#buy me a ring that will turn my skin green so i can imagine our love is a forest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelisverba · 3 years

Text

thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

* * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n.

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

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

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

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

3K notes · View notes

iamdeku · 3 years

Text

Positions: Prohero!Deku x Reader

I’ve been working on this little drabble for a while, haha. I just wanted to write something really cute and domestic. I hope you guys like this!

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), mentions of kids/pregnancy

Dating a pro-hero could be taxing, to say the least. That was what everyone had told you when you and Izuku had first gotten together. They had warned you of the unpredictable hours, the nightmares, the trauma. They had said he would be physically unavailable at best, emotionally unavailable at worst. You had ignored all of that, though, and every day you were glad you did.

Dating Izuku had never been anything but a joy, a privilege even. He was one of the kindest souls you had ever met. His work only seemed to strengthen that side of him, accenting his willingness to help others, always with a smile on his face. He never made you feel second best to anything or anyone. In fact, you often felt like he did more for you than you did for him, which was what brought you here.

You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, spinning around your kitchen in your pretty pink over the knee socks that always made you glide across the floor, one of Izuku’s baby blue hoodies tossed over your head and falling far enough to be a dress, negating any need for pants. You had chicken katsu going on the stove, and you were making some tea to go with it. In the other room, you had made the bed with freshly washed sheets, still a little warm from the dryer, and an array of bath salts and bubble baths set up for selection.

Your entire body tenses when you hear the jangle of the keys in the lock, rising up onto your tiptoes in your excitement. You slip at least twice as you dash for the door and the man on his way through it, and you should have bit the dust once except for the arms wrapping around you now.

“Baby, you’re slipping all over the place. You know you can’t run in these.” His laughter hits your ear warm and sweet, body close from the way he’s holding you up. “What’s got you in such a hurry? We have all night.”

You pull back to look at him, smile spreading across your face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You hold his face between your hands, used to how fragile they looked compared to his broad strength. You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, where a bruise is painted, red at the center but blossoming out to a deep purple, nearly black. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to it.

“You work too hard.” You sigh, letting your eyes close and lashes flutter over his stained skin. “Do you want dinner or a bath first?”

“Whatever you want.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

You had seen this coming. You had prepared for it, in fact.

“Nope. Tonight is about you. That’s what I want, and I’m not letting you argue with me. C’mon, we should get you changed out of your costume.”

He lets you drag him back to the bedroom, hands laced together with his. Slowly, you peel him out of his hero costume, the movements routine and your hands gentle as you unveil new bruises. Most of the blood and gunk on him seems to be from other people, hopefully the villains, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you if he wants to, and he does when he sees the way you pause on a patch of his uniform stuck to his skin from dried blood.

“It was a good night,” he reassures you. “We got them, and everybody is okay.”

“Good.” You nod. “You hungry?”

He smiles down at you. You’ve gently pushed him back onto the bed now that you’ve gotten the top half of his suit off, your navy blue sheets contrasting the green of his hair as he lays back to stretch while you finish undressing him.

“Yeah. It smells good. Chicken katsu?” He leans forward, resting his cheek in his palm.

“Yeah.” You pull his boots off his feet, then shuck of the rest of the costume.

You stand up, knees flushed from the coldness of the hardwood floor, already reaching for his favorite pair of sweats and an old, soft All Might shirt. You let him dress himself as you take his costume to the laundry room, although the damage done to it is likely beyond you. Straight to support team, then.

When you turn to leave the room, his body is stretched across the doorframe, filling it up. You take a moment to let yourself be breathless at the sight of him. It’s not that you forget how beautiful he is, but more that nothing could possibly prepare you for the sight of him, especially not just casually out of nowhere like this.

“Dinner?” He asks.

“Thought you might want that before a bath.”

That was a lie. You knew he would want dinner before a bath when you heard his stomach growl about 5 minutes after he walked in the door. Not that he would admit to that, silly boy.

You move to walk past him into the kitchen, but he catches you around the waist, nose skimming across the skin of your neck as he leans forward. He looks you up and down, bright green eyes soaking you up.

“You look so pretty,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, leaning into his touch. He brushes his lips against your jaw, just beneath your ear.

“My pretty girl.” He pulls you flush against him, pushing a strand of your hair back. “Gonna drive me crazy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Oh? What am I doing?”

He plays innocent, but you see the look in his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me from taking care of you. Not going to happen, pretty boy.”

You slip out of his embrace, throwing a teasing glance his way over your shoulder as you head towards the kitchen, swaying your hips perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just think you look really good in my clothes,” he suggests, following you. “Hard to resist.”

You hum mindlessly, a grin playing on your lips as you reach up into the cabinets to pull out an All Might themed bowl for him and a more traditional choice for yourself. You put rice in both of the bowls, doubling the portions for him, and serve the chicken.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Izuku grows more serious from where he sits at your kitchen table, his chair scuffed and comfortable with age, face lit up and golden in the warmth of your kitchen.

“Well, somebody has to feed my big strong hero, and it better not be any other girl,” you respond lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t want any other girl. Not when I have the best one in the world right here.”

You can’t help but blush as you start in on the food. Deku eats like a starving man, and he has for as long as you’ve known him, except when he’s upset. It gives you almost no time to admire him as you try to keep up, but you still try to get as much of him as you can, always afraid that he’s too good to be true. Worried of the moment he’ll disappear on you.

“I can feel you watching.” He says when he’s finished.

You just roll your eyes, still eating despite your best efforts. He’s called you out on it a million times before. You stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.

You two sit in silence until you finish, but it’s comfortable, the sort of silence that settles down when one of you is tired and the other is pleasantly content, or when maybe you’re both a little bit of each. He speaks up when you take the dishes to place them in the sink.

“You know, you would make a good Mom.” His eyes are glazed over in thought, obviously somewhere else.

“You think so?” You asked quietly, frozen at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. We would have pretty babies too,” he muses.

“Yeah?” You turn around, leaning your back against the sink.

“Uh huh. Can see it now.” A distant smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. “Our little babies calling you Mommy.”

You cross the kitchen table, settling down into his lap. Your arms loop effortlessly over his broad shoulders, so used to the motion.

“Tell me about it,” you say.

“Wanna buy you a house,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck in the way he always does when he’s tired down to his bones. “And a ring. A ring as pretty as you are. I want to have so many babies with you. Have all these kids running around the house, and I want them to all look just as pretty as their Mommy.”

“That sounds perfect.” You run your fingers through his soft curls, body intertwined so closely with his you feel his lashes against your shoulder when he blinks sharply.

“Did you say something about a bath earlier, or did I imagine that?” He asks, voice confused with his exhaustion.

You giggle. “I did actually mention a bath.”

“That sounds nice.”

He stands, picking you up even now, as tired as he is.

“Izuku!” You squeal. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry princess. We’re gonna go take a bath.”

He’s all business as he carries you to the bathroom, plopping you down on the edge of the tub. You beat him to the faucet though, determined to keep your hold on the night and keep taking care of him.

“What bath salts do you want?”

He sits down on the floor beside you, back leaning against the tub and cheek pressed to your thigh as he sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whatever you use. Wanna smell like you. You smell good.”

You follow his instructions, setting the bath up with all of your favorites as he peppers the outside of your thigh with kisses. Your hands never shake, the movements practiced from all the years you’ve spent making baths for yourself and later, yourself and Izuku. When you’re finished, you both slide into the bathtub.

You take your time, washing his hair gently. You’re just as careful with the washcloth, paying attention to every part of his body, making sure not to miss a speck of blood or a smudge of dirt. You’re dedicated to your work and unconcerned with your own cleanliness, though you do briefly wash up so you don’t get the sheets dirty.

You wrap him and yourself up in towels when you get out, the darkened water swirling down your drain.

“Somebody was messy today.”

“Sorry.” Izuku blushes, knowing you’ll have to clean the tub later.

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you. You work so hard to keep people safe.”

He smiles at you, and you can see in his eyes he’s woozy from tiredness. You pull him forward into you, holding him in your arms even as you drag him back into bed with you. He manages to crawl into his sweats before crawling under the covers, and you don’t bother to do anything but pop his sweater back on.

He rolls into you, already half asleep but still wrapping you up in his arms. “I meant all of that earlier, you know?”

“Hmm?” you ask, confused.

“I really do want to have a family with you. A home.” He presses a tired kiss to your temple.

“I know. I want that too, ‘Zuku,” you mumble, his tiredness contagious.

“I love you.” He wraps you up tighter if that’s at all possible. “To the moon. And to Saturn. And Pluto.”

You giggle a little, eyelids falling closed. “Love you too. To the moon and to Saturn and to Pluto.”

#prohero!deku #deku #agedup!midoriya #deku x reader #izuku x reader #mha #izuku midoriya

820 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

summary: spencer Reid plans a surprise birthday for his best friend/love of his life, Y/N. the one hang up though is that Ian, y/n’s boyfriend does not show up.

warnings: crying, kissing, love, another taylor swift inspired fic because she’s a lyrical genius and i’m obsessed...

word count: 4315

author’s note: i was listening to the moment i knew and was thinking that it would make a good fic!

masterlist: (click <-)

The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

Spencer was completely lost looking for purple and white birthday party decorations. He’d searched at least three different stores for Y/N’s favorite shade of purple. Penelope had been helping him plan her surprise birthday party and it was Spencer’s job to get the decorations.

“Hey! Reid, look what I found,” Penelope shouted as she ran up the aisle to meet Spencer.

She was carrying what looked like colorful cardboard picture frames that had “Birthday Girl” and all sorts of Happy Birthday messages and funny sayings written on the edge.

“Don’t you think Y/N will just love these?” Garcia asked as she tossed them in the cart.

“Oh, I’m not really sure what those are but, I’m sure she’ll love it!” Spencer said.

“It’s for taking pictures,” Garcia explained. “You hold them up to your face and take cute photos”

Spencer nodded in understanding. Y/N loved to take pictures and even though Spencer would rather not be photographed, their smiling faces littered her Instagram page.

“Thanks for helping with this, Garcia. I really just want to make this special for her. Y/N is just so amazing,” Spencer stopped himself because out of the corner of his eye he noticed Penelope’s raised eyebrows. His cheeks turned slightly pink at her reaction.

“Come on, Spencer! You should just tell her that you love her,” Garcia said waving her hands in the air.

“She has a boyfriend, Garcia,” Spencer snapped.

“I know, but Spencer, who's the guy that’s planning her surprise party? Who’s the man that’s in every single selfie that she posts Instagram? Who’s the team member that she always rooms with?”

“Garcia, she’s with Ian. I’m not going to ruin our friendship by telling that I love her. She’s with Ian and I’m not a home wrecker”

“You just both deserve to be happy, Spencer. She loves you. I just know she does,” Garcia and Spencer walked over to the cashier to pay for the decoration.

“If she’s happy, then I can live with it. Even if it feels like it’s breaking me” Spencer said at the constant beeping from the register rung in his ears.

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

“JJ, is that the food?” Garica called as she walked out of the kitchen into the small living room.

“Yes, Will’s coming in with the rest of the food from the car. Any word from Spence yet on where he and the birthday girl are?” JJ said as she placed down a tray of food onto the kitchen counter top.

“Spencer mentioned that he’s going to drive her over here. He should be getting there soon. She’s got no idea!” Garcia said excitedly.

“That’s sweet. What did Ian think of that?” JJ asked with a questioning tone.

Garcia threw her a look that caused JJ to raise her eyebrows.

“Spencer and Y/N are in love with each other. She won’t do anything because she feels like she’s with the kind of person that she deserves. Y/N is stuck in a loveless relationship because Spencer doesn’t think that she loves him. They love each other, Jayge,” Garcia said.

“And you aren’t the profiler,” JJ teased.

“I spend my days and nights with you all, it’s time that I picked up on all that profiler nonsense.” Garcia said, swatting JJ on the arm playfully.

“That or my obsession with period dramas. Jayge, the pinning is so strong with those too.”

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

Spencer knocked on the door to Y/N apartment at 11:32 AM. The time was important because he calculated that it would take her 45 seconds to walk from her couch, look through the peephole, unlock the door and open the door. In those 45 seconds, it would turn 11:33 AM, which was the time that Y/N was born.

Sure enough, the door opened and Spencer was greeted by a smiling Y/N.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N. Happy Birthday!” Spencer yelled from across the doorway.

“Oh my god! Spencer, how, I can’t,” Y/N said looking quite startled.

Launching herself from the inside of her apartment, Y/N threw her arms around Spencer’s neck. He seemed to forget himself and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. Even though he was the one holding her, he never felt as safe as he did then in that moment.

“Thank you, Spencer. And you even came at the time I was born! Ah, what do I do to deserve you, Spencer. You’re-” Y/N starts.

“Hey, none of that. It’s your day. Your birthday, Y/N. Oh, I got you flowers. Um, but I think that we may have crushed them” Spencer said sheepishly.

Y/N looked at the purple and yellow flowers that Spencer held in her hand, along with a small package with purple wrapping and green ivy decorations.

“Oh, come inside, Spence and I’ll put those in water,” Y/N said, leading him in by the hand.

They walked into her kitchen and she reached to the third shelf of the cabinet and grabbed a vase. Spencer watched as she filled it with water and crushed up a baby aspirin to dissolve in the water. Y/N fluffed out the semi-crushed flowers with a small smile plastered to her face. She looked up at Spencer, who was a little embarrassed to be caught staring at her.

“I love them, Spencer. They are so beautiful,” Y/N said walking over to tug slightly on his jacket sleeve.

“I’m glad. Have you heard from your parents, or uh,” Spencer stops for a second, calculating if he should go down that road, “or Ian?”

“My mom called me, but no, I haven’t heard from Ian. He’s never been big on birthdays or holidays anyway, you know. He’s relaxed like that, I guess” Y/N reasons, more with herself than with Spencer, who just stares at her trying to figure out why in the world her boyfriend would not be here spending her birthday with her.

“Well, we have the whole day to ourselves, Y/N! We can go get brunch or take a walk in the park, anything you want to do, we’ll do it!” Spencer said, smiling at her.

“There’s any other way that I’d want to spend my birthday, than with you, Spencer.”

There it was again. A palatable tension in the air between the two of them. It wasn’t awkward, necessarily, just so apparent and thick that it could not possibly be ignored.

“I have something else for you,” Spencer started as he grabbed the package from the counter and handed it Y/N.

“Oh, Spence! You didn’t have to do that” Y/N said with an excited look on her face.

She opened the carefully wrapped package and tossed the paper on the flood with an eager grin on her face. Inside the small white box was a gold ring with intricately woven vines attached to a delicate chain link necklace. Y/N ran her fingers over the ring and necklace, almost like she couldn’t believe that it was real.

“Spence,” She started, but a small tear pooled in the corner of her eye and she tried to wipe it away with the hem of her cardigan.

“You really didn’t have to do this, I can’t even think of how you found this. It’s exactly like her’s! Oh, Spencer” Y/N said reaching forward to clasp her hands with his.

“Will you put it on for me,” She asked him, pulling her hair from her neck and moving closer to Spencer.

Spencer grabbed the necklace, a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring, and tenderly latched the clasp. She felt her heart flutter slightly with the sensation of Spencer’s warm breath against her neck. His fingers burned against her skin as he moved her hair back from her shoulder to it’s familiar spot.

Spencer was very aware of the fact that if she’d lean back, her head would rest perfectly in the cook between his chin and neck. He’d feel her soft hair under his skin and be able to hold her close and safe. She moved much sooner than he’d like and faced him once again.

Y/N closed her eyes, just taking in the quiet moment between them. Spencer wished that he could reach out and put his hand to Y/N’s cheek. Maybe she’d melt into his touch. They could play pretend that, for even a moment that they aren’t just best friends, but maybe this is her engagement ring. It’s enough for him, for now at least. They just sit in silence, but he aches to rub thumb along her knuckles. Still, neither of them need to speak, the unsaid words are poetry in itself.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is so beautiful, I can’t even imagine the trouble it might have caused you.” You're worth it, Y/N, he wants to scream. You’re so worth it.

But instead, he just settles on giving her a small smile. Spencer will forever have to contend with his silence. He’ll resign himself to standing by her side and watching as she loves another man.

“Let’s go, Y/N starving”

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

“I can’t believe I fought my wallet, Y/N! I’m so sorry that we have to go all the way back to my place,” Spencer feigned an apology and shot Y/N a side glance as he sped down the road towards his apartment.

“It’s okay, Spencer. You know that I wouldn’t mind paying for brunch, it’s not a big deal that-”

“No way, am I letting you buy brunch on your birthday, Y/N” Spencer said putting on the blinker as he pulled into his parking spot.

“Is that JJ’s car, Spence?” Y/N said as Spencer walked around to her side of the car to open the door for her.

“Yeah, her and the boys park here sometimes to go to the park down the street. Henry loves to feed the ducks,” Spencer said, not making eye contact with her.

“Look at me Spencer,” She said, reaching out to grab his sleeve. He kind of wished that her cold hand would slip into his and he’d be able to walk into her party in front of everyone she loves, holding his hand.

“Are you lying to me?” Y/N remarked playfully.

It took everything in Spencer’s being to look her straight in the eyes and tell her that he’s not lying. Especially when she’s looking in his eyes with that look on her face that just makes him want to scream that he loves her.

“Ha! Y/N, I’m completely offended that you’d suggest that I’m lying to you,” Spencer said as he walked up the stairs to his apartment.

“Hmm, I’m going to hold you to that, Mister”

“It’s Doctor for you, Y/N. Why don’t you just open the door?” Spencer said, handing her the keys to his apartment.

She gave him a suspicious look before she turned the key into the lock and stepped into Spencer’s apartment.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Penelope jumped out from her hiding spot behind Spencer’s sofa.

The rest of the guests all chorused many Happy Birthdays as Y/N looked around in shock. Derek and Emily stood up to give her a hug, as JJ and Will stood holding balloons with Henry and Michael.

“Oh my god! You guys! I can’t believe you all,” Y/N said jumping up to hug a beaming Penelope.

“It was all Spencer’s idea, Y/N” JJ mentioned giving her friend a big hug and a kiss on her cheek.

“Spence,” Y/N started as she looked up at her friend.

“You really didn’t have to do that! Thank you,” She finished almost shly.

“I wanted you to have the best birthday, Y/N. We’ve all had a rough year, you deserve it,” Spencer said to her. It was almost like they were the only two people in the room, he thinks. It’s like that a lot, whenever he’s in a room with Y/N. They can be in a pack stadium with screaming people, but the only person he’d be able to hear is her. The only person he’d want to pay attention is her.

“I know you don’t like hugs, Spence, but it’s my birthday and I don’t care!” She said launching herself into Spencer’s already open arms.

The pair hugged and Spencer forgot himself for a moment. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around the room as she laughed.

“Spencer!” She giggled. He put her down and looked at her smiling face.

“Thank you,” She said quietly, just to him.

“Of course, Y/N” He told her. Anything to make you laugh like that. Anything to allow me to hold you like that. Anything to make you happy.

He might have stared too long, because Derek camed and clapped him on the shoulder. It was a reminder that they were not the only people in the room.

“I’m going to go say hi to everyone,” she said before she left.

Spencer watched her leave and gave a longing stare in her wake. He felt Derek’s eyes on his face and couldn’t even bear to look him in the eyes. Besides Y/N, Derek knew Spencer more than most people. He’d be able to read his face, his feelings, and his love for Y/N in a moment. And that terrified Spencer.

“Penelope told me, you know.” Derek said, handing Spencer a mimosa.

“Hmm, did she know?” Spencer replied tight-lipped. He glanced over to where Y/N had walked over to, but he only saw Emily and Penelope talking with flutes in their hands.

“Also, Reid. That necklace she’s got on?” Derek questioned with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah. I got it for her. For her birthday. It’s a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring” Spencer confessed.

Derek looked at Spencer in disbelief. He was in denial. They both were.

“You got a girl who’s got a boyfriend an engagement ring for her birthday?” Derek asked factiously.

“It’s a birthday present for my friend, Morgan.” Spencer said, taking a big gulp of his mimosa. The acid from the orange juice was unusually sour down his throat.

“Friends don’t get friends engagement rings, Reid.” Derek said before he left Spencer to ponder over this predicament.

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

“Why don’t you let me or Derek call him, sweetie. I’m sure he just got stuck somewhere. Let me call him for you, please Y/N?” Penelope said calmly as she rubbed both of Y/N’s arms lovingly.

“Penny, he’s not going to come! He missed this on purpose. I’m so done with him-” Y/N said between sobs. Between the champagne and jello shots, she was not drunk but happily buzzed, that quickly turned into an emotional buzz.

“What do you want me to do, honey. Tell me and I’ll make it happen, okay. I’m so sorry, Y/N” Penelope told her, handing her a paper towel to wipe her tears.

“I just want to go home,” She cried.

“Will you get Spencer to take me home, he-” She got out before her shoulders were overtaken by sobs.

“He drove me here. And he won’t mind leaving, he hates parties. We were planning a sleepover anyway,” Y/N turning to hug Penelope.

“Hey, you don’t need that jerk anyway, Y/N,” Penelope said “I’m going to tell Spencer now, okay honey, I’ll be right back”

Y/N stared at the drink in her hand thinking about what should have happened. The pain of the moment was too pungent, so she settled on taking a swig of the rest of her drink. Those problems can wait till tomorrow, she thought.

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

“Spencer! Reid, I need you over here,” Penelope called over to Spencer, who was entertaining the boys with a magic trick, much to their enjoyment.

“It’s Y/N. She’s heartbroken that Ian never showed up” Penelope said, filling Spencer in.

“That asshole!” Spencer whisper-yelled as Garcia led him to the kitchen.

“She just wants you to take her home,” Garcia said as they made their way to where Y/N was perched on the countertop.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, he doesn’t deserve you. You know that right?” Spencer said looking at her teary face and glazed eyes. She didn’t look like herself. She looked faraway and sad; he’d do anything to make her feel better.

“I just want to go home, Spencer, please. Just take me home,” Y/N said with fresh tears falling down her cheeks.

“Come on, Y/N” He said holding her hand as they walked out the door, down the stairs and into his car.

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

Neither of them talked on the way home. Y/N looked out the window, just staring at the passerby in an almost wishlike state.

Spencer split his attention evenly to the road ahead and Y/N sitting next to him. Her head rested against the window and her feet were tucked under her legs in a crouched position. It was like she was trying to make herself look as small as she was feeling.

“We’re here, Y/N,” Spencer said softly.

“We’re home, Spence?” She asked, not even wanting to open her eyes yet.

“We’re home, Y/N.” He answered, putting a comfortable hand on her shoulder.

They walked upstairs to her apartment on the third floor just as quiet as their car ride was. She opened the door of her apartment and walked right into her bedroom.

“I’m just going to get changed, Spence” She said before shutting the door and shutting him out of her thoughts for a moment.

Not really sure what to do, Spencer sat on the couch. Was it really just a couple of hours ago that they sat here together? All of the sudden, Spencer heard what sounded like music coming from her bedroom. Spencer recognized that he wasn’t the best at modern popular culture, but Y/N choosing to play music at a time like this caught his profiler instincts.

And what’s a profiler without a genius tech expert, he thought as he dialed Garcia. Spencer placed his ear to the door and started to hear Y/N sob-ridden voice mix with an artist who he did not recognize.

“Garcia,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh Spencer! How is she doing,” Garcia asked. Spencer imagined that the whole party stood huddled in his cramped kitchen listening to every word.

“Ah, she’s singing?” Spencer said with a questioning tone.

“Oh, boy. Hold the phone so I can hear please, this is very important Reid,” Garcia ordered.

Spencer placed his flip phone so it’s speaker would pick up the sad notes echoing from the bedroom.

“Did you get that?” Spencer asked, returning the phone to his ear.

“She’s listening to her ‘cry her eyes out playlist’. This song is about a girl who’s boyfriend skipped out on her birthday party, so it’s hitting home right now, Spencer” Garcia explained.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Spencer asked.

“That’s the beauty of Taylor Swift, my dear. She’s got a song for every emotion. So maybe you can convince her to listen to her “this makes me believe in love” playlist. And maybe you can tell her how you feel, you know that you love her? That has Taylor Swift written all over it G-man,” Garcia finishes.

“We’ll see about it, Penelope,” Spencer said, trying to figure out a plan to make Y/N feel better. He hung up on his friend and put his ear back at the door.

Spencer felt a little bit uncomfortable pressing his ear up to the door. It was like he was invading a very private moment. As he strained to hear the song playing in the bedroom, Spencer’s legs were rubbed against by a fluffy orange Maine Coon.

“Hey Mabel,” He said crouching down to pet the cat. “Our girl is really sad right now. You always make her feel better though, right May?” He said. Spencer thought that he really must be losing it if he’s having a conversation with her cat.

Suddenly, the music stopped and Spencer quieted himself to be able to hear what Y/N was doing behind the door. He heard her voice, maybe she was talking to her sister or Penelope. Spencer’s heart twinged with sadness that he wasn’t the one she went to when her heart was broken.

“Hey, Ian. We need to talk,” Her voice was muffled between the door. Spencer’s breath was coming heavier with the realization that she was talking with Ian. Ian her boyfriend.

He was not able to hear the other side of the conversation, not that he really cared what Ian said to defend himself. Spencer tried to make due by listening to Y/N’s quiet voice.

“Ian, you really hurt me-” She said, her voice getting high. Spencer knew that was a sign of Y/N getting ready to cry.

“No, you are going to listen to me. Then I am going to hang up and I’m going to toss all of your shit that you leave in my apartment in the trash!” she yelled on the phone.

“You really hurt me by not coming to my party, Ian. But what I realized, sitting here, that I don’t need you anymore. I feel like I’ve given this relationship everything I had. And you don’t even give me the time of day! Spencer was here for me today. He planned this! He was the one who want to make my day special and I love-”

Spencer, who was listening intently to the conversation behind the door, ran as far away from the door as he could. He did not just hear what he did, he tried to tell himself. She does not mean it. Ian will probably call her in the morning and she’ll forgive him. There’s no way that she means that she means that. The silence coming from her bedroom is only broken by her quiet sobs. Spencer was counting the seconds before he could barge into the bedroom and tell her that everything is going to be okay. If he was more like Derek, he’d open up that door and just hold her and tell her how much he loves her. But Spencer Reid is not like Derek Morgan, much to his disappointment.

