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jpitha · 11 months

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The Dreams of Hyacinth 15

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Yon led everyone out of the building and to Tulip square. She glanced up in the sky and Nick heard the siren announcing a Hopper being called.

As the Hopper came down though, this one was different. Instead of the garish bright colors of a regular Hopper, this one was all black and blue highlights. As it settled on the ground there was no fanfare, no automated voice and when the door opened, Nick was thankful; there was no sandalwood. Yon stepped in. "Come on, we're leaving."

The three of them stepped into the vehicle and the door closed silently behind them. Instead of the rough takeoff of the Hopper, this car lifted smoothly and silently into the air. It took station around 300 meters over the ground and started zooming down arm, towards the base.

Nick looked at Eastern. "What about Jameson?"

Eastern looked out the window as the ground flew beneath them. "He wanted to know what happened, I guess we should call him."

Yon held up a hand. "I got this. Let me take care of it." Yon's eyes flashed blue and she looked distant for a few minutes. "There. You're free. I explained to Jameson what happened and what we're aiming to do. He was unhappy about being Voiced, but I explained it all."

"That's it?"

Yon nodded. "That's it. Jameson and I share opinions on AI/BI rights." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, I promise. It's not like I killed him over our connection or anything." She shrugged. "He was able to block it anyway."

Eastern glares at Yon. "Yon!"

She laughed. "Ancestors, you believe anything. If an AI tells you they can do something BIs just believe it. We could tell you that all AIs only consume K'laxi tea for energy and you'd all just nod and tell each other how logical it was." She laughed again.

They continued to soar down arm and as they did the buildings nearer the base grew taller and taller until they reached the narrow tall spire of Houndstooth One, the tallest building on Hyacinth.

Since Hyacinth is spun for artificial gravity, tall buildings tend to not be as popular as in other locations. While Hyacinth is very large and there's no worry that Houndstooth One will touch anywhere near the center and the penthouse be in microgravity, a person on the upper floors does feel noticeably lighter, and people tend to get motion sick.

Houndstooth One does away with all that because they have a starship gravity generator installed. It's a solid, comfortable standard Earth Gee from the bottom to the top. As they stepped off the Hopper onto the roof of Houndstooth One, Nick, Eastern and Selkirk got a view of Hyacinth that few ever get to see.

Nick had to admit, it was a beautiful view. Back on Parvati he and his parents would take a day trip into the mountains and go on hikes. It would be a few hours of a hot, sweaty slog but at the end, they could look down over the city and the ocean and it felt like he could see forever. Eastern looked excited and pointed out the lake they visited. The breeze on Hyacinth was just enough to make the lake sparkle as the small waves reflected the already reflected sunlight. Yon indulged them a few minutes to take in the view.

"It's it lovely? I love the Reach and even Venus, but the view of Hyacinth from up here is just... so human." They turned in surprise to see a human shaped woman. She was dressed in a smartly tailored suit in royal blue with bright yellow accents. Her blond hair was close copped and spiky on her head. There was the hint of tattoos sticking up from where her suit and her neck met. She looked at them with steely blue eyes and while she had a kind expression, Nick had a feeling that she wore fury as easily as she wore kindness.

Also, there was a glowing crown made of light and dust glowing very very slightly over her head.

Eastern immediately got to her knees and bowed. "Empress!" She looked over at Nick and Selkirk and hissed "Bow down!" Nick and Selkirk glanced at her, and then back at the Empress and then awkwardly got down as well.

She laughed. "Rise, please. I am... unofficial here. There's no need for all that right now. Technically I do not exist." She glanced over at Yon and then back to the three of them. "Well, I do exist, but you know what I mean." As Nick and the others stood back up she smiled. "I'm sorry if I startled you. Our number is still rather small, even after all these years, so I have the ability to welcome all newcomers myself. If all goes according to plan, I will lose that ability soon enough, but even then, I'm happy you are here and agreed to join us." She reached out her hand. "Please. Call me Raaden."

Nick, Eastern and Selkirk took her hand in turn and shook. As they did, they felt the tingle of encryption keys being transferred. Nick raised an eyebrow.

Raaden winked and turned her head slightly. At the base of her neck were 10 cybernetic link ports.

Eastern looked at them confused. "But, you're the Empress. You don't need all that, do you?"

"No, technically I don't." She touched the back of her had absently. "But, I wanted to make sure that I could communicate the same as everyone. As useful as the Builders were, the AI faction's weapons are such that that option is closed to us for now. There will be no Builders as long as there is the anti-Nanite gas. I will not sacrifice any of my subjects unnecessarily." She looked out at Hyacinth with them. "I'm learning that... long term plans are necessary when dealing with people who can live more than a thousand years." Nick could have swore he saw her eyes dampen with tears. She blinked rapidly and turned away. "Come. We have much to do. Now that you three are here the true work can begin." She walked away from them and stopped a moment. "Oh, you can leave your weapons here. I'll make sure they're safe, but you won't need them." She gestured to a guard standing by the door off the roof. He was holding a foam lined case.

Eastern, Nick and Selkirk looked at each other. They had been armed for less than two hours. Eastern didn't hesitate and took off her submachine gun and placed in in the case. Nick and Selkirk shrugged and followed suit.

Eastern, Nick, and Selkirk trotted after the mysterious empress and followed her down one floor to an opulent apartment. It had floor to ceiling glass walls offering views of Hyacinth, rich furnishings, and a bustling staff.

Raaden sat in one of the couches, her back to Hyacinth. She spread her arms and hung them over the back of the couch and put her feet up on a cushion that was already in place. "Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? I have excellent coffee. I never liked it as much as Melody did - I guess I was too used to ship's instant - but in her memory I keep some of the finest coffee I can source. I promise, it's excellent."

Nick nodded, not sure what else to do. "Sure, thank you so much. I'll take a coffee." Eastern nodded in assent. Selkirk shrugged and said "If you have any chamomile, I'd like some."

"Of course Selkirk, I have a batch you might be interested in. It's some of the first chamomile grown on K'laxi. I'm told that the planets physiology makes for an interesting cup."

After a moment, four cups were bought out. Two of coffee and two of tea. Raaden took one of the teas. "I'll admit that even though I keep fine coffee around, these days I rather prefer tea." She took the mug and held it up. "To new beginnings." and took a sip.

Nick, Eastern and Selkirk joined in the toast and drank their drinks as well. Nick had to admit, the coffee was excellent.

Raaden put her cup down. "Now then, Yon has told me that you're interested in getting cybernetic implants Selkirk. This is still the case?"

Selkirk nodded. "I feel like I'm being left out here. I would like to be a part of-" she gestured "-all this and it sounds like in order to do that, I need to get chipped.

