something in Gramps’ ear. Although she can’t hear it, she can tell by Gramps’ reaction that it can’t have been good. “A bit peaky?” Nan asks, when she finally pulls away. She cups Y/n’s cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just took the cookies out of the oven, actually. Let’s go check on them before your grandfather gobbles them up.”

Gramps groans behind them. “It was one time!”

Nan waves him off, guiding her through the front door with an encouraging push. “Oh, you won’t believe all the colors I bought for you at the crafts store yesterday! I know how much you love to draw,” she says. Her voice drowns out when she hears something fall outside. “Arthur Y/l/n! If you break another one of my pots, I swear to–” It leaves Y/n to wander through the hall on her own. Her grandparents’ house is quaint and orderly and smells vaguely of warm vanilla (probably from the cookies) and jasmine. The walls are covered in framed photographs of her daddy and his older brother through the years, a few of a much younger Nan and Gramps, and finally of Y/n, Ava and all of her cousins. (They live in Nice––her Uncle Brandon married a French woman named Dominique––and only ever seem to come around for Nan and Gramps’ anniversary.) Finally, below her uncle and aunt’s wedding photo, is her parents’. She tries not to stare at it too long.

***

Y/n decides that maybe spending time with her grandparents won’t be so bad. After all, her and Ava don’t have to share a room anymore, which means that she won’t be woken up by her little sister’s 3 am wailing fits. Nan’s done an impressive job decorating on such short notice, too. The walls are still plain white, but at least there are some pretty stickers of butterflies and flowers and a few of Y/n’s favorite cartoon characters. Even the windows are nicely covered with those gel ornaments that she loves to poke.

It’s all very nice, but she still wonders about when she’ll be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own sheets.

“When are we going home?” she asks her dad as he tucks her in for the night. His hands stop in the middle of smoothening out her blanket, his eyes remaining glued to one of its printed ballerinas.

“To be honest with you, love,” he sighs, “I don’t know if we’ll ever go back...at least not anytime soon.”

“Oh.” That’s not the answer she wanted to hear. What if her mum does decide to come back? It’s still possible, right? After all, her mummy had always told her how much she loved her. She would scoop Y/n into her arms and twirl her around the room as they both laughed their hearts out. When she was sick, she’d always have her favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese. Every day after school, she’d sit down with her and help her do her homework and then give her an extra cookie if she didn’t complain.

Then another thought pops into her head. Her mum hadn’t been able to do any of that stuff recently. It had been like living with someone who looked exactly like her mum, but without all the warmth and tenderness that once was. Y/n turns away from her dad and starts to sob silently into her pillow.

Maybe she isn’t coming back, after all.

The dip in the bed from where her daddy had been finally reinflates. He’s about to wrap his hand around the door before she stops him. She calls out his name, sitting up with her arms around her knees.

“We’ll be happier here?”

His shoulders visibly relax, and for the first time in what feels like so long, he offers a sincere smile and nods affirmatively. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile until now. There’s something about it that she can’t quite describe, but she feels the safest she’s felt in a while.

***

Her daddy had left for the airport some hours ago. Gramps had offered to bring her along for the ride the night before, but she decided that she would rather not watch him leave. Instead, she pretended to be asleep when he came into her room and kissed her on the forehead. She knows he’ll be back in a few days, but it’s always tough when he has to go. It’s one of the other reasons they needed to move in with her grandparents, her dad has to travel a lot for work.

As soon as he and Gramps had loaded the car and driven away, she had stepped outside and sat down on the grass. That had been before the sun had totally risen. Now, it’s up high and shining its rays on top of her head. Nan, who had been surprised to see her granddaughter sitting out on the lawn so early in the morning, had asked her if she wanted breakfast, but was told she wasn’t hungry.

They’ve only been living here for a little over a week. She thought that they would’ve had more time to adjust before her dad had to fly off to wherever it is they’ve sent him. So far, things have been fine...or at least they’ve been as best as they can be. She tries not to think about her mum too much (she’s down to only once or twice a day). It’s a good thing that Nan and Gramps have a million ways to keep her busy.

Today is different, however. She’d had her daddy with her when she felt homesick. Now, she feels alone.

“Hi,” her head snaps up, and there’s a boy, maybe around her age, standing above her. He has messy brown hair that curls at the ends, his pleasant smile is complete with dimples on either cheek. It’s his eyes, however, that hold her attention. They’re like spearmint, if spearmint is even considered a color. Or maybe they’re the same shade as the stems of her Nan’s petunias. She can’t quite describe it, but she can tell that she likes them.

“Hi.”

The boy takes her response as an invitation to sit down beside her. “I’m Harry. Do you want a Freddo?” He pulls out a chocolate frog from his pocket. “My sister always eats chocolate when she’s upset, and she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and you looked kind of sad, so...” He gives her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she says.

He––Harry––rolls his eyes. “I just told you, my name’s Harry.” He shifts a bit, then points to the house on the left of hers. “That’s my house there.”

“What if I don’t want to believe you?” she challenges, but she’s failing miserably not to grin at how utterly exasperated he’s getting.

With a defeated sigh, Harry shouts towards the house. “Oi, Gem!” It takes only a few seconds for a head to peak out of an upstairs window.

An older girl, maybe around thirteen looks like she could throttle him. “I’m on the phone, Harry! Bugger off or I swear I’ll––oh, no, no! Not you, Blake.” She disappears back into her room.

Y/n can’t help but giggle, and Harry turns to her, a triumphant look on his face. “See. Told you.”

Once again, he offers her the Freddo, but this time, she happily accepts it. They sit in a comfortable silence as she nibbles on the chocolate.

“I’m Y/n,” she finally tells him.

Harry studies her carefully. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n your grandparents? Because I’ve been over there loads of times––she babysits me when my mum and Gem are busy––but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She nods. “Me, my sister and my dad moved in last week.”

“And your mum?” he tilts his head.

Her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek. She looks at him wearily before staring down into her lap. “It’s just us.”

“Oh,” is all he replies. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “My parents are separated too. My dad lives in the city, but I still see him most weekends.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mum again,” she frowns.

What he does next startles her, but she’s more surprised at how quickly she relaxes. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer so she can lean on her shoulder. “Mum says hugs help a lot,” he says sheepishly, she can feel his eyes on her. She nods against him, and it encourages him to continue. “I’m sorry you can’t see your mum, but hey, you can always talk to me! I’ll be your friend.”

It’s her turn to look up. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Y/n decides that she really likes living with her grandparents. Her and Harry are practically inseparable, spending the better part of the day together (and sometimes during the night when they have sleepovers). This means that she hasn’t cried in a long time, and she’s heard her daddy tell her grandparents that things are finally starting to look up. Her daddy looks better than he has been in ages, he doesn’t have that faraway look in his eyes anymore.

Harry usually comes over after breakfast, or even earlier when he knows Nan will be making French toast just the way he likes it. They play the entire day, a variety of games that range from hopscotch to pretend, to sneaking into Gemma’s room to dig into her stash of sugary treats because the girl has enough Freddo frogs to last her until next Christmas. He even likes to draw with her, even though she knows he rather be outside running around.

Sometimes Gramps will drive them into town, and they’ll go to the park or the ice cream parlor or their favorite Chinese restaurant. (She learns that she prefers shrimp over pork fried rice). There’s also a bakery that she thinks is the cutest place she’s ever seen. They serve all sorts of pastries and desserts that the owner, Martha, gives them for free when the rest of the customers aren’t looking. Y/n thinks that’s all to do with Harry. She’s eight, and she can already see how charming her best friend is. She’s glad that she has him by her side. He’s made her time here better than she could have ever imagined.

But soon enough, September comes along, and with it, school. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. While she and Harry will be attending the same school, he’s a year older, which means she might not see him nearly as much as she’d like.

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he tells her as they walk to school. “And we have breaktime, too. I can introduce you to all my friends, and you can introduce me to all of your new ones!” He sounds far too excited.

Y/n pulls on his sleeve, and he clumsily stumbles back a bit. “But Harry,” she whines, digging the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk. “What if I don’t make any friends?”

“You?” he gasps. “You’re like the most awesome person I know! Just be yourself.”

She doesn’t say a word, instead, she drops her head to look anxiously

“Come on.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me.” And they walk the rest of the way hand in hand.

***

Harry drops her off at her classroom before going to find his. He promised he’d walk down with her for lunch, so at least she has that much to look forward to. When he disappears down the hall, she finally lets herself turn around to examine the place she’ll be spending the rest of the year in.

The desks are all perfectly aligned, with names of her classmates in bold and colorful writing on cards at the very front. She quickly looks for her name and takes a seat. On the board, her teacher’s name is artfully written in the center. Miss Ferguson. She must have been the one who had greeted Y/n at the door a few minutes earlier.

Y/n’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she starts committing every feature of the room to memory. The pictures of letters and corresponding objects and animals along the top of the blackboard are just like the ones from her old school. From her seat, she can see the playground, and she fantasizes about all the time she and Harry had spent on the monkey bars and hidden in the tube slide.

“Do you want to trade notebooks?” Y/n turns in her seat in the direction of the voice. Behind her is a girl with blonde pigtails and an adorable gap between her two front teeth. “My mum always forgets that I don’t like purple.”

Y/n stares down at her own notebook, which is pink with white polka dots. “I like purple.”

The girl grins widely. “Yay! You’re nice, I like you. I’m Penelope,” but as soon as she says it, her nose scrunches up in disgust. “But I hate being called that. So, just call me P or Penny!” Y/n gives a brief introduction, and the two girls trade notebooks.

“You’re new, right?” Penny asks.

“Yup,” Y/n confirms, fishing her pencil case out of her backpack. “I moved here at the beginning of the summer.”

“Really? I’ve never lived anywhere besides here before, but when I’m older I want to live in London!”

“That’s where I’m from,” Y/n says sheepishly. She hasn’t thought much about it, but when she does, she still misses it a fair amount.

Penny’s hands go to her cheeks as she gapes in astonishment. “That’s so cool! What’s it like? Have you ever met the Queen?”

Y/n giggles. “I don’t even know where the Queen lives!”

“Ugh, I’ve got so many things to teach you, then.” She and Penny make plans to hang out during breaktime and lunch.

Maybe Harry was right after all.

***

When the bell rings for lunch, Miss Ferguson’s class files out of the room in a somewhat straight-file line. Y/n walks behind Penny, her new friend is explaining all the proper ways to curtsy in front of a prince when a hand reaches out and tugs on the back of Y/n’s collar.

She spins around, ready to thwack the whomever it might be. “I leave you for a few hours and you’ve already forgotten about me?” Harry smirks.

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” she says. She’s fallen to the back of the line now. Penny stays back too and walks over to the two of them. “Harry, this is Penny! She’s in the same class.”

Penny’s eyes nearly bug out of her head and her cheeks flush a shade of pink. “Hi-hi,” she stutters. Y/n stares at her for a moment, unsure where this sense of shyness has suddenly come from. She shakes her head, it’s probably just a draft from an open window.

“Hi, Penny,” Harry returns kindly. He then turns back to Y/n. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving!”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Penny says, sounding much more like herself. Y/n walks in between them, feeling content.

***

By the time she’s fifteen, Y/n has all she can ever ask for. Her dad doesn’t travel as much anymore, except for trips to the London office once a month, he’s able to work from Manchester. Ava’s seven now, and therefore able to cause all sorts of mischief. In fact, just last night, she’d eaten the entire leftover cake in the fridge when the rest of the family had gone to bed. She claims it was a ghost, but the frosting smeared across her face told everyone otherwise.

Penny’s practically moved in with them. Things at home aren’t always the best for her. Her mum usually spends the days drinking, the nights clubbing, and the early hours of the morning in some stranger’s bed. As for her dad, Penny doesn’t bring him up much. He decided to reconcile with his wife when Penny was three years old, leaving her and her mother penniless and alone. And well, she hasn’t spoken to him since.

Finally, there’s Harry. He’s still her funny, sweet, and incredibly cute best friend. He’s sixteen now, far more mature than her. While they still spend loads of time together, he has his friends, and she has hers. Although, he does still come around for breakfast on the weekends––Nan’s French toast is still his most favorite thing on the planet––and they usually spend the rest of the time catching up on homework and watching movies they’ve already seen a million times. She loves how she’s never bored when she’s around him. They could be laying on the grass outside her house (much like they usually do) for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and still never run out of things to talk about.

Except in the last few months. The thing is, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend, Lia, and she doesn’t like Y/n. There’s no logical explanation as to why, but whenever Y/n tries to talk to Harry at school, Lia slips her arms around him, like she’s claiming what’s hers, and glares at her until she has no choice but to retreat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry that his first serious girlfriend is a total bitch, no matter how much she wants to.

It’s a Friday night, Penny is staying over. She’s lazily flipping through last month’s edition of Vogue on Y/n’s desk.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks.

“We’re fifteen. It’s not like there’s been much opportunity,” Y/n chuckles. She glances up momentarily from her sketchbook. If there’s a punchline, it never comes. She then gives her a look. “Why, have you?”

Penny shrugs. “Sometimes I think I am, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d never see me like that.”

Y/n doesn’t respond to this. She’s heard stories about the boy Penny’s apparently fancied for ages now, but for some reason her friend refuses to give her a name. If she had to guess, it’s probably Bobby Baker from her French class. They dated for a few months when they were fourteen, but things had ended abruptly. Sometimes she’ll see them talking between classes and while in line for lunch. Her money’s definitely on Bobby.

Not wanting to press her for details, however, Y/n changes the topic. “Harry’s probably in love with Lia. I saw them snogging at the bust stop this morning.”

Penny groans. “They’re so gross!” she pretends to gag. “Oh, Harry. You’re so handsome! Kiss me before our lips dry out! Oh, Lia, you’re so pretty. Take this flower as a sign of my undying affections!” She imitates them, doing it so flawlessly.

They share a look, and suddenly, they’re balled over in fits of laughter.

“How do they even breathe?” Y/n wheezes into her pillow. It’s not to say that she hasn’t kissed a boy before. It’s just never been as intense––or as nauseating––as that. Besides, none of her boyfriends have last long enough. Harry says that it’s all for the best, according to him, none of them are good enough for her.

“They’re twos, you’re a total ten,” he had said to her once. She pretended not to feel her heart leap at the compliment. “A ten can’t go any lower than maybe a seven.” She wanted to say that she thought he was a ten, too, but was too embarrassed to say it.

***

Penny leaves early the next morning, but first helping herself to some of the food Nan had just prepared before zipping out the door. She leaves Y/n half asleep and barely functional.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Nan teases her, pouring her a cup of tea.

“Same old, same old,” she yawns. She breathes in the steam from her mug and smiles.

Nan places a plate of French toast in front of her. “Talking about the same old things until three in the morning? If only your grandfather and I could stay up that late. Of course, we’d be doing other things that decidedly aren’t–” she pauses, and Y/n’s never been more thankful. They both turn towards the back door. “Ah, and I was just beginning to worry.”

Harry mutters a sleepy good morning, then stumbles into the seat beside Y/n. He looks at her breakfast, then looks at her. As if they can communicate silently, Y/n pushes her plate towards him.

“Harry, dear,” Nan starts, making up a new plate for her granddaughter. “How does your mum feel about you spending so much time here?”

“She’s fine with it,” he says, mouth full of bread. “As long as I bring her back some food, she says I can spend as much time here as I want.”

Nan just rolls her eyes. “Will that be banana or blueberry then?”

“Hmm...” Harry pretends to mull over the options, but Nan knows better. Y/n watches with amusement as she places both bananas and blueberries on top of the French toast, then places it on a disposable plate and wraps it with tinfoil.

She turns to them. “I’m just going to pop next door and give this to Anne.” Just before she can slide the door open, she calls one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to burn the house down. We just had the floors waxed.”

Y/n continues to sip on her tea, and Harry hums happily around another delectable bite. They sit in comfortable silence.

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” he says. He looks at her curiously. “Why is that?”

She has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret. “Well, you know. I’ve been really busy lately.” From the corner of her eye, she can see how one of his brows shoot straight up.

“Busy with?”

“You know there’s an art show happening soon. I’ve been spending all my time in the art room.” She knows she isn’t convincing anyone, let alone him. He can read her like a book.

But if Harry is thinking she’s lying, then he doesn’t say anything. “Right,” he says aloofly. Taking another bite of his––her––breakfast, he continues. “Lia’s going to have a few pieces on display.”

This catches her off guard. “Lia’s into art? Since when?”

He gives her a noncommitted grunt. “It’s news to me too.” He takes her mug from her hands and takes a sip. “But she seemed really interested when I mentioned you were participating.”

“Huh.” She rests her chin on her fist. That’s strange. She’s never seen Lia Hall set foot anywhere near the art room. Lia’s a cheerleader and spends most of her time cheering on the school’s football team, which is how she and Harry got together. Y/n would know if they shared any common interests. At least that way, she could talk to Harry without her grumbling bloody murder under her breath.

“What is it?” his question pulls her out of thought. She plasters a smile on her face and says it’s nothing.

***

Her bedroom window is right across from his, and they’ve been using it to their advantage since they were kids. When they both had bedtimes that were too early to ever enjoy the night, they would look out their window and find the other looking right back. They’d spend the night trying to make the other laugh with funny faces and their own little game of charades.

But as Y/n looks up from her half-finished essay and through the glass, she doesn’t need elaborate hand motions to know that Harry is pissed. She wonders if he realizes where he’s standing or maybe he just doesn’t care right now. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm, but Y/n knows him better than that. While he isn’t one to yell, his voice does get tight when he’s trying hard not to.

He runs a hand through his brown locks in frustration. She feels guilty for not having the strength to turn away, but she’s just too curious for her own good. If only she could read his lips just to get an idea as to why he’s so upset, but alas, that’s never been her talent. She waits, occasionally working on her essay (occasionally), then lifting her head back up to check up on him.

When she looks up after a stroke of genius that had promoted words to pour out onto the page, he’s gone. Her shoulders drop in disappointment. Oh, well. At least all she has to do now is proofread.

“Did you know your nan is making pot pie for dinner?”

She swivels in her chair, her eyebrow tilting up. “I did.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he pretends to be hurt as he falls onto her bed. “I’m wounded you would choose to withhold such valuable information from me.”

“I’m sorry?” she chuckles. Closing her laptop, she sits on the floor right beside where his head falls of the side of the bed.

He turns to her, his upside-down face grinning pompously at her. “Eh, you know I can never stay mad at you.” She thumps his forehead with another laugh, but he only continues to smile.

***

Y/n’s always loved art and how it can imitate life in the way the artist chooses. Ever since she can remember, she’s been doodling landscapes and portraits on napkins or just about any plain surface she can get her hands on. She thinks she gets it from her mum. There’s not much she can remember about her, but she does recall her mother’s love for the fine arts. And as much as she tries not to think about her, she’s happy she knows where she gets it from.

Mrs. Cuomo, the art teacher, says she has a gift, and Y/n tries not to let it get to her head, but she can’t help it! She’s already taken to looking for art programs around England. If she wouldn’t miss her family too much, she’d consider going abroad.

“Paris seems fabulous, don’t you think? I mean, they have some of the best fashion schools in the world.” Penny muses as they walk around the gallery. “French boys are a plus.”

“Is that where you want to go after college?”

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to afford it, though.”

Y/n nods, understanding her friend’s situation.

They continue to browse all the art on display, until stopping at Y/n’s exhibit. She has three paintings. The one on the left is an abstract portrait of Ava that she’d been working on since the last art show. It was inspired by her little sister’s fifth birthday. Dad had bought her the cutest little periwinkle dress with a grey ribbon around the waist. It’s something Y/n would’ve been over the moon for at that age. But Ava being the little rebel she was (and still is) had gotten it all dirty. Right before her party, she came trudging back into the house, a complete mess from head to toe. Y/n’s entitled the portrait Muddy Princess. On the right is a landscape of a forest with the simple name Serene Acres. Finally, the one in the middle is a sideview of a boy laying in the grass. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, like he’s never had a trouble in the world. As do all her paintings, this one had started off as a mere sketch born from a vision that she suddenly had just as she had woken up. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it anything more than that. But the longer she spent refining it, she just knew she had to take it all the way. There’s something comforting about him. This one in particular is Y/n’s absolute favorite.

“Oh, you’re totally going to win this year,” Penny enthuses. “I’m not saying this because you’re my best friend and I’d literally give you a kidney, but seriously. You’re golden.”

“I hope you’re right,” she says nervously. “Mrs. Cuomo said that the judges are going to be a lot more critical this year. I just hope they like my stuff.”

Penny waves her off, as if she were talking nonsense. “They will.”

“Will what?” A pair of familiar hands land on her waist, and she can’t help but smile when sees him gasp at the wall in front of her. “Woah,” he’s speechless. She pats his arm as she steps away from him, afraid that his girlfriend might catch sight of them.

“You like them?” she smiles. He nods, still unable to speak.

“So, where’s Lia’s display?” Penny asks, but Y/n can sense the annoyance in her voice. She knows all about the girl’s hatred of Y/n.

Harry stares blankly, until finally registering the question. “Oh...um. She decided not to enter, after all.” He wraps an arm Y/n once again, and this time, Y/n doesn’t bother pushing him off.

“That seems sudden,” she says.

“Well...” Harry looks left and right, like he’s making sure no one will hear them. “I guess she realized that she didn’t stand a chance.”

This makes Penny snort. “Are we talking about the same girl here? Lia Hall does not back down. From anything. I’ve seen her at the mall fighting over jeans with University kids. She’s scary as hell.”

***

She’s laying on the grass on her front lawn when Harry comes outside and joins her. His body is oriented in the opposite direction so that their eyes are aligned if they were to face each other. He doesn’t say anything more than a hello. His hands are placed on his stomach and his nose wriggles when a cool breeze brushes past.

“Lia and I broke up,” he suddenly says, but his voice is even and calm.

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs loudly. “No, you’re not.” He glances at her before facing back up. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you two don’t get along.”

“At least I know you’re not dense.” She bites back a smile. Why is she so elated with the news? Does that make her a bad person? Who’s to say? “She was pretty awful.”

“She was hot, though,” Harry interjects.

“I suppose.”

Silence washes over them. If she were any more relaxed, she’s sure she could fall asleep right here, next to him.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“The clouds, Harry. Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles when he squints at the grey canvas above them.

“There are no clouds,” he says flatly. He turns his head, their eyes lock.

She swallows, and she’s the first to turn away. With a content sigh, she lets her eyes droop closed. Even without looking, she can feel the way his gaze lingers, like he might be waiting for something more. “You too,” it’s a gentle request, possibly an order. He’s never been able to deny her anything.

“Alright then,” there’s an amused tone to his voice now. He breathes deeply, his own eyes closing as the air leaves his chest.

They lay motionless for a comfortable few minutes. Things are quiet between them, and only nature’s melody that plays uninterrupted.

The wind whistles, and the leaves on the trees dance along with crisp and breezy movements. As the air––which smells strongly of fall’s fiery allure––rubs against her skin and tickles the tip of her nose, another blissful smile leaves a pattern across her lips.

“What do you see?” she asks.

“Not much, honestly. My eyes are closed.”

She punches his arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

He groans out in pain. “Fine then,” he concedes. “What do you see?”

The image is vivid in her head. “Purple clouds.”

He chuckles softly.

“What color is the grass?”

“Green, of course.”

“That’s boring,” he teases.

She huffs in annoyance. “Not everything needs changing, you know.” He doesn’t challenge it.

“And the sky?”

That’s her favorite part.

“Tangerine.”

“That’s a fruit.”

“and a color.”

“Why can’t you just say orange?”

“Because,” she starts in her best ‘you better listen to me or else’ tone. “Orange is a meh kind of color. But tangerine? It’s a bit more exciting.”

“Exciting,” he repeats slowly, as though he were testing the weight of the word on his tongue.

When she opens her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking at her as though she had two heads, she’s surprised to see that his are still closed. She finds herself studying him. The way his chest steadily rises and falls with each even breath. He looks as calm as she feels at that moment. It’s then she can appreciate just how handsome he really is. Of course, she’s known it for a while (but she’d never tell him that).

So, she turns her head back towards the grey-washed sky and paints over its gloom with an image of their own.

***

Right before he starts Year 13, Harry’s dad, Des, moves to Boston. Harry tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but Y/n knows that he misses him a lot. Even though his parents have been separated for a long time, he’d at least had a good relationship with both of them. He and his dad would do “manly” things like fishing and batting at the cages. He keeps telling her that he’s fine, and it’s not like he’ll never visit him, but she can sense that something is troubling him.

It takes a bit of finesse to get him to talk, and once he does, she immediately regrets it.

“He wants me to follow him,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. Y/n thinks she might throw up. Boston...America...it’s just so far away. The farthest she’s ever been is Italy on vacation.

She stares at him apprehensively. “Do you...umm...do you want to go?”

Harry doesn’t answer her at first. It takes to the count of five for him speak. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean...it’s a lot to ask, don’t you think? He’s asking me to uproot my life here.” He gazes at her. “And I really like it here.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle being that far from him. He’ll be starting University in the fall, and him going to London already feels too much. Goodbyes aren’t easy for her, and she doesn’t think they’ll ever get easier.

“At least both parents want you,” she doesn’t realize what she’s saying until it’s up in the air.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugs him off. “It’s just, you’re lucky that both of them love you.”

Harry appears to think hard on this. “I love you.”

Her heart stops beating, her eyes double in size.

“What?”

He reddens, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going through his head. His jaw juggles back and forth, and then he coughs like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He wipes a hand down his face. “I mean, you’re my best friend, of course I do.”

Just as quickly as it had enlarged, something inside her deflates. “Oh, right,” she tries not to sound disappointed. It’s a little awkward now, but she’s at least comforted in the fact that he values her so much. She nudges her elbow against him. “Hey,” she quips.

He tilts his head.

“I love you too, doofus.”

***

Y/n’s always thought her dad to be a kind and fair man.

Matthew Y/l/n doesn’t spoil his girls, but he also knows how to reward them for a job well done. He’s also one of those approachable dads, the ones you can talk to about a crush without him getting overly protective. From when she was eight and until now, he’s always been there for her and Ava, and for that, Y/n is forever grateful.

Which is why she feels like she can discuss this one teensy little thing with him. Now, Y/n, she’s made up her mind about wanting to pursue a career as an artist. Some might say it’s insane! Risky! Financial suicide! But isn’t the threat of failure all the more reason to strive? She thinks so, and she just knows that her dad will too!

After dinner, which is when her dad is at his happiest. His belly is full of Nan’s roast, and he’s sitting next to Gramps on the couch while they watch sports. This is her chance. She’s already practiced on everyone else in the house, plus Penny and Harry, so she has a pretty solid plan on how to approach him.

“Hey, daddy,” she says sweetly, plopping between him and Gramps. He smiles at her and flings an arm around her shoulder. He returns his attention back to the telly. She gives Gramps a look, one so pleading that she thinks she might have just made him tear up, and he clears his throat and excuses himself.

“I’ve, uh, got to take a shit.” And he stumbles into the hall, Nan’s snorting following closely behind.

“So, dad, there’s something I actually want to talk about,” she starts, turning so she’s completely facing him. Matthew presses on the remote so that the screen is completely black. He prods her to continue.

Y/n chuckles nervously. No big deal. “You know how I’m like crazy about my art? I mean, I’ve won three competitions in the last nine months!”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been telling everyone at work that my daughter’s an artist. You should’ve seen Anthony’s face when he found out you were the one who beat his boy out for the ribbon...”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad.” She can feel herself getting excited. “And I’m so proud that I get to make you proud. I mean, you’ve given me so much, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” On her lips is her most dazzling smile.

He eyes her suspiciously. “Okay, I’m sensing something else going on here. Spit it out.”

“Well, it’s just that next year is my last year of college, and I’ll be applying to universities soon, so I was hoping that we could talk about me pursuing art.”

“Pursuing art, as in...?”

“Dad, I want to be an artist.” That wasn’t so bad, right? She can see her dad’s face waver in emotion. At first, he looks confused, then maybe a little unsure, but then he’s just unreadable. “Thoughts?” she presses.

“No.”

Had she just heard him right? “What?”

“No.”

“But, Dad–”

“There’s little to no security. The odds of you even making a decent living out of it are practically one in a million.”

“Wait, just hear me out first...”

“I’ve heard enough, Y/n. You’re not going to throw away an education on a hobby.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. “Look, I’m not telling you to never paint again. I’m just saying that you need to approach this from a more realistic point of view. How about you major in something more reliable––like business or nursing––then minor in what you want?” He continues to ramble on about different prospects, but she’s completely drowned him out by now.

There’s a spot on the rug that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Where had she gone wrong? He’s never been so forceful with his decisions before. Had she overlooked a portion of her speech?

“Mum loved art,” she whispers, but it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Matthew stiffens at the mention of his estranged wife. “Your mother loved a lot of things. A lot more than she ever loved us.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

***

“I think you should go for it,” she can always count on Harry to support her.

She sighs, burying her face in his pillow. It smells of coconut and lavender. After her dad had walked out, she’d ran across the yard and had tackled Harry with a hug while he was taking out the trash. He’d given her some water (God knows how hysterical she’d been moments prior) before leading her up to his room so she could calm down.

“What if Dad’s right?” she mutters. “What if this really is just a hobby?” She suddenly feels herself being flipped onto her back, his legs straddling either side of her, his eyes boring into hers like lasers. Thoughts flash through her head, and it crosses her mind that he might actually kiss her. But he remains still.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re amazing, and you know it. I know it. This whole damn town knows it. If there’s one person I know can make it as an artist, it’s you.”

While his words do encourage her, she’s far more concerned with how close he is. She nods in acknowledgement, and he flops next to her. Both of them stare at the ceiling. She wonders if he ever feels what she feels.

“I got you something,” he says after a few minutes. He quickly turns and fishes for something under his bed.

“A present?” she doesn’t bother hiding the playfulness in her voice.

He kicks the side of her leg. “Grow up.”

“Can’t, I’m too excited.”

He pulls out a giftbag and hands it to her. “Saw this when I was out with Mum and well, it reminded me of you.”

Peeking into the bag, she immediately smiles. “Is this...is this a frog?”

“Yeah, because remember when we first met? I gave you a–”

“Chocolate frog,” she finishes. It’s a plush toy the size of a basketball and its body is the same colors as their special world. Harry must’ve picked it out because of it. He’s always been thoughtful like that. It shouldn’t surprise her, but whenever he remembers these little things, she can’t help but feel weak at the knees. She and hugs her new frog to her chest. “It’s so cute! Oh, what should we name it?”

“Well, I feel like there’s only one appropriate name for it,” he winks.

“Kaleidoscope?”

“That...that wasn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

She giggles, reaching over and bringing him in for a hug. “I’m just messing with you! We’ll obviously be calling him Freddo.” She sighs happily when his arms hold on to her tightly. Yeah, she likes his hugs a lot.

***

It’s the middle of March when Harry’s cousin comes to live with him. Jared is about his age, with the same shade of brown hair, only his is straight as opposed to Harry’s mess of wavy curls. Harry had told her that Jared’s mother (Anne’s sister, Sonya) had just passed away after her battle with cancer, and Y/n’s heart broke for the boy she barely knows. Similar to Penny’s situation, Jared’s dad isn’t in the picture. He’d left him and his mum before he was even born, and according to Harry, Jared’s always been very bitter about it.

Jared doesn’t leave his room much, only for school and for meals. Harry’s the only person he talks to because he wants to, not because he has to. They were practically like brothers before Jared had moved away, which Y/n is surprised to hear since she’s never heard of him before. But apparently when they were kids––way before Y/n moved in next door––Jared and his mum would always come over Harry’s house, and they’d play until one of them had to be forcibly dragged away. She had laughed when Harry had told her the story of how he and Jared had gotten stuck in the tree out back for five hours because the adults were so busy chatting inside.

Sometimes Y/n will stop by and personally offer him some of Nan’s famous chocolate pie, and he’ll accept it only to give it to Harry once she leaves. Of course, she knows it’s nothing personal against her, it just makes her sad that she can’t help someone who is so important to her best friend. It’s hard for her to see Harry worry so much about him, and she really is trying her hardest to help him out. She doesn’t think Jared hates her, if anything, she always catches him staring at her in the halls when he thinks she doesn’t notice. That’s a promising sign, right?

“I happen to think he’s very good looking,” Penny tells her as they walk to Physics. “He kind of reminds of a young Leo.”

“You said the same thing about Harry last week,” Y/n giggles.

“They’re related, aren’t they? Maybe beautiful genes run in the family.”

Penny looks at her. “What do you think?”

She stares back at her. “About?”

“You know, Jared!”

Y/n’s lips purse together. She hadn’t given him much thought, honestly.

***

She’s glued to her sketchpad while sitting on the front lawn when she notices a shadow approach her. Not bothering to look up, she pats the spot beside her.

“Nan says that the pudding will be ready in ten,” she says.

“That’s...cool.” That’s not Harry.

Tearing her eyes away from her latest drawing, she turns her head and sees the last person she expected. “Jared! Hi!” she squeaks.

He offers her a side grin. “Hey,” is all he says. He looks down into her lap. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He rubs his hands on his jeans before settling them around his ankles. “Uh...do you mind if I sit here with you? You can say no, I was just feeling a little stuffed up in–”

“Of course! I love company!” she smiles broadly.