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

Y/N sat on the carpeted floor of her bedroom, mopping up her leaky eyes with an old t-shirt. The initial heartbreak from Ian not coming to her party was gone. It was a strange feeling, she almost felt light. Like breathing was a little easier or the world was a little clearer. The thing was, that if she thought about it, she really did not even miss him from her party. Spencer was the one who planned this, she thought. He was the one who gave her a thoughtful gift. He was the one she went to when she needed to go home. Spencer was the one.

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

Spencer was broken from his internal thoughts when the door cracked open. Y/N eyes were puffy and red from crying. She made a motion to Spencer to come into her bedroom with her. Y/N led him over to the balcony window seat that overlooked the city street. It was still early in the evening, so the street was busy with passerby, bikers, and shoppers.

Spencer sat down tentatively next to Y/N, who made a movement to grab his hand. She intertwined her fingers with his and Spencer could not help but think of how warm her hands were in his cold ones. Or how her light blue nail polish reflected light.

“Spencer,” She said nervously. Y/N looked up at him with a shy look on her face.

“Do you love me, Spencer,” She asked him, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Of course I love you, Y/N. I love all of you guys. Penelope, Derek, JJ, Emily-” he said, regretting his answer almost immediately due to the look on her face.

“No, Spencer. I mean do you love me?” she asked, daring to make eye contact with him.

“I have loved you for years, Y/N.” Spencer answered. He lowered his gaze, fearful that maybe she would reject him, fearful that she’d think him loving her is a ridiculous notion, fearful that she’d realize that he’d never be the one for her.

“Spencer, you mean so much to me. And I think that today-” She started, putting her hand to his cheek in an affectionate manner.

“I think that today, I learned that you are always a constant in my life, you are always the person that I want to hold me when I cry. You are always the one who I want to make laugh. Spencer you are the one for me.” She professed.

Spencer sat there looking dumbfounded. Part of him wanted to believe her, believe that she could possibly love him like he loves her.

“I love you, Spencer. More than you can ever imagine.” She told him, dancing her fingers down his incredibly sharp jaw and down his neck.

Spencer, who seemed to come back to Earth, fixed Y/N’s necklace. He looked back at her, like it was the first time that he was actually seeing her.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Spencer kissed her forehead saying “when I look at you, Y/N, I see something that I never really thought I’d ever get. I see a future, a happy one. I love you so much, Y/N and-”

Spencer’s confession was cut off suddenly by a pair of soft lips pressing up to his. His shock wore off quickly as Y/N kissed the corners of his mouth, up his cheekbones, and all the way to his eyelids. Her overzealous affection caused Spencer to belt out a high pitched laugh. Kissing her tasted like the future. And the future had never tasted so sweet.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fics #spencer x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader

316 notes · View notes

deppsessed · 4 years

Text

Good Luck Charm

Hollywood Vampire Series part I

Pairing: Johnny Depp x Reader

Summary: Your lifelong dream to meet your favourite actor, Johnny Depp has finally come true. What happens when you finally come face to face with and manage to impress him?

Feedback is much appreciated

Johnny Depp. Even thinking about his name makes my heart skip a little beat. I’ve been a fan of his for years, seen just about every single one of his movies (and know just about every word in them too). When the Hollywood Vampires had announced their latest world tour a few months back, there was no doubt about me trying to get VIP tickets, but I’d somehow managed to end up with something better. My best friend, Alex, works at the concert venue, and for my birthday, had given me an ‘access all areas’ pass for the show. Not only would I be seeing the concert, but I had full access to backstage. But the thing I was still trying to wrap my head around was the fact that I’d be meeting Johnny Depp.

I’d been thinking about it for months. What was I going to wear? What was I going to say to him? Or would I find a way to make a complete idiot of myself?

Today was going to be the day that I’d finally find out. After days of planning out my outfit, I’d decided on something a little grungy, a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a Jim Morrison t-shirt (to maybe grab Johnny’s attention), leather jacket, and a pair of Dr Martens boots. With it being a Hollywood Vampires concert, it only felt appropriate to dress up a little vampy.

“Y/N! Hey! Hi!”

It’s Alex, and she has her arms open ready to hug me.

“How do I look?” I ask once I pull back and give a little twirl to show off my outfit.

“Like you’re about to catch Johnny Depp off guard and take his breath away.”

I snorted. “Very funny.”

“Don’t act as if that wasn’t the answer that you were wanting!”

I have to hand it to her, she knows me well, but she has been my best friend since we were kids.

“I hardly slept last night thinking about it…”

Alex laughs and shakes her head. I know she’ll find it amusing and pretty typical of me.

“But now you’re here, I can give you the whole backstage tour. Come right this way.”

She ushers me towards a door with the lettering “Artists and personnel only”. After a couple of minutes of walking down one corridor, it opens up to a giant concrete looking area. I’m shown places like the wardrobe room, where all of the band's clothes are already hanging up, ready for the show later. The band's green room, where there are bottles of alcohol ready to be opened. The highlight had been seeing the rack of Johnny’s guitars and better yet, the marked out dressing rooms for the band members. The pre-show buzz was starting to take hold with people running about the place in all sorts of different directions.

By the time that we’re done, it’s time to go to meet and greet. Alex escorts me back down the long concrete corridor, to the meet and greet hall.

“Good luck! And promise you’ll tell me everything later.”

The room is already teaming with a couple of hundred fans, all waiting for Johnny, Alice and Joe to come on through. I’m not feeling nervous, but instead, excited. The room erupts into a fit of screams as the band enters the room. My eyes instantly look onto Johnny. He’s wearing one of his usual edgy Hollywood Vampires outfits with layers of jewellery. He’s even more handsome in person. It doesn’t even bother me that I’m at the back of the line, it means more time to be able to look at, and soak up the feeling of being in the same room as him. It’s endearing watching him interact with his fans because he takes his time and indulges every single one of them. I know that when he eventually gets to me, it’s going to be worth it.

Needless to say, when I’m next (and decidedly last) in line, he’s looking a little worse for wear, as if he’s between needing a good drink, a cigarette and a nap… or maybe all three at once, somehow. I hadn’t figured out what my first words to him were going to be, but I wanted to be memorable. Not just for being the last fan. But for not fitting into all the other conversations that I’ve been overhearing him having. I’m not going to be starstruck, he’s only another person.

“You know, if you want to take a moment for yourself to smoke a cigarette or have a drink, you can. I’m not going to go screaming from the rooftops about it.”

Right away, he’s raising an eyebrow at me, as if he’s uncertain by the invitation.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve got all day.”

I can see the little bit of reluctance disappear from his face, and while he doesn’t take up the offer of a drink right away, he does reach into his pocket for his rolling tobacco -- despite all of the no-smoking signs around the room, nobody is going to be telling him off.

“Do you smoke too?” He asks, offering me the packet. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders.

“I wouldn’t put that stuff into my lungs willingly.” I can see his eyebrow-raising again, he obviously isn’t going to retaliate with anything. I let him light up his cigarette and move for the next subject change. I’ve overheard people telling him how much they love the album, and the fact that they do a mixture of original stuff and covers.

“I love the album, you know, Heroes is my favourite cover because you get to sing…” What I haven’t heard once is the suggestion of other songs. “School’s Out is good, but Poison would sound amazing with you and Joe on guitar. I keep thinking how something by the Rolling Stones would sound cool too, like, ‘Paint it Black’ or ‘Sympathy for the Devil’, kind of feels like it would be Alice’s kind of aesthetic.”

I’m not sure where the apparent confidence is coming from, but I’m happy to run with it, especially when Johnny seems to be visibly impressed by it. His lips pull into a grin, clearly amused by the last part of my statement and what I’m trying to get at.

“I wouldn’t be too fooled by the gothic exterior, he’s a softie, deep down.” He pauses to take a drag on his cigarette. “I’ve always wanted to do something by The Doors… A vamped up version of Light my Fire or something.” Ah, so he has spotted the t-shirt.

“Good choice.” I’m hardly going to tell him that there are plenty other songs out there that I think they could do better, but then again, maybe he’s secretly testing me and wants me to. “Break on Through to the other side would sound even better.”

He’s impressed, the way that his eyes light up really shows it. I can see his mouth open, ready for a response for me, when one of the band's security interjects and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Johnny, I’m sorry, but we’re already running ahead of schedule here-”

He scowls, evidently irritated at the fact he’s being told to move things along.

“I’m sorry,” He pauses and pushes his hand through his hair. “But what are your plans after the show? I’d love to see you at the party and maybe buy you a drink...”

Is this a dream? I’ve got to be dreaming. This isn’t happening.

“I’d love that.” I’m trying to keep my composure and not show my excitement, or the fact I’m freaking out on the inside.

“Great -- what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

He holds his hand out to me to shake. “I’m Johnny.”

---

The music is loud, or maybe my ears are still ringing a little bit from the concert. The band had been simply incredible! I swore that Johnny had been looking right at me at a few points, and even going as far as to wink. Tonight was shaping up to be something.

Johnny had stuck to his promise and put my name on the guestlist for the show after-party. I was still trying to get my head around what was happening. I was at a Hollywood Vampires after-party, and it was everything that I had imagined it to be. The place was decked out in black and red decor, and fittingly playing old classic rock from the speakers. I feel like I’m standing out a little bit. Everyone seems to know each other one way or another and are engrossed in some kind of conversation.

“You made it,” The voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. Johnny Depp is standing right behind me. “I didn’t have any other invites,” As if I would have been anywhere else. “The show was amazing, by the way, you were great.” He’s probably had people coming up to tell him all night, but it still feels appropriate.

“How do you feel about meeting the band and then I’ll buy you that drink?” My widened eyed expression is enough for him to laugh. “I’ll introduce you, come on.”

The Hollywood Vampires are standing at the other side of the room, laughing together like a bunch of teenage boys. “Guys!” He holds his hand up to try and get their attention. “This is y/n, the girl I was telling you about from meet and greet.”

He’d been talking about me.

“And the reason that Johnny was almost late!” The band start to laugh in unison and Johnny shakes his head and lets out a defeated sigh.

“This is Tommy, Joe and I don’t think that Alice really needs an introduction...” I shake hands with them all in term, but when it comes to Alice, he’s glaring at Johnny. “Hey!” He objects and again, the band are just about on the floor laughing. Making fun of each other in turn is a thing, it seems.

“I feel like I should be offering to buy you all a drink, what an amazing show you pulled off.”

“Thank you, darlin’, really glad that you enjoyed it.” Alice replied, “But we’re buying you the drink.” We stand and talk for a little while, mainly about music, before Johnny buts into the conversation.

“Now if you guys wouldn’t mind excusing us, I do believe I promised the lady a drink.”

I can feel a blush rise into my cheeks at the realisation that he’s talking about me. “It was nice meeting you guys, good luck for the rest of the tour.” We say our pleasantries and goodbyes. The group disperses, leaving just me and Johnny standing.

“Another admittance on my part, I don’t enjoy these after-parties, they’re too loud for my taste.” He scratches the back of his neck, as if he’s a little nervous . “I know I’m being bold, but would you like to come back to the hotel with me for that drink?”

Pinch me.

Johnny Depp’s hotel suite is bigger than my entire studio apartment. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me that it’s that extravagant, but it’s straight-up like something out of Pretty Woman. It’s a little hard not to stare with your mouth open around the place. Plus the fact, I’m in his hotel room.

“Pick your poison,” He gestures towards the rooms mini-bar, “Or if none of this is suitable, I can call for room service.”

I shake my head, “A bottle of beer is fine, you don’t need to order a bottle of champagne on ice on my account.” Johnny laughs and grabs a bottle of pass over to me, which I twist the lid from and bring it up to my lips for a taste.

“You’re an easy girl to impress.”

I scoff, there are plenty out there that I’m sure would say otherwise. “Somewhat.”

He, too, grabs a bottle of beer and sits down on the bed. We start to talk, he wants to know about my life, my job, my friends... And while I’m more than certain of the fact that I’m boring the pants off of him, he’s listening as if he’s absorbing and holding onto every word.

When I tell him about my love for poetry, his eyes light up in curiosity. “Who would you say is your favourite poet?”

I want to set out and impress him, tell him the name of somebody he hasn’t heard before, but I go with my heart. “Oscar Wilde -- I know, it’s a typical answer but there’s just something about his writing which resonates with the soul.”

“I’d agree, actually-” He pauses to bring his beer bottle up to his lips. “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it’ is one that’s always stuck with me.”

“I can resist everything but temptation.” I grin at him and shrugged my shoulders, always a quote that I’ve related to.

I look back at him, to notice where his gaze is, right at my lips. Before I have a second to comprehend what’s going on, he leans forward, his lips brushing against mine. It takes me by surprise. Johnny Depp is trying to kiss me.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry. It’s just-” He starts to hastily explain. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I thought-”

He doesn’t get his last word out because I bring my lips back onto his to return the kiss. It’s soft, slow, and tender. I feel his tongue trace along my bottom lip, as if asking to deepen the kiss.

I’m kissing Johnny Depp. Johnny Depp is kissing me.

I don’t know how to comprehend it.

Or how I’m even going to begin to tell Alex when she texts me tomorrow.

#johnny depp imagine #johnny depp x reader #johnny depp fanfic

333 notes · View notes

goldenhoneypot · 4 years

Text

Harry reads Y/N a story to help her drift off to sleep.

A/N: inspired by Harry’s bedtime story with Calm.

word count: 1.9k

✨ enjoy ✨

Y/N is having trouble sleeping.

Usually, she has no issues falling under the sand man’s spell, knocking out like a light once her head touches her fluffy pillow, but she isn’t having her usual luck tonight. She’s fidgety, tossing and turning every other minute, and even huffing a bit under her breath out of frustration.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” Y/N’s boyfriend Harry murmurs sleepily next to her.

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs back, although a bit frustratedly.

“No?” He inches closer to her and secures his arm over her frame. “What’s on your mind keeping you awake?”

“Nothing,” she nibbles on her lip, “but also everything?” Harry hums to let her know he’s listening, and she can feel the vibrations from it at the nape of her neck. “I can’t explain it.”

“No, I get it — thinkin’ a’ too much, but also a’ little nothin’s?”

Y/N nods. “Yeah,” she rasps. “Guess there’s just too much on my mind right now.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows in thought. “Can I do anything to help you get to sleep faster?”

“Like what?” Y/N expects to feel Harry’s hand migrate south to her pajama bottoms, so she’s shocked when he pulls away from her. “Where’re ya goin’?” She flips over onto her other side to see Harry rustling in his bedside table drawer.

“I’m gonna read to ya,” he turns on the lamp and holds out a small book in his hand, showcasing the cover to Y/N. It’s pretty; nothing but clouds and stars. “Got this book sent to me. I’ve skimmed through a few pages — think you’ll like it. It’s called Dream With Me.”

Y/N gazes at Harry with hooded eyes, appearing extra soft with her smile accompanying it. “You could read me anything, and I’d fall asleep. I love your voice.”

Harry smiles back as he moves closer to her, although sitting with his back against the headboard. “C’mere, baby.” He spreads his legs and taps the cream colored sheet in the gap he’s created. Y/N takes the hint and situates herself between his thighs, her back to his chest, and already feeling content. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” she hums her assent, lulling her head back against his collarbone, and crossing her arms. “Read to me, please.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Harry begins reading.

“Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep?”

“I would if I could get to sleep-”

“Oh, hush.” Harry chuckles into her hair. “Let me read to you.”

Y/N nods with a playful smirk.

“Where you go and what you feel. The places that you seek. When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book-”

“Like the one you’re reading me.”

“I said quiet.” Harry covers Y/N’s mouth, but only for a moment before she’s giggling into his palm and shoving him away by his wrist.

“We’re heading somewhere special, beyond the world of consciousness, to places more celestial.”

“That’s so beautiful,” Y/N comments softly. “This author really knows what they’re doing.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “Yeah. Now, can I continue?” Y/N nods, feeling a bit tired.

“Think about the things you cherish most, and those you love.”

Y/N squishes Harry’s forearms, sinking deeper into his body. He rewards her with a kiss beneath her ear, making her release a small noise in approval.

“Keep goin’,” she demands with a kind voice.

“A gentle scent of cedar wood is floating on the breeze; a gift from Mother Nature, and her nearby cedar trees.”

“That reminds me of when we spent a weekend at that cottage. Just you and me surrounded by nature for two days. That was nice, wasn’t it?” She cranes her neck to look at Harry, who’s smiling ear-to-ear.

“It was really nice. We should do it again, yes?”

Y/N nods happily. “Keep reading.”

Harry chuckles, finding it funny that she keeps interrupting him yet ordering him to continue reading, all at the same time.

“Picture this: a rich, green forest, damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air, as we explore, just me and you.” Y/N begins to feel incredibly at peace, her eyes growing heavy with each passing second, but opening them when Harry nears the end of the paragraph he’s reading, “... with the babbling of a stream.”

“Remember when we found that stream behind the cottage? We had gone on a walk early that Sunday morning, holding hands,” she slinks her fingers between his that aren’t holding the book. “And then we came across the stream. It was like we were meant to find it, no?”

“Mhm,” Harry mumbles into her hair. “And then we went skinny dipping in it.”

Y/N giggles, causing Harry’s chest to rumble. “Keep reading.”

“The dew drops... forming satin beads occasionally kiss our cheeks.” Leaning his head to the left, Harry presses a kiss to Y/N’s cheek, reveling when she mewls at the contact and grips his jaw to kiss him on the lips in return. “Small pleasures, quenching needs,” he whispers against her lips. Although in a cozy, sleepy atmosphere, Harry’s cock gives a small lurch in his sweatpants when he sees Y/N’s thighs quake slightly. He wants to run his hands along her lower half, hear her moan that she wants more, and get her off with his fingers as she’s sat between his legs — because he knows that’ll put her to sleep — but he’s enjoying the closeness and softness of the moment too much right now to change gears.

He saves his naughty thoughts for the morning.

He reads on, getting farther into the calming book, and notices that Y/N’s body sinks more and more against his with each paragraph he reads.

“And time begins to fade and blur,” Harry’s breath fans across Y/N’s bare shoulder, as he pulls the fabric down to press delicate kisses to her skin, “beneath the moon’s pale glow.”

“I love the moon,” Y/N says abruptly. “She’s so pretty.”

“She?” Harry asks amusingly.

“Yuh-huh. The moon’s a woman.”

Harry laughs humorously. “Oh, really? And how’d I not know this?”

Y/N juts him with her elbow. “Keep reading.”

“Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall.” Harry hears Y/N let out a soft noise in disapproval, knowing she doesn’t like getting wet from the rain.

She must be taking this book pretty seriously, Harry thinks.

“It’s okay, bunny. It’s just a light sprinkle,” he assures her.

“‘Kay.”

“Its gentle pitter-patter holds us deep within its thrall... peaceful and benevolent: a gift from moonlit skies.”

“I like that,” Y/N comments, although her voice is incredibly quiet, almost a whisper. Harry knows she’s getting sleepier as he reads on, which he finds pride in that his solution to help her get a good night’s rest is working.

He continues. “Though, now the time has come, to leave this dreamy, moonlit town.”

“Nooo, I like it here.” Y/N drawls on with a pout to her lip, although her eyes remain closed. She was following along as Harry read, though, but she just doesn’t have the energy to anymore. She feels as if she could drift off to sleep any second.

“S’okay, bunny. We’re gonna go somewhere else you’ll like.” He plays into the dream universe he’s created for her.

“Now we’re lounging by a lake, while crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake.”

“Mhm,” Y/N agrees through a hum.

He reads through a few more lines, until reaching a new setting.

“Somehow, now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view, as the fire crackles in the corner,” Harry ducks his head to speak at the shell of Y/N’s ear, “just for me... and you.”

“I love you,” Y/N murmurs sleepily yet happily.

Harry chuckles, feeling a blush etch onto his cheeks. “I love you, too. A whole lot.”

“Where’re ya takin’ me now?”

Harry smiles at her eagerness, though encased in a lethargic voice.

“An island. Does that sound nice?”

Y/N nods.

“Eventually, we feel the powdery sand right beneath our feet. The sun above, now blessing us, with gentle, soothing heat.”

Harry expects Y/N to make a sound of approval, knowing she loves the beach and spending time in the sun. His expectation rings true as she turns on her side and brings her knees to her chest, still between Harry’s spread thighs. He caresses her hair as he continues leading her through her sleep journey.

“We dig our toes in cool, wet sand, then sit and face the sea; and let the sound wash over us — just you and me.”

Plucking random strands of hair out of the way, he isn’t shocked when he’s greeted with her closed eyes, and her lips slightly parted as she begins to take the breaths that will lead her into her nightly slumber.

He tucks her hair behind her ear and traces her cheek with the pad of his index before continuing.

“Birds and bees and rustling trees,” he pauses to recall a time he set up a picnic in their back garden, which went from feeding her grapes to thrusting his hips inside her as they laid underneath a tree.

“As we roam... a farmhouse sits alone; its open shutters pressed against old walls of stone.”

Harry’s mind begins to wander, conjuring up the idea of buying an old house with a few acres of land and surprising Y/N with it, wondering what her reaction would be. He’s sure she would love it, jumping into his arms for a kiss before more or less sprinting up the steps of the porch and opening the front door to the rest of their lives. He imagines giving the old walls a new coat of paint, Y/N being silly and rolling the large paint brush onto his torso, making a mess. He surely wouldn’t mind and would engulf her in a hug, thereafter, now the both of them covered in whatever color paint they had chosen at the store to look at every day in their new home. Harry feels a warmth spread through his chest, originating in his heart, and migrate to areas all around his body.

He knows he’s going to marry this girl one day.

He continues on, reading her the last paragraphs of the book.

“Gravity caresses us,” Harry brings his hand down from her face to her torso, giving her a slight tug toward his body, “and pulls you close to me. Friendly faces, glorious places, things we hope to do.”

Marry you, Harry thinks as he massages his thumb into Y/N’s bare hip from where her shirt rose up a bit when she changed positions.

The soft sound of Harry turning the last page fills the room.

“For now, we dream together, for all that is to follow; and know that sleep will keep us safe, for now, until tomorrow.”

A soft snore reverberates against Harry’s forearm, coming from Y/N’s parted lips, and he gently cradles the back of her head as he lowers both of them down the bed, so he can be somewhat lying down.

Now, it’s Harry’s turn to have his mind wander, as his sleeping beauty rests peacefully in his arms, creating images in his mind of what their wedding will look like, and he’s never been happier to let his mind ruin a good night’s sleep.

#harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles calm #harry styles drabble #harry styles #harry styles fluff

741 notes · View notes

twinkleallnight · 3 years

Text

A Twisted Tale

Chapter 1

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Word count: 1787

Characters: Liam, Leo, Riley.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Mature

Warning: None.

A/N: An AU of The Royal Romance paving its way through mixed emotions of wants, needs and desires, of revenge and regrets, of trust, faith and hope.

A joint venture brought to you with love by @annekebbphotography and @twinkleallnight .

Liam’s POV

It is one of those days again. I have to attend a UN function and I am not looking forward to it. There’s more than one reason, one is that none of my friends have joined me for this function, and the other reason is that the girl I am pinning for doesn’t want anything to do with me. How in the world will I win her over? I have tried everything, but I am almost sure she sees me as my father.

I look myself over in the floor length mirror, I look the same as always, the regal king. Did I want to be king? No, but when my father died unexpectedly and my brother took off, I had no choice but to take over. That is when things changed for me and now, I am fighting an inner battle with myself.

After a short drive, I walk into the hotel where the UN function was being held. Like always everything is posh and regal. What I wouldn’t give for something to be a little different. I scan the room and my eyes land on a petite brunette. She has a pink floor length dress on, it hugs her curves perfectly. My feet follow their own path as they walk over to her. She isn’t like everyone else, she’s open and her smile is divine.

I freeze as my heart stops when she laughs. Why am I feeling like this when I am in love with someone else? Maybe it’s just because I am feeling lonely.

She turns around and locks eyes with me and I swear I feel my heart skip a beat. She’s got the most dazzling blue eyes, but it doesn’t compare to the eyes that haunt my dreams. What I wouldn’t give to be with my love right now.

“Hi, I’m Riley Brooks.” She holds her hand out to me to shake. I take her small hand in mine and smile at her.

“Liam Rys.”

Her eyes go wide and she drops in a curtsy. Her cheeks have a faint pink tint to them.

“No formalities please. It’s just us.” I give her a reassuring smile.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She says relieved.

There was something about her that made me want to get to know her better, not romantically, but as friends. She makes me feel at ease.

A song comes up and I give her a wicked grin as she shakes her head from side to side. “Would you like to dance?” I hold my hand out to her as everyone else watches us.

“I would love to dance.” She says through gritted teeth and takes my hand. I lead her to the dance floor and pull her closer to me.

We move together perfectly, she leans in. “I am so going to get you for this.” She whispers, and for some reason that statement excites me.

“Do your worst.” I twirl her out and pull her back to me. She laughs as we move around the dance floor perfectly.

After the song ends, we walk off the dance floor and towards the bar.

“You are not what I expected. When they told me that a king was going to be here, I thought he was going to be old and uptight. I am happy it’s you though.” She glances at me to see my expression. All I could do was smile at her.

We order our drinks and take a seat at one of the tables. We talk about everything and anything.

I learned that she has a political degree and has applied for a PA position in Europe. I also learn that it is just her, no family and that she hopes to find that special someone one day. She is the fresh air that I need in my life.

I look at my watch and see that It’s almost time for me to meet Leo, but I don’t want to say goodbye to Riley just yet.

“What would you say if I offered you an PA position at the palace?” I ask without hesitation. I need a personal assistant and with what I see and heard, she will be perfect for the position.

“Are you being serious right now?” She basically jumps up and down in her seat.

“Yes… I want you to be my personal assistant. You will have to come back to Cordonia with me tomorrow.” I raise my brow and wait for her to explode with excitement.

“I would love to. Where should I meet you and what time?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement and I can’t help but get lost in them.

“Meet me at the airport at 8am. The flight leaves at 8:30. Please don’t be late.” I look at my watch again and know that I have to leave right now.