A K'laxi accented voice from the kitchen called out. "Don't call it getting chipped, Selkirk. It makes it sound like we're getting a locator implant for a pet." A K'laxi walked in holding another mug of tea. She looked older than Selkirk, with deep red fur. She was also wearing a blue suit with yellow accents. "Hello, I'm Um'reli, the last Builder. Nice to meet you."

Nick heard the capital letters. "The last Builder? Raaden said that the Builders were gone?"

Um'reli's ears flattened. "Yes. They are. I'm the last one. I was with Hel-Raaden when we escaped. Honestly, I should have been on my own ship at the time. Though, if that had happened I would have died with all the rest." She shrugged and her tail swished at the same time. "I can only assume i'm here for a reason, so I do all I can to help out the Empress." She turned her head and there were 10 ports at the base of her neck, sitting just under the fur. It was difficult to see them if you didn't know what to look for. "Luckily Selkirk, you're not the first K'laxi to get the implants. I think you're..." She looked at Raaden. "The Sixth?"

Raaden nodded. "Yes, that sounds right."

Um'reli smiled. "It's a little weird Selkirk, but once you get used to it, it's actually very useful. You've used a neural coronet before? The, er, reflexes to use that are almost identical, it'll just feel... sharper, snappier? The information will be easier to get to." She sat in a chair across from them. "So, any questions?"

Selkirk stared at her tea a long time.

She lifted her head and looked at Um'reli. "You're a Builder."

Um'reli nodded. "I am."

"And you have all those-" Selkirk waved her hands "-nano machines in your body."

Another nod. "I do."

"And you worked with the previous Empress, Melody."

"Melody and I were friends. Even before she became Empress. We worked together on FarReach, the Starjumper that brought us out to the Reach. When FarReach left, I stayed and helped Melody."

"Why?"

Um'reli chuckles. "Well, at the time, I wanted some of the power that Melody seemed to have. You have to understand, we were all from this side of the galaxy. What would you do if your friend suddenly became all-powerful and said 'hey, you want in on this too?'"

Selkirk took another sip of her tea. "I see."

Um'reli nodded, her ears flicking. "But, as time went on, I realized how much stress Melody was under. How hard it was. How much she was trying to help everyone. I wanted to make her job easier, to give her a break." She looked out at Hyacinth for a moment and continued. "I... I was devastated when she died. It's been ten years. It still hurts. But, the work goes on." She broke her gaze with Hyacinth and looked at Nick, Eastern and Selkirk. "We're here to help. It won't be easy, and everyone won't see it that way. We'll probably have to fight again. This time though, we'll be ready, and we're hoping what we're doing now can get across the idea that we're here to help better."

Nick looked at Um'reli. "Yon had mentioned that you're trying to make it so anyone can pilot a starship."

"Among a million other projects, yes. This is the one you three were brought in for though."

Raaden had spent the conversation watching Nick, Eastern and Selkirk. "Yon will take the lead on this project with you. Um'reli and I may stop in for an update or to check on progress, but I can see you're uncomfortable. I want you to succeed. I don't want you sitting there fidgeting because you're worried I'm going to use my Voice on you. I hardly ever use it anymore."

Eastern looked up at this. "But you still can?"

A nod. "I still can."

Nick was struck with a flash of reckless abandon. "Use it. On me. Make me do something."

Raaden was taken aback. "What? Why?"

Nick grinned with a bravado he certainly did not feel. "Think of it as the final step in our application process. A way of showing your bona fides.

Raaden looked at Nick a long time, her steely eyes not blinking. Nick stared right back, holding his coffee cup a few centimeters from his mouth, as if he was going to take a sip as soon as they were done. Finally she blinked and smiled. "All right Nicholas North." She stood and for a moment, everyone saw her crown appear on her head bold and bright.

S̴̘͛͊̎t̴͕̯̹̤́͒̆å̸̩͇̑͑ṋ̶̢͉̹̄̀d̷͉͈̭̒̿̑̈ ̸̘̆́̑͝u̸̧͍͒́̚p̷̨͕̤͋̅͊ͅ,̸̧̭̠̜̈́́̈́ ̶̲̯̭̓̈N̵̨̡̺͖͊ì̵͕̣̪̗̈́c̸͓̜̮̅̔͗̏ḩ̶̻̏o̷͖͙͒́̋l̷̦̑̍a̶̙̭̲͠s̸̞̗͝ ̵̻̃̄̈́N̵̟̪͙͍̓̄ő̶̘̲͈͒r̴͚̠̤̀́͜ț̴̺͗ḩ̸̠̠͔̑.̶̲͈͆́̓

Nick stood up robotically. Standing up he looked in surprised shock at Raaden. After a moment, Nick shakily sat back down.

Raaden sat and her crown faded. She looked at him with a sly expression. "Well?"

Eastern looked at Nick. If Selkirk had to guess, Eastern looked excited and... jealous? "How was it?"

Nick looked at Raaden and then back at Eastern. "I stood up. There was no force in the world that was going to stop me. It was simply... the next thing that had to be done."

"Exactly." Raaden stood back up. "Selkirk? Go with Um'reli. She can get you prepped for surgery. Nick and Eastern? You can stay here with Yon and work out next steps. I have to go... take care of things for the next month, so please, you may have use of my penthouse here while I'm gone, though I suspect you won't be here that long. I'll be in touch."

With hardly any fanfare or ceremony at all, Empress Helen Raaden walked out of the penthouse.

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#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and aliens #jpitha #the k’laxiverse #The Dreams of Hyacinth

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cornucopiawrites · 3 months

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(Image Source: https://x.com/Asaki_illust/status/1746331831774130671?s=20)

You've been going to this other coffee house ever since your usual spot got shut down. There was a devil attack — Bat Devil, allegedly — that blew through the place, tearing massive holes in opposite walls, completely messing up the kitchen. It was shut down for repairs, and never went back in business. Thing is: you knew the owner. And they were getting up-there in age, so more than likely they managed to swindle the insurance money and call it a career. Not a bad ending for them, but you were forced to find a new spot. And this one just wasn't the same. It wasn't just the pastries and drinks you missed. Weird as it sounds, you missed the waiting. In line. At the counter. With others. The coffee house crowd. It was the same people every day, getting their morning coffee and snack. Much like you, sure, but with their own lives. You never knew them, obviously — you all just talked about the weather, latest headlines, the seasonal flu, and other benign things. The familiarity ran so deep, you knew several of their every-day orders by heart. Not a single one of you ever exchanged names, business cards, or anything. And at this new spot, you found yourself deeply regretting your time at the old spot. You vividly remember so many faces, and they may as well be dead now. Well, lately, there's been a new lady at the new spot. She's got pasty skin, is dressed in a suit, and basically looks like everyone else. You just know her because you're so often beside her, for roughly seven minutes each day. You deduce your commutes are somehow in-sync, since you always wind up adjacent to one-another in line. Occasionally — occasionally — you wind up a person or two apart. Or one of you doesn't show. Oh, there are a few things you noticed about her: her hair's usually in this braided ponytail kind of thing, she likes to wear bulky suit coats, she tends to miss a spot of dog hair on the back of those coats, and she never gets coffee, just tea. It's usually one of the shop's herbal blends. Oh, and you couldn't help but notice her eyes. Bright, yellow, unusual. Hard to get a decent look — you don't want to get caught staring. Again, you're standing beside one another. Walking together as the queue moves, but obviously separate. She senses you glancing at her, but doesn't look. You sense her side-eye, but pretend not to notice at all. You shuffle forward. Then again. Finally, you've had enough. "What're you going to get?" You see her flinch, as though you yelled in her ear. Frankly, you have no idea why you asked that anyway. You already know what she gets. Everyday. It's the same thing: tea and—

"Sorry, were you talking to me?"