“I don’t know, you and that pencil were looking pretty cozy,” he suggests. She quirks a brow at him, but when the signs of a smirk begin to change the way his eyes gleam, she finally gets it.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting!” She doesn’t hesitate to slap him over the head. He sniggers in return but doesn’t say much more after that. Y/n continues to draw, but occasionally she’ll look up and catch him watching her. He immediately turns away, pretending to be busy with a blade of grass, or he’ll start whistling like it’s a sitcom.

***

It doesn’t take long before Jared finally opens up to her. He’s funny––really funny, even though most of his humor is dirty––and is constantly finding ways to make Y/n laugh. She’s found that he does a nearly perfect impression of Austin Powers, and she enjoys it very much. There are also certain angles that really highlight how handsome he is. His eyes are a deep brown, almost the same shade as his hair. There are freckles evenly spread around his nose, almost as if they’d been specifically placed there. And oh, his lashes! They’re just as long as Harry’s, except maybe even fuller. She imagines what they would look like with a fresh coat of mascara. (She jokingly brought up the idea once, and to her delight, Jared says he wouldn’t mind it one bit.)

Harry seems happy that his cousin appears to be back to his old, goofball self. He’s definitely not as stressed over trying to get Jared out of his room as he had been in the immediate weeks after his Aunt Sonya’s death. Even Anne is starting to smile more. Losing her sister had been difficult for her, but Y/n admires how she had stepped up and took her nephew in without hesitance. She’s almost positive that that’s where Harry gets his selflessness from.

“Okay, real question, would you rather give up all desserts or all cheeses?” Jared asks. He always plays this game with her. She thinks it’s cute, sometimes even thought-provoking if she’s really into it.

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Because what about–”

Both their eyes grow wide. “Cheesecake!”

Her head falls onto his shoulder as she laughs. She doesn’t see how Harry turns away. Although, sometimes she’ll notice how he’ll have this weird look in his eyes whenever the three of them are all hanging out together, but she thinks she’s just imagining it.

***

When Penny tells her that Jared might like her, she doesn’t totally object to the idea.

***

A few days later, Jared kisses her. It’s one of those kisses that happen when you least expect it. She’s frozen in shock until his lips pull away. It’s strange, she likes the feeling, but something seems amiss. He looks at her nervously, like he’s afraid he’s done something completely wrong. But when she finally manages to get over that initial uncertainty, a grin slowly forms on her lips, and he’s kissing her again.

***

In two weeks’ time, she sees Harry snogging Penny outside his front door. She isn’t sure how to react, but she knows there’s this weird feeling inside of her that she doesn’t like.

***

Her and Harry haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since they started dating other people. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, in fact, she really misses him. Saturday morning breakfasts just aren’t the same without him shuffling into the kitchen in his half-asleep state. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going out of his way to avoid her. Penny says that maybe he’s just feeling awkward because her two best friends are dating. (It turns out Harry had been the guy she’d been pining over for years.)

Maybe that’s true, but shouldn’t that make it easier for them to find themselves in the same room? She’s happy that Penny’s finally happy! Things hadn’t worked out with her last two boyfriends because all they wanted was to take advantage of her. If there’s one thing she’s sure about, it’s that Harry would never cross any lines that Penny hadn’t invited him to cross.

When they’re in Harry’s car, she’ll catch glimpse of how Harry takes Penny’s hand over the console, or how she’ll feed him fries from their takeaway. It makes her happy to see them like this. Really, it does.

Jared is just as much a gentleman, too. They haven’t done anything past snogging, and she’s okay with that. She isn’t even sure she’s ready for that type of commitment. It’s not like she has this idealized fantasy about losing her virginity. She doesn’t expect it to happen in the same way as the movies, with candles and a bed full of rose petals, or any of that romantic stuff. If the time’s right, it’s right. All she wants is to make sure her heart’s a hundred and ten percent in it before she lets anyone in. She wonders if Penny and Harry have talked about going all the way.

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

“Oh,” Y/n tries not to sound surprised. “And how did that go?”

Penny gives a noncommitted answer. “He says he’s willing to wait until I’m ready. But the thing is, I’m ready now!”

***

Penny loses her virginity soon after. Y/n is the first person she calls, and it’s a bunch of squealing and bragging about how perfect it all was. How gentle and attentive he’d been, and how she can’t wait to do it again. It takes everything in her to not hang up. She loves Penny to death, but some things––at least in her opinion––are left unsaid.

***

The first time she and Harry get to spend time together, as in just the two of them, is when Jared is stuck in bed with a cold, and Penny is out with her mum. It’s not exactly planned, in fact, she had only seen him from the living room window whilst helping Nan dust the mantel. Deciding she couldn’t let the opportunity pass, she drops the feather duster and runs out the front door.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, but she doesn’t sit. It’s only now she sees the bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He usually only drinks when he’s got something messing with his head.

He nods at her, and gestures to the spot beside him. She sits, but it feels to calculated for them. Usually, she’d plop down, not caring if their knees would brush together. Now, she’s careful to leave at least a few inches between them. And she hates how awkward things feel between them. In a matter of months, they’d gone from being attached at the hip, to barely acquaintances.

“So, what’s going on?”

He takes a sip from the bottle, his face twitching with disgust as he does so, then takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel like things should be different?”

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair over her shoulders. She doesn’t know if the goosebumps running down her spin are from that or the it’s from the magnitude of his question. “Different, how?”

His features soften when he finally looks at her. As in, really looks at her. It feels like so long since he’s done, that it takes her breath away. He doesn’t say anything yet, but she can see in his eyes that there’s something there.

“Harry?” she whispers.

His eyes drop down to her lips, and he licks his own in reaction. Nothing seems to matter at that moment. If her mind had been juggling with thoughts before this, it isn’t now. All she can think about his him. How good it feels to be so close him, and how she wants to be closer.

Then it hits her. Jared. She’s with Jared, and Harry’s with Penny. She’d been leaning into him, but now that she’s broken from his trance, she straightens up.

Harry brushes off his disappointment with another sip from his beer. His stare lands across the street, where a pair of children are chasing each other around a tree. He drops his head, his hand wrapping around the base of his neck.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

She nods slowly. “Visiting your dad?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

Finally, he stands up, then offers her his hand so she can too. He doesn’t let go right away, and she revels in how good it feels. She smiles down to where they’re holding each other, then stares into his green orbs.

Pulling on her arm, she’s suddenly trapped in his embrace. She hugs him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulder blades and pinching his t-shirt between her fingers. It’s all a bit confusing, but she continues to cling to him. She feels his nose nudge the crown of her head before he lets go.

He turns around and doesn’t look back.

She isn’t sure what just happened, but it feels a lot like goodbye.

*** Ten Years Later

“It doesn’t feel right,” she sighs. “I can’t be the only one who’s thinking it.” He shuffles in place, eyes scanning the room around them. “What do you suggest then?”

“Take this to the empty wall by the entrance, then move the Reynalda exhibit closer to the back. It’s our main attraction, we have to make people work for it.”

Angelo nods approvingly, and she calls a thank you out to him as he gets to work. Y/n watches the rest of her staff disperse into their allocated directions, and it’s then she can finally take a moment for herself. Sometimes she feels suffocated, but at the same time so hollow.

There are so many reasons why Y/n shouldn’t be feeling as empty as she does now. After all, her life is pretty damn close to perfect. She graduated university with high honors, she has a well-paying job as director of a prestigious art gallery, and she lives in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with her adoring fiancé who she’s been with for the better part of a decade.

She can’t pinpoint when exactly she realized that something had been missing, or maybe this feeling has always existed somewhere deep inside, and she’s just been really good at hiding it. The only person who knows about this internal battle is Ava, but Y/n doesn’t like to bother her too much since she’s busy with coursework, as well as her own problems that come with being nineteen and young.

Of course, there’s Jared. Her love. Her rock. Her other half. She doesn’t know why can’t talk about this with him. Maybe it’s too much of girl problem, or maybe it’s just guilt. The last thing she wants him to think is that he’s not enough to fill this void in her life. If anything, he’d been able to pick up all her damaged pieces when she just couldn’t. He’s great, more than. She depends on him, and he’s never let her down.

But if that’s true. Why can’t she just be honest?

***

“Right, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you–” he pauses, and she can see the concern overtake his features from the reflection of the blank television screen. He walks around their living room and kneels in front of her, his hands rubbing her lower thighs with every intention to soothe her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t really know,” she laughs, then shakes her head. “It’s silly, really. You go ahead. Go have fun with Sid.” It’s her best attempt at a smile, but it’s a weak one.

He looks at her unsurely, like he’s debating if he should protest or not. She kisses him gently on the lips.

“Go.” And she nudges him to his feet. Although she can tell he’s hesitant, he eventually concedes, leaning down for just one more peck to her forehead, then he’s out the door.

She needs to find a way to depress this strange feeling. It’s starting to affect too much of her life. A life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

Before she falls slave to her thoughts, she slumps into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cabernet. Maybe it’s a far too generous portion, but is there ever such thing as too much wine? At least for tonight, the answer is no.

The alcohol burns her throat with its bitter sweetness, and she finds comfort in how it settles at the pit of her stomach. She breathes in deeply. This is just what she needs. It’s all in her head. Stress, probably.

Just as she’s about to rewrap herself in her blanket, the front door opens and closes with a gentle thud. She swings around, brows curling in question as Jared slips off his coat leans against the nearest wall.

“Sid will understand. You’re the one who needs me tonight.”

She leans against the arm of the couch, a moved smile playing at her lips because, wow. How did she get so lucky?

***

“I found another grey hair this morning,” Jared says. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-eight, Jae. And besides, silver foxes are pretty sexy.”

“I guess I’m a bit of a Clooney.” And he wags his brows suggestively. If he’s trying to come onto her, it’s not exactly working, but she’s also not completely turned off. This is why they’re good together. After all these years he still knows how to make her laugh.

They’re about a quarter though their takeaway (and she’s so touched that Jared decided to stay home that she doesn’t even say anything about the pork fried rice) when their doorbell sounds.

“I got it, hun,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table, and grabbing a napkin before greeting the unexpected guest.

Y/n is pleasantly surprised when Penelope falls into the seat beside her. She looks dressed for a date, but the way she blows ferociously into the air, Y/n knows that things haven’t gone her way.

Without asking, Penny helps herself to their food, moaning as she stuffs a spoonful of that same fried rice into her mouth. “If I wasn’t wearing this dress, I would a hundred percent finish this whole thing.”

“You can borrow some clothes,” Y/n offers. Her friend pretends to contemplate, but she’s the first one to stride over into the master bedroom.

Y/n pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, and when she turns around, her mouth quirks in a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Under Penny’s dress is the daintiest set of red lace lingerie she’s ever seen. (And she has her fair share of lingerie since she knows it drives Jared wild.)

“Looks like you were in for a sexier evening,” she muses. She tosses Penny the set.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing,” she says. Y/n isn’t quite sure what she means by it, but smirks, nonetheless.

“Now...” Penny pulls her hair through the hem of the borrowed shirt, “let’s finish off that food, shall we?”

Jared doesn’t say anything when they get back, either too consumed with his egg rolls or not wanting to interject himself into the conversation. Y/n simply kisses him on the cheek as she settles back into her meal.

She glances at Penny for a moment, and her curiosity becomes overpowering. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to ask, but I feel like I have to now,” she explains. Penny cocks a brow at her. “What happened tonight.”

“He cancelled last minute. I was already at the damn restaurant when he texted saying something came up.” She stabs a piece of orange chicken. “It’s a bunch of bullocks if you ask me.” Typical Penny. It wouldn’t be fair to say that her friend is prone to trust issues, but it does take a little more effort. Ever since Harry had broken up with her back when they were seventeen, she hasn’t kept a relationship for more than a few weeks because she claims she doesn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.

Harry Styles had broken her best friend’s heart, then disappeared to another country. Y/n hates him for that. She hates that he threw away all those years of friendship without a proper explanation. She hates that he abandoned her, especially when he knew how insecure she is about goodbyes.

But not every guy is Harry. There are good ones that will stick by you no matter what, like Jared. Y/n reaches over and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. Penny just needs to find her person, and Y/n just knows that once she does, she’ll finally feel right.

“This is that Ahmed guy from the gym, right? I don’t know, Pen. He’s a decent bloke. Maybe something really did happen.”

Penny pulls a face, like she’s just oversaturated her food with soy sauce. “Wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s got baggage, and he won’t accept that he isn’t happy to carry it anymore.”

That last bit sticks to her.

***

Her job requires her to have both a deep appreciation for art and a mind for marketing strategy. It had been the closest compromise that she and her father had come to when she had started her plight for a degree.

After spending the last of her year of secondary school having second thoughts about the plausibility of making it in the art world, she decided that maybe her dad was right, after all. He would tell her to be in charge, to take control of her life. That way, she’d never be blindsided by anything. She’s still around the world she loves––the canvas, the acrylics, the community of dreamers who share their passion with the world––just from a more business perspective. The more she reflects on those naïve teenage years, the more she appreciates the direction she’d took. She has the best of both worlds, in her opinion. A steady income, and a building full of paintings and sculptures and history. What more can she ask for?

“Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder, where Angelo, her assistant, waves some a sizeable file in his hands. He gives her a knowing smirk.

“Good news?” she teases.

Angelo hands her the file. “Sales report can confirm.”

She glosses it over, satisfied with the numbers. Looks like she’d inherited more from her dad than just his advice. “And they said Expressionism was dead.” Their last grand showcase had been an ode to the German Expressionism movement. They had drawn criticism in the days leading up to the event because some saw it as outdated. But that’s just ridiculous. Art is art. And while history remains in the past, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be appreciated. Y/n’s vision for the gallery is embrace both the old and the new.

“Degenerates,” Angelo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dax, Narsi, and I are thinking Damond’s for lunch. You in?”

She looks down at her watch, and curses under her breath. “Can’t,” she sighs. “I have to interview the new curator in a bit.”

“You work too much,” he says humorously, but they both know there’s truth stitched into his words. He gives a friendly squeeze to her elbow. “Bring you back sandwich?”

“Please,” she smiles. He gives her a mock salute before turning on his heel.

When he’s completely out of sight, she lets her lips fall into a frown. She examines her watch again, there’s still a few minutes until their scheduled virtual call. She uses the time to stroll the halls, something she doesn’t really get to do. Well, not for fun, at least.

Things are currently in transition, and all of the Maximalism works are finding their way onto her walls. She stops in front of one in particular that just screams color. With its carefully planned, yet freeing mixture of patterns and textures, it’s a piece to tickle the brain.

“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes widen. That voice. She feels everything from her body to her unsuspecting heart freeze.

Her grip on her own arm tightens painfully. She thinks she might turn blue from her inability to breathe at this moment.

“I’ve always liked how much of the artist we can feel. It really captures the complexity of character.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I agree.” She risks all and looks up, and he’s right there waiting for her. Harry. Her arms drop to her side as she feels herself grow weak.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Hi,” he whispers, then smiles. That smile. She had tried so hard not to think about how it had once been her favorite image. His dimples have caved in deeper, if that’s even possible. And his eyes, they’re the same brilliant green she remembers. “I saw an ad in the paper and thought I’d check it out.”

Something must be strangling her vocal cords because she finds that she’s unable to make a sound.

***

“And what did you do?”

Y/n drops her head to the table, not even caring if it’s dirty. With the day she’s had, it’s the least of her problems. “I was in shock! I-I think I might have screamed at him.”

Ava snorts into her drink.

There’s not much about earlier that she can clearly recall, but she does remember how she had fled to her car and driven halfway across the city to her sister’s dorm and dragged her to the nearest pub. Why? Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Why would he just...show up?” she questions. “It makes no sense!”

“Probably got homesick,” Ava shrugs. “Plus, Dad says it’s been in the work–”

“Wait,” Y/n’s head snaps towards her. “Dad knows?”

The younger woman looks at her as if she were insane. “Duh, he’s the one that approved the transfer.”

“But why am I only hearing about this now?” She feels herself heating up with annoyance, anger, and something else that makes her want to pull her hair out. Ava doesn’t respond right away. She looks down at her now empty drink and watches as the ice cubes into water.

“Well,” she starts, still not bothering to meet her eyes, “ever since he left, he’s been a bit of a taboo subject for you.”

Her jaw tenses at that, and she sits back in her chair. That’s a bit of an overstatement. Y/n had reacted the way any person would have if put in her situation. She huffs with frustration. “So, what else is everyone hiding from me?”

“This isn’t an intervention, enough with the dramatics,” Ava says.

Y/n’s lips form into a straight line. She looks over the bar and tuts her tongue. “I need another drink,” she mutters. “Where the heck is Penny? She’s supposed to be working tonight.”

***

After Ava had started going to school in the city, her dad had decided to move into the London office full-time in order to be closer to both his girls. And lucky for Y/n, he’s just close enough to get information out of. She visits her dad during her lunch break because she needs answers.

“Dad, we need to talk,” she demands, bursting through his office door without any regard for just about anything. “Explain to me why...”

Matthew Y/l/n tilts his head at her with a raised brow, and the person sitting on the opposite side of his desk has an expression to match.

“Perfect,” she sneers. “We’re all here, then.”

She nearly loses it when Harry choke down a laugh while getting up and offering her his now empty seat. She takes it, but not before she glares at him and his stupid face.

Her dad looks like he’s been caught in a crossfire, and he calculatingly smooths down his perfectly ironed tie. Harry takes the seat beside hers, except he makes a point to pull it a few inches away.

“So...” her dad practically sings. “Harry’s back!”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, she sees a smirk. “Why are you even here?”

Harry doesn’t seem offended despite the harsh nature of her tone. He chances a glance at her dad before turning to her. “Work,” is his first answer. He bounces one leg over the other and leans back against the back the seat. His expression softens. “But I guess I just really missed home.”

She thinks that’s bullshit. No decent person would leave everything behind without a second thought. “It took you ten years?”

“I did what I had to do,” he retorts.

“And that was to just disappear?”

“This isn’t really the place nor time...”

“Then why bother coming back!"

That manages to crack Harry’s calm demeanor. He looks at her as if she had knocked the wind from his lungs. At this point her chest is heaving, as well. She forgets where they are and that her dad is a witness to this outburst.

“I, uh,” they both turn to Matthew as he tries to find the words to appease the situation. “I was thinking we could all go out for dinner later?” He’s joking, right? He smiles as her, but with that ‘I’m your father and you don’t have much of a say in this’ look in his eyes. “How about you and Jared meet us around...say, seven? Hey, you know what? Bring Penelope, too!”

“Pen–”

Matthew swivels in his chair and practically hops to his feet. He leans down and kisses Y/n on the head. “Got to get to a meeting. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s gone. It leaves her alone with the person she wants nothing more than to get away from.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. There are so many things she feels bombarding her all at once and there’s not one thing she can make sense of. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s typing something on his phone. His lips are quirked up in an almost-grin, and she can’t help but feel miffed that he has the audacity to pull such a face in her presence when all she can do is glower.

“I guess we’ll talk later?” he suddenly says. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Like her dad had done, he gets up and starts towards the door. But before she can even hear it graze against the carpeting, he mutters one last thing. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Her dress squeaks loudly against the leather of her seat because she must have turned too quickly. Their eyes meet, his are difficult to read.

***

“...and I’ve been trying to look for a flat, but the boss works me too hard,” Harry smirks over at Matthew. Her dad lets out a hearty chuckle as he finishes off the last of dessert.

“Well, if you’re really that overworked, it’s not at all obvious,” Penny says with a saucy smile. “Definitely still a catch.” She touches his arm, and Y/n digs her nails into her palm because it makes her feel sick. It’s ridiculous that she’s so bothered by how quickly conversation had flowed between Harry and Penelope.

Jared has an arm around the back of her chair. He looks bored with the conversation. She can’t tell if he’s irked at Harry (in the same way she is) or because he sees how much her dad likes him. That’s not to say that Jared isn’t well liked by Matthew. He did get his blessing to propose, after all. Yeah, they’ve been engaged for a while now. But so, what? Long engagements are common enough, and it does allow the two participants to fully get to know one another, as well as get close to the important people in their lives. Things just aren’t as smooth between her dad and Jared as she would like, but she supposes that’ll ease over with time.

“I wouldn’t let my current appearance fool you,” Harry snorts.

“Is that a challenge?” Penny bats her lashes at him.

Y/n can’t take it anymore. “So!” she interrupts, “Pen, didn’t you go out with that Vogue photographer last night?

Her friend gives her an odd look, but when she sees the rest of the table’s eyes on her, she waves it off. “Oh, yeah. But it didn’t end how I would’ve liked.” She gestures between her legs. “He had a little trouble getting it up.”

“Penelope Swanton,” Matthew warns, as if she might give him a heart attack. “Parental unit sitting right here.”

Everyone shares a laugh except for Y/n and Jared. The latter just stares at the tablecloth with vague intensity. It’s strange that he hasn’t made a quip all night. He’s usually the one who talks the most...well, besides Penny.

“Maybe pretty girls scare him,” Harry chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Penny’s eyes. “Do I scare you, Harry?”

“COFFEE!” Y/n all but screams. “We should order coffee!” She can’t just sit there and watch her friend make the same mistakes all over again. It would be a serious miscarriage of justice is she were to let that happen.

But she can only stall for so long, and before she knows it, they’re all making their way out of the restaurant. It’s that awkward phase of standing outside and making small talk before someone has the balls to leave. Harry offers Penny a ride, and Y/n has to watch as they get into his car, laughing like he hadn’t broken her heart all those years ago.

Jared still seems to be in a mood as well, but he plays it off and tells her he’s got a stomachache from the scallops he had as an appetizer. She rubs his back as they wait for the valet to bring their car around, glaring at Harry’s taillights before he turns onto the road.

***

Y/n manages to not think about Harry for a few weeks. With the newest exhibit opening up, it’s kept her body and mind busy. By the time she gets home, she’s tired and all she wants is to put her feet up and watch reruns of Downton Abbey.

The doorbell rings, and she can’t help but groan because she was just getting comfortable. She looks through the peephole, then shakes her head knowingly. She pulls the door open.

“Don’t you have work?” she asks playfully, but she wishes she could take it back when she sees the broken look painted across Penny’s face. “Oh my god, are you alright?” She guides her friend into the apartment and sits her down on the couch.

Penny suddenly bursts into tears, her face falling into her hands as though she were hiding her shame. Not wanting to distress her further, Y/n gathers her in her arms and lets her cry it out. They’ve been through a lot together, and in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen her look so somber as she does now.

She strokes her hair, whispering her reassurance even though she’s left in the dark. Penny breaks from her hug and wipes her eyes with her knuckles before looking at her with misty eyes. “I’m...” but she starts blubbering, and nothing coherent can be understood. Y/n waits patiently until she can speak. “I’m pregnant.”

Y/n feels the color drain from her face while her head fills worry. She can’t decide who she’s worried more about, Penny or her baby. Penny is an adult is capable of making her own decisions, but she can also be reckless. She can barely pay her rent on time and her work schedule isn’t the best either. A baby would mean growing up, but Y/n knows that Penny’s still trying to figure things out.

Then, the inevitable question bubbles in her throat. “How far along?” Penny sniffles. “About six weeks.”

Y/n feels awful that the first thing she feels is relief. Not Harry’s. “And the father?”

“I can’t tell him,” Penny cries, she lays her head in Y/n’s lap. “He’s...he has a...” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Y/n to understand.

“Penny...” her tone is every bit of disappointed.

***

She accompanied Penny to her first appointment to the OB-GYN this morning, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been enough to drive both women to tears. It was beautiful, and the look in Penny’s eyes said all that they could. Sure, Y/n had worried about her when she first learned of the pregnancy, but that had immediately changed with just that one look.

One day, Y/n hopes to have children of her own. She and Jared have opened up the topic a few times, but they never seem to be on the same page when it comes to starting a family. He claims it’s because his job’s hours are too crazy to juggle an infant. He’s the physical therapist for the National Football team, which means he has to go with them on away games. Deep down, however, Y/n thinks he’s afraid that he’ll end up the way his father did. She wants to tell him that’s ridiculous, but she always has to walk on eggshells about that.

It’s okay, though. Until she and Jared can come to an agreement, she has no qualms over spoiling her new niece or nephew. Auntie Y/n. She likes the sound of that. So much, in fact, that she finds herself outside of a baby boutique on the high street. She wonders if Penny will be having a boy or a girl.

“So cute!” she smiles to herself when she sees all the onesies on the mini mannequins. Would it be too early to plan Penny’s baby shower? She’s so lost in hypothetical party planning that she doesn’t notice see body before they collide, and warm liquid misses her shoes by mere centimeters.

“I’m so sorry!” she rushes out an apology. There’s an unflattering brown stain on his otherwise perfect white button-up. She grabs for her wallet in her purse, hoping to at least pay for the damages, but stops when she gets a good look at him.

“You.”

The world must really have it out for her. Harry looks down at his tainted shirt. “Nice seeing you too.”

“Sorry,” she says again. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Head in the clouds?” he muses, shaking his sleeve of the last remaining drops of coffee.

She smiles tightly. “Just window shopping.”

He looks at the store in front of them, and his head snaps towards her. “Are you...?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “A friend of mine.”

For some reason, his shoulders seem to relax. He’s still incredibly handsome, though she never doubted that that would ever change. Under his wet shirt, she notices a sizeable few tattoos inked onto his chest. The sight intrigues her, and she has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing them with her finger.

“Let me pay for your dry-cleaning,” she says, tearing her eyes away from his body.

Harry shakes his head. “There’s no need, honestly. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” She really doesn’t want to be in his debt. “I’d feel better if I could make it up to you somehow.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Why is he so stubborn?

“I insist.”

He studies her for a moment. She imagines that she can see the gears turning as he thinks.

“I’m actually on my way to a viewing, and well...I’m not really sure what to look for.”

She replays his words in her head. “So, you want me to...help you pick out an apartment?” That can’t be right.

��My car’s just over there,” he points with his chin. “What do you say?”

Alarms are sounding in her head, each one screaming a different command between her ears. A part of her is saying it’s a bad idea, that she should stand her ground and stay mad at him because of what he had done. On the other hand, the rest of her––the biggest part of her––wants to indulge in the feeling she has when she’s with him. It’s a crazy mix of fury and joy that isn’t entirely unbearable.

“Fine,” she concedes, and she brushes past him and starts towards his car. “But only because I feel bad about the shirt.” She doesn’t dare look back. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. Her stomach is doing cartwheels beneath her high-waisted pants.

Harry gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine right away. He pulls his jacket off and places it neatly on the console. What he does next makes her regret getting out of bed this morning. Her mouth dries as he undoes every button of his shirt and reveals the tattoos she’d been fantasizing about earlier.

“Do-do you mind?” She feels her cheeks heat up, and she turns to the window in hopes to find a distraction.

“Well, I’m not going to talk business looking like I’ve just been bullied by a barista.”

“That’s completely beside the point!”

“Well, you can look now, Mother Teresa,” he says smugly. She hesitantly cranes her neck back. He’s now sporting a similar shirt, but this time, it’s dark grey. “See?”

She huffs, then mutters something under her breath. He smiles at her, like he’s just dying to tease her, but ultimately decides not to. She just glares straight ahead.

“Just drive the damn car.”

***

“And this unit is complete with its own balcony which overlooks the Thames,” Mariette, Harry’s real-estate agent says to the both of them. “It sets the mood nicely, don’t you think? And it happens to be very popular with our younger couples.” She sends them a not-so-subtle wink.

Y/n feels herself flush, and she ducks into the kitchen and pretends to inspect the marble countertop.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be paying that much attention, or if he is, he’s really good at hiding his own embarrassment. Y/n wonders if he’s just humoring the over-zealous agent. After all, he was never the type to correct someone over silly little details.

Mariette tells them to walk around, get a feel for the place, before excusing herself to make a phone call. Y/n follows Harry up the stairs where all the bedrooms are. There are three, and the master bedroom has its own ensuite toilet and bath.

“What do you think?” Harry asks her.

She glances at the view from the window. It’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The building itself is in one of the nicer parts of town, where the congested London traffic wouldn’t take away from its overall aura. She can already picture him spending the mornings on the balcony with a cup of tea and a book or passed out on a king-sized mattress in the bedroom after a long day of work.

“It’s nice,” she answers truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Harry looks at her like she’s spewing nonsense. “I asked for your input, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But at the end of the day, it’s your home. Not mine. You might not even stay around long enough to enjoy it.” The look on his face when she lets that last part slip out makes her wish she had just shut her mouth. She leaves him in the bedroom and heads into the hall. She needs to get away. Why couldn’t she have just given him a simple answer? Why does she continue to open up old wounds that she knows she’ll never be able to close?

Before she can get far, however, his fingers curl around her shoulder. He swallows thickly behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Until now, he hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t expected him to, and now she isn’t sure how to take it. This should vindicate her, but all she wants to do is curl up and close herself off from the world, even for a little while.

She looks down to her feet, and as though on cue, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her hand quickly lands on her mouth to muffle a sob.

He turns her towards him, holding her by the waist. In a split-second, she’s wrapped in his arms. She tries to pull away, but her body is too unwilling to lose his familiar warmth.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she whimpers against his shirt.

His chest heaves. “Because if I did, I’d never be able to leave.” His words shake her.

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “But what about me?” she asks. “Harry, you were my best friend, and you just treated me like I meant nothing to you.” It made her feel like nothing. Apparently, she’s an easy person to leave behind. First it was her mother, then the person she trusted most. She couldn’t tell you which had broken her more.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Scoffing, “A bit late for that, no?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” his plea is coated with desperation. Every bit of him shines with sincerity that she wishes she could ignore. His touch burns her through her clothes like blue flames. Body and mind are rekindling, and now that she remembers what it feels like to be close to him, she can’t see a version of herself that doesn’t want him back in her life.

“I don’t know if I believe in second chances,” she says softly. His grip on her loosens substantially, and there’s a sudden fear that he’ll let go. “But,” she continues, “you’ll be my first.”

It’s a bone-crushing, heart-enlarging hug, and it leaves her feeling happier than she’s felt in a long time.

***

They’re not the same two kids who would spend every waking moment together, but this is the closest they’ll ever get in adult life.

Harry visits her on her lunch breaks and lets her bounce marketing strategies off of him whilst they walk the gallery. Just like her dad, he has a well-versed business mind. It feels good to be able to talk to him again. It’s like a part of herself has risen after years of sleep and is finally seeing the light of day. Under the fancy suits and numerous tattoos, he’s still the same guy who can listen to her talk for hours without fail.

She’s even had him over for dinner at her and Jared’s place. At first, she was afraid that things would be tense between the two of them, after all, Jared hadn’t talked much during their dinner nearly a month back. To her delight, however, they seemed to pick up where they left off, and spent majority of the night talking sports and all that ‘man’ talk that she can never be bothered to understand.

If a month ago she had felt empty, she can proudly admit that she’s starting to fill up.

***

When Penny announces that the baby is a girl, Y/n is probably the most excited. She visits the baby boutique she’d been browsing some days ago and buys a rubber duckie onesie with a matching headband, along with four other matching sets.

“You really shouldn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Penny scolds her.

Y/n waves her off. There shouldn’t be any of that nonsense. She likes being able to spoil her best friend’s future child. “I want to. Just humor me, okay? I’m aiming for Auntie of the Year.” She lays all the rest of the outfits on Penny’s sofa.

“It’s true,” Harry adds. “She’s already had the bib made.” Y/n flips him off but is far too delighted by all the pretty patterns to come up with a proper retort. Rather, she tries to sweep Penny into conversation about a real baby shower (and not just the one she’d planned in her head), discussing potential guests and a wish list that she should start setting up on Amazon.

Jared and Penny give each other a look, and the way the former’s jaw tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry but completely goes over Y/n’s head.

***

“Why don’t you put any of your own work on display?” Harry asks her one day.

“Honestly?” she sighs, “I haven’t actually made anything in...well, almost a decade.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t think I heard you right, a decade?”

The same amount of time you’ve been gone, she thinks to herself. Of course, now that they’re back to being friends, she would never say it out loud.

***

Nan had called her up and asked if she and Ava would drive up to Holmes Chapel and help her sort out all the things to donate. They try to visit their grandparents every few months because they are getting to the age where they won’t be around for long. Although, Nan will tell anyone with ears that she’s stronger than she was in her twenties due to her weekly spin classes at the community center. Meanwhile, Gramps is still the same as ever. He still sits in front of the TV and watches highlights of games he’s got recorded on the DV-R, and accidentally knocks over Nan’s petunia’s when he backs the car out of the garage.

Her childhood bedroom is also how she had left it. Sure, her teenage years had called for a bit of renovation, but underneath posters of her favorite actors and boy bands are the youthful stickers Nan had put up when they had first arrived.

She rummages through her closet, throwing old clothes in good condition into her donation basket. There are even some that were never worn, and she debates whether she’d be able to use any of it, but ultimately decides against it.

The top shelf is full of empty shoe boxes and other things she had carelessly thrown up there. Her old sketchbook falls open, face down, at her feet.

She picks it up and is greeted by the same sketch that had won her first prize in the art show all those years ago when she was fifteen. Her fingers graze over the pencil lines, and it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. She had spent months on this one drawing, and it had turned out to be her greatest piece to date (the actual painting is still being preserved at the school).

“You know, I always thought that boy looked like Anne’s boy,” Nan says nonchalantly. Y/n hadn’t even heard her come in.

“What?” Y/n stares intently at the paper. “You think so?”

Ava practically skips in. “Oh, gossiping, are we?” She sounds just like Nan. Y/n can’t help the roll of her eyes.

“I was just telling your sister about how that painting of hers up at the school looks a lot like Harry.”