“I will be there.” She smiles as I get up.

“I have to go. I will see you tomorrow.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. It doesn’t feel the same as when I kiss HER. The one that has had my heart for so many years. I need to speak to Leo, he would be able to help me get my mind right.

I give Riley one more wave before I walk out of the room heading to where I have to meet Leo.

*******************

I walk into a dimly lit bar and see my elder brother sitting at the bar. He looks happy and relaxed.

“Sorry, I’m late…” I apologise.

Leo smirks at me. “Your majesty!” He curtsies teasing me.

“Always the funny one. How have you been brother?”

I take a seat next to him as he pushes a glass of whiskey over to me. I need this so badly. I have two pairs of eyes haunting me right now.

“ Never felt better.” Maybe he is trying to express his new found freedom after abdication.

“Are you alright little brother? You seem delusional.”

I have as I take a sip of whiskey letting it burn my throat as it goes down.

He continues prodding. “Are the kingly affairs burdening you or the extra affection for the king from the fairer sex exhausting you?”

“I…. I’m confused….” Leo raises his brow at me motioning for me to continue talking. “I’m in love with someone but she hates me or should I say our family. Or that’s what I gathered. And then tonight I met a girl with the most dazzling blue eyes and the sweetest personality. But she’s just not Her….” Leo nods in understanding.

“Green versus blue or green versus brown.. maybe we Rhys men are always in a dilemma to choose.”

I know he is comparing my situation with his own. Referring to Madeleine’s green and Kate’s brown.

“It’s not for me choosing. I know who I want, she just doesn’t want me. To make it worse I am taking the girl I met, back to Cordonia with me.

“Woah! You mean you have your baklava in the freezer back at home and you are buying cronuts to take home?”

I spit the whiskey I had just taken a sip of, out and cough. “What…. No not at all. She will be my new assistant.”

Leo sits there unaffected just smiling at my state. “The assistant, like the billionaire’s assistant from the romantic books?” He nudges.

“Nooo, it will strictly be professional….” I get half a smile as I take a small sip again. “And maybe a bit to make someone jealous.” I know I am all confident with Leo,but let’s face it I will never do anything more than just attend functions with her.

“All work and no play makes the king a dull boy”. Leo tries to push in his playboy streak.

“I will have you known that I am not dull at all. I have my fun.” I say a matter of a fact.

Leo’s eyes widen to take in the new image of his younger brother displayed in front of him.

“Close your mouth big brother, you will catch a fly.” It’s my turn to tease.

Leo’s open mouth turns into a wide grin. “I will make sure to follow ‘The Trend’ to read about your adventures. Make the Rhys blood proud, baby brother!” He raises his glass in a toast. “So what advice are you looking for Li?”

I consider him for a moment. What did I want from him?

“How do I make Her fall in love with me? How do I make her see I am more than just a Rhys.”

“You have been drooling over that girl since you grew balls. Had it been me, by now I would have given her the magic of my physical therapy. That always works for me.”

I wince at the imagination of my brother in action. Before Leo can give more varied ideas I raise my hand. “ I think that’s enough food for thought.”

Leo shrugs, “ As you wish. I would still say, be bold and try taking some risk. What fun life is without a bit of adrenaline rush?”

I nod and ask for the bill.

On that note, I bid Leo farewell and get back to my hotel to prepare for the journey back home.

********

I wake up with a heavy headache the next morning. Why can’t I get the two ladies out of my head. It is like they are playing ping pong in my mind. ‘I need to get back home. I need to make Her see that I care about her. I need her to see that I am not like my father.’ I get ready with that thought.

*************

I have been waiting for Riley at the tarmac. She messaged that she was running late. I think of calling Her in the meantime. I heard the phone ringing and it dragged me into her thoughts.

She must be sitting at her tea table at this hour. Her slender manicured fingers playing at the rim of the cup making circles. Her pink lips touching the porcelain softly, sipping the hot beverage. The skin on her throat would be moving slowly, warming up as she would swallow her drink. I have imagined my fingers over her silk smooth neck, many times. Her sharp voice pulls me back from my day dream. “Hello” At the same time when Riley calls, “Hey Liam. Sorry I got late.”

I signal Riley to hold on for a minute.

“Good evening to you, Olivia .”

Olivia snaps, “You are with someone? And calling me?” She abruptly hangs up with that.

My head is hung low. Riley looks at me questioning.

All I can utter is, “Bad timing!”

∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆|∆

Tags : @ao719 @anjanettexcordonia @bebepac @charlotteg234 @choicesficwriterscreations @cordonia-gothqueen @drakewalker04 @eadanga @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @krsnlove @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @idontknowwhysblog @jessiembruno @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @khoicesbyk @shewillreadyou @lisha1valecha @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @princessleac1 @ritachacha @secretaryunpaid @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @txemrn @queenrileyrose @sanchita012 @sfb123 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @theroyalheirshadowhunter @aestheticartsx @yourmajesty09 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @drakewalkerfantasy @els31 @rainbowsinthestorm @darley1101 @the-soot-sprite @ladyangel70 @rafasgirl23415 @anotherbeingsworld @callmeellabella @msjr0119 @walker7519 @ofpixelsandscribbles @cocomaxley @lodberg @jared2612 @gnatbrain @cmestrella @queenjilian @iaminlovewithtrr @marshmallowsaremyfavorite

75 notes · View notes

illyaana · 3 years

Text

Homebound to you - Sasha Blaus

I can't find the artist on Tumblr (again (＞人＜；)) but this is the twitter post!

Synopsis: You are childhood friends with Sasha. This part is on how you grew up with Sasha and how she told you how she's joining the Training Corps. (if I tell anymore, it isn't a synopsis welp-)

Tags: Sasha x Binaural Reader, Fluff, SFW

Word Count: 2226

⋯⋯ ⫍ SFW Masterlist ◍ Navigation ⫎ ⋯⋯

Fanfiction Masterlist

The lush meadows of Dauper Village - the place both you called home.

It wasn’t one that you’d see written in the papers about its beauty. It was a hidden gem known by those who were willing to venture out and seek it. The forest welcomed you - the sounds of the woodland creatures and the wind against the bushes reminded you of life when you believed the world was much more peaceful than it was. The scene of an ocean blue stream of water surrounded by small animals was vivid in your memories.

“You don’t want to join me? It isn’t that dirty, trust me,” a 6-year-old Sasha said, gripping tightly onto the ends of your shirt.

Sasha Braus - the girl you’ve known ever since you were a kid.

No one could imagine the daughter of a hunter being friends - close friends - with the child of a scholar, but you both proved them wrong.

Sasha was your first ever friend. She was the one who made the introverted you more social with others.

She was the first person you truly cared for - nothing could’ve changed that.

Sasha played along a stream of water right beside the willow tree you both found the first time you ventured into the forest. She’d jump feet first into the stream, diverting the flow of water into multiple small streams before converging in the front of her feet. She loved seeing the small fishes play with each other as if they were racing to meet a bigger water source.

She’d beg you to join her in the small game - but you never did.

You wanted to steal every single moment with her in your eyes - to let it sink into the deepest parts of your brain.

“I’d rather stay dry, Sasha. My mom would kill me if I go back home with my clothes all wet,” your younger self said, trying to reason with her.

Sasha’s face immediately paled the minute you finished that sentence. She looked to her now soaked trousers. A ring of dried mud formed on the top half of her trousers decorated with dried leaves and vines.

“Why didn’t you warn me earlier?” she said, anger stricken on her face, “Mama is going to kill me now. I didn’t expect it to be this dirty.”

You chuckle at the red-faced girl in front of you.

This girl was meant for greatness - no one could deny that.

The adventurous side of hers could never be tamed.

It was wild and relentless - and you loved it to bits.

“You’re wearing shorts underneath, right?”

She nodded.

You sighed.

“Take off the trousers. I’ll wash them as best as I can and you sling it on your shoulder so that it can dry. That’s the best I can offer,” you told her.

In an instant, she ran to the bushes, took off her trousers and tossed them to you.

“You’re only 6-years old - how can you think like an adult at such a young age?” she said, an inquisitive look painted on her face.

“I grew up surrounding playful 6-year-olds, that’s why,” you said, teasing her, “I basically became their mom - looking after them, making sure they behaved well in public - I did it all.”

As time passed, Sasha became more than just a friend you used to look after.

You both became each others’ rocks - the very thing that kept each other from falling.

Sasha learnt how to hunt - to survive in the harsher world of the forest.

You learnt knowledge - to create and to move the world with a pen and paper.

You never saw Sasha hunt but you’ve pictured it billions of times.

You pictured her hazel-colored hair dancing in the air as she rode her horse. Her golden-brown eyes would focus solely on her target - they would force her victim to shudder and slow down, to become hers. Her muscles would flex under her thin shirt as he pulled the arrow in her hands against the bow - the tip fixed exactly at the weak point of her target. Then, with one swift release, her victim would fall and a rush of happiness would surge within her.

You could only draw it and picture it in your head, but how you wished to see her in action.

She’d always bring a huge portion of the meat she gained for your family. She’d say she caught more than she expected, but you could hear the rumbles from her parents.

Eventually, your families decided to move into one house to reduce the problems faced by the Braus family.

Your family would provide the income - the money to buy resources. The Braus family would help in gaining food and rationing out how much from the resources to use.

Even though your parents hated the idea of moving in with hunters, you were ecstatic.

You imagined a life with Sasha, and you were going to get a glimpse of it.

Every night, she’d come into your room with a cup of tea and talk about her hunt. You, on the other hand, would talk about what you’ve learnt for the day. Even though she never understood what you spoke on, she’d try her best to listen and even ask questions when she didn’t understand.

You taught Sasha how to use a quill while she taught you the wonders of the wild.

Sasha entered your room in the middle of the night. She had her blanket wrapped around her as she held two mugs of tea.

She saw how you continued to study throughout the night. You’d use an oil lamp as a light source as you crammed for all the future tests and exams you were going to face.

She hated the sight of you slowly losing energy. The eyebags under your eyes intensified each day. You didn’t smile as much as you used to. You lost the energy you had when you were younger.

Yet Sasha managed to keep hers, just like you wanted.

“Tea break?” she suggested, pushing a mug into your hands, “I caught a deer today! Tomorrow, you’re eating venison - get ready!”

You shook your head in denial as you placed the mug on the table.

“I swear, Y/N,” she started, agitation clear in your voice, “I will burn all your books if you don’t stop and drink tea with me right now.”

You knew Sasha’s threatens were to be taken seriously. She seriously once burned an essay you needed to hand in the next day.

You immediately closed your book and placed the hot cup of Chamomile tea in your hands. The mug itself gave you warmth, making you sigh in content.

Sasha hopped on your bed, dropping the blanket to her sides. She closed her eyes as she brought the cup of hot tea to her nose, taking it in.

You swear that she almost looked like an angel at that moment.

Her soft locks now reached her shoulders - messy and tousled. The pale moonlight against her skin highlighted her features. The gold flecks in her eyes against the hazel shined - it even showed against the steam wafting from the cup. The scar on her left shoulder from one of her hunts showed through the almost see-through shirt, showing how strong she was as a warrior.

You smiled, leaning against your chair while taking in the beauty in front of you.

“Y/N?” Sasha called.

“Yeah?”

“When are you free?”

“I should be free by this Friday, my exams end then.”

“Oh...” she said, trailing off.

You walk to sit beside her and place your head on your shoulder. You felt her relax as he placed her head on top of yours.

“Is everything good?”

She begins rubbing her head against yours.

“I’m good. I’m just worried about the future, that’s all.”

“The world must be ending,” you joke, “You’re actually thinking ahead.”

Sasha flicked your forehead, “Stupid - of course, I need to!”

A silence formed between the two of you as you both stared at the sky from your windows. It was pitch black. Stars twinkled against the black canvas, dancing to a song only they knew. The clouds tried their best to hide the beauty of the night, but their efforts were in vain.

“I’m thinking of joining the Training Corps,” Sasha said, cutting the silence.

Your face paled.

“What?” you froze.

“I hate hiding in fear, Y/N. I hate the fact we stay hiding away from the thing that threatens our lives. We should be killing it rather than just killing animals for meat,” she said with a serious voice.

You put both of your finished mugs on the floor and grab Sasha’s hands, forcing her to face you.

“Sasha, you might die. You might never see your parents again, you might lose everything,” tears form in your eyes, “I can’t lose you, Sasha - not now, not ever.”

She smiles while wiping the formed tears in your eyes.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll die the minute I see Titans,” she says.

She pulls you out of the bed, dusting off her shirt.

“We’re going out for a while. Get ready for an adventure after so many years, Y/N L/N.”

You both snuck out of the house and got on her horse. With one nudge from her, you both rode off into the forest. Through the dark greens emerged fireflies that lit the view before you. You spotted the eventful stream, the sleeping woodland creatures and the plants that reminded you of your childhood.

You turned to face the back of Sasha, and you were in awe.

She looked exactly like how you pictured her to look.

Her dancing hair, her flowing skirt, her smile - everything - it was what you imagined.

You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling yourself closer to you. You pressed your head against her back, earning a chuckle from the horse rider.

“You better come home to me, Sasha Braus. I will never forgive you if you don’t.”

“As if I won’t.”

She signaled the horse to stop at the willow tree you used to spend most of your childhood days at.

She gets off the horse and runs to the tree. Her fingers slowly graze the tree, reminiscing all the memories you both have made right here.

“You know,” she started, “I used to stare at you reading those books of yours under this tree. The wind would blow softly for you when you perched yourself under the tree, but the vines of leaves at its branches would move so much. It was as if they were dancing for you. Even if I brought a drink or a snack, you’d just give me your portion and continue to read those books, but when I wanted you to talk to me, you’d instantly put the book down and give all your attention to me.”

“Well,” you say, “I’d always look up once in a while and see you play with the animals in that little bush there,” you point at the bush covered by fireflies, “I’d see you try picking up squirrels and capture butterflies wondering what goes on in your head.”

You get off the horse and walk towards Sasha.

“I’ll miss this the most when I leave, I think. This small haven we made from trees will always be my first home.”

You hug Sasha from behind, gripping onto her loose shirt.

“It’s happening, isn’t it? I can’t talk you out of it, can I?” you say, sniffles stopping you from speaking clearly.

She shook her head and you sigh, feeling defeated.

“Y/N, pass those exams and get into the Royal Capital. I will enter the Military Police and I’ll meet you within Wall Sheena.”

“I’ll try to get everyone to move. Then, we all will be together again,” you say, building your resolve.

Sasha turns to face you. The minute she sees you, she begins to laugh hysterically.

“You look like a lost puppy,” she says as she touches your cheek, “I’ll miss you, Y/N.”

You press your foreheads against each other. You both instinctively close your eyes, enjoying the small moment you two were sharing.

You couldn’t imagine how your life was going to be without the bubbly presence only Sasha could give. To think there would be no more random rendezvous, no more jokes and no more stories from the girl in front of you made you feel the pain you didn’t want anyone to feel.

But you knew that Sasha had aspirations and dreams - you were in no place to stop her, even if her life was on the line.

The only thing you could do was to cherish this little moment with her before years without her begin.

Soon, a swarm of fireflies surrounded the two of you, giving you a clear view of the woman before you. The bright, flickering lights enhanced the raw beauty only Sasha exemplified. Her eyes stared into yours, begging you to say something.

It was only fair to do this now. If it didn’t happen now, you don’t know when you’ll have the chance again.

“I love you, Sasha Braus. Ever since I was kids I-”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Your lips met under a firefly-lit forest under the willow tree in your safe haven.

Wanna request something or just wanna talk? Go ahead and send me an ask here! If you want to send a request, please check my guidelines to see what I am comfortable with. Thanks for reading <3

24 notes · View notes

a-pretty-nerd · 3 years

Text

Best Boi Soup

A/N: So it's @trickkombowerskru 's birthday today, aka, my Tumblr wife. We met almost four years ago on this app and we've talked everyday ever since. I am very fortunate to have such a sweet and fun-loving friend to nerd out with everyday, I truly can't imagine life without her. Shes so very talented and smart and she always makes me laugh. So for her 22nd birthday I asked her what she'd like me to write for her and she said, "whatever you want" which might be a mistake lol. So I present to you Best Boi Soup.

A headcannon, blurb, list of the best bois we simp for. I hope you enjoy! Love you, bitch!

Trick

Beginning:

You met Trick while working at a convince store in the rundown town you'd spent your whole life in.

He came in almost every shift you worked to buy a drink, a snack, and a pack of cigarettes.

Everyday he came in, and everyday you wrang him up. He was one of the many regulars you had. You saw him walk in, you greeted each other with a friendly smile and you'd turn around to grab his usual before turning back to the register to ring him up.

"Uh, not today. Thanks though." He shook his head and pushed the pack away from him. You raised your brow.

"Really?" You asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Are you vaping now?" You started the small talk. Another part of your routine.

"No. Just, trying to quit." He flashed an awkward smile your way as he handed you the cash.

"Wow, good luck with that." You smiled back.

"Thanks."

"Receipt?"

"No. Thanks. See ya."

"Yeah. See ya." And with that he sauntered out of the store and onto the grey street. Either headed home or to work.

"That Trick?" Your manager asked as he shuffled in from the back office.

"Yeah."

"How's he doing?"

"He seems alright. He's quiting smoking."

"Oh really? Good for him." The old slob mumbled between his teeth as he chewed on a toothpick.

As time went on, your exchanges gradually shifted from friendly to borderline flirty. And you notice his purchasing habits begin to change. He starts brining healthier drinks to the counter, fruits and vegetables as snacks, a sandwich if he's hungry. You tease him for it at first, but he brushes you off with a playful smile.

One day your manager watches your playful exchange as he leans against the old counter. A sly smirk spreads across his face.

"That boy likes you, yknow." He says with a mischievous smile.

"Quit bullying me." You reply, still in a playful and joking tone.

"He only comes in here for you." He tells you.

"No he doesn't." You argue, crossing your arms.

"I've never seen him here when you aren't is all I'm sayin'." The old man chuckled as he raised his hands in defense.

"You're pulling my leg, leave me alone." And with that he had planted a terrible, terrible idea into your head.

Of course you had a crush on Trick. You always thought he was cute but as time went on the butterflies went away and you became good acquaintances, friends maybe. Just friends, right?

Oh no. The butterflies. They're back. Shit.

The next time you saw him, they ravaged your body. Making your knees weak and your cheeks burn. Your heart and raced and you started to sweat. Shit. Be cool. Be cool. Just be normal. This is normal.

"Hey, Y/N." He smiled as he placed his purchase on the counter.

"Hey. How's it going?" You asked, hoping he didn't notice your insuing panic.

"Nothing much. Um...well...actually..." was he blushing? "Y'know Todd?" Todd was a mutual friend of yours. You and Todd went to high school together. Todd and Trick worked together. He was another young adult trapped in that dead end town.

"Yeah."

"So he's having a party tomorrow night at his new place and he wanted me to invite you."

"Todd wanted you to invite me?"

"Yeah, I was thinking I could pick you up? Around 5?" You hissed through your teeth.

"Actually I work-"

"She can go!" Your manager shouted, poking his head out from his office. "She can go." You turned back to Trick with a smile.

"So 5?" You asked.

"5."

Middle:

Dating Trick, or Ryan as you now know, was easy. He was easy to be around, fun-loving, and sweet. He was thoughtful and caring in ways you'd never experienced before. He made you feel safe and happy.

He still stopped by your work everyday to brighten up your day and give you a sweet peck on the lips before heading back to work.

Things were good, until a little over a year into your relationship. You met his Dad.

You knew about Trick's abusive father. He's the reason some dates were cut short. The reason Ryan had to spend the night at your apartment so often in fear of going home. He tried to save up enough to move out, in fact you were in the process of saving so you could move in together.

You watched a man you hadn't recognized walk into the store one day. He was clearly a junky, which, wasn't abnormal there were plenty around here. But unlike the others, he made aggre eye contact. He shuffled around the store, browsing.

At first you thought he was just going to steal, which you usually didn't pay any mind to. It wasn't your job. But soon he came up to the counter with beer and candy. You asked to see his ID, which was mandatory.

"Do I look underage to you!?" The man spat.

"No sir, it's just I can't sell it to you without ID. The register won't let me-"

"Goddammit. Fine." He mumbled as he reached into his pocket and gave you the card. You scanned his ID and continued checking him out. "You're Ryan's girl, ain't ya." You froze. Before you could speak, he interrupted you again. "Little shit thought he could hide you from me." He smiled a rotten toothed grin. He made you sick to your stomach.

All the pain, the trauma, the torture he put Ryan through. It all added up to this weak, distorted, junky. A bizarre idea of a person. You watched him take his receipt and leave without another word.

You didn't want to worry Ryan, so you decided not to tell him about his father's visit. But he just kept showing up to harass you. Sometimes he'd ask how Ryan was doing when he'd stay the night with you. Sometimes he'd comment on your body, try and flirt even. Giving a disgusting laugh when you didn't respond.

"He said he saw you today." Ryan said, hanging his head low as he watched you get into his van.

"Who said?" You asked, not thinking of it at first.

"My dad." You paused. "He said he's been...visiting you at work latley." He was visibly shaken.

"Are you okay?"

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I didn't want to worry you. I'm fine, really. He hasn't done anything..." you tried to brush it off.

"Just because he hasn't, doesn't mean he won't." You watched him, his wild eyes looking out the windshield.

"Well then...what do you wanna do?"

Happily Ever After:

"Let's run away." He whispered softly against your forehead before leaving sweet kisses against the skin. Your bodies resting skin to skin against each other as you laid in your bed.

"What?" You giggled, pulling back to look up at him. He wore a sweet and confident smile for you.

"Let's run away together. Just you and me." He squeezed you tighter against him.

"Where would we go?"

"Anywhere. Just take me away from here." He begged as he left gentle kisses against your temple.

"What about work? What about moving in together?"

"We'll find other jobs. We'll take our money and run. Live in my van until we find a place."

"I thought that van was your dad's."

"We'll steal it."

"And what if the cops come after us?"

"He's too chicken shit to call the cops."

"You really wanna run away together?"

"With every fiber of my being."

Klaus

Beginning:

You met Klaus in rehab.

You were there for ...reasons. And Klaus was there for ...reasons...

Klaus was attractive, free flowing, free thinking, wild and fun. Everything you wanted and more. It's only natural that you were attracted to him so that hook up in rehab was only inevitable.

It was no surprise that it got him transferred thought. So you pouted about never seeing the best sex of your life ever again and went on with your life.

You struggled, as everyone in rehab does but you were lucky in that you made a good recovery. You worked hard to help yourself get out of your sticky situation and move on to bigger and better things.

That was, until you saw him again.

There he was, sitting there at the breakfast bar where you worked.

"Hey stranger." You mused as you filled his cup of coffee. Klaus's big green eyes looked up at you.

"Hhheyyyy..." He smiled up at you with a confused brow. You chuckled at him, taking his order and walking away. He looked up at you such sweet adoring eyes everytime you came by. "Hey." He grabbed your wrist to get your attention. His eyes searching yours for answers. "Do I know you. You seem familiar." You laughed at him.

"Rehab. Four years ago. Y/N, Y/L/N." He let out a high pitched laugh and a cheerful huff.

"That's right! We-uh-um-yknow." His fingers pointed back and forth in a funny suggestion. You giggled with him and nodded.

"Yes, 'we-uh-um-yknowed'. It got you kicked out, remember?You joked.

"Wow! Hah! It's uh. It's good to see you. You look...well you look, g-good."

"Thank you. So do you."

"Well, hah, I try." You shared a few laughs back and forth ending with you giving Klaus your number.

Middle:

Dating Klaus was...strange. Just as strange as him.

Sometimes he'd disappear months on end, only sometimes leaving a "I'll be gone, love you" note or text. But you felt content with Klaus.

When he was around he shrouded you in love and affection. He appreciates your patience with him and his traumas. His PTSD coming and going as it pleases.

He's there for you when things get rough, and you're there for him. Unconditionally and truly.

He's hopelessly in love with you, terrified that his family business will endanger you. Trying to keep you as distant and as safe as possible. Only forced to get you involved in order to protect you. Even then, you better be able to handle yourself in case of emergencies.

Happily Ever After:

Your happily ever after consists of buying a plot of land in the middle of nowhere to live out your lives in peace.

Taking care of yourselves and one another in the comfort of your own private get away.

Jasper:

Beginning:

You met Jasper during a rough time in both your lives. You were a grounder, one of the grounders tasked with spying on The 100.

You were always in the trees, hiding, watching, getting information for the planned attack.

Jasper caught your eye simply for the fact that he survived a spear to the chest. What kind of space magic was that? It also didn't hurt that he was cute and awkward and you kinda just wanted to jump some space boy bones.

Needless to say you developed a bit of a crush on Jasper without him even knowing of your existence. When Lincoln got involved, things got messy. You felt bad for The 100, after all, you saw no real reason why the grounders and the space people couldn't just work something out. But your people were fearful, and so were The 100. Or Skycrew as you called them.

So you helped in little ways you could, joining Lincoln and aiding their side when Mount Weather got involved.

Needless to say when Mount Weather went down, and you met Jasper for the first time, things were not as you had hoped.

Jasper was traumatized, haunted by the deaths of an entire civilization. Tortured by the death of his girlfriend. You felt bad for him. And he wasn't too fond of you.

Being a grounder meant you were his enemy to him. Grounders caused trouble, grounders were responsible in the first place. He associated you with his scar.

And while is rejection hurt at first, he warmed up to you as you worked along side Raven and the rest of his friends. Monty and you grew especially close because he was a good teacher, and he would listen to you about your experiences as a grounder. You had import information about the land that Skycrew did not.

Soon, Jasper got used to you being around. But that didn't mean he liked you.

Middle:

One night in particular, you were fed up being bullied by Jasper. Jasper wasn't the only one who didn't trust you but, he certainly was the loudest.

You walked into the common place, noticing Jasper sitting at a table drinking as per usual. You tried to mind your own business but he taunted you.

"Hey grounder!" He knew your name. He refused to use it. You looked after a few calls. A sloppy smile stretched across his face. "Why don't you show me some of your grounder magic er whatever."