"Yeah." It worked in your school days, at lunch. Why wouldn't it work today? "I said: what're you going to get?"

The lady blinks. "Me? What am I going to get?"

"Yeah." And after an odd pause: "I get a coffee, with espresso and lots of cream. And a bagel with jam." You need the big caffeine hit, and the calories to offset the shakes you'd get.

"Oh," she says, "um, green tea and a raspberry scone?"

(Why'd she phrase it like a question?)

"Tea? No coffee for you?"

She shakes her head and offers a smile. "My stomach doesn't like it. Too much caffeine, maybe."

"Maybe."

You're not sure what to say next. And neither is she, but she really hopes you do. Her eyes are kinda freaky, looking at you with such attention. Like she's eagerly waiting for something. It's like — anticipation, but tired?

Damn, you're almost at the counter.

"I'm Jun." (You're not Jun.)

"And I am Izumi." (And she is not Izumi. You can tell because she had to think about it.)

"Izumi" takes her order. She gestures for you to come forward. But—

"Oh, no. You don't need to do that for me."

"Maybe," she offers, "you can get mine next time?"

That's fair. And it makes you smile. And she's smiling.

Now what?

"Have you been coming here long?"

Oh, she's taken the lead! You're not complaining.

"About a month, maybe two. I notice you've started becoming a regular here."

She nods, looking outside. "The place I always went to was destroyed." Back at you. "It was a devil attack. I think it was on the news."

From the counter, you both hear, "Izumi? Jun?"

You're both heading outside now. She's looking down at the sidewalk. You say, "that's a coincidence."

"What is?"

"The place I went to was also taken down by a devil."

She nearly sighs. "That's not a very big coincidence these days, though. Is it?"

You shrug and gloomily admit, "that's true. That's true."

It would be a bummer if your first conversation with "Izumi" ended on this note, so you quickly ask, "are the scones any good?"

"I like them, yes. Raspberry's my favorite."

She takes a bite of the fresh pastry, and takes a sip from her disposable cup. Lifting her finger off the cup sleeve, she points to your breakfast.

"You know, I don't think I have had any of their bagels yet."

"Really? They're alright."

The two of you look at one another, then at the other's food, then at your own food. You tear half your bagel off. She does the same to her scone. You take one another's offerings. And you both have a stupid smile on your faces.

"I'll let you know what I think, Jun," Izumi promises, turning to walk away. "I have to get going now."

"I'll see you tomorrow," you answer, "right, Izumi?"

For whatever reason, you don't look to see her nod. She's a fleeting thought, quickly replaced by matters of the day ahead. And you know that for her, you're no different.

The raspberry scone is alright. Not as filling as the bagel.

Yet you're aware that, later this evening, as you're readying yourself for bed, you'll feel that tempered eagerness about the following morning.

It might even keep you up, for just a bit.

Maybe — it'll keep her up, too?

#chainsaw man #fanfiction #fluff #drabble #self insert #makima #but no it's not it's totally just some salaryperson just like you #second person pov

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jungle-angel · 2 years

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Please write Halloween/Fall Prompts “48. Haunted Mansion” with the squad x platonic fem reader

EEEEEEEEEEEKKK!!!!!! Babes, I'm screaming!!! I have the perfect idea for this!!! hee hee

New Orleans, Louisiana

Halloween Night, 2022

The giggles of a wispy little girl ghost filled the halls of the huge, spooky looking mansion, knocking on the doors and causing a commotion in the halls, waking almost all of the Dagger Squad from a late afternoon nap.

Bob startled awake at the noise, nearly knocking his glasses, his crystals and several small statues of his family deities off the little altar shelf next to his bunk bed. "God, why is it always this hour of the night when she's doing this?" he groaned sleepily.

"She's a ghost Bob," Phoenix mumbled, rubbing the grog out of her eyes. "And the worst part is, she's eternally five-years old."

A black cat screamed in the hallway before skittering into the room. Two more ghosts zoomed down the halls while Rooster stumbled his way in, still groggy from the nap and the cat curling about his ankles. "Should I threaten her with an exorcist now? Or wait until after the party?" he yawned.

"We'll see how she is later," Phoenix said, pulling her black hair into a ponytail. "I heard it's supposed to be a good one this year."

"Yeah you know how they are down here," Rooster said. "They go all out for Halloween."

A startled yell echoed down the hall from one of the bathrooms as Coyote ran out in nothing but a towel. "CLARY!!!!! You'd better knock next time or I'm calling an exorcist!!!!" Coyote bellowed.

"Guess I didn't need to threaten he this time," Rooster chuckled.

Bob shook his head as he climbed down from the bunk, reaching for his glasses that had been tucked away in the little niche along with everything else. He disappeared to the bathroom to go and get cleaned up while Phoenix lit a few sticks of incense and stuck them in the little holder, the image of her namesake emblazoned a bright gold on a piece of blood red silk amongst fiery elements and family deities that controlled fire.

(Y/n) stuck her head in a minute later once Rooster and Bob had disappeared. "Hey Nat?"

"What's up (y/n)? Glad to see you're finally awake."

"Yeah you can thank Clary for that one," you said with a roll of your eyes. "Do you mind helping me with the hair? It's gonna be a little tricky."

"Oh honey, hair and makeup are my expertise," Natasha chuckled. "C'mere and we'll do each other's."

You and Natasha gladly did each other's hair and makeup, carefully applying what needed to be applied before helping each other on with the masks that went over your eyes. God, you two were going to look gorgeous, and the guys? Everybody there would be head over heels for them.

"Oh my God, Nat you look like you're gotta set the whole place on fire!!" you said excitedly.