“Is it not supposed to?” Ava seems genuinely confused.

“I mean...it wasn’t actually based on anyone in particular,” Y/n says, feeling the need to defend herself. “It was just...something I envisioned in my head.” She turns back to her closet, leaving Nan and Ava to carry on their conversation on her bed.

Reaching her arm up high, she feels around the shelf until she pokes something soft. When she brings it down, she can’t help but grin. Freddo. She had almost forgotten about him. After Harry had left, she had gone on a bit of a rampage, and any reminder of him had fallen victim to the trash or banishment to the top shelf.

Nan must notice her smile because she comes up and cradles her from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s funny,” she says, and Y/n looks back at her expectantly. “I also thought that you two would end up together, but I guess I was off by a bit, huh?” She kisses Y/n on the cheek and calls for Ava to follow her downstairs.

Y/n stares at the toy as though it held some sort of secret.

***

She’s lucky she’s home by herself––Jared is off at the pub for his and Sid’s weekly meet-up––because now she has time to unwind and be as antisocial as she wants. Work had been stressful, mostly because the exhibit is set to open next week. And really, all she wants is to be under her favorite blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and just be dead to the world.

Even though she thinks that, however, she can’t help but tap on her phone screen every few minutes. Sure, she likes the time alone, but she also likes being needed. Ava says it’s a control thing, but she really just prefers to be in the know. Lately, Penny’s been spamming her with messages and phone calls about the baby or sometimes it’ll be for a little reassurance. Of course, she’s more than happy to support her. It’s brave of Penny to tackle this alone. The baby’s father is completely out of bounds, so she’s told, and Penny says she’d rather her baby grow up with just a mother than in some dysfunctional setup.

Speaking of dysfunction, she hasn’t been able to properly think straight ever since her visit with Nan. What the elderly woman had told her hadn’t exactly shocked her, per say, but it did have her rethink some of the interactions between her and Harry. It’s ridiculous, really. They’d been best friends since she was eight and he was nine. They know each other’s ins and outs, likes and dislikes, what makes the other laugh and cry. They’re simply comfortable.

Okay. Maybe there had been times where she thought that the possibility of something more was on the table, but that quickly proved to be all in her imagination. She had her boyfriends and he had his girlfriends. She fell in love with his cousin, and he dated her other best friend. Then he left town.

Then he left.

***

Abandoning her original plans for the night, Y/n finds herself at his door.

“Hey,” he greets her, but his warm smile falters when he takes note of her appearance. “What’s with the look? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, she’s too taken by the image of him and the way her heart feels like it might burst from her chest to comprise a full sentence. He doesn’t push her, though. He fishes into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a shapely object wrapped in purple foil. “I-uh, I don’t eat chocolate that much anymore, but they don’t have these in America, so I’ve been snacking on a few of these a week.” It lands itself in her hand. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

It’s a Freddo. A fucking Freddo. Her fingers curl around it.

“You once asked me if I thought that things should’ve been different,” she says. “What did you mean by that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. She tries again.

“Why did you leave, Harry?"

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She takes one step closer. He evades her eyes, like he’s afraid they’ll speak on their own. Her stomach tightens because it’s all starting to make sense. His words. That embrace. These feelings that have always existed between them. “You left because of me.”

It’s not a question, but a sure statement. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She slides a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When he finally does, she’s sees it. And her gut says it’s not the first time.

It’s heartache.

She knows because she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. It’s taken her this long to realize it. That hollow feeling that’s been consuming her, it disappeared the day Harry Styles walked back into her life. Once the anger over what he’d done had subsided, she’s felt nothing but joy since.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She wants to scream.

“You made him happy,” is all he says, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t take that away from him.”

“So, you didn’t even consider how I felt? Harry, I would’ve...would’ve–”

“And that’s why I had to leave!” He wipes both hands down his face in frustration. “We would’ve ended up hurting two people we cared too much about.”

“You don’t know that–”

“If I had tried to kiss you that night, would you have let me?” His gaze bores into her.

Yes. The voice within her screams it over and over. He must already know her answer because he just smiles sadly at the floor. This is why he had done it. He knew that if he had stayed any longer, it would have only been a matter of time before they gave into each other.

It makes her sick.

“I figured if I just took myself out the equation, the rest of you would be spared the heartbreak.” He sighs. “And it worked. You and Jared are about to start a life together, Penny’s got her baby. You’re happy.”

She wants to counter him, but she can’t find the strength. “What about you?” she whispers instead.

He tilts his head to the side. “I came back to prove to myself that I could be happy for you.” His jaw slackens, and he doesn’t continue.

She’s toe to toe with him. “And are you?”

The next thing she knows, her back is against the wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair. His lips feed her, makes her blood come alive like she’s never lived until now. She kisses him with everything she has. Every drop of anger and every ounce of emotion that burns through her veins. His hands keep her body as close to his as possible, yet, they feel so gentle as they caress her curves like she’s made of glass. It feels so right.

And it shouldn’t.

Just as sudden as it had started, she pushes him away. He doesn’t fight her. Without another word, she leaves his apartment.

*** When she makes it home, Jared is about to get ready for bed. She drops her clothes to the floor, and his soon follow. They fall onto the bed, his teeth gnawing down her jaw while his hand slides down to cup her heat. He asks her if she’s ready once his member is nudged against her opening. She nods, and he pushes into her, just as he’s done many times before.

She tries her best to focus on how good this should feel to have him inside of her, but the more he moves, the more she feels like this is all a mistake. It feels all too similar to when she had given him her virginity. It happened the night after Harry had skipped town. She was upset and wanted to feel something aside from the pain he had caused her. Jared had been there, and things had soon escalated. But it didn’t feel right. Her heart wasn’t in it, and so her body couldn’t give itself the relief it had been searching for.

It hasn’t felt like that since, or maybe she had gotten better at hiding it, just as she’s done with everything else. She had hoped that sex with Jared would put her mind and her heart back into perspective, but instead, she feels even more helpless.

One kiss with Harry had meant more to her than any of this. It fills her with shame because shouldn’t want to be with anyone except Jared, especially when all he’s ever done is love her.

She doesn’t realize it’s over until he rolls off her with a content sigh, then stumbles into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, and it’s then she feels the tears start to fill the rim of her eyes. Her thighs clasp together as her humiliation fully sets in. She turns on her side and covers her naked body with the blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Jared returns minutes later, mumbling a goodnight. If he has something else to say, he doesn’t. It takes to the count of five for him to drift to sleep.

***

“I need to cancel the engagement,” she says. Ava gives her a circumspect shrug of the shoulders, like she’s trying not to say the wrong thing. Y/n turns to her, hands twiddling the fingers in her lap from stress. “What do you think I should do?”

Ava looks at her, the pity is obvious on her face. “I don’t know, sis.” She rubs her back. “Are you going to tell Jared about you and Harry?”

“I have to.”

***

She doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Jared until the night of the exhibit opening since he’d been in Spain on a team trip. It’s eating her up, how she hasn’t told him yet, but at least by the end of today she’ll no longer be holding on to something so big. He had promised to come straight to the gallery once he landed back at Heathrow. His flight was set to get in two hours ago, so it’s only a matter of time now.

More and more people are starting to fill the floor. Most are patrons whom she sees frequently at these events, but there are some new faces mixed in the crowd. She’s lucky that Ava and her grandparents are here to support her, especially when she’ll probably need them afterwards.

“Hey, don’t look so nervous,” Nan tells her. “The place looks great. You know, I overheard that guy in the red Chanel that he’s interested in buying.” Bless her, Y/n thinks. Nan’s always had a way of diffusing the tension, even when she isn’t aware of it.

“I’m happy you guys are here,” Y/n says, and she brings her friend in for a hug.

Nan gives her a confused smile. “Of course, we’re here. We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she proudly declares, and she elbows Gramps in the ribs when he doesn’t contribute. “Honestly, try to look a little alive.”

“I put on a tie, didn’t I?” Gramps rolls his eyes, but then he sends Y/n a wink.

“Where’s Penelope this evening?” Nan asks, scanning the room, brows furrowing. Y/n feels a sweat break out. She just hopes that Penny will understand when she finds out about her feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It’s been years, sure, but there has to be some kind of friendship code that prohibits this sort of thing. “And where’s that fiancé of yours? He should be here with you.”

“Probably just got stuck in traffic,” Y/n says, but honestly, she’s reveling the extra time she has to prepare.

Nan hooks arms with Ava and Gramps, and they walk the floor while Y/n greets a few of her guests. Her dad is one of them, no surprise there. He pecks her on the side of the head and lets out a perplexed sound as he gazes at all the art.

“I feel like I should understand this kind of thing by now,” he muses, gesturing to the portrait of naked man made from duct tape and spoons. “Anything after 2003 is lost to me. I just don’t get it.”

“Are you proud of me?” Y/n shocks herself with the question.

Matthew looks stunned himself. “Why would you ask something like that? You know that I am.” He pulls her aside, so they have a little more privacy. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” There’s worry in his eyes.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she appeases, “I just wanted to hear it.” Her dad doesn’t respond but hugs her tight. They stay like that for a moment, she’s always felt safe in his arms, until she feels them loosen around her. She looks up at him, his look somewhere else. When she follows it, her heart skips a beat.

“Harry!” Matthew takes his hand and shakes it. “I haven’t seen you in a full two hours!”

The younger man lets out a slight chuckle. “It’s been unbearable. I just can’t keep away.” He turns to her. “Congratulations.”

A nod is all she can afford.

Matthew looks between the two of them, and their situation feels almost familiar. He coughs into his hand and excuses himself as he chases a waiter down the west wing.

“Can we talk?” Harry asks her.

She purses her lips to the side. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s afraid of what she might do.

Against her better judgement, she leads him into her office. She leaves the door open behind her in the off chance that things intensify. She doesn’t need any more guilt on her plate. (But she wishes he wasn’t wearing such a properly fit suit. It’s far too distracting for the seriousness of the situation.)

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, she waits for him to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was both our doing,” she stresses. If you asked her who had kissed who first, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. “We just...got caught up in the moment.” I let my heart dictate my actions.

He looks hurt by her words but doesn’t press her on it. “I should’ve stopped it. I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you, and when it happened, I...” He shakes his head, and she’s thankful that he’ll never finish that sentence. She’s already heard it in her mind. Hearing out loud would cause both of them too much agony.

“I know,” she rasps. “I can’t stand here and say that I didn’t want it, but–”

“you don’t want to hurt him.” She smiles appreciatively, though, sadly. In another life, maybe they would have a chance. This one doesn’t have a place for them. Even if she ends things with Jared, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re family. She could never start anything with Harry without him getting hurt. It’s a matter of acceptance now.

This must have been what Harry had been feeling when he had left. As much as it hurts to remember, she thinks she at least understands it better.

“I need air,” she says, not wanting to entertain those thoughts further, “join me?” She grabs her phone from her desk. It’s getting late, and she’s starting to worry about Jared.

They leave her office and start towards the back door that some of her staff use when they want a smoke. She usually avoids it for that reason, but it was getting too stuffy in there. Her lungs will forgive her if she takes this one moment to herself. Her screen unlocks, and just as she’s about to press on her fiancé’s name, Harry pushes the door open and she looks up as the evening breeze brushes her face and then...

“What the hell is this?” She drops her phone to the ground.

Jared and Penny pull away from each other, but the space between them is nearly nonexistent. The latter meets her with scared eyes that soon begin to fill up. One hand covers her mouth as she chokes on a sob or maybe even fear, while the other clasps over her swollen belly. Y/n’s eyes drift down to it. It clicks.

“Y/n...” Jared starts, he’s breathing heavily. “Let me–”

“That’s why you couldn’t tell me his name,” she says shakily. It’s directed at Penelope. “You couldn’t tell me because it was him.” The night Penelope had come over unannounced after her alleged date cancellation at the same time Jared had cancelled his own plans. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.” And that’s exactly what she had done, and right under her nose. They’d have been sneaking around behind her back for months.

“We d-didn’t mean for it to get this far...” Penny tries to explain, she steps out from behind Jared’s shadow. The usually confident blonde has lost several inches of height. She says something else, but it’s like Y/n’s just drowned out all the noise. Her eyes still haven’t left Penelope’s stomach.

She wants to hate her. She should hate her. But she’s just an innocent victim caught in her parents’ web of lies. Then she grits her teeth at Jared. How far he’s fallen from the pedestal she’d put him on. Now she’s certain that she had inflated his image in her spiraling guilt for having feelings for another man. To think that only minutes ago she was about to plead for his forgiveness for kissing Harry, when all this time he’d been fucking her closest friend.

“Jared,” his name weighs like venom on her tongue, “I want you out of the apartment by tonight.”

She just runs. Down the alleyway, ignoring all the calls of her name behind her. Harry’s voice is by far the loudest. There’s a thud, followed by a scream. However tempted she is to look back, her legs have developed a mind of their own and lead her towards the busy sidewalk. The bright streetlights burn her eyes, but she doesn’t stop.

She keeps going until she finds the first empty cab. Getting in without a second to hesitate, she closes the door and tells the man behind the wheel to just go.

“Where to?” he asks her. Her first instinct is to go home and lock herself in her room, but she realizes that she’ll probably have to confront Jared again, and that’s not going to happen. Her second and third options are still at the gallery, completely oblivious to all the night’s revelations. There’s just one other person on that list, so Y/n gives the driver the address.

***

It takes less than twenty minutes for her to end up in front of a building with bright blue doors and window panels to match. She climbs the steps, one wobbly footstep at a time, but only hesitating once. Her knuckles curl at her sides, until lifting them up to knock against the heavy wood. Light from inside peeks through the curtains.

A woman appears in the open threshold, that faint light from inside creating a halo around her figure. She looks unreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Her ethereal face just as kind as Y/n remembers. It’s the most immaculate she’s ever been.

Y/n feels herself lose the battle with the emotions she had managed to keep on leash from just one look from her.

With a whimper, her mouth struggle with the words. “Hi, Mum.”

***

Grace sets her up in the guest room and supplies her with a cup of tea and biscuits. As she’s setting it down on the bedside table, Y/n can’t help but take note of her appearance. It’s been nearly twenty years since she had last seen her mother, but why is that she’s never looked younger? Her eyes no longer have the eternal vacancy that had highlighted her once slack expression.

She looks happy.

“Thank god I did the shopping earlier this week, huh?” Grace muses, opening up a new pack of biscuits. Each word to leave her lips feels smooth against her ears. “I’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth in my old age.” Y/n doesn’t know if she appreciates her efforts to make conversation, but it does give her time to think about what exactly she wants to say.

They drink their tea in hushed sips, like they’re afraid that any loud slurping might cause some offence. Y/n stares down into the contents of her cup, annoyed that it’s the perfect color. A part of her had wished that she could find something to fault her with.

“So,” Grace hums, tapping melodically on the porcelain in her hands. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Y/n barely lifts her head as her hands strangle the air with frustrated rigidness. “I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become you.” From her decision to follow her dad’s wishes, to keeping appearances for a relationship that she now knows was destined for destruction, she’d made every choice for everyone else.

Grace doesn’t respond, but her mouth parts with a staggered breath.

“I wanted to believe that I was happy. I wanted to do what you never did because I didn’t want to hurt the people I was supposed to love.” All the years she’d never confronted these feelings have ultimately resulted to this. “You broke us,” she says, staring her directly in the eyes. “You ruined every image I had of love.” The anxiousness that had put her through hell had to come from this. The truth is, she couldn’t break it off with Jared because she didn’t want to hurt him in the same way that her mother had hurt her dad. That’s it. She ignored every gut feeling that told her it wasn’t right because of the bitterness she felt towards her mother.

“The choices we make aren’t genetic,” Grace says softly.

“Aren’t they, though?” she shrieks. She bounces to her feet and paces in front of the bed. “Penelope’s mother was the other woman, and now Penelope is pregnant with my fiancé’s baby! You ran away from your family because you couldn’t forget him.”

By that, she means her mother’s new husband, the one she had left them for. It had been during her last year at university that Y/n had discovered the truth. He had been her professor for her art history class. She recognized him from a picture she had once seen in her mother’s jewelry box. She just hadn’t put two and two together until then. “And I...I can’t forget the person I’ve loved since I was eight. What makes us different, Mum?”

Grace holds her chin close to her body. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But tell me this. Why haven’t you planned your wedding?”

This causes Y/n’s pacing to cease. She stands at her mother’s knees, blinking rapidly. “How would you know anything that goes on with me?”

Her mother stands up as well. They’re about the same height.

“I know it’ll make never make up for what I did but believe me. I’ve never stopped trying to be in your lives...even if it was from afar.” Her hand is shaking as she reaches up to cup Y/n’s cheek so she can wipe away her tears. “I was there when you won all your art shows back in school. I was there when you graduated university.” She’s crying her own tears now. “And I was excited for you when you got engaged three years ago.”

Y/n doesn’t let herself give in. She pulls away. “It was supposed to be a long engagement.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Grace looks at her pointedly. Y/n’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Her mother grasps her by the shoulders. “Maybe that’s what makes you different from me. You stopped pretending before it was too late, you just hadn’t realized it.”

“Is that supposed to make me a good person?” Y/n challenges.

“No,” Grace answers honestly, but she sighs with a small smile. “But it makes you a better person than me.”

***

She doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but she can still feel her mother’s hand stroking her hair as she had laid her head on the pillow. The morning sun shines through the curtains of the unfamiliar room and greet her with slithers of light by her feet. Waking up here feels strange, but she’s experienced comfort that she hasn’t felt in so long.

The rug-lined steps make little to no sound as she makes her way downstairs. From the bottom, she can hear two voices talking in hushed tones from the kitchen. One is unmistakably her mothers, while the other is deep and manly. She isn’t sure how to make approach them, suddenly feeling self-conscious for having intruded. But soon enough, her mum catches sight of her and invites her to take the stool beside her. Y/n walks in, passing her mother’s husband, who smiles kindly at her. She had liked him as a professor before she had found about his private life.

“Good morning,” Grace says. “Lawrence’s just been to the bakery.” She pushes a box full of a variety of goodies. “Eat as much as you want.”

Y/n picks up a croissant and gingerly pulls it apart. She avoids how her mother and her husband gage in her every movement.

“Did you sleep well?” It’s Lawrence who asks her. She nods. Lawrence and her mother share a look, and through their eyes they seem to converse. It reminds her a lot of how she and Harry had always been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to verbalize. Lawrence finishes up his cup of coffee, then circles around the island and kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’m just going to pop to the store,” he says. She catches the back of his head before he disappears.

“I thought you said you had just done the shopping?” Y/n asks her mother. The older woman shrugs, continuing to pick at her breakfast. Oh. She sees that there’s apparently more to talk about. Y/n does in fact have a few more questions she wants to ask, if anything more than to talk to someone who knows what she’s going through. She takes a deep breath. “Are you happy?” The words feel awkward as they leave her mouth. Grace looks at her, questioningly. She nods towards the door. “With him?”

“Yes.”

Y/n’s heart breaks for her father.

“He’s my best friend,” Grace says dreamily. “I’ve known him all my life. Loved him about the same.” Y/n feels goosebumps startle her skin.

“So,” Y/n treads cautiously, “was he worth it?”

“There are things that I would have done differently when it came to you and your sister, given the chance,” her mother sighs, but when she looks at her with those eyes that are so full of light and what she guesses must only be love, Y/n gets it. “But otherwise I’d choose him all over again.”

***

She knocks impulsively on his front door, not caring if his new neighbors think she’s out of her mind insane. Her limbs are tight with anticipation, especially when she hears the scuffle of feet against well-polished hardwood. Harry stands in the open doorway dressed in a white t-shirt and black joggers, and an adorably confused look floating in his sleepy eyes. But when he registers her before him, it’s like he’d been hit by lightning and suddenly jolted awake.

“Has anything changed?” she asks, almost pleadingly. He just stares at her, frustrating her already exhausted nerves. She hadn’t come all this way after a rollercoaster of a night to not get an answer. “Am I...Am I still all that’s in...” And rests her hand where his heart is.

Her own heart leaps in her chest when his dimples emerge from his cheeks. He lays his own hand over hers, stepping towards her but also pulling her incredibly close. “It’s always been you.”

And no words have ever made her cry out of shear joy. She laughs, or maybe it’s more of a wet giggle, before throwing her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a scorching kiss. Unlike their first kiss, this one is filled solely with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel. He nips on her bottom lip, and her mouth parts and welcomes his tongue to explore every unchartered inch. He grasps her both her thighs and carries her to his bedroom.

She can’t believe she’s gone this long without knowing his touch. Every movement of against her skin, and every exploration of forbidden pleasure makes her stomach coil and beg for more. He lays her down on his bed, his body hovering over hers like he’s afraid she might slip away.

He leans in a little lower, and she gasps when she feels him hard against her hip. “We don’t have to do anything,” he gulps, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want you to know that–” but he doesn’t get to finish because she shuts him up with the fire in her eyes. She loves him for everything he is, even when he’s being selfless to a fault.

“We’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes against his lips. “Let’s choose us.”

A low throaty moan surges from of her as he grinds himself against her, sending currents of electrifying energy down to her aching entrance. Her mind becomes cloudier with his every caress. His hot breath against her longing flesh only intensifies her need.

“Please,” she begs, fingers working on the hem of his shirt. “I want you. God, please I want to feel you.”

He chuckles softly as she whines, pecking her again. “Patience, love,” he teases. His lips glide down to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her inflamed body. “Show me where you want me.”

Taking reign of his hand and guiding down the front of her front, she smirks at him. His pants become unbelievably tight as she lets him linger over her chest, her head falling back when the warmth of his hand flicks over her pebbled nipple. “You want me between your pretty little tits? Is that what my girl wants?” His girl. Nothing in this moment could sound so perfect than the words to have just left his lips. It’s enough for her to want to bring him in for another impassioned kiss, but she restrains, shaking her head mischievously as he squeezes gently on her breast. She leads him further down, his palm sliding down her abdomen.

“Here.” She slots her fingers through the spaces between his and their tips graze the base of her dress, toying with the flimsy material until finally slipping beneath. He groans as his skin comes into contact with her pussy emanating all that delicious heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She rubs against him just enough for him to feel her center through her panties, and he swears to her that he might come then and there. Wasting no time, she pulls his shirt over her head, only breaking their kiss to appreciate all the tattoos on his sculpted chest. When she’d seen them before, it had only been for a quick few seconds, and she’d been far too flustered to take anything more than a peek. But now she can’t help herself, and she lets her fingers dance across the ink, the point of her nails tracing over the edge of every design. She spends the most time on the moth, or maybe it’s a butterfly, she couldn’t say.

All she knows is that something about it makes her feel at peace, like she’ll always be safe as long as he's there beside her. She tears her eyes away from his chest to find him looking at her as though she were everything that’s right with the world. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she just beams, eyes looking back at him with such sincerity.

He kisses the side of her mouth before descending along her body He takes his time, his lips pressing over every possible inch of her, leaving no surface neglected. Where his hands had been prior, he takes an erect mound in his mouth, tongue swirling around in through its covering. Each touch leaves her breathless, her back arching in intense anticipation the further down he goes. When his nose nudges at the bottom of her skirt, she lets out another frustrated whine, and he chuckles softly at how her abdomen sucks in as the stubble on his chin prickles goosebumps across her skin.

“Please, just. . .” and the final remains of her inhibitions drain from the tips of her fingers and toes. “I want your cock inside me.”

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth.” And he tears her dress from her body and pulls her panties down her silky legs, leaving her completely bare before his eyes. From a pale green, the color of his irises darkens with a fierce and pounding desire. It sends vibrations down to her pussy and all she wants is for him to bury his face in her dripping arousal. She bites harshly on her lip once he licks between her slick folds. “So sweet,” he mutters, his lips slipping through the barriers to find her sensitive little nub. “I could just stay here forever.”

“Harry. . .” she gasps, fisting the sheets as her hips lift off the mattress. “It feels so good.” Her legs hang over his shoulders as he encourages her to ride his face until she’s begging to release all over his tongue. “Oh god, don’t stop.”

One of his long fingers that had been drawing small little circles on the inner part of her thigh smooths over her damp skin until it forges its way into her glistening heat. The other hand moves down his own figure, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding past the waistband of his boxers.

As the knot in her stomach twists with tremendous force, it pushes her closer and closer to the edge. He inserts another finger, the two digits piston in and out of her, working harmoniously with his skilled mouth. She screams out, her back arching to an almost impossible degree. It all becomes too much for her, bursts of light flashing behind her eyelids.

“I’m gonna come,” she moans, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, eyes shut tightly to welcome the stars as she lets go with cacophonous convulsions.

“That’s my good girl, come all over my tongue. That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He climbs back up her body, a content smile awaiting him when their faces become level with each other. Another exchange of ardent kisses, and she feels herself tingle at the taste of her on his lips. Even after her orgasm, she already craves for another, but this time she wants nothing more but to feel him stuffed inside of her. She wraps a leg around his hip, the edge of her foot pressed against the side of his ass as she presses her core into his bulge.

“I need to be inside of you.” He leaps off the bed to push off the last pieces of constrictive clothing. His cock springs free, flushed red at the tip and just desperate for her amorous touch.

And he’s big, she had always had an inkling, but to see it in the flesh is a whole new sensation quivering between her thighs. “It’s so big,” her thoughts become vocalized.

With his knees back onto the bed, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down lower, his elbows planking on either side of her. “Feel how hard I am for you?” He hisses as her warm hand wraps around him, her thumb swiping along a dribble of precum. She lathers him in his own arousal. “Think you can handle my cock?”

She’s completely in awe, and her mind runs untamed with fantasies of how it would feel hitting that special spot deep in her cunt, every rigid vein carving its impression in her walls. “You know I can,” she dares him.

“Fuck.” He kisses her deeply, his hand taking ahold of his cock and glazing it with the remnants of her last climax and gliding just between her wet folds. “One last time–” he swallows hard as he pulls away from his lips, “–are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I...”

Their eyes meet, a wordless understanding worth more than any spoken language as she cups his cheeks.

The entire length of him slides into her tight hole until he bottoms out, his balls pressing against her taut ass. She feels undeniably full, never having experienced such exhilaration in her life as Harry’s bare cock stretches her out completely.

“Just slid right in,” he grunts, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He bites down and sucks greedily on the spot until he’s made his mark. She gasps in mild pain, but it feels too good to know that she can finally be his. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in with ease, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her walls flutter around him. “It feels like you were made for me” She feels marvelously tight, squeezing him for all he’s worth. All she can do is nod, her voice caught in her throat as his thrusts become harder and faster. “It’s all mine now, your pussy, your lips. You’re all mine.”

“I’m yours, all yours, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “God, your big cock feels so good in my tight pussy.” Nails dig into his back as they run down and carve crescents into his flexed and sweaty muscles.

They move flawlessly in sync as she rises up to greet his every thrust with just as much excitement and fervor. Both their bodies are on fire, a pressure building up at their very core and threatening to unravel at any moment. His balls tighten, and he knows he won’t last for much longer. He looks down between them, his cock completely soaked with her with the most sinful sounds resonating whenever he pushes in and out of her delightful heat. “I love you,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers indenting into the plush of her hips. He loses any sense of rhythm he might have started out with, his movements becoming more and more urgent as he chases after his high.

“I love you.” Her second orgasm fast approaches, she feels it thrill every one of her nerves as though currents of electricity were running through her veins. She’s so close, and her hand slips between their sweaty chests to rub desperately on her clit. Her head is spinning with an aspiration to reach the brink of ecstasy.

“Come all over my cock,” he pleads as he pushes into her with incredible force. “Want to feel you come around me.”

And that’s it for her. A wave of pleasure crashes over her and she cries out with a high-pitched moan. Her legs hugging him so tightly that he barely manages to move. She rides it out, rolling her hips to feel him continuously poke that special spot. Soon enough, her mind is on a cloud, the rest of her body soaking up the bliss of the moment.

His movements only become more erratic, and the breath leaves her body once he releases inside of her. Hot white ribbons shoot out and paint her walls with the image of a sensational love. It warms her center, her lips turning up in a lazy smile as he remains within her even after the final drop has left his tip. Once they’re heaving chests calm to a natural pace, he collapses on top of her, arms willing their way between her and the mattress to gather her into a tender embrace. She scratches the back of his head and sighs contently.

“To think we could’ve been doing that for,” and she counts the years on each one of her fingers.

Harry chuckles in between her breasts, then reaches up and plants a quick but sweet kiss to her lips. “How long are you going to be holding onto that one?” She pretends to think, her mouth quirking to the side as her brows furrow in contemplation. “Until we make up for all that wasted time.”

***

“I got you something.” She looks up at him, her body still wrapped in his arms as they lay naked in his bed. Memories of what feels like another life flip through her head.

“Is this what déjà vu feels like?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want it or not?”

Smiling, she kisses enthusiastically and nods her head. He gets up, and she has to stop herself from frowning when they lose all contact. She sinks into the sheets and waits impatiently for him to come back. Listening to him rummage through his closet, then to the growling of her tummy–and she makes a quick mental note to ask him to order something for them in a while––she tries to relive every detail from the last few hours in her head. She didn’t know that sex was supposed to feel so good.

“You told me that you hadn’t drawn in almost ten years,” he states, making his way back to the bed, but this time, with a bag clutched in his hands. He places it in her lap, then slips between her and the headboard, arms going back to their initial position. “Maybe it’s time you started back up.”

Y/n opens the enclosed wrappings. Inside the bag is a new sketchbook and a carton of 9H pencils. She carefully grazes her fingers above them. There’s a feeling in her chest, like she’s just been reunited with an old friend.

“But what would I even draw?” She’d lost all sight of that part of her life, and it seems unlikely that those creative juices will just come trickling back to her now.

Harry kisses the side of her head, and she leans into him easily.

“Whatever inspires you.”

It’s just that easy. She closes her eyes and reflects on what has always made her feel any bit positive. Ava and her bluntness; her dad and his sense of duty to his family; Nan and Gramps and their playful bickering; Nan and her proclivity for gossip; Gramps and his hatred for ties. All of them had been a comfort to her, even when she hadn’t realized it. They were part of what had kept her afloat.

Feeling Harry’s heartbeat press up against her back, she knows that she’ll never have to worry about drowning. She opens her sketchbook to its first clean page and lets herself be happy.

***

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jared says, offering her a modest grin. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want to.” Penny nods beside him. Jared had texted her and asked if she would meet them for lunch, so that they could talk. At first, Y/n didn’t think that necessary. What was the point when it was all out in the open now? But with some convincing from Harry, she realized that she had to confront this.

“There’s no moving on if we don’t talk about it.” Y/n takes the seat across from Penny. She looks at the girl she’d consider a sister, studying her rounded and healthier features. Pregnancy looks good on her. “You look good.”

Penny smiles thankfully. “So do you.”

They talk about everything, even the stuff that feels like it should hurt. But it doesn’t. Clarity exists where it hadn’t before. She tells them that about Harry, and apparently it isn’t much of a shock to anyone, which shocks her. Jared then admits to having had all these doubts about their relationship but had stuck through it because of his own insecurities. That had had hit close to home for Y/n. It’s somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t been the only one who felt that what they had was temperamental.

“You were there for me when I was at my worst, and for that, I’ll always love you,” Jared sighs, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “But...”

“That’s all we were meant to be.”

He nods sadly, pulling back. His other arm is around Penny’s chair, and Y/n can see his fingers playing with the ends of her ponytail.

Penny must notice this, and she quickly shrugs him away. “Sorry,” she mutters.

Y/n shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she waves it off. “This was good. At least now we can all carry on with our lives.” She gets out of her chair. “Good luck,” she says to the both of them. Then she looks directly at Penny. “I know you’re worried about making all the same mistakes as your mum, but...” she smiles, “someone said to me that mistakes aren’t genetic. I know you. And I know how much you love your baby. Just promise me you’ll be there for her.”

With that she turns towards the exit. Before she can get far, however, she feels a hand grab her own. She looks back, and it’s Penny. Her eyes are teary, and her chest lifts erratically. “Do you think that...” she swallows, “...that you’ll ever forgive me?”

“Do I still get to be called auntie?”

Penny lets out a stifled giggle. “Yes.”

Y/n touches her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Then, one day.”

She walks out of there feeling completely at peace with herself.

***

Two Years Later

The newest exhibit proves to be a hit. It’s smaller than its predecessors, this time only containing the work from a single artist.

She and Harry walk hand-in-hand, greeting all of guests and just enjoying each other’s company. Gramps isn’t moping as much as he usually does, and she thinks it’s because Nan’s bought him a clip-on tie that doesn’t strangle him around the neck. Ava and Nan are gossiping with some potential investors, while her dad tries to apologize on their behalf.

On the other side, her mum and Lawrence discuss color theory in relation to one of the spotlight pieces. She catches a glimpse of the civility between her parents when they catch each other’s eyes from across the room.

“I think it’s the gallery’s best showcase yet,” Harry tells her and kisses her on the lips. “Really, I don’t see how anything might top this.”

Y/n laughs. “You’re just trying to get laid.”

Harry wags his eyebrows. “Is it working?” She doesn’t need to give him an answer with words, so instead, she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket and their lips meet in another sweet kiss.

They stop in front of the piece in the very back, the one that’s drawn in the most viewers. They squeeze through the polluted crowd until they’re close enough to the front. He wraps his arms around her, and they both admire its beauty.

Two kids laid out on the grass; eyes closed with content smiles on their faces. The sky above them, a product of their combined imaginations as well as the excitement of hopes and dreams.