"Grounder magic?" You scoffed. Grounders were, out off all the groups, the most spiritual. And some skycrew had started rumors that you were a witch. You had taught Monty in particular how to grow and harvest herbs that could aid in healing wounds and help the sick. Your symbolic tattoos and dress didn't help your case. You liked to think you were an agent of peace, but clearly your efforts were for not.

"Magic." You scoffed at him.

"Yeah c'mon witch. Read my palm." He held out his hand with a drunken smile. Watching with heavy eyelids as you approached. Taking a seat on the bench beside him, slowly taking his hand in yours, and pressing it harshly against the metal table below. Jasper gave a sharp gasp of pain before you quickly let go and snatched the bottle of liquor from him. "Ow! Hey! Give that back!" He shouted after you.

You cursed him before drinking from the bottle and exiting to walk back to your room. Moonshine for dinner, you thought. You took large gulps from the bottle as you walked back to your room, already feeling dizzy by the time you got back. You entered the broom closet of a room, capping the bottle and tossing it onto your bed. Stripping of your clothes to change. You paused when you heard a loud knock at the door.

Jasper was on the other side, just as drunk as you, just as pissed. He froze when you opened the door, dressed down to just a bra and pants. Were always this hot? He asked himself.

"Piss off, Skycrew." You muttered, trying to shut the door. He wedged himself between the door and aggressively pushed his way through.

"I paid for that bottle with my own rations now hand it over!"

"Consider it payment for your palm reading you bastard!" You shouted back, trying to push him back out but failing to as he wrenched his way in. He lunged for the bottle, making you lunge for him in an immature and ridiculous mess of a scuffle. You pulled on the collar of his shirt, choking him enough to disorient and bring him back. He collapsed to the floor, reaching out and pulling on your ankle to get you down to his level.

Once on all fours, he climbed over you, only to get an elbow to his ribs. You pinned him down, sitting on his chest, legs on either side. Your hands pressing his wrists into the concrete floor below, and your chest pressed flush against his face.

In any other circumstances, Jasper would have shouted for you to get off. To let him go. But now, suddenly, in his half-drunk half-horny state, he relaxed into this position. He stopped fighting and for a moment so did you. Panting and content with your win, you released him. Looking down from your position on his chest. He was beet red.

His heavy eyes looking up at, dilated and needy. That look made you melt. Was he okay? Had you hurt him?

Jasper was more than okay, for once he had forgotten about everything. Nothing else mattered but you and your soft supple body. You went to get up off of him, but his hands came up and pressed you back down on him. Forcing your lips to meet his.

Drunken sex helped keep the two of you sane. Some nights you didn't even need to be drunk, you just needed him as he needed you. You chocked it up to a sex addiction, just another thing to make you both forget the atrocities of war. But, when the chip came around and everything went to shit. You worried for Jasper, as he worried for you.

Happily Ever After:

You watched out for one another, a bond built from pain and trauma grew into a friends with benefits sort of deal. Jasper let himself go, he let himself love again because of you.

Being up in space was weird. Six years and you still weren't used to it. You missed earth more than you could ever imagine but somehow, Jasper made it all okay. Jasper felt like your own tiny part of earth, he made you feel at home.

You'd spend the rest of your years in space with Jasper. Coming to the conclusion that this peaceful life in space was better than the chaos down below. You manned the ship with him. Growing old, having children together, and passing away of old age together. Finally getting the peaceful life you both desired.

#jasper jordan #jasper jordan x reader #the 100 #jasper jordan imagine #klaus x reader #klaus hargreeves #trick tribecky #trick x reader #trick imagine

138 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 2)

A/n: I’ll just be going by episode now, so there might be quite a bit of overlapping show dialogue. Side note! Song suggestion for this series 1: “Not ALone” by Starkid!

Word Count: 10,000+

Warning: Blood, violence, minor PTSD, heavy emotions, Doctor Who drama (disease, death, dehumanizing clones, human experimentation, possession)

"Where's Rose?" The Doctor asked as Y/n entered the TARDIS alone.

"Taking her time," Y/n joked in response. "Saying goodbye to Mickey and Jackie." The Doctor nodded as Y/n moved to his side, dropping his small bag of things in the corner. "You should teach me how to drive the TARDIS."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Y/n nodded. "I mean, if we're going to be stuck together for... ever." He released a heavy breath and the Doctor snorted softly in amusement. "Seriously though. If I'm stuck with you forever, I think I ought to pick up a few useful things. Starting with driving the TARDIS."

Looking away was obviously an attempt to hide his smile, but he failed. Y/n could hear it in his voice when he spoke. "Okay, I'll teach you then."

Before Y/n could respond, Rose came in. "So, where we headed off to now?"

At that the Doctor changed moods, focusing on the blonde and allowing his shy smile to turn to a grin. "Further than we've ever gone before." He didn't lie. When they landed and exited the TARDIS, both Rose and Y/n were shocked at what they saw. The Doctor took his cue to explain. "It's the year five billion and twenty-three, we're in the galaxy N-87, and this! This is new Earth." He looked around, squinting in the sunlight. Even making that face, he was handsome. This regeneration fit the Doctor well. Y/n couldn't lie about that.

"It's just..." Rose mumbled. "That's just-" Her laughter cut her off.

"Insane," Y/n finished. "Like in the movies of the future. Things that have only been imagined, where we're from." Y/n's breath had been taken away. "It's beautiful."

"Not bad," the Doctor agreed. "Not bad at all."

Rose shook her head, running her hands through her hair to push it out of her face. "That's amazing!" She looped her free arm with Y/n's. "I'll never get used to this. You?"

"I hope not," Y/n sighed contentedly. He was glad to be back in the TARDIS. Back with Rose and the Doctor. He was glad to be away from an Earth that had mostly just hurt him, staring at a magnificent future full of promise and success.

That seemed to ring true with Rose. "I never will, it seems." She let go of Y/n's arm, jumping up and down to state next, "Different ground beneath my feet." She stopped, eyes rising to the clouds. "Different sky." She looked at the Doctor next. "What's that smell?"

The Doctor leaned down to pull grass up, holding it out for the other two to smell. "Apple grass."

"Apple grass," Rose said, her tone mocking normality, as if the idea of apple grass wasn't totally bizarre. What the hell was apple GRASS? Could you eat it, or was it just a smell? Who knew. Y/n laughed at himself as Rose hummed, "It's beautiful." She beamed at the Doctor and Y/n looked over to see her take the Doctor's arm. The Timelord looked down at her and Y/n smiled. They were sweet together. He hoped this little group of theirs lasted a very long time. "Can I just say," Rose began. "Traveling with you. I love it."

There was something in the way she said that. Something that made Y/n cough to cover a laugh. Had he been that obvious? Surely not. "Me too," the Doctor responded brightly. He dropped his arm to take her hand, reaching over with his other hand to grab Y/n's as well. "Come on!" He pulled them into a jog toward a stretch of grass where they all lay out and enjoyed the scenery before them. "So the year five billion, the sun expands, the world gets roasted," The Doctor began.

"That was our first date," Rose joked.

“Not the best,” Y/n piped up.

Rose giggled at that. "I think I preferred the Daleks to Cassandra." Y/n laughed at the memory of the stretched skin parading as the last human, even if it wasn’t as much a bitter memory for Y/n was if was for Rose. “How ridiculous."

"I like to remember it, actually. It was what started it all. What began this whole thing. We even had chips." The trio laughed and reminisced for a second. Long enough for Y/n to see the longing look Rose shot the Doctor. It set off a determination in Y/n. If there was limited time for things to happen between them, Y/n wasn't going to sit back and let them waste it. "Anyway," the Doctor continued before Y/n could come up with anything. "Planet gone, all rocks and dust, but the human race lives on, spreads out across the stars. As soon as the Earth burns up, oh, they get all nostalgic," the Doctor sasses. Y/n's smile falls. "Big revival movement. They find this place." He sat up then. "Same size as the Earth, same air, same orbit, lovely. The call goes out, the humans move in."

The Doctor's words got softer and softer as Y/n zoned out, accidentally ignoring the conversation in favor of remembering something.

There was a weight, in my chest. Not... MY chest, but his chest. A weight that was setting into my body, this body, making everything heavy as well. That heaviness came with darkness, and both seemed to be sinking into his skin.

Screams. The memory of the screams were so fresh and new. They were so bright and painful. Compared to them, and the blood, and the death and loss, the heaviness and darkness was almost a relief.

I see a hand. My hand. His hand. I see it reach out and touch the TARDIS. She's making the sound that has always been her sound, but it's new to these ears. The first time he is hearing it. "Guess this means you're just like me. Last of your kind."

God it hurts even more. That hand moves from the TARDIS, over his heart. My heart. Our heart. I know it's not me, this is not my memory. This isn't happening now. I know this isn't something I experienced, and yet it feels so personal and real. A memory I should not have. An experience that is so clear in my mind, even though it shouldn't exist at all. Scenes of the same story, cut into bits that don't make sense - all that hurt that burns and drags and rips apart. That first night running away, and the many nights afterward. The nights alone. The nights with no one but the TARDIS. I know all of that, but I do not know who I am. It's confusing and it hurts and I can't stand it. I can't stand it! I CAN'T STAND IT!

"Y/n?"

"What?" Even Y/n knows there's something wrong when he speaks. He can hear it even in his own voice. He can hear his voice shake. His voice. He looks down and wiggles his fingers. His fingers. This is the present. The here and now. This is real. This happened to Y/n, of Earth.

Rose reaches out a hand, resting it on Y/n's shoulders. Her face is wrought with concern. "What's wrong?"

How is he supposed to answer that? With the truth? ...I suppose that's all he had. "Sorry, I just find myself a tad distracted today. What did I miss?" A small lie seemed to be nicer. Things had only started to get good, and Y/n didn't know what he'd do if things went south now. After all, how would the Doctor react to all of this? Probably not well.

The Doctor seemed to sense something, but didn't press as Y/n was obviously not in the mindset to talk about it. So he moved on. "Rose mentioned how she wanted to go to the city, but I think we should go there first." They all stood, turning to face a tall, silver building with a giant symbol on the side.

"And what's there?" Y/n asked.

The trio began to stand as Rose responded. "He says it's some sort of hospital."

"Well, you see that green moon on the side?" He motioned to the symbol, which was indeed what he said it was. "That's the universal sign for hospitals." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I got this. A message on the psychic paper." He opened the thing to reveal words, moving as they wrote and rewrote themselves on repeat. "Someone wants to see me."

"Ah," Rose hummed. "And I thought we were just sight seeing."

Y/n scoffed, his smile growing. Things felt good again, the bad feelings from the memory before fading away now in the light of a new planet with endless possibilities. "Since when have we gone anywhere just sight for seeing?"

At that Rose's smile turned to a grin. "Fair enough." She sighed, getting excited. "Come on then, let's go and buy some grapes.” Her arm looped through the Doctor's first and then Y/n's and the trio walked like that to the hospital to see who was calling the Doctor. They got nearly all the way there on small talk and unimportant things before someone made a real comment.

"You know," the Doctor mumbled, as if he meant the other two not to hear it, even as he looked at them. "I've never liked hospitals." His tone was low and clearly uncomfortable.

"Is that so?" Y/n laughed, rolling his eyes.

"What?" the Doctor asked, his lips parting as his lips curved upward. Y/n's laugh had always been rather contagious to him, but more so recently.

Rose softly chuckled a second before responding, "Just... bit rich, coming from you."

"I can't help it," the Doctor remarked. "I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."

Y/n and Rose laughed but let it go in favor of looking at their surroundings. It was then that Rose dropped the arms of the two men she'd been holding onto until this point, wandering a bit to see as much as she could from every angle available to her. "Very smart," She complimented, just to follow up with, "Not exactly NHS is it?"

"No shop," the Doctor noticed. "I like the little shop." Y/n stayed quiet as he usually did, leaving the remarking to the other two as he took things in. He was never as snarky as the Doctor, or as amazed by things as Rose. Y/n had gotten good at expecting everything. Even if he found himself enjoying how things were and what he was learning, he was rarely stunned and often more thrilled. He didn't want to point and act like some tourist or child though, so he kept his thoughts to himself and soaked in as much as he could. After a second, the Doctor moved closer to him. "Like it?"

"Love it," Y/n responded, trying to contain his enthusiasm. "A place of healing and help. Somewhere things are clean and people are happy." He paused, seeing the Doctor's expression go sour. "Now you listen to me, Doctor. I know that not all patients get saved and not all hospitals work. I know how hard it is afterward too, when you have to pay for your care. But... I like the idea that... some people survive. The work done here matters. It makes a difference, you know?" He released a short breath. "You know, I wanted to be a Doctor when I was a kid. And then..." His smile dropped and the Doctor remembered what Rose had told him what seemed ages ago, about Y/n's parents. "Had a lot of school to catch up on. Didn't have time, I guess. Did bad in school enough without having missed it for a decade straight, give or take."

Rose was the one who changed the subject. "Okay but I thought, in the future, they would have cured everything.”

Taking the opening, the Doctor launched into an explanation. Y/n slipped his hands in his pockets and kept his mouth shut this time. "The human race moves on, but so do the viruses. It's an ongoing war."

A woman in a long dress passed, and only when Rose locked eyes with her and seemed to go dumb did Y/n looked closer and realize the woman... "They're cats," Rose mumbled, eyes wide.

"Now don't stare," the Doctor scolded. "Think what you look like to them, all pink and yellow." He did a once over of Rose, his eyes falling down her body then popping back up. His gaze suddenly shot away, locking with Y/n’s in time to see his huge smirk after having picked up on the moment. Suddenly flustered, the Doctor was quick to add, "That's where I'd put the shop!" He pointed to an empty bit of space on a wall behind Rose, then turned when Rose and Y/n looked away, taking the second to put some distance between them and him. When they turned back, he was in the elevator. "Ward 26, thanks," he told the lift calmly.

Definite attempts were made to catch room with the Doctor, but Rose and Y/n were both too late. The door closed, leaving them on the outside. "Damn," Y/n whispered, teeth catching his lower lip.

"Oh, too late, I'm going up," the Doctor told them. His voice was getting quieter though and he was immediately becoming harder to hear.

"All right," Rose dismissed. "There's another lift. Y/n and I will be up after you." She hit the button to open the door.

"Ward 26," the Doctor reminded. "And..." What he said next was too hard to hear at that point.

Eyes locked as Rose and Y/n both looked to the other for interpretation, but neither knew. "WHAT?" Rose yelled, trying to get him to repeat it. The Doctor did repeat it, but they still didn't get it. Y/n moved his ear against the door to try and hear better. "The what?" Rose tried again. The Doctor began but then cut off, and the door opened so they brushed it off and went inside. They could ask him when they reunited in ward 26. When they went in, Rose said, "Ward 26, thanks," and the lift began to move.

Almost immediately, they realized they didn't have to ask the Doctor what he meant. The elevator spoke about disinfectant, and Y/n had the pieces click in his head that that was the word the Doctor had said. It was too late though, as both of them were taken off guard by the sudden liquid spraying them both down. The were drenched, and then dried, and then it was over. During the process was pure chaos though and at some point Rose latched onto Y/n, pulling herself into his chest. When the doors opened again, she looked up at him.

It was a weird time for it to happen, but Y/n had the thought that her eyes were rather pretty this close. They'd never been this close before, but now he could see all the different colors in them. They were hazel, not brown, and had flecks of gold and green in nice patterns. Those eyes of hers traveled his face and then jetted away and suddenly they were Rose and Y/n again, except.. just a little different. Y/n felt awkward for no apparent reason, and Rose seemed to feel it too. She cleared her throat and stepped out into the hallway and Y/n paused only a split second to collect himself before following.

They didn't talk about it. Mostly because neither knew what had just happened, but also in big part because they realized they were in a dirty hallway that had more basement vibes than hospital ward vibes.

"The human children are clean." The pair looked over to see a small, pale man with vibrant red markings all over his body. There was something... creepy about him. As if he was wrong, but not enough that it was noticeable. Just - a little off. Slightly right of center. It was unnerving.

"Um," Rose began. Y/n did the feely stuff and intimidating when the situation called for it, but he was still trained to ignore strangers and avoid conversations about himself, so most of the casual socializing was and had always been up to Rose. "We're looking for ward 26."

The man turned, beginning to walk down the tunnel. "This way, Rose Tyler. Come along with me, Y/n L/n."

Rose and Y/n looked at each other in alarm. No one safe ever knew their names on an alien planet they'd never been to before. Especially someone they didn't know. Rose grabbed a pipe, but Y/n walked ahead of her, hands in his pocket as if this was just another day, face set and hard.

Catching up to the small man who walked with his shoulders curled in, Y/n spoke quietly. Keeping that calm air about him. "What's your name, sir? Seems only fair, since you know mine."

"Chip," the small man replied.

Nothing else was said until they got into the room they were aiming for. It seemed to be the end of their journey as Chip jogged ahead, excited to reach their destination. Inside the room played a movie on one of those projectors Y/n had only seen at movie theaters, when he worked for one once. He was surprised to see it here as it must have been ancient, considering how far in the future it was, but Rose caught his attention by grabbing his arm. His gaze moved to her body tense with what seemed to be confused trepidation... until he looked at the screen himself and recognized a face. It was then he realized what she was really feeling was shock. Maybe even a little fear.

"It's-"

"Cassandra," Y/n finished.

"Peek a boo!" A voice behind them greeted. The pair spun around to see Chip... and a little ways away from him, Cassandra herself.

Rose immediately got defensive. She was a completely different person from who she used to be when she hid behind the Doctor and didn't know how anything went. Y/n stayed close to her to back her up, but didn't say anything. The first time they'd met, Y/n and Cassandra had been friends before she'd tried to kill everyone on the ship. She'd offered to save him if he just came with her. Of course he'd turned her down, but he'd been sad to see her die as he always was when he saw poor souls waste themselves. Especially people like Cassandra who wouldn't just accept when it was time to give up and die.

Seeing her again made him feel... terrible. Not guilty, but sick to his stomach. She was here, after everything they'd been through? His thoughts were all about protecting Rose. He may still have compassion and mercy, but he couldn't die this time around, and he was far less willing to give people the opportunity to hurt those he cared about.

"Don't come anywhere near me, Cassandra," Rose threatened, wielding her pipe from earlier.

"Why?" Cassandra asked, rather bitterly. "What do you think I'm going to do? Flap you to death?"

Rose hesitated. "Yeah, well, what about him?" She pointed out, using her pipe to remind Cassandra of her little lackey.

"Oh, that's just Chip," Cassandra dismissed. "He's my pet."

"He's not your pet," Y/n spoke up then. "He's a person."

"I worship the mistress," Chip argued, rather aggressively. Y/n glared. What the hell?

"Moisturize me, moisturize me," Cassandra reminded, as if it wasn't the most important thing on her mind right now. Chip answered her command immediately. "He's not even a proper life form," Cassandra assured. Her tone was soft and comforting, but her eyes weren't on Rose in answer to her question. They were on Y/n. What she said had been to ease him. "He's a force-grown clone. I modeled him on my favorite pattern." Her tone became appreciative. "But he's so faithful. Chip sees to my physical needs."

Rose scoffed, somehow having ended up behind Y/n again. It was only then that he realized he'd been slowly making his way closer. Even after all this time and his obedience to the Doctor that had often made him stay put (as well as the fact that someone had to stay behind and inform the Doctor of where Rose went when she wandered off, and if anything too bad had happened), he was still curious. Maybe the more curious of him and Rose. That curiosity drove him to step head first into everything, unless instructed specifically not to. Rose was the reckless one... except now, when they needed to understand perhaps in order to survive this encounter, if whatever Cassandra had planned was as questionable and dangerous as their last encounter.

"I hope that means food." Rose's voice pulled Y/n out of his thoughts, making him fail when he tried to hold back a single, soft snort of amusement. "How come you're still alive?"

"After you murdered me?" Cassandra drawled rather bitterly.

"You tried first," Y/n sassed back, rolling his eyes.

"It was your own fault," Rose followed up.

Chip piped up then. "The brain of my mistress survived," he explained. "And her pretty blue eyes were salvaged from the bin."

Y/n groaned, not liking the way Chip looked at Cassandra after Rose's earlier comment. “What about the skin?" Rose asked to divert the subject. "I saw it. You-" she laughed, cutting off. "You got ripped apart."

"That piece of skin was taken from the front of my body," Cassandra began. "This piece is the back."

Rose had a good laugh about that as she tried to say, "Right, so you're talking out of your-"

"Ask not!" Cassandra interrupted, her feathers ruffled by Rose's giggle interrupted speaking.

"The mistress was lucky to survive." Chip seemed proud. "Chip secreted m'lady into the hospital.

"So they don't know you're here," Rose realized.

"Chip steals meds." He continued as if Rose hadn't spoken. "Helps m'lady. Soothes her." He turned to Cassandra, his hand raising to run along the back of Cassandra's... skin. "Strokes her."

Y/n groaned and Rose intervened on both of their behalves. "You can stop right there, Chip."

"But why?" Y/n demanded. "You two are obviously... involved." He said it with disgust and Rose closed her eyes next to him, shaking her head in disapproval of the mental images that were surely trying to surface in her mind as she fought them. "Why, Chip? Don't you have anything better to do? A life of your own to live? Why waste it in a basement where you're not supposed to be, hiding and taking care of a woman who obviously doesn't care about you. She talks about you like you're a pair of shoes and not a person! Why would you stay?"

That seemed to puzzle Chip. "How could I go? Life is not easy. It doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, it is always hard and bad. It only matters who you are with."

In that moment, Y/n thought of the Doctor. And he thought of Rose. Wouldn't Y/n do the same, if one of them couldn't take care of themselves because they had gone too far and made irreversible decisions that had ruined themselves? Wouldn't he take care of them and do as they asked and done everything in his power to protect them?

Cassandra's voice rang out, and Y/n looked at her to see she was looking back. "He doesn't change that I'm so alone, though, hidden down here. The last human in existence."

Too caught up in genuinely pitying Cassandra, Y/n stayed silent. It gave Rose the room to speak. "Don't start that again." Her tone got louder as she grew more irritated. "They call this planet New Earth."

"A vegetable planet," Cassandra seethed.

Rose followed what Chip did earlier and acted as if Cassandra hadn't spoken. "And there's millions of humans out there, millions of them."

"Mutant stock," Cassandra huffed pridefully.

"Stock?" When Y/n spoke, the room went silent. There was something different about him, Cassandra realized. He was... scary. He radiated authority now. The last time she had seen him, he was quiet and curious and soft. She could still see a tenderness, but there was a danger too. At some point Y/n had learned how to be both vengeful and merciful, and she realized she was toeing the line of crossing into his wrathful side.

"They evolved, Cassandra," Rose continued, slowly. Y/n hadn't spoken again, but he did that thing that the Doctor did too. When he got quiet and terrifying and you wanted to shut up for fear of setting him off on you. Rose knew she was safe, but even she seemed to be treading lightly. "They just evolved. Like they should. You stayed still. You got yourself all- pickled and preserved." She was getting worked up now. Her anger seemed less dangerous and the room relaxed, as if letting go a breath it had been holding. "What good did it do you?" Rose demanded.

Cassandra didn't address what Rose said. Instead, her eyes slid to the movie still being played by the projector. Rose rolled her eyes, but Y/n listened. Y/n always listened. "Oh, I remember that night." He looked at the screen as she spoke, watching the video play out. He tried to imagine what a party like that would be like. The ambiance and the sounds and the heat and the drinks and the people. The chatter and music. He could feel it, with the help of the video. He wondered if Cassandra was permanently stuck in that night, in her head. If she played this video to hold onto the feelings she experienced when she was still herself. "Drinks for the ambassador of Thrace. That was the last time anyone told me I was beautiful. After that, it all became such hard work." Her tone turned into near growling and Y/n felt his heart get heavy. Why did society do this to women? Why couldn't standards just be... realistic, for once?

A thought occurred to him then. Maybe if society as a whole valued people for their personality and not for their looks, maybe Cassandra would have been different. Maybe she'd have been more than a pretty face. Maybe she'd have met someone who really cared about her, and they'd have settled down and made a family. Maybe she wouldn't have thought her only worth was her looks, and then crossed far too many lines to keep it so she still meant something.

"You've got a knack for survival, I'll give you that," Rose voiced after it got quiet for too long. Cassandra kept looking at Y/n, as if waiting for him to speak, but he didn't have anything to say that was worth saying so he stayed silent.

"But I've not been idle, Rose," Cassandra told them both, even though she only addressed the blonde. "Tucked away, underneath this hospital, I've been listening. The sisters are up to trouble. They're hiding something."

That peaked the pair's interest. "Do you know anything, or are you toying with us?" Y/n demanded.

"These cats have secrets," Cassandra gave in response. "I know them, I know them all. Hush, let me whisper. Come close."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "You must be joking if you think I'm going anywhere near you," she sassed, returning to her deep amusement that left her laughing through her words. She began to step back, moving out of the room, and that was when things went wrong. Suddenly a bunch of light went wild, wrapping around Rose's hands and keeping them tethered to her sides. Her face went slack and her body relaxed and she froze.

Before Y/n could process and react, Cassandra spoke. "Chip, activate the psycho-graft!"

Y/n spun around, eyes wild. "You let her go now! If you hurt even a single hair on her head Cassandra, I will-"

"No need for dramatics," Cassandra drawled. "I'll let her go completely unharmed, I promise." Chip pulled a lever and a cylindrical blue light encased Rose. Y/n wasn't sure if he'd make it worse by going in there after her so he turned on Cassandra instead.

He reached down, grabbing the pipe Rose had abandoned a while ago, running at Cassandra with it hefted over his head, ready to bring down onto her face. There was a weird pinkish light above her that went behind him toward Rose, just before he used the pipe to smash in what was Cassandra's sort-of face. The skin split under the pressure and blood sprayed on Y/n's clothes and the lower part of his neck. It was farther than even the Doctor had gone in the violence department since the Time War, but it was Y/n's first thought with little time to react.

It didn't matter though. When he turned around, Rose was on the ground and Chip was approaching her limp body that was slowly coming around as the blonde began to move.