She looked amazing, all in red and gold, the shoulder pieces forming birdlike wings that went in a gentle gradient from smokey black to bright and burning shades of red, orange and yellow. You however were something to behold all on your own, your hair done up with a thin string of pearls laced into the braiding. All around your eyes were clear little dustings of silver glitter and your sheer, white dress showing just enough cleavage for the boys to look and keep guessing. Natasha practically gasped when she saw the thin little angel wings on your back, wondering if indeed you had flown to earth.

"Bestie!!!!!" she gasped, clamping her hands over her mouth. "(y/n) seriously, you look amazing!!!!"

"You like it?" you asked excitedly.

"I think she looks positively stunning," chortled a voice.

You both looked up to see Essie, one of the more wild and feral ghosts who spent her days flitting about the garden and making the Spanish mosses on the willows shudder with her breezy touch. Her transparent and wispy form stuck her head out from the ceiling, giggling like a smitten schoolgirl as she hung upside down. "You ladies are going to make the boys go crazy," she giggled.

"We'd better," Phoenix told her. "We put alot of work and effort into this."

"Oh darling, the hard work is only the half of it," Essie replied, dangling by her ankle from a ghostly rope, reminiscent of The Hanged Man. "Perhaps a little teasing here and there in the bedroom will rile them up a little."

"You think that will work?" you asked, knitting your eyebrows together.

"Well, your friends, Hangy and Roo-Roo seemed to think so," Essie cackled.

Yours and Natasha's jaws hung opened wide in shock. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!!!" you blurted out.

Essie cackled again and apparated quickly back into the ceiling before you had a chance to throw Natasha's hairbrush at her. "She's gonna get it one of these days," you hissed.

Natasha laughed and shook her head. Mickey stuck his head in soon after. "You ladies ready?" he asked.

"Hell yeah we are," you told him.

Mickey took both you and Natasha on each arm, all of you ready for one hell of a night, where the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was to be lifted, all of you celebrating not death and darkness.....but life itself.....wonderful, beautiful, joyous life.

#top gun maverick #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #jake hangman seresin #robert bob floyd #reuben payback fitch #bradley rooster bradshaw #javy coyote machado #pete maverick mitchell #dagger squad #dagger squad haunted mansion au #dagger squad halloween

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gucciwins · 3 years

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All A Dream

welcome to new york...the city that would determine if you and harry would move past 'friends'

Word count: 11908

A/N: hello friends, thank you so much for the love on this story. i'm having a great time writing it. we've made it to a pivotal point in their relationship and i'm excited to share that with you all.

warnings: oral pleasure (male receiving), sexual activity

please reblog!!! and let me know what you thought :)

love on tour series // previous part

Walking the streets of New York feels like coming home. It’s where you got your first apartment, it’s where you found out you were Emmy nominated, also the first place you didn’t feel like you were drowning when you were alone. That’s how you were spending your day alone, taking in the city and how it felt more crowded than usual.

Harry had decided to stay in Nashville with Tyler, who helped create his Grammy-winning song. He tried to convince you to stay, but you said no, promising to see him as soon as he arrived. The drive to New York was great; your bus mates had you laughing the entire way. No one was heading to bed until you were two hours in.

You were creating memories with people you had met two weeks ago. They had now felt like friends you could call if you were ever in any trouble (you wouldn’t be). It was nice to enjoy; they made you feel like Y/N as if you had never graced the big screen. You were their friend, and it felt nice to say that.

New York was full of dreams, and well, you wondered what it would bring.

New York City, New York Night One

It was eight am, and Jeff had gotten you up early saying he wanted to talk to you about your interview, and like a fool, you listened. He had treated you to breakfast, someplace a little hidden but close to your hotel room. You tried persuading him to eat in because you loved the view of the city from your room. You couldn't bear leaving; it was too mesmerizing; food was his only way to get you to agree.

Breakfast was fine; he wanted to know what you were asked and if you were comfortable being associated with Harry. You answered honestly and told them you owed them nothing. You promised Jeff that no matter what you'd say, you're friends because it was easier that way. Also, it was no one's business but yours and Harry's.

You knew there was one conversation awaiting you when Harry arrived, but you didn't mind. Well-- you did, but that's okay. You'd tell him your side of things, and hopefully, he'd agree. If not well, then it seems you and Harry might have your first argument.

Harry was a private person, and you knew that. After your first public breakup at nineteen, so were you. There was not much you offered except photos of events and press. There was very little about your family, but one google search and everyone would get some kind of information about you. Never all of it. You'd never allow that; they could know where you grew up and what school you attended, but not about how your grandparents came to raise you.

You're shaken out of your train of thought as Jeff waves at a person behind you. Probably, an old friend, you think as you drink your cranberry juice. The person blobs down next to you, and that familiar scent of woodsy cologne hits you.

"Missed me, darling?"

You snap your head to your left, and there he is, dressed in his bright pink hoodie, yellow tote bag on his lap covering his shorts. "H, you're back." You throw your arms around him, holding him tight. Before remembering you're inside someone and more than likely caught a few people's attention. "Right, cool, nice to see you," you try to playoff.

Both men burst out laughing, causing you to join in as well.

"Smooth," Jeff comments.

"Shut it, Jeffery." Harry and you say in unison.

Jeff groans, "going to have to deal with the lot of you all day."

"Glenne's coming, so I think not."

You perk up at the name of Jeff's wife. You'll finally get to meet the woman he never stops speaking about. "When will we be meeting her?"

"At the arena, eat quickly. We're stopping at the hotel and then going to the garden."

You perk at the chance of getting to tour the famous arena, it's not like you haven't been to shows there you have, but something about supporting Harry, who has five sold-out shows to play this month, fills you with so much pride.

Finally arriving at the arena, there were lots of people already outside waiting and dressed up. You knew this night would be just as special to them as it would be for Harry. As soon as you entered, some staff greeted Harry and properly welcomed him for the next two days. On your walk to the dressing rooms, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of lots of rainbow arches, and the floor was a pink reading "Harry Styles presents love on tour 2021. October 3, 4, and 16. Sold out." It repeated over a few times as it covered a long distance. You were quick to push Harry in for a picture no matter how much he insisted it wasn't necessary. You thought it was; these were memories you wanted to have whether he complied or not. It didn't take long for him to crack a smile for you.

You set up your stuff next to Harry's outfit that's hanging up perfectly covered. He told you it's something he's nervous about but really excited to wear. Harry has shared how much he's grown and how he feels a lot more comfortable in his skin, yet there are times he still gets insecure. You understood that, hell, it still happens, so you did what you do best, wrapped him in a hug, and let him know that you thought he was amazing and that no matter what would stand by his side.

"Do you want to see something?" Harry asks you, standing by the door waiting for you to take his hand and follow him.

"Course, H. Is it food?"

He chuckles, making sure your hands are linked together. You pass many people all wishing you a good day and Harry good luck for the night. He stops in front of a door that reads "stairs," and you figured that meant you'd be going up.