Below the canvas is a placcard with the painting’s information.

Y/n Styles, Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies.

***

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

#harry styles #harry style imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles au #one direction #writing

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Sideways {Andrew Garfield x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1811 Summary: Andrew gets a call that no one wants to get. Especially from their own child. Warning: Contains hospital, miscarriage and talk of pregnancy.

The best part about your job was that you could do a lot of it online, and could travel with Andrew when he went abroad for his different acting gigs. This was one of the last times that you would be able to go, since it was the Summer and your daughter was going into first grade, and you wanted to keep her in one place to keep her adjusted. Still, he was going to appreciate all that he could get. And every minute that he wasn’t needed on set, he was going to take you and your child together to go and explore. He’d been here in Vancouver before, but you hadn’t, and he was eager to show you what he had learned about on his last trip here. But for now, he was stuck in the studio, getting fitted for one of the ‘special’ outfits that he was going to be wearing for this film.

He was laughing with the wardrobe stylist, joking about something that happened with the director on the first day here. They had pranked him by bringing in a bunch of extras and announcing them as the main cast. The director had sputtered, and not wanting to be rude, had to excuse himself to make ‘script adjustments’. Once he had realized that it was all a prank, he saw the funny side, and all tension and nerves around the team had dissipated. Andrew had been in on it and thought that it was hilarious, especially since he had been dressed as one of the camera-crew. Best acting he had ever done, the director had said to him.

“There’s a call for you, Mr Garfield,” His assistant said, popping up beside him. She was a small, older woman with a very no-nonsense air about her. She hadn’t appreciated the prank, because it meant that she missed out on a few hours of work. “It’s urgent.”

“It is?” Andrew asked, wondering who it could be. You only texted him during work hours, and he’d give you a call at lunch once in a while, otherwise he would wait to tell you about his day once he got home. That way his little girl could listen in and chime in whenever she wanted as well. “Excuse me,” He told the woman who was measuring his shoulders to make an adjustment to the suit. She nodded, and helped him to remove what he had on of the costume, then he changed quickly then finally accepted the phone from his assistant.

“This is Andrew,” He said, just in case it was an urgent professional call. He could hear a commotion coming from the other end of the line. There were men talking, and then a loud siren. Ambulance, not fire truck or police. He knew the difference, having always stayed in hotels in busy cities.

“Daddy?” The six-year-olds voice came through, and Andrew felt his heart sink from his chest down to his knees. He looked at his assistant who looked more solemn than usual. And maybe even a little bit concerned. “Daddy - it’s Mommy.”

“What’s wrong with mommy? Tell me everything - and where are you going?” He took his wallet and keys from his assistant, who had been holding onto them during the fittings.

“Where are we going?” Andrew heard her ask someone, and a man said something in response. “Vancouver General,” The little girl repeated.

“I’ll meet you there, okay? Stay with one of the paramedics until Daddy gets there. I won’t be long.”

It took him half an hour to get to the hospital, and that was with light traffic. He cursed the studio for being so far away, but he knew it was just the stress. His daughter wasn’t able to give him much information, just that you had been in the bathroom, crying in pain, and then told the little girl to call 911. They had taught her the emergency number for every country that they stayed in, just in case. It was good that she knew, but he hated that she had to use it.

You had been feeling fine that morning, he recalled. You went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, had a simple meal of oatmeal and fruits. He was thinking that perhaps you had food poisoning of some sort? He hoped it was something as simple as that, though you wouldn’t have called 911 over something so trivial.

He parked, then ran into the first entrance that he could find. It was emergency, and they gave him directions to the fourth floor. He noticed from the signs around the elevator that it was to ... to a pregnancy floor?

He saw his daughter first, sitting on a bench, reading a book, swinging her legs back and forth since they weren’t reaching the ground. There was a paramedic sitting with her, but not saying anything. Just keeping an eye on her, which Andrew was thankful for. His footsteps brought their attention, and the little girl jumped to her feet. She had been crying, Andrew could tell from the puffiness of her cheeks. She ran towards him, and he leaned down to catch her in a hug. “Daddy! I called just like you taught me to!” She pulled your phone out of her pocket, it looked so massive in her little hands, and she held it up to show you.

He knew the password, there were no secrets between you two. You knew his as well, but neither of you ever went snooping. In fact, this was the first time that he had used it. He saw indeed that your first call of the day was to work, and then 911, and then to him. He turned the phone dark and put it into his own pocket. He scooped up the girl and held her in his arms in a giant bear hug. He looked at the paramedic over her shoulder, took a step towards him and held his hand out. “Thank you so much for staying with her-”

“It’s no problem,” He said, getting to his own feet. “We had to resupply the ambo anyway. And - the doctor said that your wife was stable. I’m sure she’ll be out soon.” He shook Andrew’s hand then excused himself to go back to work, and Andrew sunk down on the recently vacated spot on the bench, still holding his daughter on his lap. There wasn’t much that he could do except for wait for the Doctor, which didn’t take long. The commotion that your daughter made had gotten their attention.

“Hello, Mr. Garfield?” The Doctor said, coming out of the room. She reminded Andrew a lot of his assistant. Same motherly face, same solemn features. Andrew nodded to the affirmative. “Your wife is going to be just fine, though her body had gone through some trauma. She’s going to need to rest, take it easy for a couple of weeks at least.”

“What happened?” He asked, his voice shaky with relief that you were going to be fine. Still, this had seemed to come out of nowhere. And the fact that you were in the pregnancy wing made him nervous.

“Your wife had a miscarriage, Mr. Garfield. She was three months along,” The Doctor’s voice was straight to the point, no emotions at all. She must have to deliver news like this all of the time. “She claims that she didn’t know that she was pregnant, so she is feeling rather fragile. I’d like to keep her for overnight observation, just to be careful.”

Andrew swallowed, but nodded. There wasn’t any other reaction that he felt like he could have. He could only hug his daughter close, thankful that at the very least, he had her. “Can I see her?” He asked the Doctor, who nodded, and motioned towards the open door that she had just come out of. Andrew got back up to his feet, and walked in, still holding his daughter, who was being unusually quiet. He realized as he walked into the room that she had fallen asleep.

You hadn’t, however. You were laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, getting fluids, staring straight ahead of you blankly. Andrew hummed to announce that he was there, and you snapped out of it, your eyes meeting his. They were still filled with tears on your end, while he was still comprehending the news.

“Hey baby,” You said, weakly smiling. Andrew smiled back, and set the little girl down on a chair, where she curled up immediately and continued to sleep away. All that worry and excitement must have exhausted her. He then went to your side, taking hold of both your hands, being careful of the IVs.

“How -” He said, shaking his head. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” You said, blinking away tears. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I swear, I wasn’t keeping anything from you. I had my period and no other symptoms. I mean, I thought I gained a little bit of weight but I thought that was just all of the cake,” You somehow managed to laugh though it didn’t sound sincere. “The Doctor says that happens sometimes.”

Andrew would never dream of accusing you of cheating. The two of you stayed in the newlywed stage of your marriage, remaining sexually active. The math added up enough, three months, you two were definitely intimate three months ago.

“How do you feel?” Andrew asked, caressing the top of your hands with his thumbs. “And not just physically.”

You took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. “I’m devastated,” You admitted, finally admitting your own truth. Tears were fighting to come out and you had stopped the battle, letting them descend freely. “When I heard that I miscarried - I realized... I want that baby. I want to have another one with you and we just lost our chance.”

Andrew felt the same wave of depression overcome him. In an alternate universe, he could just be finding out that he was going to be a father again. He had to be strong for you though. He could let out his emotions when you got home. You were too vulnerable right now.

“We’ll have more chances,” Andrew said, leaning forward and kissed a tear off of your cheek. It tasted salty, it lasting on his lips for a long while. “I’ll gladly give you another baby.”

You chuckled at that, though you were still crying. “You just like the act of making one, mister,” You squeezed his hands. Andrew laughed as well, and nodded.

“Can you blame me?”

#Andrew Garfield #Andrew Garfield x reader #Andrew Garfield oneshot #celebrity #celebrity oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #x reader #andrewg

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

Request is about Rakuzan manager, who is a foreigner (from Russia). She is really popular in school, because the Japanese thinks that Russian are very pretty. But she thinks that she has ordinary appearance. Besides she always does her best for the team, tries to be the best manager for them and takes care of them because of her kindness. So Rakuzan boys warm up to her slowly. And Ore-Akashi slowly started coming to his sense (he's Boku-Akashi now), because she reminds him his mother.

Hi hi hi! Even after researching to portray this accurately, I am more vague on the specificality on Russian culture, especially in a Japanese high school setting, in order to make this more relatable and applicable. Still, I took care to implement some core values/general traits you’d see in Russian society // I HOPE I DID THIS JUSTICE;;

[Rakuzan Manager f!Reader Headcanons]

you’ve always been the center of attention ever since you transferred to Rakuzan, a private school with extremely high standards

not to mention, your aura and looks completely encompasses that perfect “high-caliber student” look that every student wants so badly… so effortlessly? a lot of the students instantly took a liking to you just because of your appearances and how easily you stood out against the rest (especially in a collective society like Japan’s, where everyone is highly pressured to blend in)

but coming fresh from Russia, a society that focuses on individualism, you didn’t really see why everyone would suddenly worshipped you just because you expressed yourself freely… even so, in trying to make friends as a rare foreigner, you made sure to be kind to everyone

you made it out of your own way to always help the student council out with menial tasks, even if you weren’t a part of it, or always reached out a helping hand to other teachers, staff, and peers

so that may have shot up your popularity even more

your altruism easily reaches within earshot of Higuchi, the current 3rd-year manager of the Rakuzan’s basketball team, and he immediately soughts after you to invite you to the position of manager alongside him

after all, he’s going to graduate this year, so he wants to ensure that the team would be in good hands for the subsequent years

still, he’s quite nervous about introducing you to his… superiors, mostly because the team leadership has become quite… scary and strict this year

Higuchi brings you along as he slowly approaches Coach Eiji and the Rakuzan captain, who were both discussing about the imminent future of the team’s starting line and debating whether or not to switch around some players

Eiji noticed you first, and after hearing Higuchi’s suggestion, he immediately recognized you from how much the teachers and his coworkers had been praising you; hence, he has no doubt about you or anything… but he turns to Akashi to hear his input

all the while, the captain has been staring silently at you… and assessing you

“What do you think?” Eiji spoke up, glancing down to the 1st year in the corner of his eye.

“...” Akashi continues to sit with his hands clasped in front of his mouth

“It’d be an honor to become a manager for such a capable team!” you say, putting yourself into a deep bow to try to express your sincerity

“W-Wait, (y/n)-san, there’s no need to go to that extreme,” Higuchi says hurriedly, ushering you up

“S-Sorry, but I believe bows are used to express utmost deference and appeal?”

“Ahaha… only a few cases warrant a bow as deep as that.”

“Right, right! Noted…”

Akashi’s eventual sigh interrupted the both of you as he drops his hands into a more relaxed posture

“She’ll be useful. I have heard about her from other students within the student council. Shōta, you will keep her in line, correct?”

“Of course!”

“Then there is no need for this conversation to go any longer if this is settled with no further objections?” he turns to the coach for any further comments

“Yes,” he nods in agreement. “I hope you know this team expects nothing from the best from you, even if you’re only a manager.”

. . .

so here you are, on your first day as a manager alongside Higuchi, being taught the ropes of your duties: noting players’ favorite snacks and food, making sure there’s plenty of water bottles left, changing towels if needed… these honestly felt like normal chores to you, so you didn’t feel overwhelmed at all

“W-W-Whoa!! Our new manager is a girl?—Ow, Reo-nee!”

“Sheesh, show some respect to the manager! Quit looking at her like that!”

“B-But…”

“Hello!” you waved at them, popping up right in front of them, and Hayama quickly jumps to gain some distance for himself out of shock

“The foreign transfer student?!”

“I’m a new manager here, and I hope we get along!”

“Ah…” Mibuchi turns to you with a hand on his chest and a slight bow of his head in acknowledgement. “I must compliment you on your Japanese. You speak as if you’re almost native—in fact, your way of speaking is more elegant than most people here.”

“Thank you!” you beam at him. “Yes…! I’ve worked to at least become fluent for the JLPT N2, so I’m very glad you complimented me so!”

“Reo-nee, you tell me to back off, but you’re being chummy with her right now! Ei-chan, look! Don’t you agree with me?—Wha, where did he go?”

“Who knows?” Mibuchi shrugs indifferently. “But it’s no wonder that it’s been a lot quieter around… by the way (y/n)-chan, are all Russians as striking as you? It makes me a tad bit envious that such beauty is effortless to you.”

“No, no!” you deny with a laugh. “We’re quite ordinary, you see? I think everyone has their own type of beauty to admire and appreciate.”

“Oh! Beautiful words spoken by a beautiful person! Ah… I’ve been called by Higuchi-san. I must part but I hope you’ll allow me to ask you more questions later!”

as you wave off Mibuchi with a smile, Hayama only frowns at you as he crossed his arms, irritated at the fact that you don’t seem too keen on using honorifics for the upperclassmen:

“Look, you might’ve gotten Reo-nee to approve of you, but don’t think the rest of us will be just as accommodating. We’re serious about basketball, so don’t slack off and bring us down.”

but you only turn to him with a smile before giving a slight bow before replying: “I will put 100% of my time and effort, so everyone can do their best on the courts with peace of mind!”

Hayama immediately gets flustered, not expecting such a warm response to his words and he scratches head and replies loudly, “U-Uh… yeah, just, just don’t screw it up for us.”

the first week of being manager was just like what Hayama spoke about: most of the players were wary of you because you were extremely different in how you carried yourself, or curious about you for that same reason… perhaps you were recruited out of pity?

there were a handful of teammates who were brave enough to ask you questions about your culture or personal background

Eikichi, on one hand, asked about your cuisine and whether there were “big guys” like himself that can be a challenge to his strength (you only laugh at him as you easily answer all of his questions)

“I heard the Russian men are unbelievably strong! *flexes his own biceps* Their muscle masses are rumored to be insane!”

“W-Well… it’s different for everyone, but I agree that we’re very strong-natured and have dignity for ourselves.”

“Ohh, (y/n)-chan… that must be why you stand out so much yourself!”

“Mibuchi-kun, you’re very striking yourself, you know…”

and here is Hayama petulantly huffing all the while, doubting you all the while still

“Here you go again, forgetting to add senpai after Ei-chan and Reo-nee!”

“Why should I?” You tilt your head in confusion. “Whether I add such honorifics or not doesn’t change how much I respect them, Hayama-kun.”

“It’s Hayama-senpai to you!”

“If you’re spending this much time fixated on this, then you can spend that much time practicing and showing me the skills to earn the respect you want! Come on! Chop, chop, chop!”

. . .

“Ei-chan! Don’t you get mad when (y/n) doesn’t address you properly?! Reo-nee, what about you?!”

“Huh? I’d never be mad at someone who doesn’t seem to mind me burping at all, and she never scolds me about this stuff like Reo does—”

“Who wouldn’t?! It’s gross, seriously! While I do not understand her tolerance of your vulgar manners, her eloquence and natural aura is equal to those of Sei-chan’s… so in my eyes, I see no need for her to use such honorifics.”

“HUH?! Reo-nee, but why?!”

his opinion of you only gradually changes when you never seem to snap at him back even though he’s being a little shit when you’re around… you remind him of a motherly figure… but a kind, level-headed one, which is slightly different from the naggy mother-hen (but good-intentioned) vibe Mibuchi gives off

besides, anyone with eyes can see how much you scurry around holding handfuls of towels and bottles for all the players, even for the bench players

people think it’s really odd that you’re so physically close to the teammates, especially when you link arm in arm with them or give little distance when you talk with them; as a result, a lot of speculation of “dating” and “relationships” pop up when your name is brought up

the Uncrowned Kings easily squash those rumors… Akashi’s presence alone is also enough to silence them LOL

Mibuchi is the main guy who always likes to link arms as a symbol of your shared friendship

. . .

it’s an odd relationship between you and Mayuzumi… no matter how much you call out to him, he ignores you, and no matter how much he ignores you, you still treat him the same as ever

“Stop pestering me,” Mayuzumi clicks his tongue, blatantly making the effort not to face you properly, and you finally smile, seeing that he finally acknowledged your presence

“Ah, you’re quite the blunt one, aren’t you, Mayuzumi-san?”

“If you get that, then go away.”

“Well, I can’t! You’re part of the lineup, so I am especially not going to neglect you.”

“Are you this mindless to help people like a saint and then expect everyone to adore you? As far as I’m aware, most see you as some ‘exotic’ curiosity and nothing more. And I frankly love myself too much to be associated with such people. If you’re only here out of pity, beat it. Now.”

“Well, it seems like you care enough to tell me that,” you muse, but your face hardens with a serious glint in your eye. “But heed my words when I say this Mayuzumi-san. I am not doing this to be a people-pleaser. I am doing this for myself and only myself. I want to be a good person because it is a decision I make for myself. When there is a choice of being a good person versus bad, I’ll choose to be the best version of myself at any moment. That is my own definition of self-respect. No way in hell I’m doing this because I feel sorry for you… I will complete my duty with my pride as Rakuzan’s manager on the line.”

he’s stunned at your words, and he instantly relaxes his posture before he turns to continue reading his novel on hand… “I see.”

he actually likes the fact that your culture allows people to be more outspoken about their opinions, since he’s all too aware how the majority of his own peers are constantly worried about collective reputation and doing things for the sake of others

Mayuzumi becomes a lot more… cooperative with you from that point on

he relates to your words of having high self-respect and pride, and he’s pleasantly surprised that you actually know how to hold your own ground despite being very kind // even if he finds it weird that being a manager makes you happy… but since it’s something you do for your own sake, he can learn to respect it; after all, he reads light novels for his own happiness

imagine his unadulterated surprise when you not only brought him bottles, snacks, and a towel (that’s the part he expected from you), you slipped in new issues of the latest light novels within the towel bundle (this is what caught him off guard)

you’re suddenly seen in a good light in his eyes

. . .

it’s been almost a month since you’ve been recruited, and most of the teammates have now accepted you as one of their own, more or less, but something bothered you that you couldn’t help but ask Rakuzan’s senior manager

“Higuchi-san, don’t managers need to do some analytic work for the team statistics? It seems that all we do is mundane tasks.”

“Ah, most of the analytic work is done by Akashi.”

“But why? Does he not trust the managers with this work? Does he see us as not capable?”

“Not exactly… he’s very… particular about ensuring the best possible strategies for victory. So far, whatever he’s been doing has earned him complete trust from the entire team and even our coach.”

“Wow… that’s… a really impressive feat for a 1st year…”

“No one’s really surprised though. (y/n)-san you may have just transferred here so you might not know, but he was Teiko’s previous captain and the main public face of the Generation of Miracles…”

after he finished giving a crash-course on their prodigal status in the basketball world, you’re more fired up to work harder for Rakuzan as the manager

“Besides, (y/n)-san, our main duty of being a manager is to maintain the well-being of our team. All these little things add up, and surely, the team knows to appreciate these gestures from us.”

you actually later approach the Uncrowned Kings to playfully complain about why they didn’t tell you how prestigious they truly were on the courts (after learning about their status from Higuchi)

“Huh? (y/n)-nee, now you wanna show respect to your senpais, huh?”

you don’t miss the playfulness in his complaint as he tries to ruffle your hair… and also the way Hayama has recently addressed you differently

“This is different, Hayama! You have such titles under your belts because of your skills and accomplishments on the court… that is extremely admirable!”

“D’awww, it’s nothing, really.”

of course, they all have pride in their titles, but they all immediately turn the direction of the conversation to Akashi, saying they were nothing compared to him

that only made you more curious about the captain

you actually never made conversation with him throughout the month because you were so busy with your duties and helping out everyone… but you finally decided to try to help the captain in any way

Akashi has been observing you for the entirety of your time in the team… that much is to be expected, considering that he needed to evaluate your performance and compatibility with the rest of the teammates to make sure that there is still unity even with the addition of a new person (after all… as much as he doesn’t want to admit, he is still fearful of the possibility of his team crumbling from the inside again)

the fact that you even got Mayuzumi to approve of you in his own way actually impressed him; even he himself had to be authoritative to get Mayuzumi to be cooperative on the team

it’s the little things you do that reminds him of the tickles of nostalgia, when he first played basketball with his late mother, within his mind: the way you were the only one giving positive encouragement to the players in a club filled with cutthroat competition and perfection; the way you made sure that everyone was calm and collected before they walk into the courts; the way you diligently remember and cater every care package and preference to every unique player, in addition to your minimum duties.

he unconsciously mellows out whenever you approach to him to speak, and he only realizes that fact every time you leave the conversation to continue your next to-do on your schedule

“Akashi-san!”

he turns to look at you impassively, but he stands to wait to hear what you have to say

“Can I help you with anything in any way?”

“Are your assigned duties of manager not enough?” he asks, but he continues to give little away from his blank expression

“No, no, that’s not it,” you reply. “I was wondering how I can extend my hand to also help out the captain of the team as well. After all, it’s important for the managers to care for the well-being of every team member… you’re no exception!”

“Do what you think is best to ensure victory,” was all he said before he left

you’re now confused… did he mean for you to keep up your work as normal? did he trust you enough to let you decide what to do on your own? his vague words certainly threw you in for a loop

still, the Rakuzan teammates were able to breathe easier whenever you were in the same room as Akashi, because there’s always a gentler aura around him when you’re near the vicinity

sometimes his Orekashi side slips out, whether he gives an open compliment to a good play (albeit, delivered in a calm, spartan way) or when he gives an occasional perfect-rhythmed pass that leaves his teammates in a stupor

Akashi’s mannerisms towards you as the manager is as subtle as a speck of dust, but he’s grown a quiet sense of respect for you and the atmosphere you’ve brought to the team

however, it will only be at the final game where his Orekashi side will fully reawaken again

if any student dares to approach you with insensitive questions and comments about your race and culture with stereotypes, they should be expecting all hell breaking loose from the basketball team in 3… 2… 1…

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nebulablakemurphy · 4 years

Text

Focus

George Weasley x Reader

Requested by anonymous: George x reader where she's just stressed and tired from studying and she feels somewhat numb to stuff and is constantly losing focus.

I hope you enjoy it! 💜

Words 1.1k

The sounds of Gryffindor tower swirl around you, from your place on the corner settee. Students of all ages preparing for their first trip home, since arriving at Hogwarts. Roommates exchanging addresses, to keep up on the latest gossip during their time apart. Couples sneaking off to snog beneath self made bushels of mistletoe.

You, on the other hand, think more practically. O.W.L.S. are less than a month away. To say you’re stressed, would be the understatement of the century.

Jotting down a quick note, for safe keeping, you notice a pair of feet stepping into view. George, you’d recognize him anywhere. Your boyfriend’s weight shifts the cushion beside you.

George slings his arm over your shoulders. “Hello, love.”

“Hi,” you chew the inside of your cheek. Reluctantly placing your open book face down, atop your thighs.

“For the weekend-“

Oh, this weekend. You’ll need to spend it studying.

“Sweetheart?” George says, leaning into your field of vision. “Is everything alright?”

Alright? How could anything be alright? Everything’s...“fine.” You force a smile, “everything’s fine. What were you saying about this weekend?”

“I asked if you’re still planning on coming for dinner?” George repeats.

“Oh, of course,” you nod, “I wouldn’t miss it.” Popping over to the Weasley’s during Christmas holiday is a tradition of sorts.

Mrs. Weasley’s cooking is brilliant. It doesn’t hurt that you and George always sneak away, to exchange a few gifts of your own.

“You’ve been hitting the books like mad, for weeks! I think you’ve earned a break.” He reaches for the hardback resting in your lap.

“I can’t.” You press an apologetic kiss to his freckled brow. “I’m nearly done. Why don’t you head on down? I’ll meet you in a few.”

“If you’re sure,” George narrows his eyes at you. “But if you’re not at the table in ten minutes, I’m coming after you.”

“I’ll be there,” you assure him. Back to your work, before he’s out the door.

————————————————————

You make it to the burrow, the day after Christmas. Your entire holiday has been spent researching, in anticipation of those inevitable essay questions.

Even when you’re away from your notes, all you can think about is the fact that you should be reviewing them. The anxiousness begins to creep up again.

You itch for the stacks of bound parchment, waiting for you back at home. Unlike George, you’re very concerned about your test scores. He’s always believed that his future doesn’t revolve around academic achievement. You wish a bit of that would rub off on you.

Realizing you’ve completely zoned out again, you attempt to focus. The dinner table is full of smiling faces, exchanging stories. You want to engage, but the thought alone is overwhelming.

You manage to catch the tail end of a long winded joke, as it passes George’s lips. You’re supposed to laugh, because it was funny. Only it doesn’t feel that way, it doesn’t feel like anything at all.

George, your charming, loving, funny boyfriend; looks to you. Waiting for the laughter that should come, but somehow doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head, to clear it. “I’m very tired, I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh, of course dear!” Molly excuses you from the table, without further questioning. “You do look a bit peaky. George, take Y/N up to your room for a while. She’ll be tip top after a bit of a lie down. Just remember-“

“Leave the door open,” George finishes for her. Guiding you up the narrow staircase to his room, on the top floor.

George flops back on his bed, feet dangling over the edge. “Aren’t you going to join me?” He smirks, “or was this just an elaborate ruse to get me alone?”

You pause, staring down at the floor. “You can go back downstairs. I’m fine, really.”

“We need to talk.” He says.

You know what he’s going to say. He can’t do this anymore. “Ok then, let’s talk.”

“You’ve been a bit distant lately. Maybe we can start with that.” He doesn’t sound angry, maybe things between you won’t end on a sour note.

“I’m sorry George, I’m worried sick over these O.W.L.S. Umbridge upped the passing score, over a hundred points. There’s no way I’ll do well, even if I keep studying.” You draw in a shaky breath.

“It’s all starting to run together. I can’t focus on anything besides how nervous I am. I don’t feel like myself, and to top it all off; you’re breaking up with me.”

“Y/N,” George whispers, “no one is breaking up.”

“But you said, ‘we need to talk.’” You remind him. Nothing good ever follows.

“We clearly do! I’m worried about you. I need to know what I can do to help you feel better.” He’s being sincere, George would do anything for you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, choking back a sob. “I hate feeling like this.”

“Come here,” George opens his arms for you. “We’ll figure it out. You and me, we always do.”

You nod, closing the distance between you and breathing in the familiar scent of his shirt. “You’re very comfy,” you murmur.

“Glad to be of service.” He chuckles, stroking your hair. “You should try to get some rest.”

“That does sound nice,” you yawn. Hiking your leg up against his.

“We can run through the spells and potions, when you wake up.” George nuzzles the crown of your head.

“But you hate studying.” You crane your neck to see his face.

“But I love you,” he reasons, “so it all evens out in the end. After that we can pop on a muggle movie. Dad’s got a makeshift cinema down in the basement.”

“You’re being wonderful about this, you know?” You press your lips to the underside of his jaw.

“I just want you happy,” George confesses.

“You make me happy.” You assure him, leaning in for a kiss. You mean it, with every fiber of your being. George has always, and will always make you happy.

“Here I thought you were tired?” His mouth forms a smile atop your own.

“I’ll sleep better if you wear me out a bit.” You reply cheekily.

“You know you shouldn’t worry so much about school.” George whispers, rolling you onto your back. The length of his body covering yours. “We could be making better use of your time.”

You roll your eyes, hard, “George.”

“I’m only saying, that even if you flunk out, which you won’t; you’ll always have me.” He promises, trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck.

“You make a compelling argument.” He makes it easier to breathe.

“Always do.” George smirks, pleased with himself.

When you finally succumb to sleep, it’s the best you’ve had in ages. George holding you, until you wake.

Taglist: @bforbroadway @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @chaotic-fae-queen @a-mexican-waffle @obsessedwithrandomthings @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @haphazardhufflepuff @peachesandpinks @iliveiloveiwrite @the-hufflefluffwriter @masterofthedarkness @fific7 @poppin-potter @heloisedaphnebrightmore @mytreec

Twins taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george wealsey imagine #george weasley x reader #comfort fic friday #george weasley #george weasley request

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tlcwrites · 3 years

Text

Little Things

Summary:

“Maybe this is cosmic payback for all the shit he’s done in his life. Maybe this is the galaxy reminding him that he doesn't get to fight a war, have unmeasurable blood on his hands, and get to live happily ever after.”

Word Count: 2058

Tags/Warnings: Poe Dameron/Female Reader, SFW, pregnancy, traumatic labor/childbirth experience, preterm labor, Dad!Poe, pre-eclampsia, premature birth, NICU warning, a big fucking pile of angst.

Author’s Note:

So, @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction changed her avatar recently (see below). A normal person would have gone “Aww, what a nice picture of Oscar.” Me being me, went... well, let’s just say the reaction resulted in this 2,000 word angst-fest you’re about to torture yourself with read.

Even though it wasn’t my intention when I started, writing this was pretty cathartic for me. I (evidently) still had some trauma from the preterm labor and birth of my twins that I needed to work through. Which leads me to this:

I cannot emphasize enough, this work deals with preterm labor, premature birth, and traumatic labor/childbirth circumstances. PLEASE do not read if it will be triggering for you. I have been there. I do not want to put you there. Okay?

If you’re still with me, I sincerely apologize for torturing poor Poe like this hope you don’t murder me after you’re done enjoy.

(Continues in the same universe as Worth It.)

When Beka was born, Poe was stunned by the brutality of childbirth. Yeah, childbirth is a miracle and biology is fucking amazing. But it’s also brutal and bloody and terrifying and it’s one of the only times he’s ever seen you cry in the entire time he’s known you, and the two of you have lived through a war together.

He’d never felt as useless as he did then, watching you labor to bring his child into the galaxy. His fierce, strong wife; he’s known you are a badass ever since the very first time he’d met you, when he’d walked into the training facility to see you flip Finn backwards with one strike like it was nothing. But after witnessing you give birth to his child- you’re his warrior queen.

It’s not until Leila’s born that he realizes how easy Beka’s birth actually was in comparison.

You’d gotten very lucky; both your pregnancies had been relatively easy. It’s still several weeks until your due-date with Leila that you start to feel ‘off’, as you describe it to Poe. He’s concerned (“overbearing and overprotective” is how you phrase it), but you ask him to trust you to know your own body. He’s never carried a child, and you have. So he redoubles his efforts to make you as comfortable as possible, even recruiting BB-8 and Beka, in all her three-year-old energy, to help keep an eye on you.

The first sign is the nausea returning. Then the back pain. Then the headaches. By the time your hands and feet start to swell, you’ve settled Beka with Kes and are on your way to the hospital. You grip Poe’s hand tightly. It’s far too soon and you both know it.

Poe hovers anxiously as the medical droid takes your vitals, the doctor explaining what you’ve already suspected. Your blood pressure is skyrocketing, and they have to deliver the baby now or both of you will be at risk. Poe’s face is ashen as they prep you for surgery. You try to smile reassuringly at him, but you’re shaking so hard it’s not convincing.

They make Poe change into scrubs. He feels ridiculous with the bonnet covering his curls. He can tell you’re trying to force your laugh to sound sincere. He has to hold you steady as the droid administers the spinal block. You’re both glad that you at least get to stay awake during the procedure.

It’s barely a few minutes after the doctor starts before Leila is out. Poe hardly gets a glimpse of her before the doctor instructs the nurse droid to get her in the incubator and on breath support immediately. You grip his hand and tell him to go with the baby.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You sure?”

You nod. He knows you want him to pretend he doesn’t see your tears.

He squeezes your hand and then follows the droid out of the room.

The doctor in the neonatal intensive care unit explains what each tube and wire is for- feeding, breathing, monitoring her little heart, so many- but Poe is hardly listening. She’s so small.

“It’s really her lungs and her ability to feed that we’re most concerned about,” the doctor is saying. “Currently, she’s not capable of doing either on her own.”

Poe presses a hand against the cover of the incubator. She’s such a little thing. Her body is practically the size of his hand. “How long will it be before she’s okay to come home?” When the doctor doesn’t respond immediately, he glances at her. “Doc?”

She looks supremely uncomfortable. “Mr. Dameron- every child is different, and milestones don’t have specific timetables...“

It takes a moment for the implication to sink in. There are no guarantees here.

Poe has never felt so helpless.

He watches Leila. Tiny, so tiny. Her namesake was tiny too, he reminds himself. And look at all she did.

The doctor is talking again, something about those milestones she’ll need to meet and how they go about helping her reach them, but she might as well be speaking Huttese for all he’s comprehending. It’s okay. He knows you’ll want to hear all of this, too, so he’ll ask them to repeat it once you’re stitched up.

Kriff, you’re still alone in the OR. He thanks the doctor, and with a last look at his tiny warrior princess, he heads back to the surgery wing.

When he reaches the hallway that leads to the OR, a burly nurse is waiting in front of the entrance to the operating theater. “Ah, Mr. Dameron. We need you to wait here.”

“What’s happened?” He tries to see around the nurse but he’s still blocking the doors. “Where’s my wife?”

“Mr. Dameron-”

He has to stop himself from shoving past the man. “What is happening and where is my wife?”

The nurse hesitates, and it’s enough.

Something has gone very, very wrong.