"Moisturize me," Rose mumbled. Y/n froze, eyes wide with part terror and part unbridled rage. Chip went off to be obedient, but when he turned back, Rose's eyes hand already landed on her body, features forming in awe. "Arms," she mumbled. "How bizarre." Her breathing got shallow as she grew excited, beginning to sit up. "Fingers!" She gasped as blonde strands began to fall in her face. "Hair!" Her hands grabbed at said hair as if it was a wonder. Y/n supposed... it was. The woman who definitely wasn't Rose scrambled to her feet. "Let me see! Let me see!" She raced to a mirror. "Oh my god! I'm a chav!"

It was then that Y/n knocked into his senses. His curiosity had distracted him. His confusion and wonder. His questions didn't matter though when Rose was in danger. "Cassandra, I don't know how you did it but you get out of her right now do you understand me? NOW. You may have Chip at your beck and call but you've done this against Rose's will!"

Cassandra wasn't listening. "Look at me! From class to brass!" She fiddled with the end of Rose's shirt, then hesitated, raising a hand to the zipper of Rose's jacket. "Although..." She began zipping it down, exposing a bit more skin. Y/n felt himself swallow. Why was he suddenly so warm? "Curves," Cassandra purred. "Ooh baby. It's like living inside a bouncy castle!"

It was the way Chip was looking at Rose's body that really sent Y/n. He was stuck trying to figure out how to talk to Cassandra, or even scare her if necessary, but he kept getting distracted by the odd look on Rose's face. One that was... Well, that wasn't a thought he was addressing at all, actually. All he knew was that he felt something in him snap. Cassandra was ogling a body that wasn't hers, and Chip was joining in, and neither had Rose's consent and it made Y/n lose his thin control.

Suddenly he was racing froward and Cassandra gasped as her back was slammed against the wall that Y/n pinned her against, his arm on her chest. "I said," he seethed, teeth working together. "Bring her back. Now."

"Ooh," Cassandra cooed. "You really have gotten quite scary, Y/n. I'm very impressed." Her eyes moved to her old body then to the blood on Y/n. "More violent too, wow. Willing to get things done." Her eyes raked every inch of Y/n they could reach. "And much more handsome. I was attracted to you back then, but now? You've really grown into yourself it's a great look on you."

"Stop it," Y/n snapped.

Cassandra giggled. "Don't worry love, Rose thinks so too." That stopped Y/n short. "Oh, didn't expect that one?" Her giggle was bright and triumphant. "She's had feelings for you going on ages now. Since you two met, really. Been hiding them when you showed no interest in anyone and refused to talk about romance. Tried to move on to Mickey... and then the Doctor came around. But you fell for him." Her smile turned mocking. "But of course, you'd take him. The two men she loved the most, being together, without her."

"That's not-" Y/n swallowed. How had he never noticed before? Had they both had their one secret? The one secret they'd kept from each other all this time? His had been the loneliness that had grafted into him, making itself a personality trait. The loneliness that drove him for years to believe he'd never experience love, let alone have it last. The secret that he had never felt the way he felt about the Doctor for anyone... anyone except for Rose. Kind Rose who had come to Y/n in a time when he didn't understand his own emotions enough to name them before she got with Mickey and it was too late. Rose, who he had forced to form a sister-brother relationship with to dodge the feelings he had for her that neither of them were capable of or willing to act on. And her secret, that the entire time she had felt the exact same way?

Had he really wasted all of the time they could have been together thinking she could never like him in return?

"What's the matter?" Cassandra purred, smirking. "Cat got your tongue?"

Y/n's face hardened. "You're lying. And even if you're not, this isn't your secret to tell me. Rose is the only one allowed to tell me her feelings. Get out!"

"But you've killed me, haven't you? How am I supposed to go back to my old body? I have nowhere to go and its all your fault, Y/n. Going back is suicide."

"You shouldn't have left that bloody body in the first place," Y/n seethed. But then he calmed, because out of the group he was always the one who calmed and thought things out so that as many people as possible could win. Sure, Cassandra had taken Rose against her will... but she was also right. How could Y/n ask her to go back, when her body was destroyed by his own hands? "Go into me, then. Leave her be. If you can't go back to your own body, take mine. Not hers."

Cassandra's expression grew soft. "You love her." Y/n glared. "Just like you love the Doctor. How... how do you handle that? Loving two people so much you'd die or worse - give yourself up for them, alive and all? Because Rose remembers when you were Empty. She remembers clear as day how afraid of not death, but being trapped in a body you cannot control. And now you can't die, but if you allow me this, you will be trapped. How can you agree to that?"

Y/n pursed his lips. "Life is complicated, Cassandra. Some feelings you tell yourself are out of bounds and off limits. Some feelings you can rationalize. Some people give you a new prospect on life. One so wonderful that staying alive forever sounds amazing. And some people... they're worth being afraid for. They're worth losing control for. Some people are just worth it."

That seemed to sit very deeply with Cassandra. "You know, you're most beautiful like this. Protecting those you care about. Fighting for the greater good. Being the quiet hero with a hidden strength enough to stop even an alien war lord." Her smile grew. "Fine, I will do as you ask, because we were friends then and I'm unhappy we didn't end as such. But one thing before I go."

"What?" Y/n asked.

And then Cassandra, in Rose's body, kissed Y/n. It was different than the times Y/n had pictures kissing Rose. It was desperate and passionate and... a little aggressive. It felt like he imagined Rose would. Her hair was soft and filtered nicely between his fingers. Her lips were a little chapped, but not enough to be noticeable, just enough to make the kiss just a little rough for a second until they continued kissing and they became soft. Her skin was warm and smooth and her hands clung to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning.

When they parted, Cassandra didn't hesitate. She moved right from Rose into Y/n in the small space between them. The blonde leaned into Y/n but soon shook off the weird feeling, leaning away to look into Y/n's eyes. Because she had heard and felt everything, and her mind was reeling from that kiss, even if she hadn't been in control when Cassandra had used her body to initiate it.

Cassandra was the first one to speak, but this time it was in Y/n's voice. "You know I pride myself on being very proud and sexy and hard to move. I have not been known to be emotional. This one though..." She turned away, pushing Rose off and beginning to walk back toward the lifts.

Rose woke up then. "Cassandra you can't-!"

"Shut up," Cassandra snapped. "We don't have time for this. We have to find the Doctor, and Y/n consented, so there's nothing you can do about it so come on." Rose followed after, Chip after her, and the three of them headed to find the Doctor together. After a long time in quiet, Cassandra spat with her usual spite, "That Doctor of yours is a total hypocrite by the way. Changing his face like that and becoming younger and prettier. You both think so, I saw in both of your heads. Am in one of them now."

As if by a show of mercy, Rose's phone rang and she answered it. "Hello?" Her voice was tired, her hand rising to massage her temple. The whole thing with Cassandra had already given her a headache. The kiss... it had reminded her of something. Something that hurt to think about.

The Doctor was on the other line. "Rose, where are you? Is Y/n with you?"

"Don't tell him about me," Cassandra rushed. "He'll just lose it and cause a commotion, and we don't have time to waste. The sisters really are up to something, and I really do have information."

Rose glared but followed the order, begrudgingly. "Yes, Y/n's here. We've... picked up another friend too. His name is Chip."

"Where have you been? How long does it take to get to ward 26, and how did you meet someone else?" The Doctor asked, rather curious.

A huff came from her as she tried to hide her bitter laughter as she refrained from telling him the adventure they'd just gone on. She'd never hidden something like this from the Doctor before... but Cassandra was right. "We'll be there soon, it's a long story. What have you been up to?"

"Oh you'll never guess," The Doctor practically sang. "I'm with the Face of Boe. Remember him?"

"Yeah," Rose answered, without much spirit.

On the line, the Doctor paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. You-"

"I.. have to go," the Doctor drawled. "Talk to you later." And then he hung up and Rose sighed. The elevator grew silent as they were cleaned again. The blood was gone as if it had never been there and Rose watched it pool on the ground under them before slipping down the drain. She couldn't believe he'd really... done that, for her. Jesus.

When they reached the Doctor, Cassandra held back with Chip for some reason. She dismissed Chip and he wandered off, leaving her alone. She looked like she was listening to something, though the only sound Rose could hear were the patients and the speaker, but neither were something that would have interested Cassandra surely.

Rose was distracted by the Doctor, who pulled her over to inspect the patients he had been spending time with while she had been missing, filling her in on his confusion.

"Y/n, are you listening?"

Cassandra looked over to see the Doctor had approached. Fortunately, though she had not been paying attention, Y/n had been. "Yes, something is up," Cassandra agreed, her face nearing one of Y/n's more calm expressions. It was something Rose had never thought Cassandra was capable of feeling. She almost looked... thoughtful. Her voice was off from Y/n's though. Obviously wrong. She tried to keep going high and her accent was different. Behind the Doctor, Rose sighed.

"What- what's with the voice?" The Doctor asked, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Rose dismissed, trying to keep things going so they could figure this out without distractions. They could figure that whole thing out when this problem was dealt with.

The Doctor didn't seem to be done though. "That's the second time you've totally zoned out Y/n, are you sure you're alright?"

Cassandra flinched. She knew what was going on in Y/n's head. Why he had been spaced out and different. She knew what it meant about the Doctor, too. It was a small flinch, one you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking, but Rose and the Doctor were looking and so they did notice. Casandra looked at Rose, tears in her eyes. "I need out of here. Please."

Rose felt herself go speechless. Was Y/n so broken that he had messed Casandra up so quickly? Or was it the fact that Cassandra already had a soft spot for him that she pitied him so much? "Fine," she sighed halfheartedly. "Doctor, give us a moment if you would. Just a moment and then we'll be back, promise."

They went around the corner, Rose making sure the Doctor didn't follow. Casandra didn't wait longer than that. She transported into Rose again with that same purple mist and then Rose cleared her throat, her posture changing as Casandra took control. Y/n wiped his eyes and then pulled Rose back to the Doctor. "Sorry about that," he replied. "Rose and I had something to discuss. Best friend things, very important." Casandra smiled beside him, despite knowing that he didn't really think of her as his best friend. "Come on-"

"Are you guys up to something?" The Doctor asked.

"Nothing at all," Cassandra drawled in an voice that was very much not Rose Tyler's. "Just mucking about New Earth, having new experiences and lots of fun. New planet, new age. New me." She looked the Doctor up and down and Y/n rolled his eyes.

"Guess I can't talk much then," the Doctor joked, distracted as he always was by a pretty face. Why were the smartest ones always the most susceptible to an attractive woman? Though, Y/n supposed he couldn't talk much. "New Doctor."

"That you are," Cassandra purred. And then she did something that none of them saw coming. She grabbed the Doctor's face and snogged him just as aggressively as she had Y/n.

Was she collecting or something?

Or... did Rose want her to do it as much as Casandra was curious what it would be like?

When she'd had her fun, she parted and directed them to the terminals. The Doctor looked at Y/n, who cracked a smile at the man's frazzled state, despite who had put him in it. "Yep," he squeaked. Y/n snorted, trying and failing to contain it. "Still got it." Y/n rolled his eyes and shook his head then caught up to Cassandra, the Doctor following after them while he tried to contain his gleeful grin.

By the time they got to the trams, everyone had calmed down. They looked at the map of the place, but it didn't yield much. No shop, the Doctor noticed. No spa, Y/n joked. "Something else is missing too," Cassandra noticed seriously. She seemed a lot closer to her old self. "When I was downstairs, those nurse-cat-nuns were talking about intensive care... but where is it?"

"You're right, well done," the Doctor praised.

"Why would they hide a whole department?" Cassandra wondered, ignoring his praise. "It's got to be there somewhere. Search the subframe."

"What if the subframe's locked?" The Doctor questioned.

"Try the installation protocol," Cassandra told him like it was quite simple.

Y/n was impressed. Not that he didn't expect her to be smart, but that he couldn't believe someone as smart as her had been reduced to a pretty face for so long.

The Doctor did so, offering sarcastic grumblings as he did. He put his screwdriver to the screen and fiddled. Suddenly, the wall was moving and lowering and exposing a hidden tunnel behind it. Y/n stepped up between Casandra and the Doctor. "So... in we go?"

"Suppose so," the Doctor confirmed. Cassandra lead the way, but Y/n didn't miss the suspicious look he shot Rose. Y/n internally sighed, realizing they weren't going to be able to hold off this whole charade for much longer. "Intensive care," the Doctor mused as he followed second in the line as they moved into the tunnel. “Certainly looks intensive."

"Quite so," Y/n scoffed.

They moved forward, into a hallway and then down stairs into an impossibly large, cylindrical cavern whose wall were covered floor to ceiling with green pods. There were levels above and below them that seemed to stretch for eternity, the walkways looping in circles on every level. The Doctor moved to one, using the screwdriver to open a pod. What they saw was horrific. A man with ratted hair and a long, beige hospital gown that was dingy and dirty. He was sitting in a chair, his head lolling from side to side and his skin covered in rot and welts and sickness of all kinds. He looked like he was dying. Y/n raised a hand, gasping softly as he covered his mouth to hold himself back from reaching out to the person.

"That's disgusting," Cassandra sneered quietly. "What's wrong with him?"

"Shut up," Y/n snapped. "He can hear you," he added to try and cover it up, hoping he hadn't brought attention to how out of character that was for 'Rose' to say.

The Doctor ignored both of them. He looked at the man with a heartbroken look, shaking his head in remorse. He couldn't do anything, so he said the same thing he always did when he couldn't save someone. "I'm sorry." Y/n moved closer. "I'm so sorry." He closed that door then moved to the next one, Y/n limply following behind.

The person in the next pod was in the exact same condition. "What disease is that?" Casandra asked, her voice tinged in disgust.

"All of them." The Doctor's voice was gravely, low with anger for the people in the pods. "Every single disease in the galaxy. They've been infected with everything."

"What about us?" Casandra asked, alarmed. "Are we safe?"

Y/n sighed, shaking his head. "That's not the point. The pain they're going through. Can you imagine, every disease ever? All in one body? Did you see how many pods there were? Countless amounts of people, all infected with diseases that will rot them away slowly until they just... die. In pain. Alone. No one who cares about them, or who will remember them. Just... gone." He went to reach out and touch the woman in the pod they had just opened. "Isolated, unable to move and having no one to call out to. How lonely would that be?"

The Doctor caught Y/n's hand. "Don't touch them. The air is sterile, but they'll infect you too if you touch them."

Y/n's face fell. "They've never even been touched? Existing alone in the dark, in a world of pain and emptiness and loneliness. No one knows they exist as they cry for help. How long has it been since they've been touched?"

No one answered. The Doctor just closed the door, and the trio turned away and looked out across the railing, taking in the countless pods with new eyes. Every single green light they could see was yet another person living that life that Y/n had painted. There were even more lights they could not see. An unknowable amount. Maybe endless.

It was that thought that triggered it.

It was like a swarm of bees. He had seen that image again on Earth in his exploration. Most in cartoons, or horror movies he'd caught scenes of in passing, but still. That's what it looked like. Except these weren't harmless insects that only gave you a little sting and then moved on. This was like maybe a bee, but you're deathly allergic and now there's a whole swarm coming just for you, with the intent to wipe you out if its the last thing they do.

The Daleks, and with them, possibly the end of everything.

War has a smell. I know it, even though I myself have never been in one. He was though, and for some reason I know that because I know what he knows. The smell doesn't bother you after a while. It doesn't even really bother you at all until after the fighting is over and you smell is again. Smell anything like it at all, and those memories come back. Not enough to ruin you, but enough to shake you to your core. To put a bitter taste in your mouth and remind you of the faces of everyone you lost.

And it hurts.

A hand on Y/n's shoulder and the boy looked over to lock eyes with the Doctor. The men locked eyes and the Doctor was startled to see a look in Y/n's eyes he had not seen in a long time. A haunted look from years of fighting a battle they were all losing. A look from years of fighting similar, smaller battles. Alone. A look the Doctor had seen in his family and comrades once, but only ever saw in his own eyes now adays.

Y/n looked away. "Let's go." He realized he did know what they had said. The injustice of it all. That's what drove him. These people. They needed help. That was more important than the memories.

As they walked, Casandra moved closer to Y/n. She knew exactly what had just happened, and what he needed. A distraction. "Why don't they just die?" She asked.

Y/n would have hit there right then and there if the Doctor hadn't piped up. "Plague carriers. The last to go."

"It's for the greater cause." The trio looked over to see one of the nurses.

"Novice Hame," the Doctor greeted with a voice forming into an edge so sharp it could cut just by being spoken. "When you took your vows, did you agree to this?"

"The sisterhood has sworn to help," the sister said, as if to reassure.

It wasn't working. "What, by killing?" The Doctor yelled.

"They're not real people," the cat woman told them.

It only made Y/n more angry. He couldn't think right. His mind was mixed up in a war he'd never been apart of, torn between a man that no longer existed dealing with a problem that had long ago reached a point of no return, and Y/n who was compassionate and understanding and talked and explained rather than threw pipes at skin trampolines and thought about attacking cat ladies who just had messed up ideals about clones, but still had the right ideas. This was the part where Y/n intervened and calmed everyone down. This was the part he talked to her and made her see where she was wrong, like he so often did.

Y/n wasn't in the mood to help, though. So he stood by the Doctor and he seethed and he saw those pods and he thought of people who were created to suffer, alone, in pain, until they died. Y/n snapped. "Come here." The woman looked at Y/n, surprised by the rage in his face. "Doctor, your screwdriver please." The Doctor hesitated, unsure of what Y/n had in mind, but handed it over anyway. Seeing the Doctor obey, the woman did too. Y/n pulled her into his side, opened the pod to expose another sick person. "Look at her." The cat lady did, and she seemed unfazed. At first. "Look at the pain she's in." As if on cue, the woman began to beg for her life. Plead for help. "Look at her!" Hame flinched. "Do you see a creature without intelligence? Because when I look at her, I see a person. A person who doesn't know what's happened or why, or how to stop it, but wants to DESPERATELY because it hurts so much and it has always hut and it will always hurt until she dies. I don't care if she was grown or born or found floating in space, look into her eyes and tell me you cannot see someone who feels and thinks and would have had a real life, if it weren't for you people locking her up and using her like- like some sort of cattle."

Novice Hame did not have anything to say to that.

The Doctor did though. "How many is the turn over?" He asked her, coming to her other side. A thousand a day? A thousand the next? Thousand the next? How many thousands? For how many years? HOW MANY?"

To that, the woman had a response. Y/n watched the woman in the pod as the nurse spoke. "Mankind needed us. They came to this planet with so many illnesses, we couldn't cope. We did try. We tried everything. We tried using clone meat and bio-cattle, but the results were too slow. So the sisterhood grew its own flesh. That's all they are. Flesh."

"That's all we all are." Y/n closed the door and locked it, his face crumpling as he faced the nurse. "We're all just flesh, growing and stretching and getting leathery with age. We have brains, but so do they. They think and talk and interact. Look me in the face and tell me not one of them has ever spoken before what happened a few minutes ago. They've never reacted to pain or begged for their lives. Look me in the face and tell me that. That it's never happened before."

Novice Hame didn't say anything, once again.

"These people are alive," the Doctor stated, pointing at the pod Y/n had just closed.

"But the humans out there, in the world. They're healthy. Alive." She seemed to be struggling after Y/n and the Doctor's delivery. "Happy, because of us."

"If they live because of this, then life is worthless," the Doctor spit.

The nurse shook her head. "But who are you to decide that?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied without missing a beat, stepping up to her. "And if you don't like it, if you want to take it to a higher authority, there isn't one. It stops with me."

It was at that time that Casandra spoke again. "Just to confirm," she began. "None of the humans in this city actually know about this?"

Y/n closed his eyes.

Goddamnit Casandra.

"Hold on," the Doctor interrupted before the nurse could speak again. "I can understand the bodies. I can understand your vows, but one thing I can't understand - what have you done to Rose?" The nurse stuttered her confusion, but the Doctor didn't step down. "I'm being very, very calm. You want to be aware of that: very, very calm. And the only reason I'm being so very very calm, is that the brain is a delicate thing. Whatever you've done to Rose's head, I want it reversed."

"They haven't done anything," Y/n mumbled.

The Doctor turned very fast on Y/n. "These people are dying, and Rose would care. If they didn't do something... if something happened to her, you seem to be the one who knows. Explain. Now."

"It's Casandra," Y/n sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She needed a body to travel and she needed our help to figure out what was going on around here, so she hijinxed Rose. Well-" he shrugged. "Me at first, and then Rose."

The Doctor didn't seem to be expecting that. "Casandra?"

Casandra moved closer to the Doctor, smirking. "Wake up and smell the perfume." She sprayed him with something then and the Doctor fell.

"What the hell Casandra?" Y/n demanded.

"Oh pick him up and stop complaining. We need to get out of here." She turned to the nurse and went to say something, and then she hesitated and her eyes passed to Y/n and lingered for too long. "You know Y/n, I’ve lived off of spite since the last time I saw you guys. I've been angry and determined and... I only wanted to figure this whole thing out so I could use the information against the nuns and try and blackmail them. I-" She swallowed, looking away. "Being in your head. Seeing the thing you think and feel. You have such an odd way of doing things. Back then... you were upset when I died. You tried to stop me. You begged me. You tried to make me to be a good guy so we didn't have to end it in a tragedy. You were nice to me, even though I was just a piece of skin and went against all you and this girl of yours like about humans. Even though she hated me, and most humans hated me, you didn't." Her shoulders sagged. "What do we do, Y/n?"

He smiled. His anger from moments ago melted. "I've got the Doctor. We need to get the Matrim here, and then release the people. She needs to pay for what she's done, and they need to be be free."

So that's what they did. Casandra pulled out a tube that set off an alarm, and then waited for the Matrim to turn the corner. The two women locked eyes until the Matrim got close enough, and then Casandra pulled a lever and all the pods opened. "See ya!" Casandra hollered, waving as the trio turned and began to retreat.

As they were going, more pods began to explode, and because the booms and sparks, the Doctor woke up. "What's happening?" he slurred.

"Not now Dear, we'll get back to this later I promise." Y/n kept walking, trying to move quickly while holding the Doctor in his arms. He paused a moment to put the man down, now that he was awake. "Come along!"

The Doctor shook himself out of his sleepiness, looking around at the bumbling infected, and the open pods that were beginning to empty. "What have you guys done?"

"It wasn't us!" Casandra scoffed.

"One touch and you get every disease in the world, and I want that body safe, Casandra!" She rolled her eyes and Y/n almost smiled at her sass, if it wasn't for everything else. "We've got to go down!" Casandra went to complain to the Doctor yelled, "RUN!" Needless to say, you listen to the Doctor when he yells. The trio began to race down the steps, moving as fast as they could to the basement. Casandra screamed and it echoed. In the distance, they heard Chip's quick footsteps racing to meet them. In only moments he had joined them. And then there were four. When Casandra moved toward the elevators, the Doctor stopped her. "No, the lifts have closed down. There's a quarantine, nothing's moving."

"Where are we going then?" Y/n demanded.

Casandra yelled, "THIS WAY!" They began running, jerking through an opening where more infected were streaming in through a hallway that intersected the one they were currently running through.

Long story short: Chip and Y/n didn't make it.

The Doctor stopped, looking for a way to get to Y/n. "Go!" Y/n screamed.

"I won't leave you!" The Doctor screamed back.

Y/n shook his head. "I can't die, Doctor. You solve this thing, and we'll figure out the rest later." The Doctor hesitated, looking at Y/n with pain and regret. "I promise I'll be okay. I promised I wasn't going anywhere, and I don't break my promises." The Doctor hesitated longer so Y/n grunted and ordered, "GO!" Finally, he did, chasing after Casandra in Rose's body to make sure they all got out okay.

"Mistress!" Chip wailed. "My mistress!"

"CHIP!" Y/n screamed, shaking the man into sense. "You need to hide. Come on!" He guided the small man against the wall, pressing against him so his whole body covered Chip. He was small enough to pull it off. "Do not touch my skin, do you understand? Keep your skin from touching mine at all costs." Chip curled in on himself, making himself smaller and pressing his face into Y/n's back. Hands other than Chip's wrapped around Y/n's arms and ankle and face and hands.

Then there was pain. Y/n could feel his body rotting and dying. He'd last plenty long enough to keep Chip safe, but he felt incredible pain as he was inducted with every disease known in the entire universe. He got sicker and sicker and sicker, until the crowd in the room began to clear and go away, satisfied with touching him. When the room was empty, Y/n finally collapsed. He lay on the ground as Chip kneeled next to him.

"You saved my life."

"Don't think too much about it," Y/n joked dryly. "I can't die. I'm sick forever now though. Maybe. Maybe I'll reset. Come back to life cured. I guess we'll see."

They stayed there for what seemed hours, until more people shuffled into the room. These people had the same worn out gowns on, but they weren't sick at all. They looked at Chip first, hugging him and touching his face and arms and hands, like they did earlier, except this time no disease spread.

Suddenly there was a voice. Like an angel sent directly from God. "Y/N!"

"We're in here!" Chip called, running to find the Doctor and bring him back.

Upon seeing Y/n on the floor, the Doctor shook his head. "What is with you? One rule, Y/n: no touching. You've had this problem before."

"An issue of mine it seems. Can't keep my hands to myself."

Chip interrupted. "He saved my life. Stood in front of the disease because it doesn't hurt him.

The Doctor's face was soft as he kneeled next to Y/n. "It does hurt him. And it would have hurt him forever if I wasn't so amazing." He reached out but Y/n jerked his head away. "It's okay," the Doctor assured, grabbing Y/n's face. The man gasped, eyes widening as there was a sizzling sound and he felt, just as he did with the sickness, his body getting better. For a little extra dramatic affair, the Doctor leaned down and kissed Y/n. It was a good kiss. Soft and full of love and admiration and care. When the Doctor leaned away, Y/n was completely cured. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," Y/n joked weakly.

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. "Lucky me."

"Lucky us," Y/n corrected. That they could agree on.

The first thing they did was see the face of Boe. It was sort of vague and odd, but overall a nice experience. It ended with convincing Casandra to leave Rose though, and that was another matter.

"Y/n I'll die," Casandra begged, turning to the only person she knew would care about her. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you've been in my head same as I've been in yours. I let you in and we talked. I know what's happening with you, and no one else does. Please. We can really be friends. For real."