You could see how excited he was, so you decided to keep quiet and let him continue to drag you along to whatever it was you needed to see. There's one final door that Harry opens, and that's when you know. The New York air has hit you, the sun shining brightly and the person becoming your favorite person at your side.

Harry had brought you to the roof of Madison Square Garden.

You walked forward, a look of awe on your face. You didn't dare let go of Harry's hand as you kept walking forward. The view was breathtaking; you saw all of New York. The city was alive, and you were essentially on top of it. It made you feel small, allowing you to remember you were simply a person in a city of thousands.

Though you were special, because you got to be here in this moment with Harry, the man who was slowly but surely driving you crazy with how much you were beginning to develop feelings for him.

"It's gorgeous." You finally spoke after a few moments.

Harry squeezed your hand, "I know."

You feel like you know Harry well enough to know he's looking at you and not the view. He's a romantic like that, but you can't fault him; it's one of his sweetest traits.

Harry pulls you in close; you lean your head up, knowing what's coming, and it's so sweet. You hum against his lips. It's only been a day, but you can happily say you missed his taste. He pecks your lips several times, causing you to giggle, and he joins. The sweetest sound in the world is his laughter mixed with your own.

New York has always felt different, but now this time with Harry has changed your entire view of the city; anywhere you go, you'll see the mark he made on you and this city.

"Thank you for bringing me up here," you look away from the view to grant him a giant smile, and in return, he shines his dimples. You let go of the hand he's holding and wrap your hands around his waist, turning your head to the side to rest on his chest as you continue to stare at the view for a moment longer.

A phone rings, and you know it's not yours because you left it down in the dressing room. Harry sighs quietly, knowing your moment has come to an end.

"Yes?" He mouths Jeff to you as you peek over the ledge when Harry pulls you back with a shake of his head, leading you back over to the stairs. "On our way."

"Where are we going?"

"Glenne just arrived."

Your eyes widen, sad you missed her arrival but know they're waiting for you or, well, Harry. He hurries down, knowing you were about to leave him to go find Jeff and Glenne on your own. It seems you do know each other better than you thought.

Harry walks in first with a smile on his face as Glenne turns and pulls him in for a hug. There are little whispers, and you know Harry is just as excited to see her as Jeff, but not more, of course. She opens her eyes about to pull away when her eyes land on you behind Harry. You offer her a small wave as you see the recognition set in.

She shoves Harry off her and to the side, giving you a big smile, but it drops as soon as she looks at a smirking Harry and Jeff, who is on the verge of laughter phone in hand recording.

"Jeff, why is Y/N Belmonte here?" She asks in disbelief, her eyes back on you, taking you in.

"H is holding her hostage." Jeff jokes.

"It's true, you got to help me, Glenne." You decided to follow along.

Harry scoffs, throwing an arm over your shoulder, "oh, sod off. Here on her own free will."

You mouth help me, knowing Harry would see.

"Hey," he's pouting now.

"Hi," you wink, and just like that, he's a blushing mess.

You step forward, offering her your hand, "It's lovely to meet you; Jeff speaks so highly of you."

"Wow, umm…you as well." Glenne freezes, "to meet you. He doesn't speak of you."

"Now, Jeffery, that's rude."

Jeff comes to stand next to his wife, who now has a small smile on her face. "If I did, she'd leave me for you in a second."

You glance at Glenne, reaching forward to squeeze her hand. "Where you wanna go? I can get a plane in thirty."

"No one is going anywhere. It's my night." Harry interrupts.

You lean in to whisper to Glenne, "a drama queen."

"Totally."

Harry decides not to comment, knowing you were just as excited to meet Glenne as she was you.

"As lovely as this was, we've got a soundcheck." Jeff begins to push Harry out the door, knowing he'd do something to take longer.

"You coming, querida?"

"Yes, I want to see the stage already. You coming right, Glenne?" She nods, "great, you can tell me about the best place to take a photo. Make Naomi jealous."

"You're best friend, right?"

"Yeah, she's the best." You link your arm with Glenne's and begin walking to the stage. Forgetting about Harry and Jeff, who now have fallen behind. Both men sigh, not expecting for both of you to hit it off so well so fast, but really both are glowing with glee.

Soundcheck was over before you knew it, and as much as you liked seeing Harry perform, you spent most of the time chatting with Glenne. She told you how she met Harry when she and Jeff had got together, then how he officiated their wedding and was a total softie. She shared just how much Harry has done for them and that she wishes him nothing but the same kind of love she has found. You shared how you loved jumping from place to place, never a set place to land, until recently and how you were looking for something permanent in London.

As Harry finished, he interrupted your conversation that was now on where you loved buying boots that Harry called you both on stage. That's when you noticed everyone was off recording videos or having their photo taken. It made you smile because everyone was so happy to be there. Niji had been the most joyous; it was his home show. He shared how each time he had the honor to play was beautiful, but now with his family would be even more special.

You walked around all the instruments knowing Harry had not taken his eyes off of you as you made sure to get close, but enough to keep a distance wanting to keep him on his toes. You stopped in front of Niji's keys and sighed as you ran your fingers over them. It's been a while since you played. You looked up and spotted him chatting with Elin.

"Niji," you called out.

"Yes, Y/N." His voice was gentle, as if he knew you were nervous about the question you were about to ask.

"Can I please play your keys?"

"Yes, of course."

You nodded and took a deep breath. You looked up at Harry, who was standing in the center of the stage with a smile on his face nodding for you to go ahead.

As soon as your fingers were on the keys, it was as if they had a mind of their own. You played a short lullaby you learned early on when you first started playing. Everyone had now gathered around, and it was making you nervous. You looked up, locking eyes with Harry, and just like that, all your nerves went away. He had set a calmness around you with just one look of those emerald eyes.

You started playing a familiar tune, one everyone should recognize. It wasn't until you were a quarter into the song did you look up to see Harry smiling in awe of you. Everyone watched on in silence, letting you finish the last notes before applauding. You grew flustered knowing that everyone had heard you play and liked it.

"Well, wasn't that something." Pauli comments, coming over to give you a high five.

"Need a keys player?" You joke, looking at Harry, who was now standing at your side, hand resting on your back.

"Yeah, we can fit one more person up here." You nudge his side playfully.

"Why'd you learn to play cherry?" Harry asks the question everyone had been dying to know.

"It's a sad song, and I like sad songs. Also, Sarai is a big fan. They made me learn in order for them to make me macaroons."

"Worth the macaroons?" Glenne asks

"Always."

Just like that, you all move past your keys moment and begin to take more photos once again. Harry drags you down with him to recreate an iconic photo he has done each time he plays at the garden. Anthony, Harry's photographer for some shows through the tour, was there ready to document the moment, and so were you with your iPhone.