“The doctor will be out in a moment, Mr. Dameron, please, if you’ll just-”

Poe does shove past the man then. He doesn’t make it very far, of course, since the nurse is twice his size and quickly grabs him, but he gets close enough to see through the window set into the doors. He has a perfect view of you, still on the operating table. He has a perfect view of the doctor, administering chest compressions. He has a perfect view of the defibrillator droid. He has a perfect view as your body jolts from the current running through it as they try to restart your heart. He has a perfect view of the monitor that still displays an irregular, not-at-all normal heartbeat.

Then the nurse is dragging him away, and someone is screaming, and a second person, maybe a security guard, who knows, is helping pull him down the hallway away from the doors. And he realizes he’s the one screaming, and someone is urging him into a chair, and he misses the chair and drops to his knees, his forehead touching the floor. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and a voice telling him there were complications, that it’s going to be okay, but how can anything be okay because you weren’t moving and his child is fighting for her life and what the flying FUCK could possibly be okay about any of what is happening.

He grips his hair, not feeling the pain on his scalp, not feeling the tiles under his knees, not hearing anything else the nurse says. He can’t hear anything but static. He can’t see anything but you. Unmoving. Then Leila, hooked up to tubes. Two thirds of his world, fighting for their lives in the space of an hour. He vaguely wonders if this is what going insane feels like.

Maybe this is cosmic payback for all the shit he’s done in his life. Maybe this is the galaxy reminding him that he doesn't get to fight a war, have unmeasurable blood on his hands, and get to live happily ever after. Maybe this is what happens to cocky assholes who marry out of their league and who dare to think for half a second that maybe, even after everything, that life might look kindly on them. Who the fuck is he, to think he’d get the love and the family his parents had? What’s that old adage, an eye for an eye? Fuck. FUCK.

He thinks he must have passed out, or maybe he just hopes he did. His cheek is pressed against the floor. He heaves himself back to his knees, scrubbing a hand down his face. It comes away wet.

“Mr. Dameron?”

The doctor stands in the doorway. Poe vaguely recognizes that he’s got blood on his scrubs. Your blood. He wants to throw up.

“Mr. Dameron, your wife. She’s stable.”

Poe forgets how to breathe.

The doctor is helping the nurse lift him off the floor. “She’s stable, sir,” he says again.

His knees aren’t working right, and he sits heavily on the chair someone has thoughtfully shoved behind him. “She- she’s okay?”

The doctor smiles now. “Yes, Mr. Dameron. She’s going to be okay.”

The tears, this time of relief, stream down his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them away.

Several weeks later, Poe leans against the doorway of your bedroom. You’re in the bed, both of your girls sprawled out with you, Leila on your chest and Beka curled up under your arm. All three of you are asleep. He can’t stop beaming at you all.

His pop calls a soft ‘good night’ from down the hall, and Poe answers with a nod. Kes had been the lifeline Poe needed as you and Leila both recovered from her birth, already so many weeks ago it feels both like a lifetime and like yesterday. He can’t think about how close he came to losing both of you. Maybe someday. He’s sure you and he will both have some things to work through. But for right now, enjoying his family is the only thing on his agenda.

He had come to take Beka back to her own bed, but snuggles with his family sound like a better plan. His smile widens as Beka yawns one of those precious toddler yawns. Gently, he slides onto the bed next to you, carefully shifting the elder Dameron daughter off of your arm, smoothing a hand over her tousled curls. She snuggles into his chest as he presses a kiss to her cheek. “Love you, sweetheart.”

She sighs contentedly as she burrows further into him. “‘luff you, Daddy.”

You rouse, blinking languidly at him. It’s adorable and stars, he’s never taking anything as mundane as your yawns for granted again. “What time is it?”

“Late.” He props his head on one hand, gently stroking the other down Leila’s still-impossibly small cheek as he smiles at you. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” You return his smile drowsily. “You look happy.”

His chuckle is soft. “Happy’s one word for it.” He moves his hand from Leila to your hair, twisting a strand around his finger. “Feelin’ like the luckiest asshole in the galaxy is another.”

“Language,” you admonish without any real venom, leaning into his caress.

On your chest, Leila whimpers. Ten weeks ago, when he first (finally) held her, Poe had struggled to believe the doctor that there would come a time when she’d breathe on her own, let alone have a set of pipes that could- and would- send BB-8 racing for cover. But she does. His little miracle, amazing, warrior princess is healthy, whole, and, based on how she’s rooting around your chest, very hungry.

As you drowsily help her latch to your breast, Poe watches, beaming as Leila starts to nurse. Witnessing you feed your children will always rank in the top five of the most intimate moments you’ve shared together.

Almost as if you feel his gaze, you glance up, smiling sleepily at him. “Credit for your thoughts.”

He shakes his head slightly, a grey-peppered curl falling errantly across his forehead. “Just still in awe.” He glances down at Beka (snoring slightly, just like her daddy), his grin widening as he looks back to you. “In awe and so, so in love.”

You reach out and brush his curls back. “Love you too, handsome.”

If almost losing you and Leila taught him anything, it’s to cherish each and every caress, kiss, smile, and toddler yawn. After all, he reasons, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, it’s the little things that make up a life. Right? The big moments are wonderful, sure. But life is lived in the details. They’re not glamorous or noteworthy. How many times has he kissed your hand just like this over the course of your relationship, and thought nothing of it?

No more living without intention. Not for him.

Beka mumbles in her sleep. He pulls her closer as you yawn again, curling into his other side as Leila continues to feed. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and leans back against the headboard with a contented sigh.

The birth of a child is momentous. But birth simply marks the start of a life. And the life to be lived- he looks at his life, gathered here, in his arms, and smiles- that’s where it’s at.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron imagine #my writing #angst #poe dameron angst #seriously so much angst #pregnancy #childbirth #dad!poe #dad poe dameron #dameron family #please don't kill me

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

Coach Cavill - Chapter 7

Summary: Amelia is about to go on her first date with coach Cavill

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: None

A/N: To celebrate the fact that I am done with school for a while, I thought I’d post (part one of) their date with you! I hope you like it 💕 please let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Within an hour I had to dress up to look splendid that Friday, because I didn’t want Dean to see how beautiful I was going to look. Maybe the stress dressing up under sixty minutes also had to do with the poor state of my planning today, but we are simply going to ignore that.

The entire week I have been looking forward to this. During the training yesterday, Henry kept stealing glances from me, after he made me a wonderful cup of cappuccino. It’s weird really, how head over heels I’m becoming, in just a matter of a little more than a week.

While everything Dean was exciting and somehow terrifying, since he was mysterious and a little hard to get, this instant connection I have with Henry feels so safe and familiar. I can’t stop thinking about him, to a point where Ricky, Annabelle and the rest of the little ones in my class kept asking me if I was doing okay. However, they figured out pretty soon I was a bit in love and now they continue to make kissy sounds during the day.

‘You look fucking hot,’ Eve says, as she brushes through my hair. ‘Lucky mister Henry Cavill.’

‘Is it too much?’ I ask, as I smooth down my tight dark blue dress, that Isabella insisted on me wearing and it’s a good fit: I mean, it accentuates the few curves I have. I look down at the matching high heels and sigh deeply. ‘It’s too much,’ I conclude.

‘No, honey, it’s not too much. You look beautiful and I know that Henry will think so too. Besides, he is already smitten with you, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’

I let out a sigh again. ‘It’s just that I’m nervous. How long has it been since I had my last first date?’

‘When you were nineteen,’ Eve answers my rhetorical question. ‘I know that, but that went well too and since Henry is an absolute angel, this date will go without a hitch, I can guarentee. And besides, you have done things much more terrifying than this. You went to South Korea, debuted in a girl group. A full one eighty in career choices when you got here, went on a date with the mysterious hottie Dean, somehow made that work. Plus, you were a total bad ass and gave birth to Isabella on your own, who was breeched.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I highly doubt you can compare giving birth to a first date.’

‘What I want to make clear to you, is that you are fierce and awesome and Henry knows that too.’ Eve and I both yelp when the doorbell rings. ‘Your future husband is here.’

‘Shut up,’ I say, as we walk down the stairs. She stuffs something in my clutch and hands it to me. ‘What on earth did you put in here?’ I hiss, as I grab my coat from the rack.

‘A condom.’

I halt all my movements. ‘You did what?’

‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

Before I can tell her off and that I’m really not going to have sex with Henry on the first date, she pushes me to the door and I quickly put on my coat, before I open the door.

I’m hit with the realization that I’m going on a date with the most beautiful man on this planet. He looks illegally handsome, with his nice suit jacket hanging open, that matches with his black pants. He is wearing a white blouse, nicely tucked into his pants and the tease has the two top buttons open and the sight of his chest (and the chest hair) is making my mouth dry.

‘Wow,’ he says with a beautiful smile, ‘you look beautiful, Amelia.’

This is going to kill me. How am I supposed to survive this entire night? ‘It’s not too much?’ I ask, just to be sure and first date jitters taking the upper hand.

He shakes his head. ‘This is exactly right.’

I turn to Eve, who is holding in a squeal. After being friends with her for so long, I know every facial expression. ‘Only call me if it is a matter of life or death,’ I tell her.

‘Have I ever called you when it was not important?’ I cock an eyebrow and she nods. ‘Right, I have done that before. I’m sorry. Won’t do it tonight, promise.’

‘Very good. Please, don’t wait up and don’t sit on the front porch with the twins, because I know you three want to do that.’

Eve slaps me on my ass, before I step out of the house and I sincerely hope that Henry hasn’t seen that. From the looks of it seems like he hasn’t seen that, but maybe he is just polite and doesn’t show me he has seen it. ‘Don’t look back,’ I tell Henry, as we walk towards his truck. ‘She’ll embarrass either one of us if we do so.’

Henry can’t help but laugh and he opens the door of his truck. ‘Do I have to give you a boost or can you manage?’

‘Oh shut up,’ I chuckle as I get in the car, after I took his hand. ‘Because I’m short, I have developed cat woman like skills. You should see me in the classroom, when I have to grab something from the top shelf.’

‘I’ll believe that right away.’ He closes the door and I wave to Eve, who nods approvingly and gestures something about how firm his butt looks. I mean, I can only agree to that, but once again, sure as hell hope he hasn’t seen any of that.

Henry gets in the truck and before he puts the key in the ignition, he looks to the side, meeting my eyes. ‘What?’ I ask him.

‘You look breathtaking,’ he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t want me to hear this compliment.

I’m at a loss for words. ‘Oh,’ I manage to choke out. ‘Thanks…’

He clears his throat. ‘I’m just a little nervous.’

‘What? Why? If someone should be nervous, it’s me. One, I’m going on a date with you and two, my last first date was sixteen years ago.’

He chuckles, but he sounds really nervous. ‘Well, mine might’ve not been that long ago… But I have never been on a date with someone like you.’

‘Do you mean that in a good way or…?’

Henry’s eyes widen. ‘In a good way, of course,’ he hastily says. ‘It’s more that you are way out of my league.’

What? ‘I think I was hallucinating. What?’

‘I mean, have you even seen yourself? You are admirable, in any way.’

Is this how it feels when your heart not only is figuratively melting, but also literally? ‘Oh.’

‘You are truly one of a kind, Amelia and I sure hope I meet up to what you deserve.’

Okay, I’m officially blanking. What are words?

Henry smiles and starts the car. ‘I hope you like the place I booked. I heard some pretty good things about it.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Leave it to Henry fucking Cavill to not only book a spot at my favorite restaurant here in town, but also to have a secluded spot that I didn’t know was here. We sit on the patio, a heater pointed at us to keep us warm, as we look over the lake. We are surrounded by romantic Christmas lights, as we sit next to each other on the soft couch. His arm is resting on the back, his thumb softly drawing circles on my shoulder.

He hands me a glass of wine and I can’t help but melt a bit against his frame. ‘You did amazing,’ I say. ‘I really like this spot. I never even knew it was here. How did you discover this?’

‘I might’ve had some help from Greg.’

‘Convenient store Greg?’ I ask. ‘You two becoming friends?’

‘Yeah, I’m there quite a lot. He sometimes watches Kal when I’m not home for too long of a time. Annabelle constantly tells him that she loves Kal, so that’s a plus.’

‘Annabelle is in my class,’ I say. ‘A true angel. A cheeky one, but she is such a delight to have in class.’

Henry smiles, taking a sip of his wine. We’re still waiting for our food to arrive, but the wine will do just fine for now. ‘It’s quite the one eighty, to go from a K-Pop idol to a kindergarten teacher.’

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ I chuckle. ‘It was so weird, to go from that hectic world, fans screaming your name, photoshoot here, there, dance practice and just never not busy, back to Luna Meadows, where every second seems to tick at least three times. I had to spend three months in the barn in the back of my parents yard, to simply talk with Eve and Johnny, getting used to this pace again. It was nice to be back here though, since this will always be my home.’

He nods. ‘So, you come back to Luna Meadows when you were eighteen, go back to college and…’

‘And I met Dean, when I was nineteen, was twenty one when I had Benji, somehow got my degree and after I graduated, I married Dean.’

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That is top tier multitasking.’

‘That’s what I thought so,’ I chuckle, taking a sip of my wine. ‘It was really important for me to finish college, because, I wanted to be able to provide for myself and even after I graduated, I worked three days a week. I’m not equipped to be a full-time house wife. I tried that for two months and then I became mad.’

Henry laughs. ‘And now you work full-time.’

‘I do, indeed. It’s the only way I can continue to pay for the house. I don’t want to move away from Eve and her baby sit service.’

He nods in agreement. ‘You are very lucky to have friends that care so much and do so much for you.’

‘I sure am,’ I say with a smile. I take another sip, before I ask: ‘What about you? Why did you leave Jersey to move here?’

‘I was a judo coach there and worked in a cafe. However, some family stuff happened and I had to get out of there.’ Henry clears his throat and shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no, you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand it. Just, tell me how you got into judo then.’ I turn a bit to the side and oh my, I can feel his strong body against mine, but weirdly enough it doesn’t make me nervous anymore.

‘Oh, that was something me and my grandpa had together. All of my brothers were into team sports, like lacrosse, football and rugby.’

My eyes widen. ‘You have brothers?’

‘Mhm, four,’ he says.

‘Your mom had five kids?’ I ask him.

He can’t stop his laugh. ‘She did.’

‘Mad respect,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to be too TMI, but I had to recover six years after I had Benji before I even thought about adding another one. Not the point, Amelia,’ I quickly realize letting out a soft chuckle. ‘Your brothers were into team sports.’

Henry nods, a smile evident on his lips. ‘My entire family was obsessed with everything team sport related, including us as a family. I liked to do things solo, just like my granddad and that’s how judo became our thing. My family supported me and judo, of course, but… I knew they didn’t really like the sport as much as my granddad and I liked it. When I was twenty, I was actually doing pretty well. Competing in national tournaments, even some international ones.’

I frown. ‘Why do I feel a however coming up?’ I ask him.

He snickers. ‘However, I broke my leg in three places when I was in the gym.’

‘Oh no,’ I say, as I shiver.

‘Yeah, it was pretty bad,’ he chuckles. ‘But judo was my life and I couldn’t just let it go, so I started to work as a trainer and coach, but I didn’t make enough money to provide for myself, so I also worked in a cafe.’

I nod. ‘And why did you choose Luna Meadows?’

He shrugs. ‘It just felt right. And that’s where I met the most amazing judoka I have ever seen. Benji is miles ahead of not only everyone here, but also to everyone I have ever encountered.’

‘Including you?’

‘Including me,’ he laughs. ‘He is amazing.’

‘That’s because he has some judo genes from his amazing mother,’ I chuckle, as I throw my hair over my shoulder. ‘I was quite something back in the days.’

He chuckles. ‘So, what does Isabella do?’

‘She is in a drama club. When she was younger, she would force Benji, Yara, Jake and Lola to be side characters in a play she made up, where she was the main character. She is overly dramatic and I figured that I would do the other kids a favor if I would put her in a drama club. Yara and she go every Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday after school with Eve.’

‘It must be amazing to have a friend this close living to you.’

‘It does,’ I say, as I stare at my wine. ‘Made the whole divorce thing a whole lot better to handle.’

‘I imagine. Divorce is never easy.’

‘Experience or…?’ I carefully ask.

‘I was married,’ he says, ‘but the second we said ‘I do’, it was already a lost cause, really. Actually, we never really fit together.’

I take a sip of my wine, but I place my other hand on his strong leg. Normally I wouldn’t be this forward, but it feels so warm and comfortable. ‘Is she part of the reason that you had to leave Jersey?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, we were married from my twenty fifth to my twenty seventh.’

Okay, he doesn’t want to continue to talk about it and for some reason I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. ‘You know, I never thought I’d go on a date again.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because everyone in this town knows that I got divorced and everyone had an opinion about it,’ I whisper. ‘You know, I wasn’t exactly the most loved. A lot of them thought it was my fault that Dean started to see someone else. I wasn’t a good enough wife, who didn’t love her husband enough.’

When I look up, I see that Henry has clenched his jaw, before taking a sip of his wine. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘I know,’ I say mostly out of disbelieve. ‘But good things happen to good people and now I met you.’

‘Moving to Luna Meadows was a good move on my behalf.’

Our pasta arrives and I sit up a bit straighter. ‘This looks delicious,’ I say, twirling around my fork, to twist the spaghetti around it. ‘Henry Cavill, you sure know how to swoop a woman off her feet.’

Henry smiles, taking a bite of his pasta. It’s different than mine, but it looks delicious. I can see him ogling my plate as well and I guess the grass is indeed greener on the other side. ‘Here,’ I say, with a fork full of pasta. I hold it above my other hand, so I won’t spill something on any of us. I now realize that it might be weird to feed a grown man on our first date, but I can’t go back now.

‘You’re a natural,’ he chuckles, before taking a bite. ‘Oh, yours is really good. Want a bite of mine?’

‘Sure,’ I say with a blush creeping up on my cheeks. He is a little clumsy, but somehow manages to bring the fork to my lips, without it spilling on my dress. With his thumb he wipes the corner of my mouth clean. ‘Am I tasting some cinnamon?’

‘That was what I was thinking,’ he says. ‘I would never put cinnamon in my pasta, but it is really tasty and it actually works.’

‘I once accidentally added honey to the chicken and somehow it turned out to be pretty okay.’

‘Yeah, Benji told me you weren’t a great cook.’

I hide my face in my hands. ‘I may have burned quite a few meals in my kitchen. One time, for Thanksgiving, I attempted to cook for Eve and Johnny, because they were having a bit of a rough time, with Lola being admitted into the hospital and all. However, I burned the entire meal, the kitchen was filled with smoke and I had a complete meltdown. Isabella called my parents and somehow my mom saved the day.’

Henry’s shoulder shake as he laughs. ‘That would be quite the sight.’

‘Oh, it was terrible. Can you imagine if I was a full time housewife? I think I’d have the fire department on speed dial.’

I want to add something to this (believe me, I have tons of stories of me nearly burning down my place), but my phone starts to ring and I quickly open my clutch to check the screen.

It’s Eve.

Part of me doesn’t want to take it, but I know that she took her promise serious. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

‘Please, take it,’ Henry encourages me, when he sees me hesitating.

I pick up and say: ‘Eve, this better be very important.’ However I don’t hear her voice, but I hear Benji yelling in the background and that is something I barely understand. ‘What’s wrong? Is everything okay?’

‘I have no idea,’ Eve manages to say. ‘Isabella is just sitting in the corner of your living room, not speaking at all.’ That can’t be good. ‘Benji is on the edge of losing it, but I feel like he is too much in a rage to listen to any of us and Dean is outside, trying to let himself in, but we locked the door. I’m really sorry to interrupt your date, but I feel like both of your kids need you right now.’

My heart sinks. ‘Oh no,’ I mumble. ‘I’m coming back.’

‘I hate dad,’ I hear Benji yell in the background. ‘I fucking hate him.’

‘Benji, please stop it!’ Lola pleads.

‘This is not working, man,’ Jake adds.

‘Mom, Isabella is crying,’ Yara says.

I hang up, shaking my head. ‘I’m so sorry, Henry, I have to get back. Something is really wrong and according to Eve, Benji is really close to losing it completely and Isabella is not talking, Dean is outside of my house…’

‘I heard it,’ he says, already standing up, holding up my coat. ‘Let me get you home.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x amelia jung #amelia jung #asian ofc #coach!henry cavill #Coach Cavill

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jaybear1701 · 3 years

Link

The Outpost is, without a shred of doubt, a shithole.

And Ellen Waverly secretly loves it, even though her fellow ASCANs frown at the tavern’s dilapidated exterior. Anybody who’s anybody knows about the dive bar frequented by astronauts, engineers, and other NASA staffers. Spoken about with hushed reverence, the Outpost is hallowed ground, a right of passage, and a frisson of excitement courses through Ellen as they pause just outside its entrance.

“This is it?” Dani Poole eyes the peeling red paint of the watering hole’s sign, uncertainty lacing her voice as she clutches the strap of her purse.

“Yep.” Molly Cobb lights a cigarette dangling from the corner of her lips. She pulls the door open, hinges squeaking, and the odor of cheap beer and stale smoke wafts out. “You gonna stand out here gaping all night?” Molly strides in without waiting for a response. Patty Doyle’s right on her heels, as usual.

Neither bothers to check if the others are following, but Tracy Stevens manages to catch the door before it swings shut again. “Let’s go, ladies.” She ushers the others inside. “Can’t let Cobb and Doyle have all the fun.”

The stench, now mingled with sweat and other odors barely concealed by fading cologne, intensifies the second Ellen sets foot inside the dimly lit bar. She wrinkles her nose and, as her eyes adjust, they walk past a beat up cigarette machine into a tightly packed space where all eyes immediately fall on them. Ellen thinks she recognizes some of the men from around the halls of JSC, but in all honesty they blended together in a uniform mass of white oxfords, skinny black ties, and thinly veiled disapproval. They were all just waiting for them to fail.

“Same shit, different toilet,” Molly mutters under her breath. Still, she throws her head back high, cocksure, and swaggers toward a pool table with Patty. Her heavy boot steps draw even more attention, not that Molly pays it any mind, acting as if she’s frequented The Outpost all her life. Like she belongs there.

Ellen does her best to follow Molly’s cue, straightening her spine and making her way around a jukebox that’s seen better days to the last empty table. “First round’s on me,” she announces, surprising even herself.

“That’s mighty generous,” Dani says as she and the others take their seats. The legs of their chairs scrape across the slightly sticky wood floor. They all pretend they don’t see the little brown insects that scatter from beneath the table.

“What would you like?” Ellen asks before any of them decide to hightail it outta there.

“Round of JD,” Tracy responds. “Least that’s what Gordo has when he’s here. If that’s all right with y’all, of course,” she adds to murmurs of assent.

“Coming right up.” Ellen beelines for the bar, continuing to ignore the stares from around the room that make the tips of her ears burn despite her carefully curated air of indifference.

She manages to find a small opening between the occupied, but is disappointed when no one’s there to serve drinks. The bartender probably took a quick break, she thinks, focusing her attention on the black-and-white astronaut photos that line the wood-paneled walls. Idly drumming her fingers against distressed mahogany, she wonders if her picture would ever be prominently displayed alongside the likes of Armstrong, Glenn, and Aldrin. Of if she’ll wash out, as her mother seems to be expecting.

An unsubtle cough interrupts Ellen’s musings, and a man leans an elbow on the bar to her left, a little too close for comfort.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?” He slurs out the oh-so-creative pickup line, alcohol sharp on his breath.

It takes all of her willpower not to roll her eyes in disgust. Instead, she pretends not to hear him, but he persists. “Never seen ya before. Y’all tourists or somethin’? Sightseein’?”

Irritation spikes in Ellen, who has half a mind to correct him, nondisclosure agreements be damned, when another voice cuts in. “Jimbo, what’d I tell you about scaring new customers?”

Ellen turns her head to the right and… Oh.

She’s not quite sure what she expected when it came to The Outpost’s barkeep. Based on the decor, she wouldn’t have been surprised by someone schlubby and indifferent and borderline antisocial. But Ellen most certainly isn’t expecting one of the prettiest women she’s ever seen, with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a careless ponytail, bangs hanging just above eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. And just like that, Ellen’s starting to understand the appeal of the place.

“C’mon now, Pam,” Jimbo drawls, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Jus’ tryin’ to be friendly.”

“Uh huh.” Pam cants her head to the side, unconvinced. “Get outta here before I call your wife.” After he slinks away, Pam gives Ellen an easy smile, bracing her hands on the bar. “Sorry ‘bout that. What can I get for you?”

It’s not until Pam’s closer that Ellen remembers to breathe, the influx of oxygen allowing her to regain control of her faculties and notice the pin fastened to Pam’s maroon t-shirt. It reads in bold white letters against a black background bespeckled by stars: A Woman’s Place Is In Space.

Ellen’s stomach swoops in delight.

“You okay?” Pam asks when Ellen doesn’t answer right away.

“Oh, er,” Ellen intelligently answers in a manner befitting a future astronaut. “Yes, sorry.” Heat rises in her cheeks. “Drinks?” She vaguely gestures toward the other candidates, and the pool table where Molly’s lining up a shot that sends a striped ball straight into a corner pocket. “For me. And my…” Her what? They aren’t exactly friends. Rivals would be closer to the truth, but that would sound weird. And she’s already being weird. She eventually settles on, “Colleagues.”

“Drinks,” Pam repeats, eyebrows disappearing beneath her fringe.

“Yes, um, please.”

“Sure thing.” Pam nods, thoughtfully observing the other women for a moment before fixing her gaze back on Ellen. “Got something particular in mind? Or should I surprise you?”

Ellen somehow manages not to smack the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Sorry. Jack Daniels for, uh, seven.”

“You got it, space cadet.” With a wink, Pam pushes off the bar to fetch a set of lowball glasses and arranges them in a neat row.

It takes a few seconds before Pam’s words catch up with Ellen. Was Pam referring to Ellen’s embarrassingly delayed response or… “Space cadet?”

“You all are the female astronaut candidates, aren’t you?” Pam reaches past several rows of bottles to fetch the whiskey.

“What, uh, what makes you think that?” Ellen nervously brushes her hair behind her ear. No one’s supposed to know who they are until they graduate. If they graduate.

Pam shrugs, the tip of the bottle’s spout poised above the glasses. “Groups of women don’t really wander in here. Plus, some of you match the scuttlebutt I’ve heard here and there.”

“Scuttlebutt?”

“NASA types like to talk, especially after they’ve had a few.”

“That’s… not unsettling in the slightest.” Ellen tries and fails to tamp down a swell of unease, wondering if they’d all be bounced from the program if word got out.

“Relax.” Pam chuckles, as if reading her mind. She tips the bottle forward, expertly eyeballing two fingers of brown liquor per glass. “What’s said here stays here. Unless you’re a reporter, then I’m sworn under our unofficial Baldwin rule to kick you out.”

“Definitely not a reporter,” Ellen says, recalling Ed Baldwin’s very public misstep in calling out NASA after the Soviets landed on the moon last summer. Relief eases some of the tension between Ellen’s shoulders. She shifts from one foot to the other, curiosity getting the better of her. “So, what have they been saying? All good things, I’m guessing,” she jokes weakly, all too aware of the rampant sexism among many, if not most, of her male counterparts.

“They wouldn’t dare say anything negative within earshot of me.” Pam taps her equality button. “Would never get a drink otherwise.”

Ellen can’t stop herself from smiling as Pam finishes pouring, sets the bottle down, and crosses her arms.

“Let’s see, I’ve heard that two of them were in Mercury 13. Have chips on their shoulders.” Pam nods toward Molly and Patty playing pool. “I’m guessing they’re the ones over there acting like they own the place.” There’s an underlying current of respect in her voice as her line of sight drifts toward the lone table surrounded by women. “The blonde? I’d bet all my tips that she’s Tracy Stevens. Got those Hollywood looks that’d be Gordo’s type.”

Ellen has to admit she’s impressed. “And me?” She asks before she can stop herself.

Blue eyes darting across Ellen’s face, Pam appraises her in a way that sparks flutters against her ribs. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard about you, Ms...?”

“Waverly.” Ellen sticks her hand out. “Ellen Waverly.”

Pam grasps her hand, grip firm yet gentle, palm warm and smooth. “Nice to meet you, Ellen Waverly.”

“And you’re Pam.”

“That’s right.” Neither of them moves to let go. “Pam Horton.”

Another patron accidentally jostles Ellen’s shoulder and she immediately drops Pam’s hand. “Can I get a couple of beers, Pam?” He asks.

“Just a sec.” She says, transferring the whiskey glasses to a round serving tray.

“So, uh,” Ellen clears her throat as she reaches for her purse. “What do I owe you?” Pam waves her away. “First round’s on the house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” Her smile is genuine, radiant. “It’s the least I can do for the first American women heading to space.”

Ellen ducks her head, pleased yet embarrassed. “We haven’t passed yet.”

Pam looks her straight in the eye, and says without hesitation, “You will.”

Warmth blooms inside Ellen’s chest from Pam’s sincerity. “I… thank you." She hopes her face isn't as red as it feels. "We’ll make it up to you.”

“Prove all the assholes out there wrong, and we’ll be square.” Pam pulls out two beer bottles, swiftly pops off their caps, and hands them to the man. She inclines her head toward the tray of Jack Daniels. “I’ll have these out to you in a jiffy.”

With one last nod, Ellen makes her way back to the table, heart pounding and already vowing to return to the shithole that wasn’t so shitty after all.

#ellen x pam #for all mankind #ellen waverly #pam horton #spacepoet #fam fic #famk fic

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

Text

A Lotus In Full Bloom (Part 9)

Vergil finally confronts his feelings for his lovely rose while you untangle the thorns from around your darling devil’s heart.

It’s finally here! Hope ya’ll are ready for some angst, comforting fluff, and all the romance! 🌹😍🌹

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part 🌺😊🌺

If someone had told Vergil over two decades ago that he would not only be a father but also be in his son’s wedding, he would’ve laughed in their face before calling them a fool. But now, here he is checking over his suit for the big day that is only two days away. And he isn’t just part of the wedding party…he’s all set to surprise the happy couple with a violin performance during their first dance with a little help from his lovely rose.

The thought of you summons that warm feeling in his chest as he zips the garment bag up before putting it back in his closet. Both of you have met every single day since the beach party, tirelessly practicing together in your music room until late at night. You still think that your piano skills are woefully inadequate, but he has the utmost confidence in your abilities. He knows that you can perform this unique gift for his son and future daughter-in-law with him.

There’s only enough time for one more practice session before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, Vergil thought as he finished getting ready in his room. He glances over to the hidden box underneath his bed, reminding himself to pick some fresh flowers for you before heading over to your place. The pit of his stomach drops a little at the thought, knowing deep down that he will no doubt give you the blooms without a verbal confession despite his best efforts to do so this entire week.

Ever since he shared that intimate moment with you among the waves, he has felt this sickening swirl building up inside him; it grows stronger and stronger the more time he spends with you. And every time he intends to finally confess, it crawls up his throat and stifles his words to a mere quiet gasp of frustration. He honestly does not know what’s come over him; what could possibly be stopping a Son of Sparda from admitting his intentions aloud? The very notion of hesitating at all is maddening…and today is his last chance to tell you how he truly feels before both of you get swept up in the final preparations for the wedding.

Vergil looks over at the wall mirror by his bedroom door, giving himself a nod of approval in the reflection before grabbing the Yamato. I won’t hesitate this time, my lovely rose, he vows with a determined huff while exiting his room. It only takes him a few long strides down the hall to turn around the corner by the staircase. And it is there where he comes upon a strange sight: an oafish buffoon that bears a striking resemblance to his little brother is lying across the couch in the shop’s office, groaning loudly while covering his eyes with one arm.

How…curious, he thought with a quirked brow as he descended the stairs. Dante doesn’t even acknowledge the sound of his soft footfalls nor the occasional creaks of the wood on some of the steps. Vergil rolls his eyes at his brother’s overly dramatic display, but he cannot resist asking about his little farce. “And what, pray tell, has you groaning like a stricken cow?” he snidely inquires, pausing by the foot of the stairs as he waits for his brother’s answer.

Dante turns his head and peeks up from behind his arm. “Have you kissed Buttercup yet?”

Vergil’s jaw hardens into a harsh scowl. “What I do while in the company of Y/N is none of your concern.”

“Unbelievable,” Dante mutters under his breath with a shake of his head. “She’s totally in love with you and you’re blowing it!” he exclaims, waving both arms in the air before letting them flop back down on the couch with a frustrated sigh.

Vergil scoffs at his brother’s attempt to pry into his personal life as he walks behind the desk. “I don’t see how our relationship is any of your business.”

Dante grunts as he sits up on the couch. “Just listen to your brother for once, Verg,” he requests sincerely, voice dropping down into a serious tone. “You gotta make your move soon before she gets the wrong idea.”

The familiar sickening swirl starts to coalesce deep within his belly. “The wrong idea about what?” Vergil asks stubbornly, trying his best to ignore the thick lump forming in his throat as he stares down his brother from across the room.

“Do I really need to spell it out for ya?” Dante asks incredulously as he leans back against his seat. “Man, Buttercup’s really got her work cut out for her,” he sighs with a disappointed frown, crossing one ankle atop his knee while stretching his arms out on the back of the couch as he continues talking. “Being strung along by my dumbass brother, who can’t even admit his own feelings and JUST KISS HER ALREADY!”