Y/n sighed, his face full of pain. "Casandra, I love you. I consider you a friend, and I genuinely care about you. But..." He closed his eyes. "The Doctor's right, and this isn't your body.

Casandra broke then. "I don't want to die." She covered her face before rested her forehead on Y/n's chest.

"No one does," the Doctor said.

"Help me!" She begged, turning her head as Y/n held her so she could still be heard.

"I can't."

"I can." Eyes turned to Chip, who stepped forward. "I am willing Mistress, take me."

Y/n's eyes widened. "Chip-" His mouth worked, but nothing came out. "Don't you want your own life, even for a short while? Don't you want to be your own man with the small time you have left?"

Chip looked at Y/n very seriously. "You gave your body for me. You'd just as soon give it for them." He motioned to the Doctor and Rose, and Y/n sighed, knowing he couldn't argue. "I want to give my body to her. One last gift to the Mistress."

Casandra left Rose and went into Chip, and there was a second they took to stabilize Rose before the Doctor turned back to Casandra. "You can't-"

"She can," Y/n interrupted. All eyes turned to him. "I know them better than both of you. Casandra doesn't care about him, you're right. He deserves better, definitely. But... it's like the Ood. He doesn't care about free will like we do. He WANTS this, and so does she. It doesn't realy matter what we think they should do. They both want this."

The argument ended there.

"You at least have to stand trial for what you've done," the Doctor ordered.

"That would be rather dramatic. I'm afraid we don't have time for that, though. See, Chip's is only a half life and he's already been through so much. I can feel his little heart now. It's racing." She paused, head tilting. "He's failing." Another pause. "I don't think he's going to last-" And then she fell and Y/n shot out to catch her.

"You alright?" Y/n asked, raising a hand to brush his thumb against Casandra's cheek.

"I'm fine," she answered. There was a long pause where she considered that, and then changed her answer. "I'm dying... But that's fine."

"I can take you to the city-" the Doctor began.

"No you won't," Casandra interrupted. "The city is new. This world is new. There's no place for Chip and me anymore." She looked at the Doctor. "You were right Doctor. It's time to die." Y/n felt his face crumble and he forced it neutral, but Rose hadn't missed it. "And that's good," Casandra assured, looking at Y/n to raise a hand and touch his face.

"You know Sandy," Y/n said. The nickname came from the last time they talked. He hadn't used it since she had been revealed as a traitor. "How about we let you do one last thing? I know what you need." She looked at him, and they shared a smile. They knew what the other was thinking in that moment. Y/n and Cassandra both had never been so seen by someone else.

They took Casandra to the night of the tape she had been watching on loop for years to cope with her life decisions. The night that she was told she was beautiful for the last time. Y/n watched from a distance as his friend died, in the arms of the past self she had wished to be forever, but had lost long ago.

That day, Rose and the Doctor both held Y/n as he cried. They didn't ask what had been going on with him zoning out, or what Casandra had meant when she said she knew what was going on inside his head, that was for another day. Today, he cried, and they held him until he stopped, and afterward they continued their adventure and let him mourn in peace.

He deserved that at the very least.

Story Taglist: @shoochi @e-reads-fics

#tenth doctor #male reader #dr who #doctor who #doctor who imagine #dr who imagine #dr who x reader #dr who x male reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who x male reader #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x male reader #tenth doctor imagine #dr who fan fiction #doctor who fanfiction

156 notes · View notes

sapphicscullyy · 4 years

Text

With You

100. “We could... you know, go together, if you wanted.”

Thank you so much for the prompt @bitshortforastormtrooper. I’m sorry it took agessss to get around to but please enjoy. This can also be read for your convenience on ao3. Tagging @today-in-fic

+++

8:29 am 27th August J. Edgar Hoover Building

Scully blustered her way into the office and shut the door behind her, slumping back against it with her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths before opening them again, attempting to cool the flush in her cheeks, only to find Mulder staring at her, concern in his eyes. The bastard. He didn’t say anything, just waited to see if she would explain her strange behaviour. Scully sighed.

“I just spoke to Skinner in the elevator,” she began slowly.

“If it was about the late case report, don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I was just about to head up there now to hand it in.”

“No, it wasn’t that.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “He asked me if I was attending the Director’s Ball on Friday evening. Of which Skinner informed me that he had given you both of our invitations several weeks ago.” Her tone implied that this was more of an interrogation than a statement.

At least he was smart enough to look slightly guilty. “He may have mentioned it.”

“Mulder…” she groaned in exasperation. “It’s in three days,” she stuttered, “and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Scully, you could wear anything, even one of your old pantsuits with the massive shoulder pads, and you would still look amazing.”

She glared at him even as the blush returned to her cheeks. “I am not wearing a suit.”

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Mulder suggested lightly. “We only have paperwork to do today. I can deal with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

She huffed a laugh, deciding not to think about the answers to his question. “Thank you,” she said.

Silence filled the office for a moment, then the rustling of paperwork as Mulder collected some files from the desk.

“Are we-” Scully faltered, then continued tentatively. “Do we have to bring dates?”

“I think everyone has a plus-one invitation; I’m not taking anyone, though.” He stood, not meeting her gaze as he shuffled the papers in his hands.

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure anyone would want to go with Spooky Mulder.” He laughed as though he had told a joke.

“We could… you know, go together, if you wanted.” Scully swallowed, suddenly overly conscious of the lump in her throat, barely daring to breathe in wait of his response.

“It’s alright, Scully. You don’t have to stick with me. You could have any man you wanted.” He stood from behind the desk, file in hand, and walked over to where she was still standing by the door. He gently moved her aside as he opened it. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, flashing her a grin, the one that made her go weak at the knees every time, and shut the door behind him.

“What if I want you?” she whispered to the closed door, her words too loud in the empty office.

+++

2:43 pm

That afternoon, Scully pulled into a parking space in front of a small boutique shop that she often eyed as she drove past on the way to work each day. She had only been inside once before, and it had been a few years ago when she had treated herself to a day of therapeutic shopping after a particularly gruelling case. She had bought a new pair of heels, which she had only worn two or three times since, but the feeling of buying them had been worth it.

A small bell above the door chimed as she entered. A woman popped her head out from behind a rack of clothes, greeted Scully, and told her to yell out if she needed any help. Scully smiled at her in thanks and wandered along the rows of dresses, running her fingertips lightly across the fabric.

She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to wear to the event, so she chose a few dresses at random to try on, hoping to find something that would work, or at least narrow down her choices.

“Would you like to try those on?” the voice of the saleswoman behind her made her jump. She had a hand outstretched for the dresses draped over Scully’s arm. “Let me take them to the changeroom for you while you keep looking.”

“Actually, I’m ready to try them on now.”

“Of course, come this way.” She led Scully to the changeroom, drawing aside the large curtain for her, but she paused before closing it. “May I make a recommendation?” She didn’t wait for a response. “There’s a dress that’s out the back and I think that it would look perfect on you. I’ll go grab it while you try these ones on.” With that, she closed the curtain, leaving Scully by herself.

The first dress was a red, strapless number that came to just below her knees. The fabric pooled nicely around her figure, and she had a pair of heels and a clutch at home that would go quite nicely with it, but she was concerned that there was too much skin being shown to be considered ‘proper’ for a work event, though she knew Mulder would most likely appreciate it.

As would every other straight male in the room. She silently chastised herself for letting her mind wander to such a dangerous topic.

The second dress she had picked up was a shade of green that she knew immediately would not suit her as she held the dress up to her body in the small changing room mirror. She replaced the dress on its hanger without even bothering to try it on.

As she slid on the third dress, she thought it might be the one. The black fabric was smooth against her skin and the neckline and figure were modest yet flattering. But as she stepped out from behind the curtain to admire herself in the larger mirror, she noticed the slit along her left leg, nearly going up to her hip. She sighed at her reflection. She didn’t particularly want to be that exposed in front of her male colleagues, especially since she knew Skinner would be amongst them. She wouldn’t be able to meet her boss’s eye for days afterwards.

At that moment, the saleswoman walked back in, another dress draped over her arm. She stopped when she saw Scully.

“Oh honey, you look absolutely stunning,” she exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Scully dipped her head at the compliment, “but I’m attending a work function and I’m not entirely convinced by this.” She gestured to her exposed leg.

“Of course,” she shook her head knowingly. “Here, give this one a try. I think it will suit you perfectly.” She handed Scully the dress from her arm.

Ducking back into the change room, she removed her current dress and slipped on the one the saleswoman had given her. Black, silky fabric that clung to her skin but almost appeared to be cascading down her body and onto the floor. The straps were thin and the neckline was low, although not dangerously so. The back dipped just low enough that she wouldn’t be able to wear a bra, but so that her ouroboros remained hidden.

The woman gasped quietly as she emerged from behind the curtain. “That dress looks like it was made just for you.”

Scully examined herself in the large mirror and felt her own breath catch in her throat. She did look amazing. Even with her hair and make-up having deteriorated throughout the day, she felt as though she could walk into any ballroom and fit right in.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Mulder would react upon seeing her in this dress. Would he stop short at the sight of her? Or perhaps he would only give her a quick once over before he swept her into his arms, unable to keep away for any longer than necessary.

The shrill ringing of her cell phone pierced through the fog of dangerous thoughts that had filled her mind.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping back into the changing room. She rifled through her belongings and found her phone. “Scully,” she answered.

“Scully, it’s me,” he said, as a loud crash came through the tiny speaker.

“Mulder? Is everything alright?”

“Just fine,” he replied unconvincingly. She heard the crackling rustle of papers being shuffled. “Do you know where you put the file on Cordelia Knox?”

“Mulder, you put that file on the massive pile on your desk, which I strongly suggested that you sort out before you lose something.”

She heard more rustling. Then a muffled bang. “I found it.” She laughed quietly even as her head fell into her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

There was a pause. “Have you finished shopping?” he asked tentatively.

“Not quite.” She may have found her dress, but she wanted to buy a nice pair of heels to go with it.

“Then I have everything under control.” Another crash sounded through the phone. “Go enjoy yourself, Scully. You deserve it.”

+++

8:29 am 29th August FBI Director’s Ball

Scully was bored, tired, slightly drunk and extremely sick of the hot and clammy hands of the men who, because she had agreed to dance with them, believed that it was in their right to put said hands wherever they pleased on her body. She had been passed between the arms of the FBI’s worst perverts and creeps for the past hour and the only thing she wished for was a warm bath to wash away the lingering feeling of the many hands off her body. The man she was currently dancing with was no different from the others, in fact, they were all beginning to blend together. His hands sat hot and heavy on her lower back, making the skin itch and boil beneath the fabric.

There was a small, fickle part of herself that thought of that spot on the small of her back as Mulder’s. It was the same part of her that made her continuously scan the crowds over the shoulder of her dancing partner in the frail hope of seeing him. The same part of her that desperately hoped that he would see her despondence and sweep her far away from this place and all the people in it.

There was a high chance that he wouldn’t turn up at all; perhaps struck by a sudden ailment in the hours between leaving the office and the expected arrival time of the event. She usually didn’t mind his near-perfect streak of missing work events, as usually, he dragged her along with him to wherever he thought was a better place to be, which was anywhere else, really. All she wanted now was to be with him wherever that may be.

She snapped out of her thoughts as she felt the hands of her dance partner slip dangerously low on her back and she was so focused on attempting to keep them in a more respectable place that she did not notice Mulder step forward from the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes flying from face to face. She did not see the way he stopped dead at the sight of her in the wandering arms of another man. How his eyes sparked first with wonderment, then with indignation.

But then he was there, standing at her shoulder, politely asking for a dance and sweeping her away without waiting for an answer from the other man. He was inconsequential now that Mulder was there.

In the instant that he pulled her towards him, there was not a single soul present in the room that they were aware of, besides each other. He held her close, but his touch on her back was light and innocent, his fingertips deliciously burning the skin where her tattoo resided.

“Hi,” she whispered, tilting her head back so that their faces were aligned, noses only inches apart.

“Hi,” he responded, and she heard everything that he wanted to tell her at that moment. In the way he breathed that single word. She heard his wonder and his passion, and she heard his apology. She could see it reflected in his eyes, swimming there and exposed for her to see. An apology for letting her go alone, for being an idiot, and for all the arms that have held her tonight that weren’t his.

And she forgave him.

The music was slow and steady, a heartbeat thrumming in the air. She slid the hands which had been resting on his shoulders further up and looped them around his neck. They remained completely oblivious to the world around them as they swayed in place together, unaware of the stare and murmurs of their coworkers, not noticing how they diverted their attention to something else with a quick glare from AD Skinner. Men came up to them to ask Scully to dance, but they went unheard and ignored, skulking away after it became obvious they had no chance of interrupting.

He pulled her closer to him, and she turned to rest her head against his chest, listening to his heart beating out of sync with the music, so she danced to his rhythm instead. Both of them shifted slowly from side to side in synchrony, creating their own metronome.

She was pulled out of her trance-like state as the music changed to an upbeat song which she was no longer able to drown out with the sound of his heart beating in her ear. She extracted herself slightly from his arms and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. His face was clouded in an indecipherable storm of emotion, but when she smiled softly up at him, it cleared and he returned her small grin.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and his smile grew even wider. He moved the hands that had rested on her back and took her hand in his own, holding it tight as though he might lose her in the crowd, and led them off the dancefloor. They wove through the tables and people surrounding it, ignoring the people who looked their way in curiosity.

The heavy doors to the event hall closed firmly behind them and an instant deafening silence filled the foyer. But it was quickly broken by the echoing sound of her heels clicking on the tiles as Mulder tugged her towards the revolving door at the entrance. A tiny laugh, one that could almost be described as a giggle, escaped her lips. They tumbled out of the door onto the street, both attempting and failing to hide their grins.

He hadn’t let go of her hand.

A cool evening breeze drifted down the street, curling around her bare arms and shoulders, so she stepped closer into him, stealing his warmth by proximity. But, for the second time that night, he pulled her closer, an arm wrapping around her waist, hands still entwined.

She tilted her head up and he tilted his down so that their noses were only an inch apart.

“Where are we going?” he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.

“Does it matter?” she breathed.

“No.”

There were words that remained unspoken, but she heard them all the same.

As long as I’m with you.

#so it appears that the more i write the more i dislike my writing #is that just me ??#anyway i dont love this but oh well #xf fanfic #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #txf #my fic

127 notes · View notes

lilikags · 3 years

Text

epiphany- a moment when you suddenly become conscious of something that is very important to you

ೃ⁀➷ It was unreasonably cold on our first date. We went out to a café in the city. It was cozy; soft lights glowed with warm auras, soft, green plants lined the windows, the aroma of coffee imbued the atmosphere. But the date itself was cold. Both parties seemed aloof to one another, an awkward silence hung over the table for most of it. The coffee I ordered came in warm, but it seemed more tepid to me. I would've thought the coffee was great, if it wasn't so cold in the bubble around our table. Even the employees could see it; their expressions showed a hint of pity, their eyes displaying a tint of sympathy.

ೃ⁀➷ Flurries happened the next day. We saw each other again; we were partners for our next project. Uneasy smiles were our greetings to each other, and we worked in an awkward silence. Somehow, it didn't feel freezing that day, though the temperatures dipped below zero that night. It felt completely different than our date the day before; the silence was more comfortable than awkward, more tepid than cold. I felt we could get the project done effectively and quickly; even when it looked like there was a wall of ice between us, made of the lack of communication despite being across from each other, the wall was clear. We could see exactly our intentions from the other side, and miscommunication had been frozen by the wall.

ೃ⁀➷ Christmas parties bring people together, they say. Despite being in the same friend group, we had barely talked to each other. It was the first time we saw each others' smiles, heard each others' laughs, felt each others' emotions. For the duration of the party, we showed that we had a human side, something that had been hidden earlier. Earlier, we were merely robots atop a snowy mountain, with frost on our metal panels and ice at our toes. But while we talked for the first time, we had gone into a cave, set up a fire, and the ice had started to melt.

ೃ⁀➷ Playing in the snow is something kids love to do. Despite it being cold, the children can still laugh at each other, throw snowballs at each other, and bury each other in the snow. It's a warm snow, a snow that tickles your skin and cushions your fall. We saw kids playing at the park the next winter. We were taking a walk, a day after our first anniversary. I picked up the snow barehanded, but it didn't sting. We made a snowman, piling up the snow, but our hearts were light.

ೃ⁀➷ We had hot chocolate on New Year's that year. There were flurries outside, just like when we were working on our group project. I had two marshmallows floating atop the drink, right next to each other. The hot chocolate was exactly the right temperature, the sweetness just right. The movie on the TV was supposed to be a thriller, but we laughed at it instead. If only those times lasted longer.

ೃ ⁀➷ A snow globe was one of the gifts I received for Christmas that year. I set it beside a photo frame, with a photo of us on our first anniversary, on my bed stand. In it were snowmen, snowflakes, and a cute little person. I treasured it as my most prized possession. I love watching the snow fall slowly within the snow globe, as they landed on the person inside. Little did I know that the person inside would be me the following year, and that the snow did not mean what I really thought it meant.

ೃ⁀➷ Icicles can be weapons. They're sharp. They can fall on your heart if you're not careful, if you don't see them above. They're crystal clear, when you see them. You almost don't believe they're there. I didn't see it- and the words hit me like an icicle.

ೃ⁀➷ The holidays came around again, but I felt empty. I tried to spend it the same, but it wasn't the same. There was something missing; my heart felt cold. The sweater I wore last year went missing, but I didn't bother to find it. I didn't bother to buy another one either. I just missed that warmth. Something in heart tried to make it myself, but it only glowed.

ೃ⁀➷ A new decade, a new year. It'd been years since then. I was ready to turn over a new leaf, a new me, a new job. I was going to make my life worth it, something I wouldn't regret when I'd die. I was going to start the year off with a "bang!"- until we met again. It was at the new workplace I had applied to. We were assigned to the same team.

ೃ⁀➷ A blizzard happened outside the office when we worked on our first project together. We were probably the ones who caused it. The only thing we could call this was a mess; everyone's minds were all over the place, no one could focus, and we got in trouble. It was no surprise that we didn't like each other off the bat. We were still hung up on the past, though we shouldn't have. It'd been years of no contact. The fact that we still had each other's contacts saved in our phones was a mystery, something we thought we would've deleted.

ೃ⁀➷ Matching socks and gingerbread cookies happened the next Christmas. We never thought it would happen, ever. I had never thought that I would find the blanket again, nonetheless welcome it back. It came back different, yet I still liked it. I baked gingerbread cookies, something we both loved and the frosting was just something a little extra, to celebrate the moment. We built a gingerbread house, with a little gingerbread couple. We imagined a perfect lifestyle for them, something of the future. Our socks kept our feet warm, wrapping them up and letting us forget about them to enjoy the moment.

ೃ⁀➷ White, sparkling snow piled up. Some parts sparkled more than others, some spots had a bit of dirt on it, but it was mostly white, sparkly snow. There were some sticks in it too, which fell from trees. Some parts were still cold, others nearing warmer temperatures. Some of it had melted away, gone into the drainage forever- to be forgotten. I could still see much of the snow, and I treasured that.

ೃ⁀➷ Diamonds, like snow. It's been years since then, since we first started. All of it, it started on that very first winter day, and here we are, on the same day of the year. It's remarkably warm today, the day that the diamond ring meets my finger.

ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ׂׂׂׂૢ་༘

taglist ; @ssat0ris

#original story #winter #ambiguous #epiphany #lili kags

39 notes · View notes

eugenesmorphine · 3 years

Note

Hiiii can you do something about Burgie?

Old School Southern Love // Romus “Burgie” Burgin Imagine

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @punkgeekchic @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @valterras @adamantiumdragonfly

Words: 2,378

Romus Burgin rested on the train as he tilted his head back. He really was going back home to Texas after being stuck in the Pacfic Theater for god knows how long. He missed the feeling of his mattress. His dog. His parents and his siblings. And most importantly, his girl. Y/N L/N was the classic southern girl. Beautiful and almost the most dazzling young woman you would ever see walking the streets of Jewett, Texas. And her heart belonged to the Marine that was stationed in Japan, fighting for the country. And everyone in the area knew that more than anything.

///

Y/N and Romus met a while before the war. A few weeks before Pearl Harbor to be exact. Y/N was raised on a small horse ranch along with the rest of her family. Unlike her sisters, who were always gussied up, afraid to chip a nail type of gals. While Y/N always wore overalls and the same work boots. Always had her hair up and high away from her face. Always had some oil on her hands and dirt on her clothes and scattered on her face. She did enjoy dressing up from time to time, but she loved working hard. So when she went to the feed store in town to get some Hay for her family’s horses, Romus just so happened to be there. Jewett was a small town, so almost everyone knew each other. And Y/N was well known for her looks even when covered in dirt and motor oil.

Romus remembered when he heard the bell on the door of that little store ring. He remembered looking up and seeing her little sunhat at first as she walked to the counter. He was busy buying some smokes for his old man when he saw her walk up beside him. He damn near fell over when she saw the smile on her face as she asked the cashier to grab a few hay bales for her to grab. Romus realized he had been staring too long when he noticed Y/N turn to smile at him. Giving a small wave. Burgie’s ears turned a bright shade of red as he gulped in embarrassment. He returned her wave with a small embarrassed one. And that is when she spoke to him for the first time. And that is where he fell in love.

“Hey stranger, I haven’t seen you around. Are you new?” she asked, turning to look at him. Even with the dirt caked on her face, her smile and bright eyes shined through it. She was so gorgeous, his heart melted right then and there. Taking off his hat quickly as the woman spoke to him. Placing it against his chest.

“No, ma’am. Lived here my entire life. I know you though,” he said with a soft smile. Y/N let out a soft chuckle. Tilting her head to the side. Biting her bottom lip slightly.

“What have you heard about me?” she asked with a flirtatious tone. Placing her hat back onto her head as she placed her hands on her hips. Romus smiled and turned more towards her. Nodding a bit as he placed his father’s smokes into the pocket of his work pants. Humming softly.

“That you’re one of the most hard working, most pretty girls around,” he flirted. His voice is soft and sweet. Burgie was usually more quiet. He was on the shyer side of things. Yet, growing up in a small town, you grow out of it a bit. Y/N just blushed softly and turned her face away slightly to hide her reddened face.

“A flirt aren’t you? I like that. I’m guessing you know my name, it is only fair if I ask you what yours is,” she said softly. Looking back at the counter and snatching an apple within the basket. Taking a nice big bite of it and wiping the juice that slid down her chin away with her sleeve. Romus chuckled and looked down for a moment. Licking his bottom lip before looking back up.

“Romus Burgin, ma’am. Nice to meet you,” he said. Extending his hand. Y/N gladly took it in hers and a spark she felt within her as their hands touched. Grinning softly as his hand fell perfectly into hers. That was the moment both of them knew that this little meeting wouldn't be the first time they met.

Of course throughout the days the two kept bumping into each other at the store and other places around town. Soon Y/N even invited Burgie over for dinner. Which they labeled as their first date. It was the start of something that would last a lifetime. And when Burgie joined the Marines, she was scared, but told him she would wait for him. Making Romus promise he would return to him alive. A promise he swore to keep and fulfilled. They were star crossed lovers. Soulmates. And everyone knew it.

///

Now Romus sat on the train bouncing his knee up and down. Chewing skin off of his bottom lip while he stared out the window. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He didn’t think Y/N left him or anything. They had been exchanging letters every day he had been gone. And she never missed a reply and was never late in sending a letter. Each one had another picture of herself, her perfume sprayed all over it, and Y/N’s signature red lipstick kiss stain on the bottom of each letter. Her words never failed to make his cheeks go red. So he didn’t know why he was so nervous. He guessed it was just because they had spent so much time apart. And he also thought that maybe he changed too much. That was one thing that scared him. If he would scare her off. But he shoved the thoughts away as he focused on seeing his family and the woman he was in love with.

///

The train came to a halt. Lurching his body slightly. Hearing the caller over the barely working speakers call out his town. Checking his watch, Romus stood up and grabbed his travel bag. It was later, about nine at night. Some Marines, Sailors, and or Soldiers slept on the train. So he tried his best to remain quiet. Shuffling out and saying some quiet goodbyes to people that he had spoken to. But when his dress shoes hit the pavement of the train station, only one thing remained on his mind. And that was seeing Y/N.

First he stopped and found a taxi. Tossing his bag in and then climbing in. Giving a small smile to the taxi driver as he sat down. “Where to?” the man behind the wheel asked. His eyes looked tired. But nothing compared to what Burgie’s looked like. The man smiled a warm smile. An older gentleman with all his hair white and a nice white beard. Romus tiredly smiled in return as he gave his address. “Going home to the family? I want to thank you for your service,” he gave a small tip of his Irish cap to him as he began to drive down the road. The lights of the small town at night were comforting. It felt like an eternity since he saw them. Chuckling and looking out the window he nodded slightly.

“Thank you for the support,” Burgie said. Turning his head back to meet the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, I get to see my family. But first I’m going to see my girl first,” Burgie responded. Grinning slightly as he thought about Y/N within his head. Digging his hand into his pocket to take out a small folded picture. Unfolding it and in his hand rested his favorite picture Y/N had sent him. He loved every picture she sent him. But this one was just her favorite. It was the one risky picture Y/N had ever sent, but it wasn’t the risky clothing she wore. It was the smile on her face. Romus could tell she had somehow managed to take the picture herself. And one thing he knew was that his Y/N would never let anyone see her in a lingerie piece that she had worn besides him. Y/N looked truly happy in that photo. Sure she looked more stunning than ever. But her face is what grasped his attention. Smiling at the photo he could feel his heart swarm with butterflies. The same feeling he got when he first saw her at that store.

“I’m guessing she is a dime piece. I’m happy for you,” The taxi driver spoke, snapping Burgie out of his thoughts. He looked up at him and smiled shyly. His cheeks reddening slightly as he took one final glance at the photo and folded it back up. Placing it back into his dress greens pant pocket and nodding.

“Oh boy, I sure do, sir. Most beautiful girl in the entire world,” he said softly. Biting his bottom lip in attempts to contain his excitement. He just couldn’t wait to see her. That was what he wanted to do. Touch her smooth skin, smell her shampoo in her hair and the perfume that rested on her. And her lips on his. The taxi driver chuckled as the car slowed. They had already reached their small ranch house that they had bought not too long before the attack on Pearl Harbor. His eyes widened as reality set in.