Harry was glowing, you felt; there was whole new energy around him. It was being in this arena knowing so many of his friends were coming to see his show.

After Anthony assured him he got many photos, he pulled you in for your own where you spread out next to him, hands out wide looking up at the glowing words. He then surprised you by pulling you into his side; his arm was thrown over your shoulder, taking in the moment with you, forgetting there was a camera behind you taking a photo of your every movement.

"Thank you for being here."

"Thanks for having me. Hell, I just came into your life, and to experience this with you feels like a huge honor."

"Don't say it like that," he chastises.

"Like what?"

"Like you shouldn't be here. Time with you doesn't feel real, I honestly feel like you've been a part of my life forever, and if I have it my way, you will be."

You lean your head on his shoulder to look up at him, "I want to be here, for as long as you'll have me."

He leans down, lips pressed together in a short kiss, but enough to leave you breathless. "Then expect to never leave."

You stayed with Harry as Ayae did his hair; he always wanted a second opinion, although he didn't need it. Ayae has not failed to make his hair look beautiful each night; you loved when you were on set the stylists would play with your hair complementing how pretty and luscious it always looks. Honestly, you like getting your hair played with, simple as that.

Then Harry made you promise not to come into his dressing room until he sent someone for you, so you agreed. That's how you ended up with glittery white hearts on your cheekbones, completing your look for the night all because Harry volunteered Ayae to distract you. Then she did the same to Pauli, who took a photo with you wanting to remember the moment. You promised Ayae you'd be fine on your own and went to prep the others in the band, leaving you to get ready.

You stood in front of the full-body mirror and looked at your outfit, trying to decide if you liked it or not. You had changed from your leggings and sweater into something you thought was fitting for the night where Harry was going to look amazing. You wanted to look good next to him as if you were always meant to be there. You're wearing pastel pink flares and a black silk button-up, except for this time you've knotted the bottom, unbuttoning a few buttons to show off your pink bralette that matches your pants perfectly. You've got white low heels opting out of boots for the night.

"If you're trying to decide if you look nice, the answer is you do. Like holy hell, if I wasn't married, I'd wife you up." Glenne gushes as you do a small spin for her.

"Thank you, you look amazing." You gesture to her entire look and just take it in. So effortlessly beautiful.

Glenne blushes, "right, H called for you."

"Did he? He's being very suspenseful."

"Has he seen your look?"

"Nope."

"Oh, he ain't ready."

You knock on the door expecting a come in except you hear a lot of shuffling around and muttering, before finally he responds, "come in, eyes closed."

Not one to fight him, you open the door with one hand, the other covering your eyes, "you better not let me run into the couch."

"Few more steps...and stop."

You freeze, having no idea where you're standing, just that the door shut behind you.

"Right, well be hon-"

"-what? Why'd you go quiet?" The silence continues. "I'm going to open my eyes."

That snaps his right back, "no shit, sorry. You caught me off guard. You look bloody magnificent, and I needed to take that in."

"Dork, you scared me."

His laugh fills the room, "sorry, it was your fault for dressing this pretty for me."

"Can I see you now?" Your voice pleading.

"Yes, baby."

You begin to move your hand down, blinking slowly so that light doesn't overwhelm your closed eyes. Once your eyes focus, you see Harry standing in front of you; he's looking down at his boots, a timid look on his face.

He's nervous, and you think it's so precious because he's told you he loves what he does, but at the end of the day, he will always be the boy from Holmes Chapel who sang to his mother and sister from behind a bathroom door. That's when you noticed how similar you and Harry really were; you grew up timid because you didn't have close family members to grow up with besides the elders in your neighborhood and the few friends you made in school. You understand what he meant, shining bright in front of a room of people chanting your name or shooting a film being an award-winning actress. Yet, at the end of the day living life as if none of that prior happened.

You love that in this room together, you both can be one hundred percent yourself, meaning every single wall is down, allowing you to get a glimpse of who Harry really is.

You don't force him to look at you; instead, take in his appearance. He's wearing a black double-breasted suit. The trousers are fitted and make him look taller. The top is what leaves you breathless; he's purposely left it unbuttoned for you. You're stepping towards him as you touch the feathered sleeves of the suit jacket. This is something you've never seen before, but he pulls it off so effortlessly. His tattoos stand out in contrast to his tan skin.

"You're gorgeous," you whisper as you run your hands down the sleeves until you reach his fingers, pulling him in closer to you. "I'm honestly the luckiest person to get to see you in such a gorgeous outfit."

"Others are going to see it."

You shake your head, "not like this, not like me and you. No one will get to experience this private moment where you open up to me and let me take in all your beauty because you value what I think."

Harry's eyes mist over, and you know it's because of your words. "You're perfect, and never forget it."

"Only perfect in your eyes, I feel." You tell him, tracing over the butterfly, giggling as you see him clench his stomach making his abs more prominent.

"Then so be it; I'll remind you each and every day."

"Alright, rockstar, I hear you have to head to the stage soon, so pucker up."

Harry doesn't have a moment to prepare as you lean up to place your lips on his. He's quick to respond; he sets a hand on the nape of your neck to hold you close. You feel him swipe at your bottom lip, and you're swift to let him in. You could never get enough of him, how much he's beginning to mean like home to you, and you know you're in danger.

He pulls back breathless, lips red and plump as he moves down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, and he doesn't hold back on leaving a mark right over your heart. You know he can feel how fast your heart is beating, all thanks to him, and you know he's enjoying it.

There's a knock on the door interrupting you, and you're grateful because you're not sure you have said no to anything he would have asked for you even if he had to go make his way on stage. Harry pulls away reluctantly but keeps you hugged to his chest as he yells at whoever knocked to come in.

"It's time, boss man," Luis tells him, shooting you a smile when you peek your head up to look at him.

"Okay," he lets you go slowly. "I'll have my eyes on you. Dance for me."

You feel your gaze soften, knowing he means it, "course I will."

Harry walks out a soft kiss to your hairline, and he's out, leaving you with Glenne, who you did not see appear. Well, it looks like you found yourself a new dance partner for the night.

Standing there in the sold-out arena of night one of five at Madison Square Garden, you take it all in, take in how Harry has gathered everyone in a room where everyone is free to be who they want. And so you dance, you dance with Glenne to the intro of Golden, you get Tommy to dance with you through adore you, and everyone cheers the loudest during 'she' for Mitch's fabulous solo. You sway on your own as you listen to the sadness that falling brings, and once again begin to go crazy with Glenne as sunflower begins with your favorite intro with Harry and Niji. Jeff takes his phone out to record you and Glenne as you sing to each other, taking turns spinning each other around. You all laugh as the intro to 'to be so lonely' begins, and the crowd yells in joy screaming back the lyrics to him.

There's so much laughter and happiness as you all watch Harry shine as the star he is. All the joy is radiating off of him. You know you're going to look back on this day for years to come as one of your favorite days.