Vergil’s brow twitches irritably at his brother’s rowdy voice as it bellows through the shop. He can feel a surly retort forming on the tip of his tongue but just before he can spit it out, the subtle movement of something shifting out of place catches his eye. His head tilts inquisitively as he leans over and peers down behind the radiator, spotting a very gaudy piece of poster board that depicts what looks to be some sort of seaside scenery. But what really grabs his attention is the huge bold letters that make up the header of this poster:

OPERATION: GET DUMBASS BROTHER AND BUTTERCUP TOGETHER

“Dante…” he growls, feeling every last ounce of his composure turning to dust as he reaches for the poster. He pulls it out from its poor hiding place, silently seething as he reads the intricate instructions detailing some of the events that played out during the beach party. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demands, turning the poster around and pointing at the childish drawing of two stick figures holding hands with a deathly glower.

His brother has the audacity to shrug his shoulders defensively. “Whaaaaat? You needed a little push in the right direction and I just-”

“You insufferable wretch!”

Dante grunts as a couple of summoned swords pierce his chest, effectively cutting him off as the offending poster gets shredded by the blue ripple of a small Judgement Cut. “I know you’ve always loved meddling with my private affairs, but you better tread carefully, little brother…” Vergil stalks over to the couch and looms over his brother as he finishes his venomous warning. “I’m in no mood for your foolishness!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so helpless when it comes to romance, you wouldn’t need my help putting your tulips together!” Dante remarks bluntly through gritted teeth, clutching his chest as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Look, I know that you somehow managed to nail at least one other lady back in the day, but that doesn’t mean-”

Vergil’s entire body becomes rigid as he draws back from the couch, averting his fierce gaze towards a messy corner of the shop. Dante stops short at the sudden yet subtle shift in his overall demeanor. The air becomes still and eerily quiet since the shop is absent of the jukebox’s abhorrent music for once…until one of them breaks the silence.

“Wait a minute,” Dante murmurs, resting both hands on his knees while looking up at him suspiciously. “Are you afraid of telling her?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Vergil scoffs, barely giving his brother a passing glance as the sickening swirl starts churning in the pit of his stomach.

“Holy shit,” Dante whispers, eyes widening in shock as he keeps goading him into talking more. “You really are afraid, aren’t ya?”

Vergil glares down at his little brother. “I’m no such thing!” he snarls, lips twisting into a bitter grimace while his fists ball up impatiently, one clenching around the Yamato tightly while the other pulls his leather glove taut over his knuckles.

Dante snorts with a nod of his head. “Really? Then why haven’t you swept her off her feet yet, huh?” he inquires with a knowing smirk that only grows wider at the stoic silence that answers his question. “Something’s holding you back…I can tell,” he sighs wearily, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch again. “So, what’s scaring you off from a total babe like Buttercup?” he wonders aloud, scratching his scruffy chin while staring up at the grody ceiling in thought.

“I will eviscerate you on the spot if you don’t cease this infuriating conversation immediately!” Vergil commands with a vicious growl, lifting the Yamato to show his thumb at the ready below the hilt.

“If it’s really about making the first move, then you can’t say I didn’t try to help!” Dante points out with a wave of his hand, completely ignoring his final warning as he persists with his nosy musings. “C’mon, Verg…talk to me. Are ya afraid of commitment? Or maybe you’re scared she’ll reject-”

Vergil feels the last shred of his self-control snap as he pops the handle up with a loud metallic click. Then, he teleports in front of his brother before sinking the Yamato deep within his gut. Dante grunts from the inflicted pain as he struggles to move, but the sword’s razor-sharp edge has him pinned to the back of the couch. “I’ve had enough of your mindless chatter!” he fumes, giving his blade a grinding twist before withdrawing it with a furious growl.

Dante hisses and doubles over on the couch, clutching his belly while groaning in agony. Vergil pays his brother no mind as he flicks the Yamato clean before sheathing the blade, not caring about making an even bigger mess of the shop as he turns away from his brother. “I’m going for a walk,” he barks while marching over towards the entryway, “and if you know what’s good for you…” He pauses with his hand on the door handle.

“You will not follow me.”

And with those final cautionary words, he jerks the door open and stomps out of the shop in an awfully foul mood. He quickly steps down the stairs before unsheathing the Yamato once more. The faint rumble of thunder booms across the sky as he opens a portal to anywhere but here. His keen ears hear the shop door swing open just as he walks through the portal and some gruff cursing as it seals shut behind him.

Vergil finds himself standing in some sparse woodlands. He has no idea where he is exactly, and he does not care to find out. The only thing occupying his thoughts now is the pure unbridled rage running through his body like a wildfire in the dead of a blistering cold night. And with no one around to witness the crack in his carefully constructed façade of cool composure…the devil inside him roars and claws beneath his skin as this white hot anger fully consumes him, triggering the transformation of his other demonic form with a loud snarl.

The leaves of the surrounding trees tremble at the force of his demonic power as it rushes through the woods. His scorching hot breath comes out in aggravated puffs as he waits for the anger to subside, but his brother’s false assumptions keep ringing through his mind…making his blood boil even hotter as he takes to the air. How dare he make such foolish claims…fear doesn’t suit a Son of Sparda! he seethes while zooming over the scattered canopy of trees.

Then why haven’t you swept her off her feet yet, huh?

Dante’s astute observation strikes at the heart of the matter just as a streak of lightning flashes through the sky. The sickening swirl is back and stronger than ever as it coils into a nauseous knot deep within his gut, forcing him to halt his furious flight as thunder crashes down all around him with a loud crack. He hovers amid the charged air, hoping that the rumbling roll of the oncoming storm would drown out the maddening thoughts of his mind…but the persistent voice of his brother keeps chipping away at his resolve.

Holy shit…You really are afraid, aren’t ya?

Something’s holding you back…I can tell.

Are ya afraid of commitment? Or maybe you’re scared she’ll reject-

Vergil lets out a tormented roar, no longer able to stand the torrent of thoughts whirling in his head. The distorted tone of his suffering melds with the deafening boom of thunder as the sky finally breaks open. He stares up at the dark clouds and as the heavy drops of summer rain douse his armored face, he cannot help but think of the day he first spoke to you…how he found you standing in the rain moments after you brazenly bloomed before his very eyes. You were the image of pure tranquility…staring up at the sky while your lovely face glistened in the sprinkling rain.

The very thought of you drains every bit of his bitter anger out of him…leaving only misery and regret in its wake. He slowly descends towards an open area of the woodlands, no longer feeling up to flying away from the truth. His demonic form fades away with a quick flash as soon as he lands, kneeling upon the wet and grassy ground with a dull thud. The heavy rainfall immediately soaks through his slicked back hair and signature coat now that the thick armor plating is gone. But he hardly notices his drenched state while the thunderstorm raging on above, dejectedly hanging his head as he finally faces the truth buried deep within his tangled briars.

I’m afraid of getting hurt...again.

The hurtful memory of his mother leading Dante by the hand away from danger flashes before his eyes. He remembers seeing them enter the manor together from the playground…leaving him behind with the demons running amok. It was on that fateful day that he first felt the sting of rejection…being abandoned by his mother and watching her save his brother shaped his ruthless outlook on life for years to come. And even though he now knows that she not only turned back but died trying to save him…it still does not erase the pain he went through while enduring his past trauma and all the trials and tribulations thereafter.

I’m afraid of being rejected…again.

Vergil clenches his fists as another unwelcome memory comes to taunt him. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to bury the image of a woman clad in red back into the deeper recesses of his mind. What a strange twist of misfortune…he can recall the day she spurned his offer to stay with her, and yet he cannot even remember her face nor any other details about the mother of his only son! And with that little tryst, he learned a harsh yet necessary truth: rejection is inevitable when you’re a Son of Sparda.

But knowing a truth does not mean you have to accept it, my darling devil.

The sweet lilt of your voice shakes him out of his brooding thoughts, bringing him back down to the present. Even when you are not there with him…you know exactly what to say to pull him back from the darkest part of his crumbling soul. He blinks and wipes away droplets of rain from his eyes, but the relentless downpour of the storm blows against his gloomy face as he picks himself up from the grassy ground. The painful memories of his past slowly recede as he wanders aimlessly through the marshy woodlands, completely despondent while a litany of self-loathing spins uncontrollably around in his head.

How can a prickly devil such as myself ever be worthy of her love and affection?

I have nothing to offer her except torment and despair…

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.

After all, I’d only be a burden to her if I kept denying what I’ve always known since the beginning of our unlikely relationship...

I’m unworthy of the lovely rose that has bloomed within my heart.

His sulking spell comes to a screeching halt when the faint glimmer of a pink flower catches his eye. He suddenly becomes aware of surroundings; the thunderstorm has dwindled down to a light shower and the sky has grown dark with the approaching night. But the total loss of time doesn’t fully sink in as he moves in closer towards a peaceful pond, feeling drawn to the exquisite blossom upon its serene surface.

Whenever you find yourself consumed by despair…remember the spirit of the lotus.

The soothing tone of your voice drowns out his dreadful contemplation. He recalls the day he heard those wise words pass from your lips…he shared a meal with you for the very first time among the beautiful blooms of your garden. A lotus begins its existence in the dark and murky depths, your charming voice continues to ring through his head as he wades through the pond towards the lone lotus. For it to fully bloom it must endure those harsh conditions, pushing through the mud and the muck as it rises towards clearer waters. He reaches down and cups the elegant bloom with both of his hands while your flowery anecdote ends on a happy and hopeful note.

Eventually, its resilience pays off when the lotus breaks through the surface and its petals slowly unfurl to soak up the rays of the sun for the very first time.

Vergil summons a sword and carefully cuts the lone lotus from the pond. I may have missed the practice session…but perhaps this will make up for my tardiness, he surmises while storing the lotus inside his soaking wet coat before calling for the Yamato. He finds himself facing one last truth as he opens a portal just outside the gate behind your house:

You may be better off without him…but he simply can’t let go of the lovely rose that has miraculously bloomed within his briars.

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You’ve had a pretty hectic week since the beach party: between putting together all the floral arrangements and many musical interludes with Vergil, you’ve been busier than a bee in the spring. And you’re only going to be buzzing around even harder now that the big day is only two days away! All of your time today was spent doing last minute preparations before the wedding rehearsal, making sure all the flowers are accounted for before being delivered, and squeezing in one last practice session before the imminent chaos of a wedding frenzy.

Well, that was the plan anyway, but then Vergil didn’t show up on the agreed time, which struck you as very odd…he’s always been so punctual and has even been cross with you on a couple occasions whenever he had to wait for you to join him! You tried calling his cellphone after waiting for a while, thinking that maybe he just got delayed or something…but there was no answer. And there must not be anyone at the shop either since nobody picked up the phone there either.

Your gut tells you that something is wrong, but you’re at a loss of what to do about it. You thought about contacting either Kyrie or Nero, but the soon-to-be wedded couple already have enough on her mind. Plus, you do not want to add any unnecessary stress if it turns out to be nothing at all. So, you decide to just keep an eye on your phone while putting the finishing touches on the dress you’ve made especially for the happy occasion.

I hope he’s okay, you thought, worrying your lower lip while reinforcing the floral embroidery with a needle and some thread. You try to stay focused on the task at hand, but your mind keeps going back to your darling devil. Vergil has become such a huge part of your everyday life ever since that fateful rainy day in the book café. It feels so empty without his familiar presence near you now…always watching from the corner of his eye with a soft smile or sharing a favorite passage from a beloved book. And even though your romantic feelings haven’t technically been reciprocated aloud, you know that your affection has taken root and with a little more patience…just a little more…

Another roll of distant thunder echoes through the room as the storm finally lets up, but now it has gotten dark outside. Your eyes flicker over to check the time on a nearby clock and see that you have missed dinner…by six hours! Sweet basil, I should really pay more attention! you berate yourself while cutting the thread with your teeth. You stick your sewing needle into a stuffed rose bud that serves as your pin cushion and gather up all the spare scrapes of tulle, lace, and satin. As you hang up the dress, you note that it’s so close to being complete; all it needs is some minor fixes and a good steaming before it’s ready for the wedding.

You sigh and head downstairs for a belated dinner, wondering if you should heat up some leftovers or just make a sandwich with some veggie chips. By the time you get to the kitchen, you’ve made up your mind and open the fridge to take out your homemade chicken salad with grapes and pecans. Your stomach growls impatiently as you grab a couple slices of ciabatta bread and put this simple meal together on a plate. You add some salt and vinegar zucchini chips to the plate before pouring yourself a tall glass of iced hibiscus tea.

“There…now it’s time to eat, drink, and be rosemary!” you cheer, softly giggling to yourself while taking your meal to the small dining table across from the kitchen.

You set your plate down before pulling a chair out, but the sudden ringing of your doorbell stops you from taking your seat. Huh…that’s strange, you muse with a curious tilt of your head, it’s a bit late for receiving visitors. You bite your lower lip and twirl a stray lock of your hair around your fingers while considering your options: it would be rude to not answer the door…after all, it could be someone in need of help! But then you remember the worried face of your darling devil that day in your garden when the demons attacked, recalling the promise you made to not put yourself into any possible danger ever again…

The doorbell rings once more and you finally decide to see who it could possibly be since it seems they have no intention of leaving. And besides, it could be Vergil, you reason while making your way down the hall. And he could even be hurt! you add in panic, picking up the pace until coming to a halt just on the other side of the front door. You take a quick peek through the tiny peephole and your starving stomach drops at the sight of a familiar stoic face on the other side of the door.

“What in carnation!” you gasp in shock before ripping the front door open. “Vergil? What are you doing out so late in this rain?”

The devil in question just silently stands there looking sullen and soaking wet as he glances down at you. His icy blue eyes are filled to the brim with melancholy and unspoken regret. And his perfectly styled white hair is now disheveled and framing his sodden face. He shows no sign of hearing your inquiry and continues to stare down at you quietly. You do not know what may have happened, but whatever it is…it’s shaken him to the core, and you will not idly stand by while your darling devil suffers alone.

“Here,” you whisper while offering your hand, “come inside.”

Vergil seems to ponder for a moment while his eyes dart down towards your hands. Then, he raises one gloved hand and places it upon your own warm and welcoming palm. You gently guide him inside your home, noting how cold and damp his skin is as you close the front door. “Alright,” you sigh in relief now that he is safe within the comforting walls of your home. “Now, you need some dry clothes to change into since you’re absolutely drenched!” you explain with a sweet and cheery grin.

You start to walk towards the stairs, but the slight tugging on your hands stops you in your tracks. “Don’t worry,” you murmur, looking back over your shoulder at the man who not only stole your heart, but also needs your help right now. “Let me take care of you, Vergil,” you plead quietly, reassuring him with a soft squeeze of your hand. The spark of concern within his eyes recedes as he nods his head in consent.

Your lips curl into a gracious smile as you lead him up the stairs and straight towards your bedroom. You hope that he doesn’t notice the mess in his distressed state as you usher him into your adjoining bathroom. “I’m gonna scrounge up some spare clothes while you dry off,” you explain with a gentle nod of your head. “And feel free to the shower if you want,” you suggest while pointing to one corner of your bathroom. “There should be some soap and shampoo already in there.”

Vergil looks at the glass doors of your shower and back at you before rubbing the back of your hand in understanding with his thumb. You squeeze his hand one last time before backing away towards the door. “Just uh…put your wet clothes right outside the door and I’ll take care of them,” you inform while stepping out of the bathroom, trying hard to not let your mind wander into more steamy territory. “And I’ll uh…leave those spare clothes just outside the door for you, okay?”

You give one last encouraging smile before closing the bathroom door. Your mind starts to race as you rush over to the closet and start frantically searching for anything that comes close to being his size. But all you can find is an oversized T-shirt and some baggy cotton pants that you sometimes wear to bed. Hmm…they might fit, you ponder before tossing them onto your bed along with a floral satin bathrobe you spot hanging on your vanity mirror. Then, you scurry down the upstairs hall and open the door to your childhood room, remembering that you had a large quantity of flowery fabric that you once used to make some curtains.

This will do nicely if all else fails! you reckon with a crafty grin while cutting a huge section of the fabric off the spool. You fold it up nicely and head back to your bedroom to put it with the assortment of clothing by the bathroom door. A pile of soggy blue clothes is waiting right outside the door just as you requested, so you quickly drop off the dry clothes and carefully gather up his signature coat, vest, leather pants, boots, gloves…

Your eyes widen when you realize that there isn’t any underwear to be found. You look towards the bathroom door just as the shower turns on and you find yourself thinking about all the times you spent together, wondering if he had always…you can’t even finish the thought without blushing. There’s no time for dilly-dallying! you reprimanded yourself with a shake of your head before marching out of your bedroom and back downstairs to take care of Vergil’s wet clothes.

You zoom by the belated dinner that is still waiting for you on the small dining table, but you ignore it for now and open the door to the laundry room. As you place the pile of clothes on top of the dryer, you catch a whiff of what smells like the lake in your hometown: murky and a little bit musty with a hint of fresh rain. Did he go swimming in the middle of that thunderstorm? you wonder while sorting through the wet clothes. You decide to at least wash his signature coat and hang the rest up to dry since they need special treatment to get clean.

It only takes you a couple seconds to check the pockets before putting his coat into the washer with a scoop of laundry detergent. Then, you dig up a few hangers lying around before hanging up the rest of his clothes except for his boots, which go underneath your ironing board to prevent any tripping. You walk out of the laundry room and your stomach growls impatiently as you pass by your neglected dinner again…but the sudden thought of preparing a place for Vergil to sleep delays your meal for just a bit longer as you rush back upstairs.

The only other bedroom you have is your old childhood room, but it’s more of a supply closet now for various things. And your mother’s small and quaint library would work if it weren’t for all the dust plus the lack of furniture. So, that only leaves your room or the couch in your living room…you can already feel your cheeks heating up at the thought of inviting Vergil to share your bed. But your heart tells you that despite the tempting opportunity, now is not the time to pull such a risky move since it’s obvious that something is troubling him…and you’re going to help soothe his sorrowful soul.

You enter your room and notice that the shower is no longer running as you head towards the closet again. And as you walk back out with an arm full of pillows and blankets, you note that the assortment of dry clothes you left out is now gone. You hurry down the stairs and dump the pillows onto a nearby chair so that you can lay a couple of blankets out on the couch. Then, you replace all the decorative pillows with comfier ones while looking over your handy work. But when you take in the overall size of your couch, you start to wonder if his long legs will even be able to rest on the couch comfortably.

Well, it’ll have to do, you thought with a resigned sigh while turning around to check up on your devilish guest.

“Friggin’ figs!”

The sudden appearance of Vergil quietly lurking behind you makes your heart skip a beat as you jump back a little. You clutch your chest while taking a couple of deep breaths as your eyes linger up and down his form. The floral satin robe stretches taut around his shoulders, and you guess that it must’ve been too short since the flowery fabric is wrapped around his waist and hanging down below his knees. His eyes still have a gloomy spark within their icy blue depths as they stare back at you through his damp hair. And even with that pouty frown on his handsome face, he looks a lot better than when he first walked into your home a little while ago. So, you let your usual quip about wrapping a bell around his neck die of your tongue and give him a relieved smile.

“I brought out some extra pillows and blankets just in case you needed them,” you explain, gesturing behind you towards the now ready-for-bed couch. “But it might be a bit too small for you,” you tack on sheepishly, biting your lower lip in thought while Vergil takes a couple steps closer to you. “Maybe I should just sleep here while you…take…” you gradually trail off as he brings one hand around from behind his back to reveal an extraordinarily beautiful pink lotus flower. Your heart thrums like a buzzing dragonfly as you reach out to caress one of its many elegant petals.

“Is this why you were completely soaked from head to toe?” you inquire, realizing that he must have waded out into a deep pond to pick this flower of pure devotion. He remains silent as you look up at him, but the way his eyes soften for the barest of moments before slowly blinking tells you it’s part of the reason why he’s so drenched. Your lips quirk into a fond smile at the thought of your prim and proper devil trudging through mucky water for a most wondrous bloom just so he could give it to you.

“It’s getting late,” you murmur while lowering your affectionate gaze to the offered flower, taking it from his hand and holding it close to your heart. “We need to get some rest since the wedding rehearsal is tomorrow and-”

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes widen and snap back up to meet his solemn gaze. Vergil takes another step closer to you, reaching up with one hand to cup your face. You find that you cannot deny his earnest request as you lean into his touch and shiver at his warm touch as he caresses your rosy cheek. “Okay…but let me just-”

The very loud and hungry growl of your stomach abruptly ends the tender moment. Vergil furrows his brow in confusion while you softly giggle and pat your belly. “I was about to eat dinner when you arrived,” you reveal with a bashful smirk. He frowns sadly at your words and begins to move away, but you place your hand on top of his before it can leave your cheek and press a soft kiss against his wrist.

“Let me just grab my plate and bring it in here,” you continue while rubbing the back of his hand. “I can also make you something to eat too if you haven’t had dinner yet,” you kindly insist with a small smirk.

Vergil declines your offer of dinner with a shake of his head. Your lips press one last kiss against his wrist before excusing yourself with a light pat on the back of his hand. You place the precious lotus flower on the coffee table before dashing to your neglected sandwich, which is still patiently waiting along with your now lukewarm drink. But you don’t seem to notice as you pick it all up and hurry back to the living room.

You take a seat on the couch and invite Vergil to join you by patting the empty cushion beside you with a pleasant smile. The corners of his mouth twitch into a soft smile as he sits down close to you. The only sound filling the comfortable silence between you two is the light tapping of rain against the roof of your house. His stiff posture gradually unwinds as he watches you from the corner of his eye while you finally eat your dinner. You give him a veggie chip after every other bite of your sandwich, which he always accepts despite turning down your earlier offer of food.

You ask if he still needs some company before going to bed as soon as you are finished eating your dinner. He responds with the same soft request while squeezing your hand within his firm grip. His eyes track your every move as you collect the dirty dishes before standing up, never letting your hand go until you let him know that you will only be gone for a moment. “I can’t very well sleep in this dress now, can I?” you ask with a soft giggle, slightly swinging your clasped hands while gesturing towards your pink and white floral skirt.

Vergil nods his head in understanding and kisses the back of your hand before letting it go. You walk back to the kitchen to put the dirty dishes in the sink, and then you quickly make your way upstairs to get ready for bed. Some of your daydreams about giving your darling devil a place to stay after a rigorous battle with demons start running through your mind while picking out a nightgown. You also recall one particular daydream about patching up his wounds after saving you from mortal peril…which somehow leads to you writhing in pleasure beneath him…

Your cheeks feel like they are on fire by the time you finally settle on wearing a long nightgown with a white floral pattern. You get undressed and slip on the gown before letting down your hair, pushing all the salacious thoughts out of your mind with a flustered shake of your head. After taking a few more minutes to use the bathroom and brush your teeth, you head downstairs and hurry back towards the laundry room to put his signature coat into the dryer before rejoining your darling devil in the living room.

Vergil hasn’t moved an inch since you left, still sitting motionless on the couch until he hears your dainty footsteps. He raises his head up at your soft approach, and you swear his eyes seem to dimly glow as they roam up and down your shapely form. Your body shivers at his blatant gaze as you adjust some of the pillows on one end of the couch before grabbing one of the numerous blankets you brought for him. You know…it would’ve made more sense to give him one of these instead of that huge piece of fabric, you silently admit, hiding the embarrassment of making such a silly decision with a coy smile.

You sit back down on the couch and lie back against the pillows, beckoning Vergil to come join you while holding both your arms out towards him. He only hesitates for a moment before crawling over and laying his head just below your chin while you cover both of your bodies with the blanket. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You nuzzle the top of his head while your arms encircle his broad shoulders, sheathing his weary soul with the love and affection you have for him.

Both of you lie there on the couch swathed in each other’s comforting presence while the rest of the world passes by in silence. Vergil has only spoken three words since arriving at your doorstep, never revealing what exactly is wrong. But now that he’s safe within your arms, you can feel the faint trickling of tears dripping against your neck, hidden away from your view as you snuggle him closer. You do not ask why he’s crying…you know that will only thicken the prickly briars around his heart. Instead, you just let him express the inner turmoil currently raging inside him while providing a safe place for him to release all these pent-up emotions churning inside him.

The harsh downpour from earlier has now lessened to a light rainfall, barely occupying the empty air with its pitter pattering of the dissipating storm. You can still feel Vergil trying to put up a strong front despite the tears pooling in the groove between your neck and chest. Your fingers brush through his soft hair while you press a comforting kiss upon his forehead, wondering how you can possibly bring peace to his troubled mind. The only solution that pops into your head is what your grandma used to do whenever you were sad and upset: sing you to sleep with a lullaby. So, you begin to softly sing one of your favorite lullabies from your childhood, hoping that the serene lilt of your song will help soothe your darling devil’s soul:

Count to one, count to two, where do flowers grow?

Underneath the window where children softly doze

The moon shining brightly makes every petal glow

Count to three, count to four, where do flowers bloom?

Resting upon the mirror frame in mama's room,

A sweet little bud of a beautiful flower of blue

Let us count them all, let us count them all,

All the lovely flowers blooming, let us count them all!

Count to seven, count to eight, as we fall asleep

Every child is dreaming of fragrant flowers sweet

And momma makes a bouquet for you to keep

The soft cadence of your voice fills the room, banishing the gloomy air surrounding you with every refrain of your sweet lullaby. You feel all the tension slowly leave Vergil’s body until all that you’re left with is a totally relaxed devil sinking into your loving embrace. One of your hands rubs up and down his back while the other continues to rake your fingers through his hair, hoping that you lulled him to sleep while your eyes droop from your own drowsiness. You try to fight it off, wanting to be there for him just in case he needs you, but you feel yourself drifting off…clutching onto him while trying to stay grounded in the waking world…

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

You’re not aware of finally succumbing to sleep until the first ray of dawn shines through the window. You slowly open your eyes and start to wonder why you are sleeping on the couch instead of your very comfy bed…but then you feel the soft touch of familiar lips kissing your neck. The memory of Vergil showing up at your doorstep in the middle of a storm swiftly dispels your confusion. You hug the man that makes your heart sing like a songbird in the morning while his lips leave your neck to bestow a light peck on your cheek.

Vergil props himself up with one arm and brushes a few locks of your hair away from your weary face. “Good morning, my lovely rose,” he murmurs with a fond smirk.

“Mmm…good morning,” you hum, sweetly smiling back at him while looking down with a demure tilt of your head. “Feeling any better now that you’ve had some rest?” you inquire, fighting the urge to yawn while rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes,” he replies with a firm nod. “But sleep isn’t what lifted my spirits,” he admits, softly caressing your cheek as his silver blue eyes shine with admiration.

You happily beam up at him and quietly bask in this intimate moment while leaning into his touch before asking if he would like some morning tea. He gladly accepts your offer with a slight nod of his head and sits up so that you can get up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of his bare legs in all their glory before he covers them up with the blanket. The flowery fabric must’ve come loose during his sleep, you surmise, spotting the piece of fabric in question down on the floor by the couch. Warm tingles flutter around in your stomach like a swarm of butterflies as you hop off the couch and rush towards the kitchen before you make a blushing fool of yourself so early in the morning.

It takes you a few minutes to brew a couple cups of blackberry and mint tea while pushing away all the elaborate daydreams that try to occupy your thoughts. You make your way back to the living room and hand Vergil his cuppa with a kind smile before taking a seat next to him. Both of you drink your tea in comfortable silence, enjoying the sweet tartness of blackberries while the refreshing undertone of mint banishes the remnants of sleep from your mind. You peek up at him between every other sip of your tea, wondering if you should even bring up what happened to him yesterday.

You wait until he’s about done with his tea before finally broaching the subject. “Do you want to talk about what made you so upset?”

Vergil pauses at your question while setting his cup down on the coffee table. You give him a moment to recover before continuing. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” you softly reassure with a comforting pat on his arm. “And if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to-”

“You’ve already done so much for me,” he interjects, staring down at you with dejected eyes. “And it is I that should return the favor and explain myself.” He takes your partly finished tea and sets it next to his empty cup before turning his body towards you on the couch while holding both of your hands. His thumb sweeps across your knuckles as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. You cannot help but to admire his handsome face while waiting for him to speak, wondering if his unkempt hair always frames those beautifully blue eyes of his every morning.

Vergil takes a deep breath through his nose before pinning you down with his pensive gaze. “For a long time, I genuinely believed that my mother abandoned me during the attack on our childhood home. I’ve endured for years with that burdensome truth hanging over my head until…” he trails off, squeezing your hands while closing his eyes for a moment before going on. “It turns out that she did try to save me…she just didn’t make it before…” he pauses again as the trauma of his childhood breaks through his voice.

Your eyes begin welling up with unshed tears as he takes a shuddering breath, wanting to wrap your darling devil within your protective embrace. But he quickly composes himself with another calm and more even breath, and you resist the urge to pull him into a hug for now as he continues to speak. “And then there was this woman who I thought…” he bows his head and rubs the back of your hands with his thumbs as he tells you the sad ending of that romance. “She spurned me even after I confessed my desire to stay by her side.”

You hear the sharp pang of heartache in his words, which dredges up your own personal experiences with the painful sting of rejection. A single tear starts trickling down your cheek as you lean over and nuzzle up against his chest, squeezing his hands in understanding while he finishes his explanation. “I finally just resigned myself to living a life spent alone, vowing to never let anyone get too close again since all they ever bring is pain and suffering...until now.”

Vergil grasps your shoulder and gently pushes you back from his chest. “I find myself wanting to spend my every waking moment with you,” he earnestly confesses, bringing his hand below your chin and lifting your face up so that he can stare into your teary eyes. “The lovely rose who has captivated the heart and soul of this crumbling devil before you,” he adds with a sincere smile, cupping your lovely face and wiping away your warm tears with his thumb.

Your heart thrums within your chest like a hummingbird as his heartfelt confession graces your ears. You gaze up at the man who has cleared a path through his prickly briars to the heart and soul of his very being. You’ve longed to hear those words ever since that day in the book café where you finally found the courage to speak to him. It ended with you making the promise of only taking a small step among the briars and yet, here you are now…just one last step away from the alluring devil that has captured your heart and soul as well.

Vergil leans down and rests his head against your brow, still rubbing your cheek fondly while staring deeply into your hopeful eyes. You’re drawn to the flicker of conviction within the depth of his icy blue eyes, and you feel yourself being pulled in closer and closer…but the sudden flash of uncertainty gives you pause. You silently ask if this is truly what he wants with a tilt of your head. He sighs and takes both of your hands once more, closing his eyes before lifting his head to press a soft kiss between your brow.

“I have nothing to offer to you in return,” he murmurs sadly against your skin. “And I’m not worthy of your love and affection.”

Your eyes widen in astonishment as you rear your head back. “But you’ve already given me the best gift, my darling devil,” you reveal, shaking your head at his silly assumption with an amused smirk.

“Truly?” he whispers while the little crinkle between his brow that you’ve always found so endearing furrows in confusion.

“Of course!” you giggle softly, nodding your head as you lean in closer. “I’ve seen your requited love with every flower you’ve ever given me.” Your eyes glance over at the exquisite lotus flower still sitting on the coffee table near your forgotten cup of tea. “And with every soft caress upon my cheek…” You lift your arm and trace up along his elegant jaw with the back of your hand. “And with every gentle kiss pressing so sweetly…”

You lean up as far as you can without leaving your seat and press your lips just above the corner of his mouth, mimicking his previous kisses at the beach and by the camellias. All signs of lingering doubt vanish from his eyes, which only leaves a fierce flicker that sparks into unbridled desire. He leans down and wraps his arms around you while lowering his head towards your chest, pulling you closer to him until you are practically sitting in his lap. You feel his mouth moving just below your neck as he softly recites what sounds like a poem, but the intimate touch of his lips muddles your mind while his sensuous voice makes your body tremble with anticipation:

Innocent breasts, when I have looked upon them,

Would that my hands were there,

How have I craved, and dreaming thus upon them,

Love wakened from despair.

Vergil pauses and nuzzles your neck for a moment before drawing back to pull you even closer to him. You clutch the floral satin robe around his shoulders and let out a shuddering sigh as he cups your flushed cheek once more, meeting your ardent gaze while gently nestling his face closer to your own. His thumb slowly traces your gaping mouth as he continues his riveting recitation:

Beauty on lips flaming,

Roses red with her shaming,

And I with passion burning

And with my whole heart yearning

For her mouth, her mouth, her mouth,

That on her beauty I might slake my drouth.

A soft whimper creeps up your throat when the amorous poem comes to an end, but the feel of his soft lips crashing against your mouth turns the whimper into an enraptured moan. You tilt your head slightly while your arms slide up around his neck, letting him have more access to your lips as you kiss him back with wild abandon. All the pent-up tension of the last few months is finally released as both of your lips smack against each with feverous hunger. One of your hands slithers down his chest and slips beneath the satin robe before resting right over his heart. You let the rhythm of his passionate heartbeat lull you into a rapturous stupor, relishing the sight, the smell, the feel, the taste…just everything about the devil sets your heart aflame.

Vergil squeezes your hip with one hand while the other rakes through your hair, cradling your head as he swipes his tongue out against your lower lip. You part your lips and softly moan as he plunges in, showing no mercy as he explores the cavern of your mouth with his devilish tongue. His movements are a bit clumsy from lack of practice, but his enthusiasm makes up for it as he guides you to lie back on the couch, never breaking away from your lips while enclosing you beneath his body. You surge forth and entangle your tongue with his own while pulling him tighter against you, greedy for more of your darling devil’s kiss after waiting for so long. The outside world fades away and time becomes meaningless as both of your lips silently beg for more, more, more…

The unexpected chime of your doorbell rings through the room, but neither of you cease your heady kissing as it rings again…and again…until a series of very loud knocking cracks against your front door. Vergil finally breaks away from your gasping mouth with a growl, glaring towards your front door with spite in his eyes. You are about to wonder who could be visiting this early in the morning aloud when a familiar voice booms through the door:

“Hey, Buttercup! Anyone home?”