“Well son, I let you Marines and Soldiers have this ride on the house. You saved our country. Now good luck with you million dollar, gal,” he smiled and laughed. Romus smiled and grabbed his bag. Thanking the nice driving as he stood up. His shoes hit the gravel driveway that wasn’t too far from the front door. Chewing on the inner lining of his cheek. It was a strong feeling of anxiety that washed over him. Did he not want to see her? What if she doesn’t feel the same anymore? He tried to suppress the silly thoughts as he knew that were all so stupid and he knew weren’t true. Taking a deep breath and exhaling as he began to make his way to the front door. Today was the day.

When he approached the door, he brought his hand up and made a fist. Knocking on the wooden door. Not too hard, but not too soft where he wouldn’t be heard. Staring at his feet until he waited to hear the sounds of footsteps. A thought popped into his head as he dug his hand into his bag to pull out a slightly crushed rose he had bought. He sighed, yet he knew it would be just fine in Y/N’s eyes. Tapping his foot softly as he waited. The rose held tightly into his hand like a teenage boy nervously waiting for his prom date. And that’s when he heard it. Her footsteps and along with her voice.

“One second!” she called as the footsteps grew louder. They were soft. Romus could tell she wasn’t wearing her normal leather boots. Smiling as he heard the door unlock and it creaked wide open. That is when he saw her. “I’m sorry for the wait I..” she stopped when her head turned and her eyes landed on his. First they widened and her mouth fell open slightly. Romus never told her when the train was coming. He actually told her he was going to be stuck on a ship for about a week. “Romus..” she whispered. Her mouth slowly turned up into a smile as she jumped up. “Romus!” Y/N shouted.

“Hey, darling,” he could barely speak out before Y/N tackled him into a hug. He barely kept his balance as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and spun her around in a hug. Placing her bare feet onto the concrete stairs. “Oh how I’ve missed you,” he said. Staring into her eyes, He wished he was the one to kiss her, but Y/N beat him to it when she smashed her lips onto his. Her soft hands going up to gently hold his face. Romus leaned against her and melted against the touch that he yearned for for so long.

Y/N tugged him inside and tossed his C-bag aside. “Oh, Romus! Why did you have to try and surprise me! I could’ve made you a nice meal!” she exclaimed. Rushing to the kitchen, already beginning to pull out some pots and pans. Laughing as he approached her and grabbed her hands gently.

“Y/N, I don’t need no fancy meal. It is too late in the night for that. Let’s just go sit and relax. Tomorrow we can go out dancing and get a nice meal. Tonight I only want to spend time with you before I see my parents,” he smiled and kissed her forehead. Y/N quickly melted against the kiss and gently wrapped her arms around his skinny waist.

“I need to fatten you up! You aren’t leaving my sight no more! Do you understand me, Sergeant?” she asked. Squishing his cheeks together softly. Her southern accent poking through more and more each word.

“Yes, ma’am. But.. maybe we could go and recreate my favorite picture now that we are here together again?” he offered with a cheeky smile. Causing his woman to toss her head back and let out a laugh. Looking back up at him with dusted pink cheeks.

“Well what are we waiting for, Sergeant Burgin?” she smirked and giggled. Pulling him along to go upstairs into their bedroom. In that moment Burgie was swollen with love. All those anxieties went away in just seconds. Y/N was so unbothered and so full of love. He knew already that they were soulmates. Destined to be together for the rest of their lives. And now he knew he needed to carry that promise out. He would keep his promise, just like he did to her when he survived the war for her. Romus Burgin always kept his promises to Y/N L/N. No matter what.

#the pacific #the pacific imagine #the pacific headcanon #romus valton burgin #romus #burgie #romus burgin imagine #burgie imagine #hbo #hbo war'#hbo war #hbo war imagine #hbo imagines

13 notes · View notes

cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

Photo

Xorakk the Orc

This is a commission for the lovely @artofdoll, who wanted a diabetic reader bonding with an orc during a low blood sugar episode. I hope you all enjoy!

The mall is completely packed, but you have a list of things that you need to buy, and you are going to get through all of it, goddamnit. You weave from store to store, comparing prices, looking for coupons on saver’s websites, trying to find the best quality for the least amount of money. And yes, you’re aware that it would be easier to buy all this online, but you like to look things over in person before making any purchases. The entire morning flies by, with you walking from one end of the hulking building to the other, meandering through the shops, running a list of objects and numbers in your head.

You start feeling a tad bit dizzy, so you take a moment to sit down on a padded bench, your purchases by your feet. Since your head feels light and your fingertips are tingling, you take a minute to measure your blood sugar, just in case. Out comes the little needle from the kit in your purse, and you press it into your skin and wait for the blood to well up, swiping it across a testing strip. The results are not… great, but you’re not dying, either, so you need to gather your things up and eat something sugary.

Standing up, it turns out, is a mistake, because it makes the fizziness in your head far worse. You stumble, the edges of your vision spotting out, and your head feeling like it’s been filled with helium, light, floating. You can barely take one step before the muscles in your legs give up, so you stumble, trying to regain your footing, right into something substantially large. It takes you a minute to actually realize what had just happened, and even more for the gears in your head to process it all, too. You ran into someone, not something, the person obviously of great height, and either your vision is no longer working correctly, or this man’s skin is green.

Oh wait, the spaced-out staring probably seems extraordinarily rude.

“I’m so sorry!” Your words are slow and almost slurred, as though you’re drunk. Again, you try to stand on your own, taking a step back, but you stumble again.

The orc reaches out, catching your arm before you have the chance to fall back onto the cold stone floor. At least in this position, though, you’re capable of seeing much more than a tan-colored shirt, and even though your body is crashing like a high-speed train off a dynamited bridge, you can see that the orc has some excellent features. Square jawline with two pearly, clean tusks jutting out from his lower lip, his skin a dusty green in the soft, natural glow coming down from the skylights. His hair is up in one of those respectable man buns, not those pathetic little ponytails, but a style with actual volume to it.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his voice somehow gruff and gentle at the same time.

“Yeah, I just-” wow, has the sun always felt so… feathery? “I’m diabetic, I have low blood sugar. If I eat something with-” the room tilts slightly, but you’re able to continue your speech on muscle memory alone, “high sugar content, I should be fine.”

“I see,” the orc seems relieved that you probably aren’t committing public drunkenness, “maybe I should help you get to the food court?”

Typically, you aren’t one to accept such help from strangers, but you honestly don’t think you can walk two steps on your own, much less to the closest Dippin’ Dots stand, so you offer up a brief nod of acceptance. You had expected that he might let you brace to his side, taking a good portion of your weight off your wobbling legs, but he instead picks you up as though you’re lighter than air. You don’t even have time to feel embarrassed about it, either, because at this point you’re so desperate for the assistance that you don’t care that you’re being carried like a bride.

“Where exactly would you like to go?” He asks, looking around as he heads in the direction of the food court.

You wait for the scent of food to hit, then you turn your head in the direction of the first thing that makes your mouth water. The restaurant (if you can even call it that) looks like the only thing it sells are sugar-filled monstrosities, so you probably won’t have to eat an entire portion of what they have before everything in your body is back to normal. Without a word, you gesture in that general direction, and the orc gently sets you down in a chair right in front of it.

As you fumble for your wallet with ashen, shaky hands, the orc merely holds his hand up and offers a shake of his head. “It’s fine, my treat.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, partially relieved that you don’t have to dump out your purse on the table.

“Of course! What would you like?”

You squint over at the menu, picking something out randomly, and he goes up to the counter. It doesn’t take long for the cashier to pack up the little treat and ring him up, and soon enough, he’s returned, the small brown paper bag in hand. When he hands it to you, you’re very quick to thank him profusely, breathlessly, and almost tear open the packaging like a wild animal. Oh, the thing is so goddamn sugary that your teeth start screaming in pain the moment you bite into it, so you’re careful to only take smaller bits in your mouth.

Once it’s gone, you take a minute to like, actually thank the orc for his actions, because he went above and beyond the call of duty, especially since you’re very much a stranger that literally ran into him. “You have saved me a hospital trip, probably, anyone else probably would have called an ambulance first, rather than help me get here.”

The orc waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I helped in the way that I could, I’m sure you would do something similar if our roles were reversed.”

You imagine trying to carry his hulking body through the mall like he did to you, but the mere thought of it almost sends you into a fit of laughter. Oh, you’d do your best to help him, he’s right, but there would definitely be a difference in capabilities there. “Sorry, I never caught your name?”

“Xorakk.”

“Xorakk,” you repeat, running the guttural syllables over your tongue, and then offer up yours in response. “It’s nice to… er, run into you.”

He lets out a good-natured laugh. “I was nice running into you, as well.”

You still need some time for the sugar to actually go through your system, so you’re stuck here for the time being. Since Xorakk doesn’t appear to be in much of a hurry, either, and seems to be staying until you’re cleared, you try making some conversation. “Do you come around here often?”

He lets out a grunting chuckle. “Not particularly. Here for an oven in one of those department stores, but the employees need time to load everything in my truck, so I decided to get some lunch. Didn’t imagine running into someone who was only moments away from collapsing.”

“Ha, well, it’s a good thing you did.” You drum your fingers on the table. “Why do you need a new oven?”

“Some renovation work, I do remodeling old homes, flipping them over and such. There’s a good brand I like, and they sell it here.”

“Oh, you’re a contractor? That’s cool! What kind of stuff do you usually do? Just remodeling the homes?”

“Mainly, yes, sometimes my company gets other offers, too.” He launches into a lengthy explanation for what he does, how he does it, and the current project that he and his team are currently working on. You’re very glad for the conversation, you’d probably be listlessly scrolling on your phone without it, and the animated way that Xorakk speaks makes everything about thirty times more interesting than it probably is.

You barely even notice when it’s time for you to retest yourself to make sure your blood sugar is returning to normal levels, so as the conversation goes, you get out your little kit and give it another go.

“Is that how you measure the uh, glucose? In your blood?” Xorakk asks, fascinated.

“Yeah, these little paper-like strips can tell me what’s good… or not so good, I guess.” You prick your forefinger, pressing your thumb right next to the wound so blood wells up a bit faster. “If I’m feeling a bit ill, I’ll test myself to see if it’s the blood sugar or not.”

You wait for a moment, and things are looking decent. Even though you’re still a bit off, you should be able to resume your shopping within a couple of minutes. When you stand, you shake Xorakk’s hand, internally marveling at his grip. “Thank you again so much for your help.”

“You’re very welcome, I suppose that I shall see you around?”

That almost sounds like a promise, should you agree. You offer up a smile, “I sure hope so.”

#orc #exophilia #orc boyfriend #orc/reader #monster boyfriend #meet cute #monster/reader #orc/human #monster/human #reader insert

263 notes · View notes

beyoncesdragon · 4 years

Text

The Sin pt. 2

The confession

Pariring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: some making out bc I want that and lots and lots of swearing

Summary: It’s an invite that went missing and feelings that got returned. Just a little late, a little unfortunate and a little unholy. In this part: Where Tommy confesses something to the reader and Grace plays a different part in it than imagined.

Here: Where Tommy finally comes home.

a/n: first of all: I am so so so so so sorry for taking ages to write this. believe me I have around 4 different versions of this, all over 3k words long. I struggled greatly with this, and it’s my own fockin fault. I think I have never, and I mean never struggled more and I hateeeee this. but it just doesn't seem to get better. I am sorry. I hope you still read and enjoy🥺

Just because I can remember @soleil-dor asking specifically...this for u. I am so SORRY fuck

My Masterlist

My doorbell ringed at the same time the church bells stroke midnight and it scared me half to death. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only dressed in my flowy nightgown and a light blanket over my shoulders, the book had already slipped from my grip. I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, carefully approaching the door. I heard a rumble from upstairs, probably Elise jumping out of her bed. I sighed, deciding that I would just open the door myself.

The last man I had expected to stand in front of my door, soaked to the bone and with pale face and tousled hair was him. Not that I had expected anyone, but especially not him.

My eyes flickered over his silhouette and back to his face. There was something strange in his eyes, something broken from the inside, almost. His posture remained as always, proud, upright and unbothered but his eyes…I remember how Polly had once mentioned to him that the eyes were the doors to the soul. Tommy had just blankly stared at her, given her an unfazed look before lowly explaining that he, in fact, must’ve lost his soul in France then, because nobody would ever read him through his eyes. And I had almost believed him. Almost.

I snapped out of my thoughts and tilted my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted another Shelby around at that time of the day.

The white light of a lightning flared across the dark night and made me flinch. To hell with this, I was not letting anyone stand outside my door during weather like this. With a small sigh I stepped aside, letting him pass me to come in. Elise, my loyal handmaiden who had peaked from behind my back, quickly shuffled aside, the worry still haven’t left her face. Usually it would’ve been her opening up, but I had allowed her to go to sleep already because I really wanted to finish that book...so she’s been freed from that duty. However, it didn’t stop her from come running when she heard the doorbell ring.

My eyes fell on a gun in her hand, as it suited the only handmaiden in an unprotected house. Yet I still always chuckled seeing her like this: wearing a light green nightshirt which reached down over her knees, backless slippers and a nightcap to protect her light brown curls. And then a bloody gun. I supressed a grin.

“Madam…?” she whispered as I closed the door shut, giving him a suspicious look. “It’s fine Elise. It’s just Tommy he…he’s okay. You can go to bed again. Or maybe if you would just prepare a the kettle with some hot water for tea…” I suggested, eyes trailing over Tommy. This man needed tea, urgently.

She nodded almost reluctantly before hinting a curtesy. Almost secretive she however handed me the gun, as if to make sure I could still shoot him if in need. I bit back a smile and nodded at her, before looking back at Tommy.

He had his eyes locked on me, a strong unbroken gaze. He didn’t even blink. His black coat was dripping down onto the carpet, his hands held his hat tightly. His eyes left me to follow the young frame of Elise leaving the kitchen with a nod into our direction and tiredly climbing up the stairs.

“She’s handed you a gun.” Those were the first words he had said to me since that phone call, around two weeks ago. His eyes now fell to my hands before I could place the gun down or hide it…so I wouldn’t offend him. But he’s seen it, obviously.

“She has. People are not scared enough of women to leave us alone.” I explained with a shrug, looking down at the shimmering weapon in my hand. “Y’gonna use it?” I looked up surprised. “Against who? You?” he shrugged, face blank and impossible to read. I could only chuckle at that, shaking my head and placing it down. “Obviously not?” he nodded in a matter-of-factly before suddenly grabbing my hips and shoving me against the wall behind me. His hand were everywhere and his lips left burning kisses all over my neck and jaw.

“T-Tommy…?” I could only stutter, completely taken aback by his eagerness, his neediness and his want. His cloak was still wet and cold and I could feel it soak through my thin silky nightgown as he pressed his body against mine.

“Wet.” I could only mumble against his lips before he bit down on my lower lip, urging me to stop talking. He however did start to shrug the jacket off of his shoulders, getting frustrated when it wouldn’t work. I pushed him away gently, helping him slipping out of the wet coat. it took me about ten seconds but I already missed his touch like an addict craved a line of coke. He let the probably completely overpriced coat fall to the ground and instead of picking it up he was back on my lips in no time. His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second. The sharp whistle of a teapot made us snap apart. His breathing was heavy, just like mine.

He stepped back in silence, letting me pass in an almost awkward silence. Tension lied heavy between the two of us, so thick and noticeable it made me dizzy. He made me dizzy.

“Is Earl Grey fine? No wait, camomile is actually better…or lime blossom…” I coughed, trying my hardest to overcome the husk of my own voice as my fingers traced along the carefully stacked tins filled with the best herbs and mixtures.

“Whisky does the job.” His husk voice caught me off guard since it was way closer than I had expected. “Lime blossom it is then. Fuck off with whisky, do you know what time it is?” he said nothing after that, his eyes silently following my every move as I set up the teapot to pour the boiling water into. There wasn’t another word spoken during the time the lime blossom soaked in, we kind of just stood there, watching the steam from the teapot and each other.

He looked worn out in the dim light of my kitchen. His skin was paler than usual, his hair a tad messier than I was used to (which could theoretically also be my fault though), his eyes less deep and colder.

Now, where he had removed his dripping coat he looked a bit less buff. Still a hunk of a man, still towering me. Especially because I wasn’t wearing heels, which was a thing I usually did, especially around men. Their ego was often big enough to treat me more like a servant and less like a business partner simply because I was a woman and they were taller. It was ridiculous really. Tommy had never treated me like this, I had never feared to be treated like an underdog. Sure, he was sly and witty, he knew how to bargain and twist everything to his profit. But that wasn’t done in a condescend manner at all. Maybe that was why I was drawn to him the way I was. The second he stepped out of his car and walked towards me, proud and seemingly uncaring of all the stares he was receiving from my workers. It had been truly stunned when he stopped, eyes wandering over my stable lad and me, before approaching me. Usually people tended to approach Gregory first, a thing I watched with great amusement. Not so Tommy, he’d approached me from the beginning. And he ended up buying one of my best horses immediately, Yastra, a horse I had never planned to sell in the first place. She wasn’t even named properly for the race tracks. Tommy couldn’t care less. He’d given the proud sand coloured steep a long look before offering his deal. Yastra still lived on my property and I still trained her, just like the two other horses he’d bought later on. Only one, a brown mare by the name of Pacific Princess II stood in his stables.

The strong and sweet taste of the lime blossom made me shake my head and snap out of my thoughts. Tea was ready and if I would leave it too long without serving, it would turn bitter. “Get me a stand from in there.” I turned to reach for the honey when I suddenly felt his presence behind me. I turned around, almost bumping into him. He had his lips on mine before I could even say something, picking off the unsaid words from my lips and swallowing them down. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, not at all. It was more like a violent, unrestrained kiss, a kiss with teeth nipping on swollen lips. He was devouring me, drinking all of my being in with one kiss, and I felt like he was sucking the air straight from my lungs.

Tommy kissed so hard it was like he was trying to leave the memory of the imprints of his lips in my mind forever. And he probably accomplished just that by now.

His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. He pushed me back against the countertop, lifting me up to place me down on it immediately.

He let out a throaty groan, splitting my legs with his body to come even closer. He tasted sweet, kissed filthy as ever and set my skin on fire. My mind was blank, all I could I think was Tommy, his hand on my back, the other one trailing shakily from my waist up, over my breast before halting at my collar bone. He brought it up to my neck, deepening the kiss even more, making it just a tad more desperate.

In moments like these it was when I realised once again how I would never ever get over Tommy Shelby, not in this life and probably not in another one. He just swept me off my feet every time. He did it when we had kissed first, needy and thrilling, in the stables a few years ago. It had been the third time we had met, this time for inspecting one of his race horses because of breeding options. Monaghan boy, a black stallion with a beautiful neck. As always, tension had lingered between the two of us like a thick fog, but he had been the first to give in. He had this thing where he liked to back me up against the wall, preferably dominant and always in charge. It had made my knees weak in an instant and it didn’t help that he had a tongue to sin with. From that day on, our meetings consisted of either heated discussions about horses and life or sex. Or both, most of the time…then he had met Grace and whatever we had, stopped. And it stopped in an ugly way, rather. I could’ve understood if he had come to me and told me that he now considered a serious relationship with someone who was not me. I would’ve let him go, heartbroken but at peace. But he had not had the decency to do so, oh no. he had rather left in a hurry with a few stuttered words about “This can’t happen anymore…I’m sorry.”

And yet here he was, for the second time since he said that and ran. And I was letting it happen again, like the fool I was. We parted swiftly to catch out breaths again before Tommy connected his lips with my neck again. He sucked lightly at my skin and left a trail of burning marks down to my shoulders. I moaned quietly as he bit down on my sweet spot right above my collar bone, and pushed his face up to mine again. Instead of kissing me again, he just looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Regretting this already?” I pushed out, almost in spite since he still waited. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes growing dark again. “Why do you always try to piss me off?” good question actually, on the other hand, who the fuck was he to ask anything. “Because you’re hot when you are angry.” He growled lowly, bringing his lips to mine again.

I don’t know what it was that broke the spell and made a weird form of panic flood my bones. Something in my brain switched when he suddenly picked me up, his hungry lips still on mine. This was a married man with a son and a wife at home. What the hell was I doing here? But before I could say something, Tommy had carried me into the livingroom and placed me on one of the couches. He was over me in an instant, pressing me down gently.

“Tommy…Tommy what are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, panting for air. He stopped, eyes flickering over my face, dark with lust.

“What does it look like.” He was equally out of breath, his voice just a tad throatier than before. I said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair out of his face. A whirlwind of emotions flickered through his eyes, like a thunderstorm of realisation, lust, angst, regret, maybe? It was quiet in the room for quite a while, only the crackling fire and wind hitting the windows could be heard. Then Tommy did something I had not expected at all: he let his head rest on my chest, arms around me, unmoving like a heavy organic blanket. My fingers found their way up to his hair, carefully brushing through the longer curls. I was still a bit taken aback by the sudden switch of attitude and mood.

“What’s troubling you, Tommy?” I asked softly, still stroking through his hair. The raw and vulnerable energy that surrounded us now, almost took my breath away. Tommy just shook his head swiftly. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or so it seemed.

“Do y’ever wear it?”

I was confused first. Wear what? Then…my hand wandered up to my neck, as if searching for the green emerald. But there was nothing, just hot skin.

“I do. I took it off for bed.” I explained, almost physically feeling the weight of the precious stone on my collar. “Why did you even send it back?” I asked carefully, that question had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time now. Tommy sighed deeply. “I took an envelope and…” I snorted quickly, cutting him off. “Stop bullshitting me Tommy. I gave her the necklace. Did she not like it?” He sat up, looking down at my lying frame beneath him. There was almost a sly glint in his blue eyes as his gaze met mine again.

“Someone convinced her that the heart was cursed. Gipsy magic.” I gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Someone?” Tommy just leaned back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone.” He confirmed, still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fuck off Tommy. She probably hates me now. Good job, this is one way of keeping me away from your parties.” He let out a snort, almost a chuckle.

“That won’t be a problem anymore. You can come whenever you like.” I rose my eyebrows surprised. I felt like we were slowly getting to the reason why he appeared on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the night.

“She’s…well…she’s left.” I sucked in a startled breath. “Left? As in…ran away? Divorced?” Tommy had his face turned away from me, his eyes watching the fire in the fireplace crackle. “Left.” I gulped, not knowing what to say or do. “I am sorry…really sorry.” I only stuttered, watching the flames reflect red in his eyes. They seemed glossier than before…Jesus Christ I really had no idea how to deal with this situation as a whole. Only hesitantly I placed my hand on his arm. It was weird how I now felt so…shy touching him, when only minutes ago we were making out like our lives depended on it.

“Is it because…because of me?” I whispered, scared of his answer. He snapped back to me, eyes then trailing over my hand.

“No…she’s been married before me, you know. Only she told me that her man had killed herself after she left him.” it made sense now to me, her purple dress. A dress symbolizing that one was still mourning…and I had wondered over who, at a wedding after all.

“Turns out that he’s very much alive.” His voice was bitter and heavy of anger and I traced small circles into arm. “We’ve had an argument you know…about horses and who trains them.” My interest peaked up some more. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of May Carleton…” I nodded swiftly. Of course I did, she was a mutual in every way after all.

“Suppose you had something going on with that one too?” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding quickly.

“I never loved her. It was just…sex?” he almost asked me that and I chuckled softly. “Who am I to judge Tommy. I don’t know if you had feelings for her. After all, you shouldn’t degrade what the two of you did…are we not the same?” that made him snap around to me. “We? Just sex?” his eyes narrowed and it seemed like a new fire ignited them. I waved it off, drawing another circle in his arm. He shook his head, continuing.

“It stopped when Grace came back from New York.” I hummed before waiting for him to continue. “She trained my horses…” I gave him a pointed look. “I can sense betrayal.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Training your horses by another woman…I am hurt. You coward.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how difficult you are sometimes.” I chuckled softly, giving him a wink.

“You love me.” He said nothing, his face falling a bit. I frowned, wanting to assure him that I was only joking but he cut me off. “Do you have whisky?” I nodded, getting up swiftly and walking over to a cabinet. “What would you like?” I asked, stepping aside for him to see the dusty bottles. He got up and walked closer, eyes wandering over the labels.

My eyes wandered over his face, that worn out but handsome face, a face that haunted me and basically ruined all other men for me. My thoughts flickered to the expression on his face when I made the joke about him loving me. I had meant to read something like guilt in his features, but why? Sure, love was a strong word and I wasn’t entirely sure if I could ever expect love from someone like Tommy Shelby, especially after he just broke up with Grace…no, after she just broke up with him. Or called off the engagement, or whatever.

“That one.” I snapped out of my thoughts and grabbed the bottle he chose. I prepared two glass of the orange brown liquor carrying them over to the couch again.

I sat down whilst Tommy kept pacing around the room, his glass in his hands. I noticed the absence of a ring and it almost felt…relieving. But then again…it didn’t. because I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all I’d done.

“She took the boy with her. To fucking New York.” He suddenly pressed out, necking the whisky in a swift move. My mouth parted in surprise and I could only stutter my words of condolence. “I’m sorry to hear that…” I started, silenced by his angry glare immediately.

“Stop lying.” I rose my eyebrows. “Lying? Why should I lie?” he shrugged, visibly frustrated now. “Can I smoke?” I shrugged, watching him light up a cigarette before turning back to me. “Because that’s what you…I don’t fucking know!” he then started, not even daring to finish his thoughts. And maybe it was that what finally ticked me off.

“You wanted to say, because that’s what I wanted? Is it that? Finish your damn sentences!” his eyes flashed up in irritation, but I went on before he could even reply to anything.

“By the way Tommy, what I want is something that should be entirely unknown by you, since you’re not me! And, just to clarify, before you use that…thing that there was on that party two weeks ago: you kissed me! I only turned up because of…I don’t know, spite, anger, whatnot. But I never intended to do anything like…what we did.” He laughed dryly. “You wanna say, you regret it?” I tilted my head, leaning back a bit. “I never said that.” He hummed, an angry glint in his eyes again. Or rather, still.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve turned up then, and sure as hell not given her that damn necklace…” I shook my head.