You've seen Harry perform fine line a few times now, but his closing speech for the night and hearing the crack in his voice always gets you because you know how much each person in this room means to him. That they want to share this with him, and he's always so grateful. So yes, you cry to fine line as always, but not for the same reasons, but because you're so proud of Harry and who he is as a person and how lucky you are to be here to get to experience it by his side. Your heart softened as you watched Glenne hug Jeff from behind as they swayed side to side, looking up at Harry with so much love. He really had amazing people at his side supporting him.

It's the final song of the night, and the literal ground is shaking. You hold on tight to Glenne as you look around you in shock. There is not a single person not dancing, you even spot a mosh pit happening, and you know this is what true happiness is. To be surrounded by strangers and you allow yourself to dance and sing with them, there is nowhere else you'd find it.

Hell, maybe falling in love isn't so bad if this feeling of happiness never leaves you.

You rush over to the dressing room as soon as the band is off the stage; you find Harry standing there, jacket wide open, and rush into his arms, catching him by surprise as he stumbles back a few steps before getting his balance back, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"You were phenomenal." You mutter into his neck, holding him tight. "I'm so in awe of you. How you do this every night and how you manage to make each person in that arena feel seen."

"Thank you, baby." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I like knowing I can look out into the crowd and find you."

His words make butterflies flutter in your stomach; Harry never fails to make you feel special.

"Think I have got to let go of you now. Lots of people here to congratulate you."

Harry sighs into your hair, "give me another minute. I need a shower, then I'll meet everyone." You nod, having not made a single move to leave his embrace.

He pulls back, making you lift your head up, and that's when you see the cheeky smile on his face and know what he is asking for. You give him a slight nod, and he kisses you with so much passion that if he wasn't holding you, you'd be sinking to the floor.

"Go on, I'll be there soon, querida."

There are many people you don't recognize when you get into the communal area where everyone is going to be hanging out for a while before heading to the hotel and rest to prepare to do it all over again. You stick with Glenne, a bit nervous about all the people that clearly know Harry. Jeff says he can take you around introducing you, and you hesitate before nodding. These are close friends of Harry, of course, you should take a moment to meet them. You are Harry's friend meeting his other friends, and it sets a funny feeling in your chest because he isn't just a friend, but truthfully that is what you are until you and Harry have that talk, you never seem to have time for it.

Jeff bounces you from person to person, introducing you both chatting for a bit before moving on. There are only a few who tell you how much they like your acting, causing you to flush. It makes them smile, with Jeff throwing in the occasional "she's shy" or "she's an introvert," causing everyone to laugh and break the ice, allowing conversations to flow much more effortlessly.

A cheer overtakes the room as the man of the hour walks in; he's quickly wrapped in a hug before the next person continues. It goes on for a while, and you know it's best to give him the time with his friends. You find Sarah hanging out in the back with Mitch, who happily tells you to join them. Sarah tells you how insane it is to play there because you feel the entire stage move, even how she had to reach for the drums as she felt them moving forward.

Before you know it, the whole band is around you, talking about the show, which leads to their favorite arenas they've played, followed by their favorite cities visited, where they are eager to hear your answers. As Pauli speaks about how New York holds a special place, you look up and catch familiar eyes staring at you. You flash him a smile and get an even wider one in return. He gestures his head to the bar asking you to meet him there. You excuse yourself from the band, who all have matching smirks on their face knowing that Harry has finally come back to get you to be by his side.

You lean on the bar seeing it surprisingly empty, and take in the room that is beginning to clear up. A drink is slid in front of you; you eye it suspiciously before taking a sip and humming at the familiar flavor of a Shirley temple.

"Thanks, H."

"You avoiding me?" He questions, his body getting close to you until there is no space left between you.

"No, you're a busy man. Lots of people wanted to see you."

"Darling, how can I introduce you to my friends? When you're hiding out with my band."

"Jeff did introductions," you squeeze his hand in assurance.

He grumbles something before turning his entire body to face you. He sets both your drinks back on the bar. Harry reaches for your hand, bringing one up to his lips leaving a gentle kiss before repeating the same to the other.

"I wanted to introduce you. Show off that I've got the kindest and most beautiful girl at my side supporting me." He confesses.

"H, we need to talk about what we want."

"Then let's do it."

You sigh, knowing he won't stop, so you continue. "It's been only two weeks."

"Yeah, but we've spent every day together since then. We're way past the basics; I've even met your best friend."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be. I like you; you like me. Let's be in a relationship."

"But it's not that easy. I've got a career to get back to soon, I've got interviews and auditions, and I won't be by your side forever."

This makes Harry frown, but you need him to understand, to make him realize you're not living in a fantasy.

"I get that, but you're here now, and I love every minute of it."

You're not sure why you're so defensive of being girlfriend and boyfriend. You're not sure if it's yourself not wanting to get hurt, and you'll prevent that by not labeling anything, but also know your feelings are well past that.

"I'm here now, but what about when I'm not."

"My feelings won't go away," Harry states, pleading for you to understand him. "I know this won't be easy. I know the industry was made for us to fall apart, but I promise I've never felt this way in my life. It is crazy how much I care for you, and I promise to fight for you every day." You've never seen him look so vulnerable and open with you, and you know that you're going to be saying yes.

Just won't be saying it in a room with his crew.

"I care for you too, mi amor. We'll sleep on it; finish this off tomorrow, I promise." Harry nods, knowing he won't get anything more out of you tonight.

"In the same bed?" He replies cheekily.

You chuckle, "yes, Harry. We'll sleep in your room now."

"Go say goodnight. I'm tired." He ushers you as he goes on to do the same.

You did not expect to have this conversation, but a good night's rest will allow you to see this in a new light, and who knows, by the end of tomorrow, you just might be Harry's girlfriend

New York City, New York Night Two

Harry had woken up early as he does most mornings to prepare for the show with his morning workout and now snuggles for you, except he woke up alone. Your side of the bed was cold, meaning you had left him for a while now. He picked his phone up with a huff hoping you'd be coming back soon, but that's when he spots the note attached to the back of his phone.

Hi darling,

Sorry to leave you, but Viola called me early and told me I was needed for a few interviews and to talk over my schedule for next year. Please know it was hard to leave you in bed all alone. I'll make it up to you. Now I'll be in the hotel's conference room.

I'll meet you at soundcheck.

Your, querida xxx

Harry's heart clenches at the sweet note you took the time to write him and makes sure to tuck it safely in his notebook that he has not had time to open and write in due to the busy past two days. He knows he's lucky with the limited amount of work you've had to do, but he misses you. He likes knowing you're close and watching him just as he watches you.