Dante gives another ring of the doorbell along with some more knocking, which only deepens the vicious scowl on his brother’s face. You sigh softly and cup his cheek before turning his harsh gaze back towards you with a tender caress of your thumb. His silvery blue eyes instantly soften as soon as they peer down at your flushed face, and he smirks with pride while bending down to kiss your reddened lips. He tries to pry your lips open once more, but you gently push him back before his tempting tongue can sweep away.

“We both know that he’s not going anywhere until we answer,” you point out while the knocking gets even louder. “Plus, it sounds like he’s about to break down my door!”

Vergil remains still as he stares down you, mulling over your reasoning as his brother’s persistence makes his brow twitch with annoyance. “Foolishness,” he growls softly before sitting up on the couch so that you can go get the door. The floral satin robe loosened up a little during your heated kiss, so you do your best to not openly stare at his chest as he wraps a blanket around his waist. You pick up the flowery fabric from the floor and cloak it over your shoulders as you scamper off towards the entryway.

You open the door just as Dante is about to bang on it again. “Well, look who’s up earlier than a morning glory!” you exclaim with a radiant smile while placing a hand on your hip.

Dante nods his head in greeting before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry for waking you up so early,” he apologizes with a sheepish grin, but you can see a glint of worry within his eyes before it quickly disappears. “But my cranky brother ran away from home and I was wonderin’ if you’ve seen him recently?” he asks while taking out a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He opens it up and shows you a poor rendition of his brother’s likeness drawn in what looks to be crayon.

“I am not some stray dog, Dante!”

You look over your shoulder at the sound of Vergil’s angry voice. He stomps across the living room towards the entryway while Dante lets out a bark of laughter at his brother’s furious remark. “Well, ya could’ve fooled…me…” he stammers, eyes growing wide with shock as Vergil appears behind you. Your head turns back and forth between them as they just stare at each other in silence, comparing Dante’s astonished grin to Vergil’s severe frown.

Your eyes glance up at Vergil as you step away from the door. “I’m gonna check to see if your clothes are dry,” you inform, gesturing towards the laundry with your head. “Just please don’t damage my front porch, okay?” you implore with a charming grin.

Vergil chortles at your humorous plea. “You have my word,” he vows with a small stoic bow before stepping out onto your porch, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Your ears pick up the distinct sound of summon swords materializing as you rush towards the laundry room. You wince at Dante’s grunts of pain echoing through the hall as you enter the kitchen. But instead of checking on his clothes, you sneak out the back door and run through your garden, not caring about the morning dew chilling your bare feet as you quickly pick the perfect flowers. Then, you hurry back inside to really check on his clothes this time; his shoes and leather pants are fairly dry while his vest remains very damp. You open the dryer and pull out his signature coat, nodding your head in approval at its crisp and clean appearance before laying it out on your ironing board.

I can’t tie flowers around the Yamato this time, but I can still surprise him in other ways! you contend while going back to the kitchen. You bind the little bouquet of flowers with some twine you cut from a spare spool before heading back to the laundry room. All the lovely memories of Vergil pulling flowers from the inside pocket of his coat plays in your mind as you hide the pretty blooms in the very same place. The front door slams shut just as you are gathering his clothes into your arms. You walk out the laundry room and meet Vergil in the hallway, exchanging a few hurried words as you lead him down the hall towards the guest bathroom.

You tidy up the living room while he changes clothes, but your thoughts are buzzing with all that has happened since late last night. The couch is still slightly warm from both of you sleeping there…and kissing there. Your lips tingle at the thought, already aching for another kiss from your darling devil. The familiar warmth of a blush dusts your cheeks as you fold the blankets and stack the pillows. As soon as the couch is all straightened out, you turn to the coffee table and reach for the teacups, but an almost fully dressed Vergil entering the living room halts your hand.

The vest must’ve been too damp for his liking, you observe with subtle gulp while your eyes appreciate the pleasant view of a disheveled devil walking towards you. The lapels of his signature coat sway with every step, revealing just enough of his bare chest for your hungry eyes. And you cannot help but to admire the alluring sway of his white hair around his gorgeous face as he pins you down with his fierce gaze. The knowing smirk curling on his lips makes you shiver with delight as he stands in front of you.

“I guess you’ve got to go now, huh?” you inquire with a doleful pout.

Vergil gives you a confirming nod. “I promised Nero that I would help him memorize his vows before rehearsal later this afternoon,” he informs while taking your hand within his gentle grasp. “Thank you for receiving me with such warm generosity despite my tardiness.” He bows his head and lifts your hand up to give the top of your knuckles a tender kiss. His adoring gaze never strays from your enamored stare as his lips linger up the back of your hand. “And thank you for the lovely flowers in my coat pocket,” he murmurs, pressing one last kiss against your hand with a smug grin.

You let out a small huff as his lips draw back from your hand. “You’re supposed to find them while walking back to the shop!” you exclaim as he reaches into his coat to reveal what you thought was a well-hidden tiny bouquet of snowdrops with a single red dahlia. “They would’ve looked prettier on the Yamato anyway,” you mutter, rolling your eyes while staring down at your feet in defeat.

“I tend to agree.”

Vergil extends his arm to the side and a sudden flash of bright blue energy surrounds his hand. Your eyes widen in surprise as the Yamato materializes out of thin air within his grasp. He hands the flowers over to you before holding the impressive sword out for you to tie the tiny bouquet to its sheath. Your face lights up and an excited giggle escapes your lips as you loosen the twine around the flowers and carefully wrap them around the Yamato. The white snowdrops add a touch of hopefulness while the single red dahlia compliments the sword’s power and strength, perfectly conveying the message you wish to send:

Never doubt my love for I’ve always been forever yours.

“There!” you exclaim as soon as you are done tying the flowers with a secure bow. “They really are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

You feel your heart bloom as you glance up to behold his besotted gaze. “Yes,” he replies while wrapping an arm around your waist. “But it’s not their beauty that captivates me, my beloved rose,” he declares before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

Your mouth instantly gives into his unyielding mouth with a soft whimper, clutching the lapels of his coat while craning your neck to meet every ravenous stroke of his tongue. This kiss is more desperate, as if he’s begging you to accept every scar upon his soul, pleading that you’ll stay beside him despite the dangers of treading through his prickly briars. And you give yourself to him openly, accepting his battered and bruised soul, vowing to love every part of him despite all the thorns that may cut you along the way. Neither of you want the kiss to end, constantly taking turns drawing back only to be drawn in again for just a little bit longer…but both of you have a busy day ahead. So, your fervid kiss eventually slows down until both of you exchange a few sweet pecks on each other’s lips.

You walk with Vergil to the entryway but stop him from opening the door, claiming that he needs to give you a farewell kiss with a cheery grin. He raises an amused brow and bends down to fulfill your request, giving you the perfect opening to rake your fingers through his hair. He hums against your lips as the soft white locks stay up in his usual slicked back style, and you happily announce that he’s now ready to face the chaos of a wedding rehearsal. He chuckles softly at your cute gesture and promises to speak more about your newfound relationship after the wedding before taking his leave.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you look through the peephole and see Dante waiting at the bottom of your driveway. Vergil walks past him and down the street, which earns an amused shrug from his brother before he chases after him. You continue to watch until both of them disappear from your view before turning around and leaning back against the door. You lift your hand and lightly touch your lips, which still tingle from your darling devil’s kiss as the significance of what just happened sinks in…and then, you let out a joyous squeal while bouncing around like a bumbling bee.

He called me his beloved rose!

This subtle change to his endearment for you may be small, but it’s enough to send your heart soaring high like a skylark. Never have you felt such sweet bliss as this…but there’s no time dawdle with an impending wedding around the corner! So, you fly up the stairs to get ready for the day busy ahead while thinking about Vergil. And as your mind wanders through many rapturous daydreams, you reflect upon a certain truth within your heart: you will gladly bear the prick of your darling devil’s pain for there will always be thorns amidst the roses.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Read on Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

The lullaby is Hanakazoe (Chise’s Lullaby). The steamy poem is from Carmina Burana (trans. by Helen Waddell). And I’d like to thank @furyeclipse and @twinkstimulator for beta reading my first attempt at angst 🌹😘🌹

Tagging: @drusoona @bettybattaglia @exsultry @thedyingmoon @veenus-ow @meowykittenn @fandomhell97 @vergilsangel @thenightgazer @cherryvane @yesno18 @diabeticsugarush @queenmuzz @mary-v-o-n @tinamalee @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @ancientwhitefire @agentdedf1sh @divinity-deos @shiranyaaww @skarlet-red-rose @lucinalu219 @superluckystar

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just-jordie-things · 4 years

Text

Love Letter - Richie Tozier

word count: 12,440 (I got really carried away) warnings: swearing request: @oceanspray5: Hi! Can you write a hc or (even better) a fic for Richie x fem!Reader (only if you want to of course) where he is deeply in love with her. She's sweet and nice but evryone says he's bad for her cuz he's a trashmouth so he would only corrupt her. Cue Richie leaving secret notes and flowers from the quarry in her locker as an outlet to try and rid himself of his heartache/feelings, not expecting anything in return, until one day she accidently finds out and it's happy ending of course. Thank you! summary: When Ben tells Richie that the best thing to help with his feelings for (y/n) is to write her a love letter, the trashmouth never expected it to turn into a full on secret admirer thing.

___

A simple note. That’s all he had to do, all he had to write. He could pour out everything he was feeling into one little letter, slip it into her locker, and get it over with.

Ben said that’s how easy it was! He’d told him that as long as he was honest, and spilled his very heart out onto the paper, then his heart wouldn’t go so crazy around her anymore. He wouldn’t feel like he was suffocating as she filled every one of his senses.

However, now that he’s looking at this letter, this heartfelt letter, and probably the most sincere thing he’s ever written, he didn’t feel all that much better.

So right away, he picked up the phone and called Ben.

“Hi, Richie-”

“Yeah hey, what the fuck is this shit?” Richie jumped right into it, before Ben could even really say hello. “You said this would help!”

“Are you talking about the letter?” Ben asked hopefully.

Richie rolled his eyes.

“No. I’m talking about fucking smoking crack- yes I’m talking about the letter. You told me that once I wrote it, it would be off my chest and I wouldn’t have to think about her anymore?”

Ben was silent on the other end for a moment, and Richie tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.

“What do you mean?” He finally asked.

“What do I- Ben!” Richie screeched into the phone, “I said that I needed to stop thinking about (y/n) all the time, because I was starting to act like an idiot in front of her, remember?”

“Right, because you’re in love with her” Ben said in agreement.

“Yeah, whatever, my point is I wrote the goddamn letter and it hasn’t helped”

“Well, what do you mean it hasn’t helped?”

“I mean I’m still fucking thinking about her!” Richie yelled again.

“Can you stop yelling? It hurts my ear,” Ben muttered. “But you're doing something wrong, writing her a little love note isn’t supposed to get rid of your own feelings”

“But that’s what I-!”

“I don’t get why you want to stop liking her, (y/n’s) awesome,” Ben cut him off. “What you should do is give her your letter”

Richie almost had a heart attack. He really thought he was going to spasm and then drop dead on his bedroom floor.

“What, the, fuck?”

“Yeah,” Ben responds, and Richie can only assume that he’s shrugging his shoulders. “After I gave Bev my poem, I felt way better! Just knowing that she know how I feel-”

“What the hell? She doesn’t even know it’s from you!” Richie shrieks.

It’s silent again.

“Sorry for yelling” Richie mumbled.

“Thanks,” Ben answers. “But you don’t have to tell her that it’s you. It still feels good to know that she knows someone really likes her. Just give her it, you’ll know what I mean”

“How do I give it to her without her knowing it was from me?”

“I dunno. Slip it in her locker?”

Richie mulls it over for a moment, thinking about how he could put a letter like this in her locker when she’s not around. He decides that no one can be around, he doesn’t want a single person on this planet to know that he’s done this. Besides Ben, he supposes.

“You sure it’ll help?”

“Yeah” Ben replies, but it’s unenthusiastic, and not convincing at all.

Richie thinks he might just have to take the chance anyways, because if he holds onto all these feelings any longer, he might just explode, and that doesn’t seem like a good idea. ___

That’s how Richie finds himself sneaking into the hall the next day at school. He’d asked to go to the bathroom in the middle of class, when he knew the halls would be empty, and it would be the prime time to put his letter in (y/n’s) locker.

His plan worked.

There was no one around, and he slipped the folded paper in between the vents of her locker.

Luckily, he met her at her locker every day after school, so he knew exactly which one was hers. And as soon as the paper disappeared and fluttered into the locker, he felt the weight lift off his shoulders.

Ben was right. This was exactly what I needed.

He lingered there at her locker for a minute, feeling more relaxed than ever. And (y/n) hadn’t even read it yet. This was going to be perfect.

Maybe she’d wonder who it was for a couple days, maybe even for a week. But eventually she’ll get over it, and Richie hoped he could get over his feelings for her too.

Then they could go back to being friends, and he wouldn’t feel so awkward all the time. Perfect. ___

“Do you know anything about this?”

Beverly turned to (y/n), blowing a rather large bubble of bubblegum as she glanced at the paper in her friend’s hands. Shrugging, she shook her head, and her bubblegum popped.

“Nope” She answered.

(y/n) let out a short sound of disappointment as she looked back at the paper. It had been stuffed haphazardly in her locker, and as soon as she’d put in the combination and opened the door, it had fluttered down to her feet.

It was exciting at first, from the moment she opened it, she hung onto every word spilled out on the page. It was definitely the grandest gesture anyone had ever done for her, not to mention the most romantic thing she’d ever read. And to know that someone had written this for her, it made her heart pound in her ears, and her whole face had turned pink.

She read it over three times, before gathering her things for her next class, and racing off. She’d hoped, she’d crossed her fingers that Beverly knew who the boy was that had forgotten to sign his name.

She even said a little prayer in hopes that it was the boy she wished.

But if Beverly didn’t know about this note, then she probably didn’t know who it was from.

“What’s wrong?” The red haired girl asked, realizing that (y/n) had deflated in her seat.

“Oh, nothing, I just…”

“You want it to be from someone, don’t you?” Beverly asked, a smirk spreading across her lips.

She’s been friends with (y/n) for years now, and knew exactly what that longing look on her face meant.

“Well, maybe,” The girl admitted softly. “But it’s just so… carefully written, you know? I just feel like… like whoever wrote it should tell me”

“It is odd that it’s not signed,”

Beverly furrowed her brows, eyes skimming over the page skeptically. Her mind drifted to the beautiful poem she’d gotten on a postcard a couple years ago, and how that hadn’t been signed either.

“That means they don’t want you to know who it’s from”

“But I’m dying to know, Bev”

“Yeah, well, unless you want to interrogate the whole school, you’ll just have to accept it”

(y/n) frowned.

“That’s horrible advice”

Beverly laughed, and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Or you could always do a little investigating. Match up the handwriting, see if there’s anyone who talks to you like that,” She suggested, gesturing to the paper. “Wanna talk after school? Maybe flip through the yearbook and look at possible candidates?”

“Sure,” (y/n) lets out a small laugh at the idea. “Making lists always helps”

Of course, Beverly knew that.

“Great, I’ll call you after I finish this essay I’ve been putting off?” The redhead asked.

(y/n) nodded in agreement, thinking this was probably the next best idea they had.

She read through the note one more time, before carefully folding it back up by it’s original creases, and tucking it carefully into her bag. Class was going to start soon, she’d have to put off her investigation for another time. ___

Richie Tozier always met (y/n) at her locker at the end of the day. Mostly because it was the only time none of their other friends could drag her away from him. They had a tendency to want to put distance between the two.

Stan and Eddie had told (y/n) time and time again that she shouldn’t get too ‘exposed’ to Richie because he was such a trashmouth. She didn’t get it, and ignored their stupid warnings anyways. She was a big girl, she could make decisions for herself.

Besides, whenever she’d get to her locker to find Richie leaning against it, her knees got weak, and her heart would soar.

“Hello, Tozier” She greeted with a wide smile, one that she didn’t even bother to try taming.

“G’afternoon, m’lady” He responds in a dumb and not too great accent, but she laughs anyways as she spins in her locker combo.

Richie’s tapping his foot, staring at her anxiously. The good feeling he’d had earlier today getting eaten up by his nerves. What if she knew?

“Hey, are you doing anything?” She asks him, glancing up at him as she puts her books away.

“Besides standing here and breathing? I guess not” He retorts.

Jesus fucking christ that was the most embarassing thing you’ve ever said, what are you? A dad? Because that was a dad joke you dumb fuck-

“I mean after school,” (y/n) giggles, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, and shutting her locker. “I want a slushie”

“And I’m the only fella in the land that you want to accompany you?” He asks.

He mentally face-palms again.

For fucks sake would you get it together?

But again, she laughs, and nods her head.

“Sure, something like that,” She tells him. “Wanna go?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely”

They walk side by side out of school and into town. Normally they’d go to the quarry together to meet the others, but pretty much everyone had something going on, and couldn’t make it.

Some of Richie’s nerves had calmed, but he still found himself tapping at his leg when it would get silent between them.

She had a way of easing his nerves, but still making his heart pound like it was trying to get out of his chest.

(y/n) looked over to him, and leaned over to bump her side against his, bringing him out of his stupor.

“You sure are quiet today, Trashmouth,” She commented. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“No, I just like hearing you run your mouth” He replied, hoping that she brushed his awkwardness as just him teasing.

She rolled her eyes back at him, but a smile curled on her lips.

“You’re funny,” She says nonchalantly. “I didn’t mean to talk so much”

“No really, you ramble a lot, it’s hilarious and adorable”

Her face got hot immediately after the word left his mouth, and so did Richie’s, but he did his best to hide it.

They get to 7-Eleven not too long after, and finally Richie seems to be his usual self.

He mixes a bunch of slushie flavors together, like an animal, and (y/n) can’t help but stick her tongue out as she watches him mix blueberry, cherry, orange, and lemon lime.

“What’s your problem?” Richie asks, adding banana slushie until it’s reached the top of his cup.

(y/n) shakes her head and scrunches up her nose in mock disgust at the action.

“How can you drink that?” She asks, filling her own cup with her usual cherry and blueberry mix. The way you were supposed to drink them.

“I like to live dangerously, toots” Richie replied with a wink that made her roll her eyes affectionately.

He brought his cup to the counter, giving the clerk the money for it and then some to cover (y/n’s). Just as she’d walked up to the register, sipping on her perfectly mixed drink, Richie was already grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the store.

“But I have to-”

“I already paid,” He told her, and cut her off just as she opened her mouth to protest. “Too late now, it’s already paid for, now come on”

She made a face, because she did not need him to do that, but it was still kind, so she thanked him quietly and followed behind him as they went outside.

They sat on the curb, setting their bookbags down and enjoying their cold drinks.

“It’s weird that we don’t hang out” (y/n) said, and Richie looked over to her, but she was staring down at her cup.

“Yeah,” He agreed. “But it’d be pretty humiliating to be murdered by Eddie, so…”

She laughs, but it’s half-hearted.

“Still…” She trails off, and dares a glance over to him. “We should just hang out anyways” Her eyes can’t meet his as she speaks, too bashful, but she waits for him to respond.

Richie gives her a wide grin, and when he chuckles, she finally looks up at him.

“How devious of you, breaking rules and shit” He says before sipping on his horrible concoction of flavors that shouldn’t taste good together.

“It’s not a rule,” She says, scolding him just a bit. “It’s just… I don’t want to upset my friends, our friends,” She says carefully, and then peeks up at him nervously. “But… you’re my friend too you know”

Somehow she did that thing again. Where his heart skyrockets, and then crashes so hard in his gut he thinks it might make him barf.

That might be his slushie talking, though.

“Yeah, I know,” Richie responds, staring downwards so he didn’t have to see her expression. “You’re my friend too”

A small smile quirks on her lips, and then she scoots closer to him, setting her drink down to grab her bag.

“As my friend, would you like to help me on a very top secret investigation?”

She wiggles her eyebrows at him excitedly before opening her backpack, and rummaging in it.

“I want to ask more questions but how can I say no to an invitation like- oh fuck”

She pulls out a folded piece of paper that Richie recognizes instantly, he almost spits out orange flavor from his nose, but he’s quick to swallow and sets his cup down.

As (y/n) excitedly hands him the opened note, he grabs at it frantically, eyes scanning over the words he thought he’d memorized. He hadn’t, apparently, because reading it now made his gut wrench and he wished he had just gotten a plain cherry slushie.

“Isn’t that fucking awesome?” (y/n) squeals, latching onto his arm with both hands, and reading along with him.

Richie’s eyes probably scanned over the paper four times before he finally reacted.

“Holy shit, toots,” He mumbled. “You’ve got someone whipped”

She blinked at him, her smile still on her face, even though with every passing second, she was confirming her worst thought.

It wasn’t Richie.

A part of her heart longed for him to say ‘to be honest… I wrote you this’. But the longer Richie stared at it, analyzing the text, the harder reality struck her. It couldn’t be him.

When he handed her the note back, she frowned for a moment, but just as quickly plastered on a smile.

“Something wrong with it?” Richie asked, a bit too impulsive, but he caught her look and freaked out at the thought that she was disappointed in it.

“No, actually, it’s entirely perfect,” She admitted softly, holding onto the edges of the paper as not to put a single crinkle in it. “But Bev says that whoever did write it, had no intention of coming forward”

“Well, yeah, isn’t that the point?” Richie asked.

“The point?” (y/n) repeated unsurely.

“Yeah, that now you know someone out there… loves you… that much”

He cringed at his words, but (y/n) stared up at him, waiting for more of an explanation.

“I don’t understand,” She told him. “If I loved someone that much… I think that it would be very difficult for me to hide that,”

She wasn’t wrong, but Richie almost shivered as a chill went down his spine.

“I mean, wouldn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t I what?” He asked, too lost in thought to focus on her words.

“Well, think of it from my perspective,” (y/n) angled her body towards his as she spoke. “If you’d gotten a note like this, wouldn’t you expect someone to come out and just- I don’t know, profess their love to you? It feels like a pretty grand gesture to me,”

Richie contemplates it for a moment. He thinks about declaring his love for her, loudly, in front of the whole school, the whole world, and just pouring his heart out in ways he couldn’t have done on paper. Telling her every beautiful thing about her that he loves, every wonderful thing that has changed his life, and his view on what it truly means to be alive-

“I’m daydreaming way too much,” (y/n) draws him back from his thoughts with a short laugh and a shake of her head. “Wow, I really thought I was in a romance novel for a second there”

She laughs again, but Richie can barely hold a smile.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” He says, picking up his slushie. “And I think it’s normal for you to want to… um… know who wrote it”

She gives him a sad sort of smile, and finally lets go of his arm so she can grab hold of her own slushie.

“I don’t think I’m gonna figure it out,” She sighs. “But if you hear anything, you’d tell me, right?”

“Absolutely,” Richie answers without hesitation, and the smile that takes over her lips is genuine this time. “Trade?” He asks, holding out his slushie for her.

Her nose crinkles again, but she curiously leans over to take a sip from his straw.

After swallowing, she smacks her lips, tasting the remnants of the strange flavor.

“Okay. It’s not that bad” She admits, and Richie beams at her victoriously before drinking from her own plain slushie.

“I knew you’d like it, toots”

They hang out on the curbside until their slushies are gone, and then Richie walks her home.

She does an odd thing as she says goodbye though, something she’s never done before anyways.

She hugs him.

It’s quick, and he doesn’t even have the time to reciprocate the action before she’s pulling away, smiling as she waves, and heads inside.

It’s simple, but he thinks about it over and over as he walks home. ___

(y/n),

I want to keep this simple, because honestly if I get too into it I think I’ll keep writing until there’s no more paper in the world. Or at least no more paper that I have.

So, I’m in love with you, take that as you will, but writing it has been surreal, let alone feeling it for the last year or so. I just wanted to let you know, because it’s been weighing on me for a while now, and I think I’m going to die soon from feeling it all the time.

And it’s not artificial either, it’s real love, and I’ve felt it long enough now to know that it's a complete and total infatuation I have for you, I’m not just romanticizing what we have. Which isn’t much to begin with. But still, I love you.

I thought you deserved to know. It doesn’t feel fair to you, for me to have this all-consuming feeling and not let you know, even though it concerns you. I think you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met, and the greatest one I ever will meet, and I think that you deserve to be loved like this, the way I love you.

Yours,

Empty.

(y/n) stared at that spot like if she waited long enough, a name would appear. Of course, after ten minutes of laying in bed and staring, nothing happened.

Besides the sudden spikes in her heartbeat of course.

But she’d figure it out eventually. Even if it took the rest of the year, hell, even if it took the rest of her life, she was committed to finding the author. ___

Richie woke up earlier than usual the next morning. Maybe because he couldn’t sleep, maybe because all he thought about was (y/n) and the fact that he’d poured his heart out to her, and she didn’t even know it.

And he was just dying to do it again.

It may have been too early to go to school, but he got himself ready and left the house anyways.

He decided that it was a good idea to collect flowers on his walk to school, stalling and plucking any of the prettiest ones he could find.

Dandelions are weeds, Richie, his mother’s voice scolded in his head, but he pushed the thought away.

By the time he made it to school, he had quite an abundance of dandelions, clovers, bluebells, and some tiny purple flower that he knew she’d think was pretty.

He was pretty proud that he was able to tie the tiny bouquet with a broken dandelion stem. And he thought that (y/n) would find it cute too. She was always picking dandelions and cattails and other strange plants from the quarry, either placing them in Bev’s hair, or fashioning them together in a crown.

Once he’d made it to the school, he had just enough time to stick the flowers carefully into the vents of (y/n’s) locker, so that they would stay in place without falling. ___

(y/n) almost squealed with delight when she’d found the gift at her locker this morning. Beverly had to remind her that it was too early in the day for such high pitched sounds.

“But they’re so cute” (y/n) murmured.

“So is this a regular thing then?” Beverly asked, drawing (y/n) out of the trance she appeared to be in while staring at the flowers. “You know, the notes and flowers and… shit”

(y/n’s) brows furrowed, but Beverly just smirked back at her.

“I hope so,” She answered. “I mean, it should be easier to figure out who it is that way, right? They’ve got to slip up at some point”

“I guess that makes sense,” Beverly shrugs. “Hey, how come you didn't call me yesterday? I thought we were gonna flip through yearbooks and list the options?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” (y/n) exclaimed. “I completely forgot, I just got caught up with…”

“With what?” Beverly asked.

(y/n) glanced around the busy halls, making sure that Stan or Eddie was nowhere around.

“Okay, don’t tell the others… but Richie and I hung out yesterday” (y/n) admitted, a bit more shy than she needed to be.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she had to bite back a grin. The action only made Bev’s smirk widen.

“Oh did you?” She mused, crossing her arms and leaning against the locker next to (y/n’s).

“Yeah,” (y/n) mumbled, almost dreamily. “We got slushies”

“Well isn’t that just romantic?”

“What? No- no it wasn’t like- no no no-”

“You’re stammering,” Beverly laughs. “Besides, I already knew you had a thing for him”

“What-!?” (y/n) hissed, but it didn’t matter, because Bev just shook her head.

“Yeah, it was pretty obvious. But anyways, how was it? Did you show him the note?”

“I did…” She said through a small huff. “ANd um, it wasn’t from him”

“Oh” Beverly said with the same disappointment.

“But that’s okay, it’s Richie, he would never do something like that,” (y/n) brushed it off with an awkward laugh. “Besides, you know how Stan and Eddie are, always trying to keep me away from him”

Beverly rolled her eyes, but she could tell that she’d hoped Richie had been behind all this, so she tried to move past the sensitive subject.

“Speaking of those idiot boys, we better get to class” ___

The next day, (y/n) found another small string of flowers tucked into the vents of her locker.

And the day after that, multiple small bouquets.

And the day after that, her locker was blanketed in dandelion and lilac heads, taped carefully to cover the whole door. She probably gawked at it for five minutes before putting in her combination as delicately as possible, not wanting to make any of the pretty decorations fall off.

“Wow,”

The voice made her jump, and she swiveled around to see Richie grinning at the current state of her locker.

“That’s… a lot” He said, it was all he could think to say.

“Yeah,” (y/n) answered bashfully, letting out a soft giggle. “Whoever did this must have come to school really early,” She mumbled, mostly to herself.

Maybe that’s how she’d get him, and it dawned on her, that it was the only possible solution.

Her eyes noticeably widened as her jaw dropped open at the realization.

“Oh my god, Richie, you’re a genius”

“Um-”

“Before school, they’ve got to do all this before school! In the morning!”

She grabs his shoulders and shakes him excitedly without thinking. The poor boy looks so confused, and worried, but he gives her the best smile he can manage. It’s not pretty.

“You want to come with me?” She asks him.

She looks so hopeful, her eyes are bright and she’s pushing her lips together to keep from smiling too wide, but Richie can tell she wants to.

Well. Fuck.

“Want to, um, what-?”

“Want to catch him with me?” She asks, trying to talk quietly, but the eagerness in her voice makes it go up a couple octaves.

He thinks she looks like a six year old on christmas morning. And how is he supposed to say no to her?

“Sure,” He says, and it takes a lot for him not to let out a sigh as he agrees. “How early though? Because I like to sleep until I absolutely have to-”

“Thank you, Richie!” (y/n’s) enthusiasm was bubbling over the top, as she practically jumped up to kiss his cheek, before grabbing her things to head off to class.

He’s stunned to frozenness, of course, by the quick action.

“I gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight to talk about the morning!” She calls after him, and waves goodbye as she makes her way down the hall.

Even when the bell rings, he’s still standing there, the spot on his face where her lips had brushed burning hot on his skin.

But the sweet moment is quickly washed away as he realizes what he just agreed to. ___

Richie isn’t surprised to hear (y/n’s) voice as soon as he picked up his phone that night. It was late, far too late for him to be up and talking on the phone, but he’d keep his voice down so his parents wouldn’t wake up.

Luckily, he had his own extension in his room.

“Alright toots, what’s your plan?” He asked, sitting back on his bed while she began her rambling.

“Okay, I’ve thought it out perfectly,” She starts, and he expected no less. “The perfect hiding spot- and stay with me here- is the girl’s bathroom across the hall from my-”

“Yeah, no,” Richie disagreed right away. “I’m not going in the girl’s bathroom, I’m not that much of a perv”

“It’s not pervy!” She argued. “No one else will be there, it’s fine. Now hush and listen,”

Richie rolls his eyes, but manages to keep quiet so she can continue explaining her plan.

“I say we hide out there for half an hour, and catch him in the act!”

The boy can’t help with wince, feeling guilty, since she won’t be catching anybody.

“Alright then,” He exhales. “You’re telling me I have to get up at 6:30?”

“No, I’m telling you we have to be there at 6:30,” She corrects him politely. “You should probably get up around-”

“Why don’t you swing by here on your way, and then we’ll just go together,” Richie suggests. “Just ring the doorbell, and I’ll wake up, and we’ll go”

“Richie, that won’t be nearly enough time-”

“Trust me toots, it’s plenty of time,” He cuts her off, and she’s quiet on the other end of the line. “Well, I best be getting to sleep since you’re getting me up so early for this scheme of yours”

“It’s not a scheme, Tozier, it’s a plan!”

“It’s a scheme”

“Plan!”

“G’night toots” Richie laughs, and he can hear her mumbling in frustration.

“Goodnight” She answers, and then hangs up the line.

Almost as soon as he puts the phone down, Richie’s confidence disappears, and anxiety strikes him again.

He really was going to kill Ben for getting him into all this. It was way out of hand.

Although he supposed he could’ve just written the note and left it… but he liked getting the flowers for her, he liked seeing her face light up in the mornings when she’d find them.

He needed a plan of his own. ___

The following morning, (y/n) had been at Richie’s door at 6:15 sharp, giving them just enough time to walk to school… and then some because she figured Richie wouldn’t be out of bed and ready to go as he thought he would be.

And he wasn’t.

He was a slow morning person too. Even just changing took him way too long. But eventually he dragged himself out of the house, his backpack barely hanging on one of his shoulders as the pair walked to school together.

“Whatcha starin’ for?” He mumbles out, before yawning.

He didn’t have to get up this early before now. (y/n) really was dedicated to this mystery.

She’d been trying not to laugh as she looked at him. His hair disheveled, he’d probably haphazardly combed through it, the curls poking every which way. He’d hardly been able to put on sweats and a tee shirt, with a jacket loosely thrown over it to keep warm. It appeared he’d started to zip it up but gave up before he even reached halfway and left the house.

Even his glasses sat crooked on his face.

“You, you dork,” (y/n) laughs, and grabs his arm to stop him for a moment. “Do you look at yourself before you leave the house?” She asks as she zips his jacket up for him, and then adjusts his glasses to fit properly over his nose.

“Sorry we don’t all wake up hours early to pick out an outfit and do our makeup” He teases back, before playfully swatting her hands off him.

(y/n) rolls her eyes.

“I picked out my clothes the night before, dummy,” She tells him, matter of factly. “And I don’t wear makeup”

Richie’s brows furrow, and his nose scrunches up.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” She laughs back at him. “Now wake up more! This morning is important”

“Right right, I’ll work on that”

But you see, Richie hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in four days now. He’d be up all night thinking about (y/n), and then get up early to enact his plan of the day for her locker. He couldn't have gotten more than six hours the past few nights.