“I think we both know that this is not about you and not being able to handle her wearing some green, glittery rock.” He took a sharp breath. “By the way, do you even realise how dangerous a rumour like this is for my reputation? That I jinx stuff? Curse chains and…jewellery? There is a legit possibility of my name being ruinedbecause of your little lie.” he said no word, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, grey smoke passing through his lips.

“Are you done?” his voice wasn’t as calm and collected as usually, instead is was heavy with anger and maybe hurt. His icy eyes snapped back to mine, piercing through them as if to strip me off of all of my dignity and leave my soul linger nakedly in front of him.

“Am I done?” I repeated quietly, anger making my voice hoarse. He’d always had a special talent for pissing me off, but this was topping anything. I didn’t even knew what to respond I was so angry. “Yes, are you done. Done, because then I can tell you why the fuck I decided to send that goddamn thing away, back to you.” he took another pull from his smoke before flicking it into the fire. “Can you remember why I gave you this necklace? When I gave it to you?” of course I could, clear as day. It had been a promise, a small, weak promise to care for each other. We had been out, a lovely and peaceful walk with the horses he had just bought, the stars bright and the night cold. He’d been nervous the moment he presented the beautiful stone to me, an almost angsty flicker in his eyes, as if waiting for a rejection.

I had not rejected, obviously, and Tommy had slipped the necklace around my neck whilst pressing butterfly kisses to my neck. But still: the one who ran and broke his own promise had not been me, but him. I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head slowly.

“Of course I can. But it still explains nothing.” He grunted angrily. “Not, eh? Maybe that I don’t need a reminder of us around me every day?” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You mean, you are selfish Tommy? You mean that the fact that you broke your own fucking promise, is making you regret certain decisions from your past? And I am not talking about marrying another woman, I am talking about that hit and run number you pulled there, and then not inviting me to you bloody wedding-celebration…” he slammed his fist down on the chair back, me regret my decision to jump up immediately. But I couldn’t just sit down again, I wouldn’t back off now.

“Do I look like I need a bloody reminder that I fucked up, eh? Do I really look like that to you? And you come and have the fucking nerve to…blame it on my selfishness? My selfishness? When you knew ex-fucking-sactly, what would do to me, if you gave her this necklace?” I was robbed of words to shoot back at him, stumbling back at the force of his words. He followed up, it felt like I was back in his office again.

“You don’t leave my head, my thoughts, my mind, not at night and not at day. You’re there constantly, alright? And I am…was fucking married, alright? I have a bloody kid with that woman, a life, a house, a business. I don’t need a reminder of you on my spouses neck. Fuck!” his eyes were wild and full of emotion, his breath quick and hot and grazing my lips, he was so close.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I pressed out, not exactly knowing what else to say. Tommy just shook his head. “I am sorry. I think I just…” his whole attitude changed all of a sudden, again as if all the anger and hurt left his body and left him behind tired and worn out.

“I think I just missed you.”

I carefully linked my fingers with his before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you too, Tommy. A lot, y’know?” he just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. After a few second he let go of me, stepping back a bit. Not far, and never fully letting go of me. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You can have the guestroom if you need space…” he just tilted his head. “or you can sleep in my bed. With me present of course.” A shy smile played around his lips as he nodded softly. “I am comfortable if you are.” I just pulled him upstairs.

It felt different when Tommy slipped under the covers now, as if we’d never spent a night in the same bed. Which was close to ridiculous because that wasn’t the case at all. The energy just had never been so honest and so…vulnerable. I could hear him take a deep breath, before I felt his arm wrap around me. I turned around to him, glimpsing up at his face. The dark almost swallowed him whole, but I could make out a soft shimmer where his eyes were and the light from the window illuminated his silhouette.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, tangling my leg with his.

“Can I kiss you?” I chuckled softly, arms resting on his shoulders. “Have you not already? Like, when you ruined my nightgown, not that long ago?” I could almost hear his little smirk when he hummed, but I could definitely feel it when he brought his lips down to mine. His arms tightened around me when we parted and he let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” I whispered, leaning into his arms. He mumbled something, words so quiet I couldn’t quite catch them. I raised my head back up.

“Hm?”

“I just…I said that I’m back home.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #the sin #the peaky blinders #the peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #michael gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #Birmingham #cillian murphy

35 notes · View notes

akaashishotthighs · 4 years

Text

Modern TID - Part 16

Part 15 - Part 17

They ended up going to her apartment anyway to pick up some things she needed. It was a quick visit. She packed her stuff in a suitcase, made sure everything in the flat was up to code, checked to see if any food would go rotten during the week, and off they went back to the Institute.

When they got back, Will had arranged a surprise for her. While they were at her place, he had asked Jem to vacate a couple of Will’s drawers, so that Tessa could pack her things there.

“And, if you want, you can keep some of them here. In case you come to stay over again.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked down to hide the blush that was creeping into his cheeks.

She had pushed his gaze up with her hand on his chin and kissed him softly. “I love it.”

He had smiled then, a toothy smile. “Great! It’s great that you love it.” He put his arms around her. “I want you to feel at home here.”

Home is wherever you are, she wanted to say. Then she shook the thought out of her head. Way too soon, Tessa. You’re going to scare him away.

She didn’t have time to say anything at all, for a loud, incessant and robust knock came at the door. Without being let in, Jessamine stalked into the room, in casual clothing. Or, at least, the most casual Tessa imagined Jessamine was capable of wearing. Her blonde hair was trapped in a loose braid across her shoulder. Her crop sweater was black and showed off a part of her tanned and toned abdomen. She wore a high waisted jean skirt fraying at the bottom. Her feet were in white strappy heels.

Tessa was confused. She knew this was some sort of fashion trend, but she was bewildered. Was she cold on the top, but hot on the bottom? Tessa didn’t understand. This was why she stuck to simple clothing.

“Are you ready or not?” Jessamine’s high pitch voice pulled her out of her fashion assessment.

“Ready for…?” Will asked the question before she could get it out.

Jessamine sighed and rolled her eyes. Tessa silently imagined throwing her in the river. “To go shopping? You promised.” She crossed her arms.

Will nodded. “Right.” He put a hand on the low of Tessa’s back. “Why don’t you go down to the car, while I go get Jem. We’ll be down in no time.”

“You better. I have a large number of stores I want to hit, which means we are on a rigorous schedule. So chop chop!” She clapped her hands and left with a whip of her blonde braid.

Tessa waited until she was out of listening range. “Please don’t leave me alone with her.”

Will chuckled. “Five minutes.” He took her face in his hands and gave her a quick peck. “If I take any longer, I promise I will make it up to you.”

“How?” She tilted her head.

He brushed her hair away from the most exposed part of her neck. He kissed her lips softly and then carried down with a trail of soft kisses all the way to her collarbone. Her head fell back, and her hands gripped his forearms. He bit down just as softly as he had kissed, pulling a gasp out of her. His lips left her collarbone to rest just under her ear. “Just like that.” He pulled away, grinning down at her, his eyes darkened to the colour of sapphires.

She took a deep breath and left the room while trying to calm her beating heart down. She was still thinking of Will’s hands on her body, his lips on her skin, the feeling of all of him against her, and the blue of his eyes as she sat in the back of the car next to Jessamine. The blonde had her eyes glued to her phone, as she typed faster than Tessa considered possible.

She leaned back on the seat and stared out of the window. She could see Cyril at a distance, carrying what seemed like cleaning supplies for the car. But she and Jessamine were on the vehicle. Was he going to wash the car with them inside? She saw as he pulled open the garage door, revealing at least three more cars. Tessa’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t think this was our only car, did you?” Tessa gaze slipped to Jessamine. She had turned her whole body in her direction, and her phone lay face down on the seat between them. How long has she been watching me, Tessa wondered.

“It was pretty naive of me to think so.” She admitted. She couldn’t look away. Jessamine’s light brown eyes were focused intently on her. She seemed to be trying to read Tessa’s thoughts and succeeding.

At last, one corner of her lips lifted in a malicious grin. “I did some research on you.” A chill went through her spine. “Theresa Gray. Daughter of Richard Gray and Elizabeth Gray. Niece of Harriet Moore. Sister of Nathaniel Gray. An alumna of some prestigious private school in New York.” Her manicured hand dropped down, her nails grazing the pastel pink case that covered her phone. “And that’s when the story got interesting. I did some further research. I found some fun little facts.”

There was white noise ringing in Tessa’s ears. Her hands felt shaky and clammy. Jessamine leaned in, and Tessa took a sharp intake of breath. Jessamine lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “I know your secret.” Her stomach dropped.

~/~

“What did she think of the surprise?”

Jem was pulling a sweater vest atop his short-sleeved shirt. Will wrinkled his nose to keep himself from laughing. “Are you ever going to stop dressing like an eighty-year-old trapped in a nineteen-year-old body?”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t pull this off.” He shoved his phone and wallet in his pockets. “Answer the question.”

Will told him the events of the bedroom as they descended the stairs. From Tessa’s reaction to Jessamine interrupting, to their little rendezvous before Tessa left. When he finished, Jem was shaking his head. “Are the two of you capable of going two seconds without feeling each other up?”

Will smirked. “Now who’s jealous?”

Jem rolled his eyes. “I am burning with the rage of the green monster.” Will chuckled. They were out of the house and approaching the car. He could see Tessa and Jessamine talking. “Seriously, Will, how are you doing? Still desperate to profess your undying love for her?”

Will scratched the back of his neck. “It’s harder than I thought.” They reached the car, ending any further conversation on this topic.

It really was hard. Every time Will looked at her, that he heard her voice, that he had even the most momentary thought of her, all Will wanted to do was scream that he loved her at the top of his lungs. She was in his dreams, her smiles as soft as her words, but always too far to reach. No matter how much he walked, how much he stretched his hands, Tessa was still just a bit too distant, her grey eyes always shinning. And he said it, he screamed it, and all she did was grin. She never said it back. During the day, his head rung with her name. It was like a song stuck in his mind. Tess, Tess, Tessa. She couldn’t have been named something awful, could she, like Mildred. He could not imagine himself singing “Mildred” all day in his head.

He sat on the driver seat and looked back at her. She smiled back at him, but it was strained. Had Jessamine said something? What was he thinking, of course she had, it was Jessamine. He was used to Jessamine’s cruel remarks, but Tessa wasn’t. He hoped it wouldn’t hammer around her head for long.

The drive had been quiet, Taylor Swift’s voice through the speakers. Jessamine was too focused on her phone to question why the radio had played not one, not two, not three, but more songs of Miss Americana. Tessa was looking through the window, too distracted to notice. Jem didn’t say anything, but Will did see him throwing him a sly grin as the second song started playing. Jem was the only one that knew that Will had a strong liking to her songs, and he always teased him for it.

They really spoke to his heart. What is a guy to do?

At last, they arrived at the shopping centre, and Will was quick to shut the playlist off. They had barely set foot outside the parking lot, and Jessamine was already commanding them to every shop they set eye on. Will got bored quickly, and Jem was right behind him. By the look on Tessa’s face, this was clearly not a favourite activity of hers either. Through the several shop’s Jessamine had hauled them to, Tessa hadn’t bought a single item. Jessamine, however, had filled both Will’s and Jem’s hands of multi-coloured bags.

They somehow convinced Jessamine that they needed a break to have lunch. She huffed and whined, but gave in. They hadn’t even finished eating, and she was already demanding to continue.

“Can we at least go down to the car to put these in?” Jem pointed at all the bags. “You two can go on without us, and we’ll join you after we’re done.”

Jessamine sighed. “Fine.” She gave them the name of the store and pulled Tessa behind her with such force that she almost ripped the poor girl’s arm off.

Will shook his head. “She’s going to kill me for leaving her alone with Jessamine. For the second time. In one day.”

Jem chuckled. “It was nice knowing you. What was it, seven years? Good while it lasted.”

Will laughed. “I always knew Jessamine would be my demise.”

~/~

After what felt like forever of holding Jessamine’s picks and separating them into two different piles as she had ordered, Tessa was starting to wonder if the other girl would notice if she made a run for it. At last, the blonde turned to her and smiled. “All done.”

Tessa sighed in relief. “Great. I think the queue to the check out is over there.”

“We’re not going to buy all of this.”

“We’re not?”

“Not yet, at least.” She shook her head, her braid whipping from side to side. “We need to try all of this on first.”

Tessa’s jaw almost dropped to the floor. She was going to try all of this on? They were never going to leave this shop. Tessa did a double-take. “Wait. Did you say ‘we’? You picked out clothes for me?”

Jessamine pointed at the pile in her left hand. “That’s my bag of clothes to try on.” She aimed to the one on her right side. “And that’s the bag of clothes for you to try on.”

Tessa’s breath faltered. This store was severely overpriced. She could barely afford socks here, much less the clothes that Jessamine had picked. She looked down at the bag. Tessa saw some of the clothes that Jessamine had chosen that Tessa had thought were really pretty; like a turquoise blouse incredibly soft to the touch, a pair of physique flattering jeans, and the dress that Tessa had fallen in love with the moment her eyes set sight on it. She looked back up at Jessamine. There was nothing wrong with trying on the clothes, right? It’s not like she was committing herself to buy anything.

She followed Jessamine into the dressing rooms at the back. These were considerably bigger than the stores that Tessa was used to. Jessamine insisted on sharing so that they could immediately see what the other looked like in a particular piece.

Every time she had to put aside a piece she loved and that not only fit but looked amazing on her, it hurt. Reading the price tags was like a little needle piercing her heart. It didn’t help that Jessamine’s pile of clothes to buy kept getting bigger and bigger. Tessa ran out of clothes faster than Jessamine, probably because she didn’t fawn over herself for long minutes whenever she tried on anything, unlike the blonde. There was only one item missing — the dress.

Tessa stood admiring it for a while. She couldn’t help herself. She flipped over the price tag. The amount of money necessary for the dress could pay a month’s rent on her small apartment. She shook her head. It was pointless to try it on because she’d only fall more in love with it and she couldn’t handle having to let it go.

She felt Jessamine behind her. “Try it on. It’s gorgeous, and it would look terrific on you. Trust me, I have a gift for this stuff.”

Tessa took a deep breath. It’s just trying it on. It probably won’t look that great on you anyway. She pulled it off its hanger. She was putting it on as Jessamine mumbled something. Tessa ignored her. The fabric felt amazing on her. She had chills all over. She reached back to zip it up and noted there was no zipper. She looked at the back on the mirror. The back closed like an old-timey corset, meaning she needed help to tie it.

She turned to Jessamine’s corner and noted she was all alone in the dressing room. Crap, she thought. Almost immediately, she heard Aunt Harriet’s voice in her head complaining about her choice of words.

Pulling the heavy beige curtain back, she tried to see where Jessamine had gone. “Jessamine?” She whispered. She saw a familiar face near the entrance of the dressing rooms. “Jem!” He looked up, confused and looked around until his eyes locked with her. He tilted his head. She put a hand out and motioned him closer. He came over to her, pausing to smile at one of the uniformed ladies. Tessa rolled her eyes. When he reached her, she couldn’t help herself. “Why are you so polite to everyone?”

He shrugged. “Kindness is free and is never harmful.” He looked around and then back to her. “May I ask why I was summoned?”

She huffed. “Jessamine convinced me to try on a dress, a dress that needs help being tied, and then bolted.” She put on her best grin. “Could you tie it for me?”

He smirked. “Oh, now you want me to be helpful. Funny how the tables turn, uh?”

“Please?” Her lower lip jutted out. He chuckled and nodded.

She pulled back the curtain, and he entered the dressing room. He closed the curtain behind him as she turned her back to him. “It’s like one of those old corsets.”

“Could you pull your hair up? It’s in the way.” She took her hair into her hands and balled it around her fist. She felt his fingers on her back, pulling strings and tying them together. He was a little taller than her and had bent his head to see better. Every time he exhaled, it hit her skin, causing little goosebumps along her arms.

He cleared his throat. “Is that a necklace clasp?” One of her hands flew down to the chain around her neck. “I didn’t notice you were wearing a necklace.”

“I wear it under my clothes.” Her lungs contracted. This was something very personal to her. Yet, somehow, for some reason, she felt alright with sharing this with Jem. She trusted him.

“You wear it often?”

“Everyday.” She pulled its pendant from the dress and turned to him to show it.

“May I?” He put his hand out, and she dropped it, letting him hold it. He inspected it, running his hands along with its details. “A clockwork angel.”

“It was my mother’s. When she died, my brother gave it to me and told me to keep it.” It’s what she would’ve wanted, he had said. “I hardly ever take it off. I wear it under my clothes because its something valuable, and my Aunt always told me it wouldn’t be safe to walk around with it on display.” She inhaled sharply. “But also because… it’s stupid.” She looked down at the floor.

She felt his fingers under her chin, making her look back into his eyes. “Tell me.”

She sighed. “It makes me feel closer to my mother. I never truly knew her. She died when I was five. I have small flashes of memories, but nothing substantial. This necklace is my only connection to my mother. Wearing it as close to my heart as possible makes me feel more connected to her. As if this necklace brings us closer together.” She said it all in one breath, afraid that she’d chicken out. She took a deep breath when she was done, her cheeks heating up quickly.

Jem smiled back at her. “I understand.” He gently dropped the angel. He reached into his shirt and pulled a chain out. Tessa’s eyes widened. At the end was a pendant, a jade pendant, a small Chinese character etched into a small golden circle at the centre. “I understand.” He said again, the words carrying a deeper tone this time.

Her hands itched to reach for it. She didn’t have to say a word. Jem took her hand and placed the pendant in it. She brushed her fingertips all over the surface, the warmth of the stone, giving her a small tingle. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not the original. My mother’s pendant is currently in a box back at the Institute. My father gave it to her as a wedding gift. She passed it down to me and told me that I should gift it to my future wife. When she died, I couldn’t bring myself to take it out of that damn box. It’s the only thing of hers I have left, but she told me what its purpose was, and I will not oppose that.” His breath came out a little shaky. She reached out with the hand not holding the pendant and gave him a light squeeze in reassurance. He gave her a small nod and carried on. “I showed it to Will when we were fourteen. Told him the whole story. Then, on my birthday, he gifted this pendant to me. An exact replica, save one small difference.” He brushed a finger on the character. “My mother’s pendant has an old Chinese symbol for love engraved. This one is for friendship.”

“He made you a replica so you could wear it without feeling guilty.” She whispered.

He smiled, a small, loving smile. “I know what you’re thinking.” He fake fawned himself. “Oh, Will is such a good friend. How dreamy.” His voice was two tones too high, sounding disturbingly close to Jessamine’s.

She chuckled. “The story does work pretty well in Will’s favour.”

He took a step back, and the pendant slid from her hand. “Let me finish tying.” He made a spinning motion with his finger. She turned her back to him and felt his fingers on her again. She felt more comfortable, his breathing no longer causing goosebumps, but a reassuring chill. “All done.” He whispered at her ear.

She turned to the mirror, her fingertips tracing the flowery design of the red lace. The soft and silky black fabric underneath the lace brushed against her knees. The dress finished around them at the front, but the back went a little longer, grazing mid-calf. The neckline was heart-shaped, with two barely visible black spaghetti straps resting on her shoulders. A big black sash shaping the waist and separating the bust from the skirts. It was classy, and it hugged her figure handsomely. She loved it, even more now that she could see it on her.

Jem cleared his throat from behind her. She felt her cheeks heat up. She had forgotten he was there. She looked up at him through the mirror. His gaze met hers, and his lips broke into a grin. “It looks great on you.”

“I love it.” She admitted.

“Are you going to get it?”

She shook her head, frowning. “It’s way out of my budget.” She shrugged. “Guess you and I will be the only ones to know how incredible it looks on me.”

He chuckled. “That’s a shame. I happen to know a certain Welsh boy that would definitely have a heart attack if he ever saw you in that dress.”

She giggled. “It’s a good thing Will never got to see it then.” She pulled her hair up. “Could you-“ Jem was already taking the strings and untying them.

When he was done, he stepped back and made a small gap on the curtain to leave. Half out, he turned to Tessa. “If it helps to persuade you, it really does look incredible on you. You’re already beautiful, but that dress… That dress makes all the best of you jump out even more. And not because it’s a pretty dress in itself, but because you feel beautiful in it. And that shows.” He shook his head. “I already knew red was my favourite colour, but seeing you in that dress… I can’t tell if it’s the colour that fits you, or if you’re the one making the colour even more beautiful.” With that, he left, closing the curtain behind him.

Tessa let out the breath she was holding. Her hand flew to her angel, and behind it, as sure as the ticking of the clockwork in her pendant, was the fast beating of her heart, more rapid than she’d ever known possible.

~/~

Will’s fingers brushed the display of shirts softly. He had already selected a couple options for Jem and now was just walking around aimlessly to burn time.

His fingers brushed against a different material, bringing him out of the black hole of thoughts that his mind had descended into. A leather jacket. He shrugged. Why not?

He looked for his number and pulled it off its hanger. Throwing it around his shoulders, he looked at himself in the mirror. “Hello there, handsome fella.” He winked at his own reflection. “You look dashingly attractive today.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” He spun around quickly. Jessamine stood nearby, a mocking smile on her lips.

He shrugged. “It’s called uping one’s self-confidence.”

She snorted. “More like inflating one’s ego.”

“Either way, I look fantastic, and I deserve to hear it.” He peeled off the jacket and put it back where it was. Picking up Jem’s clothes, he strode towards her. “Where’s Tess?”

She smirked. “I’m so glad you asked.” With a swift turn of her heels, she was walking away. He went after her. “She’s really starting to fit in with our little group, isn’t she?”

Will grinned. “It’s great.”

“It’s terrific.” She inspected some over-priced blouses. “She and Jem have gotten close really fast, haven’t them?”

Will couldn’t explain the chill that overcame him. He felt like he was blindly stepping into nothing. “Yes, they have. It’s good knowing that my best friend and my girlfriend get along great.”

“I’m sure. Let’s hope Jem and Tessa don’t get along a little too well though.”

Falling. Will had stepped off the cliff, and now he was falling into nothing. “It’s not like that.”

“Maybe. But you know how these things go. A fleeting thought, the innocent brush of a hand, a lingering hug, the built-up sexual tension-“

“Jessamine.” He interrupted her, his voice sharply cold. He wouldn’t let his mind wander, wouldn’t let himself imagine it.

“I’m sorry. That was out of line.” It was fake. Her tone, her words, her body language. She was acting, but Will could see through it. “Tessa wouldn’t do that. Why would she? Tessa’s with you. Why would she want him? He’s just a kind, selfless, attractive, single boy. He’s incredibly wise and capable of cracking the occasional joke. He’s able to make friendship with a stranger in the street in less than two minutes. He has a positive impact on every life he touches. He’s a musician, offers free music lessons to children who cannot afford them, and is often described as a literal angel. Not to mention his unwavering loyalty. But really, what is he compared to you? You, with your one friend, because no one else can bear to tolerate your idiotic attitude. You, with the reputation of a playboy and of breaking girls hearts. You, caring about yourself and no one else. You, the one who’s not even enough of a man to face his own family.” She turned her malicious gaze on him. “Why wouldn’t she choose you over him?”

There were tears behind his eyes, threatening to escape. His sight locked on a distant point, he forced himself not to look at Jessamine. He forced himself to ignore her words, but he couldn’t. They rang around in his head, in the voices of those that hurt the most. She wouldn’t. Tessa wouldn’t. Why not? Said a voice, a sound too familiar. Everything Jessamine said is right, and you know it. He’s the better man, the best man. And you? You’re an inconvenience. An obstacle. A shadow. You’re nothing.

Stop! Will wanted to scream. Please, stop. The walls were closing in, and he felt like everyone was watching him. His vision blurred, little black dots dancing around. His right hand shook, and his knees threatened to buckle. His breathing was off, and his heart was too fast in his ears. He took hold of the wall and tried to make the voices stop screaming. Jessamine wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“And to answer your question, Tessa is in the dressing rooms. Jem is with her. When I passed by earlier, he was helping her take off a dress. It must have been a great dress. He said she was beautiful.” Her words drenched him like ice water. “Oh look, there they are.”

Will looked up. They were coming from the dressing rooms, laughing and smiling at each other. The voices got louder. But then his gaze caught Tessa’s. Her face changed, but not in a bad way. The look she gave him made the voices disappear, and Jessamine’s words fade into white noise. He saw her and only her, and the way she looked at him. As soon as she was close enough, he reached for her. He took her into his arms, brushed her hair away from her face, and just stared at her. She tilted her head, her brow scrunched in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He whispered. She lifted an eyebrow in question, but all he did was shake his had and bump their noses together. Her smile widened.

Jem cleared his throat, and Will flinched. How could he possibly face his best friend now? The things he thought… Jem would never do those things to him, would never say those things to him, would never even consider it, and Will knew that. He wasn’t worthy of Jem’s loyalty. “Are those for me?” Will nodded and handed him the clothes. Jem looked from him to Jessamine and back to him. He squinted his eyes at him. “You okay?” He mouthed. Will nodded. He could tell he didn’t believe it, but he let it go. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait for me.” Jessamine stalked off behind him, a large pile of clothes in her arms.

Will looked Tessa up and down. “Anything good?” He didn’t see a dress on her. If it genuinely was that perfect on her, she would’ve bought it, right? Jessamine had been lying to get his insecurities acting up, and he had fallen for it. He was an idiot, indeed.

She gave him a sad smile. “No. Guess I have to stick with boring unfashionable clothes.”

He grinned. “You look beautiful, regardless. You feel comfortable in these clothes.” He cupped her cheeks. “That shows. You’re not worried about what people think of your clothes, you’re just being yourself. That is the most beautiful version of you.”

“Myself is the most beautiful version of me?” She chuckled.

He paused. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“No, but it’s the thought that counts.” She tilted her face up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He wanted to melt into the kiss, but she pulled away. He took her hand and didn’t let his harmful thoughts return as she snuggled into his chest, and they rested against the wall, waiting for the other two.

#tessa gray #will herondale #jem carstairs #jessamine lovelace #wessa #jessa #heronstairs #herongraystairs #the infernal devices #the shadowhunters chronicles #tid #tsc

38 notes · View notes