So by the time they got to the school, he was already done for the day, and it wasn’t even 6:30 in the morning yet.

He followed sluggishly next to (y/n), who had never been more wide awake and perky in her whole life. And once they reached the girl’s bathroom, he nearly collapsed onto the tiled floor.

It was a good thing that the entrance to the bathroom itself didn’t have doors- a choice made by the principal, who thought that it would help them detect if anyone were smoking in the stalls.

(The students had long ago figured out how to crack the windows so they could just smoke out of there, but in this case, (y/n) was glad that there was an opening to the hall to spy through)

The pair sat just inside of the bathroom, across from each other. (y/n) was leaning against the space next to the entrance, where she could easily peek her head around the corner and see her flower covered locker. Richie sat against the brick panel just across from her, which acted as a barrier to see the bathroom from the outside.

It was just then that (y/n) realized how ridiculous her school’s plan to combat underage smoking really was. Especially as Richie pulled out a cigarette and lit it right then.

“Richie!” She scolded in a hiss, but he shrugged innocently.

“There’s no one else here” Was his answer, and she didn’t argue it any further.

She didn’t care much, she was far too excited about the events this morning was going to unfold. Richie, however, slumped further against the wall, about to fall asleep with his cigarette still in his mouth.

“Oh, I brought snacks,” (y/n) told him, pulling her backpack around, and opening it up to dig for what she packed. “I knew you wouldn’t eat before we left. And in every cop movie, they eat during the stakeout”

He thinks that his heart might explode, because never before had he heard the simplest of things sound so cute.

As she pulls out two jumbo oatmeal cream pies, which are the perfect substitute for breakfast, his eyes catch a small plastic bag inside her backpack.

“You kept all those?” He asks, recognizing the flowers sealed inside.

“Oh, yeah,” (y/n) answers, adjusting the small bag so the flowers wouldn’t get crushed. “I thought they were pretty” She told him, before shrugging a shoulder.

Richie watches her while she’s focused on these flowers, these weeds that he’d gotten for her. There was a small smile on her face as she examined them, even though they were dying, and there was a pile of petals at the bottom of the bag. But still she’d kept them.

“What are you gonna do when you find him, anyway?” Richie asked, and right away she put the flowers away and zipped up her backpack.

“I guess get to know him,” She answers, but she sounds unsure.

They simultaneously open their plastic wrapped breakfast cakes.

“Go on dates, I have to give him a chance, don’t I?”

“You say that like you don’t want to” Richie chuckles, eating in between puffs of a cigarette.

“I do,” She tells him, but it’s faint. “I do, it’s just… I don’t know what to expect,”

Richie only hums, because he doesn’t know what to say to her. There’s nothing he could say, or so he thinks.

“Can I be honest?”

“I’m sittin’ here either way, toots” He teases back.

“A part of me doesn’t really want to know” She admits, and takes a rather large bite of her breakfast snack.

“What? Why?” Richie asks.

“Um, well,” She sighs through a mouthful of food. “I’m nervous”

You have no idea the amount of anxiety I’ve been through this week, Richie thinks, but he nods his head in understanding.

“You don’t think it’s gonna be who you want it to?” He asks, and she chuckles humorlessly.

“I know it’s not who I want it to be,” She says, which only confuses him more. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give whoever it is a chance, it’s only fair, he’s done nothing but- but shower me in all these flowers and this declaration of love, you know?”

Richie nods, but it’s a very small movement.

He’s forgotten both his breakfast and his smoke in his hands as he stares at her, hanging onto every word she spoke.

“Yeah, I know” He agrees quietly.

(y/n’s) quiet as she continues to eat, the gears in her head turning almost as fast as her heart is beating. Richie can almost see her processing through every boy in school, and wondering if any of them could be the one.

He wondered if he crossed her mind when she went through this mental list.

“Hey,” Richie whispered, and kicked at her foot. “Someone’s coming down the hall”

Her expression changed in a split second, and she wiggled with excitement, before peeking out the doorway to see who was coming.

Richie felt his gut churning, he thought it might just be mush by the time this was over.

Her anticipation grew and grew as the footsteps got closer, and just when the person rounded the corner, all that came to mind was oh?

Bill Denbrough walked right up to her locker, slipped a piece of paper in the vents, did a scan to make sure no one was around, and then walked away.

And that was it.

She physically deflated in front of him, and he could see the disappointment coming off her in waves.

There was a furrow in her brows, and her grin fell to a slight frown. Even her eyes had a sadness and a confusion to them that Richie’s never seen before.

“Bill?” She mumbled, mostly to herself. “Bill Denbrough?”

Richie didn’t say anything, the guilt he was feeling eating at him from the inside.

(y/n’s) eyes meet his, but still, he’s silent. She takes his contorted expression as confusion and she shakes her head a bit.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” She continues to mumbles, slowly taking bites out of her oatmeal cream pie. “Bill? Bill’s my friend”

“Well- do you- do you want to go talk to him?” Richie asks, but it does nothing to ease her perplexed state.

“Um…”

It’s all she says.

She peeks around the doorway again, watching Bill as he walks down the hall, probably towards his first class. The buses would arrive in a few minutes, and classes would start not too long after.

“(y/n)?” Richie asks, starting to feel even worse. “Are you alright?”

“I- yeah” She stammers back, which proves she’s lying through her teeth.

“Are you sure?” Richie asks, and the look she gives him pretty much assures him that he’s going straight to hell when he dies.

She just looks so disappointed, lost and confused, and Richie didn’t think that unless Bowers himself had been at her locker, then she wouldn’t have been let down.

Clearly, this was worse.

All she does is nod her head, and toss the rest of her treat in the trash.

“(y/n)-”

“I’m gonna go to class,” She tells him, quiet, and shaky. “I- I’ll see you after school?”

She glances at him as she grabs her bag and waits at the doorway, and Richie nods his head back at her.

And then she takes off.

Richie wished that some greater force would just kill him now. ___

“I’ve got a question for you, Big Bill,”

Beverly sits down at the lunch table, and just from the look on her face, the boys are already nervous about how this conversation is going to end.

The redhead crosses her legs before leaning over the lunch table, staring at Bill almost threateningly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Wh-what?” The boy stuttered back helplessly.

“(y/n) told me today that her little secret admirer… was you,” She said, eyes narrowing. “But… that doesn’t make any sense”

Bill cast a quick glance to Richie, but he kept his eyes trained on his food, which he was only poking at.

“W-well, I-”

“Because,” Beverly continued to explain herself, “I know that you don’t like her, not like that, not in the way her little note says”

“B-Bev I-”

“So,” The redhead cuts him off again, “Either you thought this was a funny joke, and I’ll kick your ass. Or, someone put you up to it”

The others at the table are on the edge of their seats, eager to see what happens next.

Besides Richie, who is still moping.

Ben, however, was probably the most excited one to see where this went. Seeing as he knew that Richie was the true writer of the notes, and he’d been the one to pick the flowers. And he realized that Richie must have asked Bill to do his dirty work, to throw off (y/n). But Richie could not have anticipated this chain reaction.

(y/n) herself didn't even come to the cafeteria for lunch today. She’d made plans with a teacher for an extra credit assignment just to get out of seeing Bill. She’d told Bev about this morning, and then went on to try and find a way out of every class she had with Bill. Not because she was upset with him- she could never, Bill was one of her best friends- but because she didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was.

“I- I wasn’t tr-trying to hurt h-her,” Bill said. “I w-was just-”

“Then who is it?” Beverly asked. “Someone must have told you to do it, who?”

Richie hated that she was too smart for her own good.

“I- I can’t t-tell you,” Bill huffed. “I-I p-promised”

“Uh-huh, look, (y/n’s) my best friend, and you’re gonna have to tell me, so spit it out”

“I p-promised”

“I don’t give a shit, just spill-”

“It was me”

It only took three words for the attention of the whole table to focus on Richie. And usually when he opened his mouth, the others had a knack for completely shutting him out.

If he thought Beverly was upset before, oh boy, this was an unfiltered rage she’d just tapped into.

“What?” Her voice was low, and pissed.

“Yeah” RIchie shrugged.

“You did what?” Stan shrieked, but Richie ignored him, still staring straight at Beverly.

“Where the hell do you get off? Do you think this shit’s funny-?”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Richie said, calmly, and the red in Bev’s cheeks started to fade out. “It was real, I wrote that note for real, and I wanted to give her all the flowers and stuff”

Beverly blinked, completely baffled.

“You did what?” Stan repeated.

Richie just shrugged his shoulders, and went back to eating his lunch.

“You- but you-” Beverly shook her head, completely thrown off. “You?” Was her final question, and it wasn’t much, but it was all that she could articulate.

“Yeah. Me,” Richie responded. “You gonna go tell her now?”

Beverly shook her head, surprising him.

“Really?” He asked. “Two minutes ago you were gonna kill Bill-”

“You have to be the one to do it,” Bev told him.

Richie snorted.

“Right” He said sarcastically.

“No way” Stan interjected, but he was still being ignored.

“No, really,” Bev continued. “Right now she thinks that her friend is into her-”

“I’m her friend too” Richie said with furrowed brows.

Beverly nodded her head from side to side.

“Eh, yeah, but…” She trailed off, because she couldn’t tell Richie that she knew (y/n) liked him. “I feel like her knowing the truth is more important right now”

“Yeah, because I want to ruin the barely-friendship we have now” Richie rolls his eyes.

“Come on-”

“I’m not telling her” He deadpanned, before Beverly could try to convince him.

“Yeah, he’s not telling her” Stan chimed in, mouth full of pot pie.

“Not because of you, dingbat,” He muttered with a dirty look towards his friend. “Because I like her, and I’d like to be friends with her”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Beverly said, finally opening up her lunch bag. “I guarantee it’d be worth it if you just gave in”

Richie shook his head, and didn’t bother to argue with her anymore. He doesn’t want to have to argue something so stupid, especially when this was something unchangeable.

He was in love with a girl he knew he didn’t deserve to have, and so he’d just have to live with it. ___

As he was waiting by her locker at the end of the day, Richie wondered if he’d be able to live with this, knowing that he’s maybe ruined her whole world- or at least just her friendship with Bill.

When she finally makes her way to her locker, she seems better than this morning, and offers him a kind smile as she reaches him.

Richie grins back at her, completely out of relief.

And then he hugs her. She’s about to turn to put in her combination, and the action takes her by surprise, but she pats his back sweetly before he lets go.

“I’m really sorry about this morning,” He told her, and she tilts her head to the side a bit. “I wasn’t- I was just tired and didn’t know how to act, I’m so sorr-”

“Richie, don’t be sorry,” (y/n) cuts off his babbling. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong”

She gives him a genuine look, a kind look, convincing him that there was no need for his guilt, and still, he felt like a piece of shit.

“Well, Bill, I mean, you guys are friends, and-”

“It’s no big deal Richie, I overreacted,” (y/n) shook her head, before putting in her combination to collect her things. “I just wasn’t expecting him is all”

“Wh-who were you expecting?” Richie stammered out, and then cringed.

“I don’t know,” (y/n) hummed. “Just… not him”

She puts her books away, and gathers what she’d need to do her homework tonight, before shutting her locker and looking up at him readily.

She notices the crease between his brows, and he seems very zoned out, because he’s just standing there, instead of heading out.

“Rich?” She asks, holding onto the straps of her backpack. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sorry, yeah” He nodded, and moved out of his stiff position to walk by her side down the hall.

She kicks his foot gently, not to trip him, just to tease.

“Stop with the apologizing,” She says with a small giggle. “Hey, do you want to get slushies again?”

He looks down at her, but doesn’t really answer, just stares at her.

Her hair is in a messy bun resting at the back of her head, and more strands have fallen out than are still being held in the hair tie, but somehow it’s still perfect. It’s a very (y/n) look.

She kicks at his foot again.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good” He finally snaps himself out of his daze.

“You okay upstairs?” She asks him playfully.

“Are you asking me if I’m crazy?” Richie asks, just as they make their way out of the school, and down the front steps.

“No, never,” (y/n) laughs again. “You just seem out of it..?” She speaks like it’s a suggestion, as though she’s asking him.

“You’re right, and I completely blame you for waking me up so early”

“Blame me?” (y/n) repeats.

“Yes! You were the one that made me wake up at the crack-of-fucking-dawn!” Richie retorts, whilst giggling because he can’t help it when he’s joking with her.

Somehow when he’s cracking jokes with the others, he always laughs loudly, his friends find it annoying. But with (y/n), his boisterous laughs faded into childlike giggles.

“Well excuse me for being a romantic,” She said, playfully narrowing her eyes at him. “I thought you would understand”

Richie’s brows crinkle, and he looks down at her with an amused smile.

“Me? You thought I’d understand?”

“Yes!” She answered enthusiastically.

“And what in the fuck makes you think I’m a romantic?” Richie asked with a snort, but he was starting to blush.

“Obviously because you bothered to come with me this morning,” (y/n) answered, a bright smile on her face. “If you weren’t a romantic, then you wouldn’t have come”

“That doesn’t-”

“Awe Richie, you can admit it,”

He thinks his heart stopped in his chest, and he’s about to die.

“You wanted me to find loooove” She sing-songs the word, and it made him roll his eyes.

“Oh toots, you think far too highly of me” He tells her in his poor british accent.

“No, I don’t think so,” (y/n) shakes her head. “I just think you don’t want to admit it. You just wanna be the cool guy”

“So you think I’m romantic and cool?” He asks, and now she’s the one to roll her eyes, but it’s an affectionate action, and accompanied by a bright smile.

“Don’t be so full of yourself” She says, before sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’m just repeating your words toots,” He responds. “You flatter me”

She laughs, despite herself, and he beams back at her.

“Yeah, well, you’re also a dummy” She murmurs, but it doesn’t hinder Richie’s good mood.

He already knew that. He just sure loved hearing those other things from her.

Once at the 7-Eleven, (y/n) made her same cherry and blueberry slushie, and then raced to the counter to pay for both of their drinks while Richie was too busy with making his terrible drink.

Just as he turned to head up to the register, he found her standing there, a smirk on her face while she sipped on her drink.

“You didn’t” He groaned, but she lifted a shoulder and gave him a knowing look.

“I did” She replied with a grin, and nodded her head for him to follow her outside.

“You’re the worst” He mutters as he sits next to her.

She hums, holding her slushie between her hands and giving him a shit eating grin.

“That’s fair,” She responds, poking his arm teasingly. “And you should know that you’re also the worst”

“That’s fair,” He mimics, and taps his cup against hers.

They drink in silence for a bit, besides a few jokes from Richie here and there that he can’t help. But eventually she just has to get it off her chest.

“So, did you know?” She asks him, nervously looking over to him. “About Bill? Did he ever… say anything?”

Richie knows then that the mistake he’s made is catastrophic.

“Um, no, he didn’t” He said, which isn’t technically a lie.

But then again, if you have to argue that it’s not a lie… it definitely isn’t the right thing to say.

“Oh” She mumbles, and moves her straw around in her cup, mixing the red and blue flavors.

“He’s probably just shy,” Richie blurts out. “You know, otherwise he would’ve just handed you all that stuff”

“I suppose,” She agrees in a mumble. “It’s just odd, you know, since you’re his best friend”

“I mean, best friends don’t always share everything”

“That’s not true, there’s nothing I wouldn’t tell Bev,” (y/n) tells him sincerely. “And even when I have hid things, she’s always figured it out anyways. She’s always had a way of reading me,” She giggles softly as she reminisces on how good of a friend she has. “Don’t you tell him everything?”

“Well- kind of,” Richie’s still stammering, as a result of him bending over backwards to keep his secret. “I know that, um, well he’d do anything for me,” He says. “And I’d do the same for him too”

“That’s what best friends are, aren’t they?” (y/n) asks, looking back at him again. “Someone you can trust and put before anyone else in the world? Someone worth fighting for?”

“You’re cheesy,” Richie says with a nervous laugh.

He has to stop himself from tugging at his collar, because fuck, he felt like he might just overheat.

“But that’s a good thing!” He adds impulsively.

(y/n) smiles.

“Mostly I think they’re secret keepers” She hums.

“I can’t imagine you have that many secrets” Richie replies, and again, she smiles at him.

“You’d be surprised,” She says, so softly he thinks she’s trying to tell him one, but he doesn’t understand it. “But no, there’s not many”

“Tell me one” He says before he could think of something more suave.

She glances over at him,and one of her eyebrows quirks up in surprise.

“And what makes you think you’re so deserving of one of my secrets?”

“I just dare you to” Richie says, and a smirk tugs on his lips because he’s a piece of shit like that, but it makes (y/n) laugh.

“Well, if you dare me to, I suppose I’m obligated then, hm?”

“You absolutely are toots,” He says. “So, are you a man or mouse?”

“I’m but a humble girl,” She says in her best horrible british accent, leaning over to him dramatically.

She can’t contain her laughter, which makes it all the more adorable to him, and he gazes at her fondly while her hands pat against his arm softly.

“But if my deepest darkest secrets are the entertainment you seek, then that is the entertainment you shall receive” She continues in her accent.

Richie rubs his hands together in a maniacal fashion, and he scoots closer to her with anticipation.

A part of her is screaming to tell him how she feels, that’s probably her greatest secret after all. But she looks at him and reminds herself just why she can’t.

It was too hard just to become friends, to get past the barrier that had been (and still is) Eddie and Stan’s disapproval, so a friendship is just what she’d have to accept right now.

“Well, this isn’t exactly a secret,” She sighs, “But I guess you don’t know, it’s kind of a secret from you”

Richie’s brows furrow, but his lips turn into a smile as her hands wring together nervously.

“And what could you possibly have to hide from me, toots?” He asks, his smile still stuck on his face.

Her fingers are still fiddling as she meets his eyes, and she licks her lips before taking in a deep breath.

“Well, so, um, so you know how Stan and Eddie are always being… well, I think they’re overprotective for some odd reason, but they used to always drag me away? Whenever I was around you?”

“Yeah?” Richie asked, wondering where the hell she could be going with this.

“Yeah, well…”

“Well what?” Richie asked, dying to know. “You realized they had good reasons?”

“What? No!” (y/n) swatted at his arm. “Of course not, just the opposite, actually”

“The opposite?”

“Yes…” She responded in a huff. “They told me that they weren’t going to invite you to movie night one time, and I… maybe… yelled a little,”

Richie smirked, enjoying the image in his head of (y/n) chewing out Stan and Eddie.

“And… well, I told them that I wanted to be friends with you whether or not they were happy about it. And maybe they still like to cover my ears whenever you talk, and they still talk shit, but I- I don’t care,”

She realizes she’s rambling, and her hands are moving around rapidly in front of her, and suddenly she pauses to collect herself, before looking at him.

“Anyways, that’s why I asked you to walk me home from school” She finishes softly.

“Wait,” Richie shakes his head, and his brows furrow. “I thought you said that Bowers started following you?”

(y/n) gives him a sheepish smile, before shaking her head.

“Nope,” Her voice was barely a mumble. “I tricked you into being friends with me”

Richie let out a scoff, before his lips pulled into a wide grin, and he nudged his shoulder down against hers.

“You sly little devil,” He teased, and he couldn’t miss the blush spreading over her cheeks. “You deceived me?”

“Yep,” She shrugged. “That’s how desperate I was” She adds with a shy laugh.

His heart is soaring, and for a minute, he forgot about the mess he’d gotten himself into.

“Well you must have been lonely seeing as you were looking for my friendship” He teased, but she shook her head at him.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re one of my closest friends, I love hanging out with you,”

Oh fuck, this girl will be the death of me.

“I don’t regret any of it, not at all” She adds sweetly.

And goddamnit, the look on her face is so sincere, so kind, and if he weren’t such a fool, he probably would have kissed her right then and there.

“You are a romantic,” He tells her instead, and her small smile widens.

Richie reaches his hand out, offering to take her empty cup to throw away. She thanks him as she hands it to him, and watches him as he gets up and tosses it in the bin at the front doors.

When he comes back to her, he extends his hand again, but this time his silent offer is to help her stand. She takes it, without hesitation, and he pulls her to her feet.

“Ready to go?” He asks, letting go of her hand after lingering for just one extra second.

(y/n) nods, adjusting her backpack as she walks with him in the direction of home. She doesn’t ask him to walk her home, and he doesn’t offer, but they both know he is, because he always does.

They talk more, about anything they can think of, really. School, their friends, random rumors going around that can’t be true but sure are fascinating to talk about. They cover anything and everything- except for Bill, except for the notes and the flowers, and for the ten minutes it takes to get (y/n) home, Richie lives in a world where it doesn’t even exist.

It’s not until they reach her doorstep that he remembers. Not by choice- but he can’t help but be reminded of it every time her eyes meet his.

“As always Tozier,” (y/n) sighs, her hands latching onto his wrists as she smiles up at him, “Thank you for walking me home”

He smiles back at her, but it isn’t his typical shit eating grin. It’s small and soft, it’s loving.

“Every time, toots” He tells her sweetly.

There’s a small laugh that comes out of her in a breath, and she squeezes his wrists gently before letting go.

“See you tomorrow Rich” She says, and turns to her door.

He starts to go, but the further he gets the more of a weight he feels on his shoulders, to the point that he knows if he doesn’t turn around, he might collapse on her driveway.

So he does just that, he spins around, and walks back up to her.

“Wait, (y/n/n)?”

“Yeah?” She asks, blinking at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, which for some reason it’s taking him a moment to speak again.

“Do you want to walk to school together in the morning?”

Her head tilts just barely to the side at his odd and sudden request, but a smile blossoms on her lips, and she nods her head.

“Sure” She agrees delightedly.

“Okay,” He nods back at her, and some of his guilt washes away. “I’ll pick you up this time”

“Okay,” She repeats. “I’ll be waiting”

Again, he’s nodding, but it’s rapid and nervous and he can almost hear his own heart beating inside of his head.

“Okay, bye” He says, stepping back to leave this time.

But goddamn it he can’t do it, he can’t move, not a single muscle, he’s frozen there in front of her doorstep, nearly a statue, struck by anxiety and guilt and worst of all, love.

He can’t stop himself, the words tumble out before he even thinks about their consequences.

But this is what happens when it comes to (y/n), he can’t control his actions whatsoever. His heart takes the wheel and does whatever the fuck it wants, and it wants (y/n) more than anything in the whole fucking world.

(Richie agrees with this, but he thinks maybe if his heart could dial it back a little, then he wouldn’t be so scared all the time, like he is right now)

“It was me” His heart speaks for him, without warning, without a plan. It just wants to speak the words into existence.

Not just to his friends at the lunch table, that wasn’t enough. It needed (y/n’s) own ears to hear. Richie wanted (y/n) to hear.

“What?” She asks, turning around to face him.

Her question is genuine, she doesn’t understand what he’s referring to, but something about the look on his face, the one of sheer guilt from the short confession, tugged at her deep down. And deep down, she knew exactly what he was telling her.

She could translate what he truly meant just from the way his eyebrows creased, and how he was chewing at the inside of his cheek, and grinding his teeth.

“All of it, everything, it was all me” He went on.

“Richie, what do you…?” She starts to question him, but as she stares back at him, her words fail her, and she can only let out a soft breath.

“I just- I wanted you to know the truth, and I didn’t want to fuck up your friendship with Bill, I’m sorry for that”

“He… he wasn’t…?”

Still, she’s slowly going mute, as she drops her bag to the ground, and rummages through it for the most recent gift, the note that she’d seen Bill put into her locker.

“But I… but we… I saw…”

She knows she sounds idiotic, and she wished she’d been able to properly collect her thoughts and ask him complete questions, but she’s just so shocked.

She had been so certain that it couldn’t have been Richie.

Her hands are trembling as she opens the folded note, eyes scanning it swiftly.

“What’s it say?” Richie asks, and her eyes flicker up to his, before going back to the paper in her hands.

“It-” She starts, but her throat swells up and she chokes for a second. “It says- um,”

Her brows are furrowing, eyes trained on the few words scrawled across the whole sheet of paper. The writing is haphazard, but still, whoever had written it had done so perfectly, as it fit right in the center of the page. The longer she studied it, the more she realized it just had to have been Richie.

“It says I’m- I’m so-”

“I’m so fucking in love with you,”

Richie speaks up, and she looks up from the page, staring at him with her brows knit together, and her lips parted in shock. She’s taking in short little breaths, trying to calm her eager heart.

“That I don’t know what to do with myself” He finished, and promptly kicked his shoe against the ground.

She’s still staring at him, waiting for more of an explanation, or waiting for him to tell her he was kidding and then run off down the street.

It couldn’t have been more clear to her that he was being absolutely sincere.

“Yeah,” Richie huffs. “Um, it really was all me”

(y/n) blinks at him, before folding up the note again, and sliding it carefully back into her bag.

“Then what about this morning?” She whispered meekly. “And you looked at them all- talked about it with me like- like-”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Richie shrugged, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “That was… it was the point of it being anonymous”

“Richie…” (y/n) starts, and he braces himself, staring down at the ground, silently praying it would swallow him whole right now. “I… I really thought it wasn’t you”

His head shoots up, because that’s not what he expected.

“What?”

“I- yeah- that first, um, note, I kinda thought that maybe you’d… you know, written it,” She says softly. Her hands start to wring together again. “But from the way you’d reacted to it I just thought there was no way and… it sucked”

He shakes his head in disbelief, and the action makes her crack a smile, because he looks so confused and it’s so cute and utterly Richie.

“You- you wanted it to be me?” He asks, brows deeply furrowed as he stares at her skeptically, unsurely.

She bites down on her smile as she nods her head in confirmation.

“Yeah. Yeah of course I wanted it to be you,” She whispers. “I just really didn’t think it could have been, especially when you went on that stake out and the flowers-”

“(y/n),” He cuts her off, stepping forward until there’s the smallest amount of space between them, and she has to tilt her head back to keep their eye contact. “I have to know, do you have feelings for me too?”

His glasses are sliding down his nose as he stares down at her, the look in his eyes intense as they flicker in between hers, searching for any sign at all. He needed to know if this was the single greatest mistake of his life, and he’d live the rest of his days a lonely fool-

“Richie,” She murmurs back, a slight shake in her head as her own eyes wander the features of his face, mapping out every freckle, every dip, every crease. She’s consumed by her own love for him and he didn’t even know it yet.

She doesn’t finish her thought, because she can’t help but lean in and capture his lips. It’s a tentative kiss, because it’s new and she’s never kissed someone that she’s liked this much before.

Her hands were slow as they lifted from her sides, and pressing lightly against his shoulders.

When she pulled away, it took a second for her to process what just happened. Meanwhile Richie was staring at her intensely, trying to get a read on her.

She’s starting to smile, and finally her eyes flutter open.

And all at once, he doesn’t feel like this is such a catastrophic mistake.

His fingers reach up and brush against her jaw tenderly. Her eyes are half lidded, and trained on his lips.

“Sorry,” She mumbles. “I just wanted to-”

“I get it” Richie shakes his head, cutting her off.

His hands slid up her jaw before cupping around her cheeks, and then slammed his lips down against hers. She didn’t even have time to take in a breath before their lips connected, and she stumbled back at first but when she threw her arms around his neck she caught her balance and kissed him back passionately.

She’d never felt such a clarity though, and she thought she was going to float right off the ground.

It was like she’d been waiting for this one amazing kiss for a long time now, and it was everything she’d hoped for and more.

Richie’s fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head and pulling her impossibly closer to him, as close as he could get her without picking her up and clutching her body against his.

He was dying to do that though.

“I can’t believe it,” (y/n) mumbled in between kisses. “I love you too,” She added, her lips moving against his before attaching again, kissing him just a bit harder. “And I-”

“You do?” Richie pulled away, and his hands dropped back to cradle her face sweetly.

She beams at him, before nodding her head in a choppy fashion.

“Yeah,” She mumbled, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, before gliding down his arms. “I do”

His grin matches her own, and it's hard to bite it back so that he can kiss her again. ___

It was two weeks later when (y/n) found herself placing flowers in Richie’s curls while he was passed out.

The Loser’s Club had gone to the quarry, planning to spend the whole Saturday there. And it was the first group thing that Richie and (y/n) were officially a couple at, but they also hadn’t all hung out properly in about a month, so it was a big deal.

Mike, Stan, and Bev brought all the food and snacks they could find that would keep in coolers.

Eddie and Bill brought drinks, sodas, waters, Eddie provided juice boxes that everyone made fun of but still drank anyways.

Ben brought a bunch of blankets for everyone to sprawl out on.

That left Richie and (y/n) in charge of the alcohol for the night, which pretty much meant Richie stealing as much as he could while (y/n) kept a lookout. They had a system of bringing a bag full of empty bottles into a store, and sneaking liquor into the bathroom to transfer it into the bottles.

It was a skill they perfected on their first try. Maybe it wasn’t moral, or legal, but they were seventeen, and stealing from their parents just wouldn’t get them enough alcohol for all eight of them.

They’d spent the whole day doing whatever they wanted. Which was mostly swimming and drinking at the same time, despite Stan letting everyone know he would not help them if they drowned. But now that the sun was starting to set and everyone was dwindling down, their party turned more into a calm night.

Maybe too calm, because Richie had passed out on one of the blankets.

But he had drunk quite a lot quite fast, spent twenty minutes picking every single flower and weed-that-looked-like-a-flower in the area, proclaimed them to be beautiful but never as beautiful as his girlfriend, and then pretty much dropped dead.

(y/n) was currently using the plants he’d picked now to lay them in his hair while he slept. She laid on her stomach by his side, admiring how pretty he was as she did so.

“Are you making me a flower crown?”

Her eyes flickered down to his, not having expected him to say anything.

“I thought you were asleep?” She hummed.

“I was, but then the strangest thing happened,” Richie said, squinting up at her. “I felt this- this presence, like an angelic, godly presence. And next thing I know, there you are”

“Shut up,” (y/n) giggled, poking his cheek before rifling through her pile of flowers again. “You’re such a nerd”

“I thought you liked that” He teased.

“Of course I do,” She murmured back. “I just also think you should be reminded”

It was quiet for a moment while she focused on threading the stem of a dandelion perfectly through one of his curls. After she’d made it as structurally sound as she could, she grinned, and gave him her attention again.

“And it’s not a flower crown,” She told him as she rolled onto her back, staying right next to him. “But there are, like, a shit ton of flowers in your hair. I had to do something with all the ones you picked for me”

He could hear Stan and Eddie making fun of him, while they sat not too far away taking turns drinking juice boxes and taking shots. But it didn’t matter. They would always tease him and (y/n), it was normal, and he came to terms with that the very day that (y/n) told him she loved him too, and they started going out.

It simply didn’t matter anymore. Nothing they could say could matter.

“You want a juice box?” (y/n) asked, poking his cheek again because he had clearly zoned out. “You drank a lot and then kinda just took a nap, you need something else in your system”

He smiles at her and nods.

“Sure” He answers, and starts to get up but (y/n) gently pushes him back down.

“Don’t move, you’ll mess up your flowers” She tells him, and then gets up to get them juice boxes.

Richie’s pretty certain he’s died and somehow was lucky enough to go to heaven. He didn’t know how he pulled it off, but that made more sense than his reality.

I’m (y/n’s) boyfriend, he thinks, and then he repeats it to himself again and again.

She collapsed next to him again not a minute later, before handing him one of the juice boxes.

“Eddie’s kinda hoarding them,” She mutters, settling her head against his upper arm, which he wrapped around her to pull her closer. “But he also accidentally got drunk, again, so I just took them when he wasn’t looking”

Richie chuckles, sipping away on the cheap drink, still lost in his own hazy thoughts.

(y/n) looks up at him, noticing his quiet state, and sets her box down.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” She asked softly, gazing into his eyes lovingly.

“Take a wild fuckin’ guess sweetheart,” Richie chuckled, and (y/n) rolled her eyes affectionately. “I know, I’m a nerd”

She nods her head, and once again, pokes his cheek. But her fingertip glides over his cheekbone and then along his jaw, tracing over his skin delicately.

“Yeah, but I love you for it”

His lips turn up into a cheesy grin, and he gives her a quick kiss that makes her cheeks flush pink.

He’s had two (amazing) weeks of watching her blush like that every time he kisses her, and it’s his new favorite thing.

“Richie,” She hums. “I’m so fucking in love with you that I don’t know what to do with myself-”

“Ha ha,” Richie can’t help but roll his eyes while (y/n) giggles, thinking she’s so funny for repeating his own words back to him. “You’re gonna do that all the time now aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” She nods her head seriously. “All the time. Probably every day, hell, I’ll start calling you before I go to bed to remind you”

He finishes his juice box so that he can wrap both arms around her.

“I’d be okay with that”

“Good” She mumbles back happily.

“But you know that makes you a nerd too” He tells her.

She tilts her head back to look at him, before kissing him fully, her lips lingering against his for a second after she pulls away.

“That must be why we’re so perfect together” She says with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah yeah, you cheeseball,” Richie teases, and tugs her against him.

They lay and enjoy each other’s company, and the atmosphere of their friends.

Ben’s telling Beverly about how he helped Richie write his first note, and Mike and Bill are drunk wrestling horribly in the grass. It’s an odd mix of things to listen to while one is trying to enjoy the sunset with their significant other, but something about it still felt right.

Richie breaks the silence just as (y/n) is considering napping with him.

“You’re right”

___

taglist: @lemonypink @darling-egg @fiantomartell

a/n: this was um really fun to write even tho it took me a month lmao

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader

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