He goes on with his morning without you. Mitch invites him for breakfast, and he accepts only for the chance to see the young bub, only to find out Sarah took him for a walk as he was a little fuzzy. It's safe to say it makes him sad, he just wants a cuddle, and it's the reason why Sarah finds them on the couch with Harry with his head in Mitch's lap as they watch a documentary Mitch had been trying to watch. Sarah knows better than to ask, instead letting them know they'd have to head out soon to the venue.

Harry gets up, knowing he needs a few things to get ready, when his phone chimes signaling he received a message.

Belmonte 💛

Good to know, I'm replaceable. xx

Attached is a photo of his head in Mitch's laugh, with Mitch's hand playing with one of Harry's curls. It's a nice photo, and he gives props to Sarah for being so sneaky about it.

Harry

Yes, because you didn't give me a good morning kiss or snuggles. xx

Harry can picture you laughing at him, and gosh, he misses the sound.

Harry

Miss you xx

Belmonte 💛

Miss you too. See you soon xx

Not soon enough, Harry thinks to himself. He's tempted to go find you in whatever room you're in but knows better not to in the chance he interrupts you. He grabs his bag that holds all his essentials and leaves most of his stuff unpacked as they wouldn't be heading to Florida until the day before, wanting to enjoy their time there also because he wanted to spend time with you outside a venue.

Harry arrives and is greeted once again by most of the staff. He admires all the hard work they put in to make sure he has a good show and knows his crew is working just as hard to do the same. He knows he has the easy job to get on stage and entertain but knows he wouldn't be able to do it without every person on his team who makes it possible.

Jeff pushed up his soundcheck, meaning you were going to miss it as you had an hour before arriving, and it bummed him out. Harry knew there was nothing he could do, but he missed you. He had created a routine, and you were involved. You'd sit on the stage of the steps as he sang out a few songs, then would head to the dressing room together where you sit and meditate with him.

It's safe to say the day has gone by much slower without you by his side, it's nearing lunchtime, and you're still not here.

Glenne

With Bel, all is well. We'll be there soon.

Harry

You nicknamed her. It's cute.

Glenne

Yes, she's a fan of it as well.

Harry

Won't be mad if I use it?

Glenne

I'm honored.

Bel.

His Bel, he's called you all the sweet pet names he likes, and you called him H; it was only fitting for you to have one as well. He's a bit mad he didn't think of it himself.

Now he waits for you to arrive.

It's an hour before showtime, and Harry is angsty, unable to sit still because he's yet to see you. Glenne arrived ten minutes ago and offered no words as to why you weren't here. He didn't want to seem like a bother, so he didn't call.

There's a knock on his dressing room door, and he thinks about ignoring it for a second but decides against it when he finds you standing there with two plates of food in hand, an apologetic smile on your face.

"Dinner?" He nods, stepping aside letting you come in.

You set the plates down on the counter where a few of his hair products remained when Ayae came in earlier.

You turn to look at him, an apologetic look on your face. "Sorry, H. I really am. I know how important today is your second sold-out show, and I promised to be here, but Viola and Emerson failed to mention all this stuff for the start of the week. Then I had to plan out outfits with them for the red carpet appearances I have at the end of the year." Harry smiles at you, ramble on about your day, and he can tell how draining it was as you let out a sigh shooting him a smile as you see he made his way across the room to you.

Harry pulls you in for a much-needed hug on both parts. You wrap your arms tight around his waist, and he relaxes as he feels you let out a deep sigh letting him know that you were allowing yourself to forget everything else and just be with each other.

"Here now. Missed you, Bel." He kisses the top of your head repeatedly as you haven't allowed yourself to pull back just yet.

"Bel, like when you say it."

"Yeah, still just as special."

"Mhm, Glenne might have coined it, but pretty coming from you."

"Gosh, you really are the sweetest."

"Especially for you."

"Sweet enough to kiss?"

Harry feels you pull your head away from where you were resting it against his chest. You look up, locking eyes with him, and that's when he notices your makeup; you've got a darker eyeshadow, and on top are small stars scattered on both eyes.

"Baby, you got stars on you." Harry rests his hands on your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over your skin.

"Just for you."

"Take a step back. Need a full look at you."

You do as he says, stepping back slowly in your red heeled boots. His eyes scan you up from your legs and up; he's tempted to ask what you have under but stops himself knowing he won't have time to enjoy that. You're wearing a black short silk dress, and as he scans your neck, he sees you wearing a necklace with several star charms.

"Gorgeous," he rasps out. "You're a dream, baby."

"Harry," you mutter, taking steps back over to him.

"What, just being honest."

You look up at him and pucker your lips, letting him know you want a kiss. He happily obliges, giving you a few pecks until you slipped a hand to the back of his neck, holding him still, and smacked your lips together in a steamy kiss. Harry squeezes your hips enough to leave you gasping when you feel him dig in, allowing him to slip his tongue inside. You don't fight him, letting him lead the kiss bringing you much-needed pleasure. You sigh against his mouth, pulling back as Harry chases after you.

"Let's eat." You lead him over the couch, sitting him down, and then bring over the two plates you'd be sharing.

Harry knew you were exactly what he was missing because being in here with you, he felt calm and relaxed. As if he wasn't frantic and stressed the entire day with you away. He cares for you so deeply; at one point, he was scared to be feeling all of this so fast, but a talk with his mum set him at ease.

She had asked him to imagine his future without Bel by his side, and it tore him up to think she might not be there. His mum, always the wise woman, told him that was his answer and to fight for you every chance he got, and that is what he will continue to do.

"I need to get dressed," he says after picking up both their plates and taking a look at the time of his phone.

You nod, standing up, "I'll head out then."

"No," he reached for your hand, not wanting you to take a step away from him. "Stay with me."

You don't even fight him on it, and he's grateful. You sit back on the couch, hand over your eyes to give him some privacy.

"Don't need to do that," he chuckles as he gets his polka dot trousers from the hanger.

"You want me to look at the goods?"

Harry removes the cream wrap blouse and slips it on. He secures it, looking in the mirror at how you can see his tattoos through the material. You're going to love it.

"Yes, besides myself, only you can see."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you let me see your goods, figured you deserve the same," he replies cheekily. "Open your eyes, querida."

You move your hand quickly as soon as he gives you the go-ahead.

He stands there, arms open to the side, giving you jazz hands, and he gets the reaction he wanted because you burst out laughing.

"This is definitely something," you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "Can see your tits straight through."

"No shit." He sasses.

"Oh, you want them to be seen, such a tease."

"You know it, baby."

You stand up and stop in front of him, you gesture for him to spin around, and he does so with no questions asked. Your eyes are trained on his butt before lifting up to look at the smirk on his face.

"Well-fitted trousers are a look, H. Your ass chef's kiss," you bring your hand up to your lips and make an exaggerated kissing noise.

"So, you like my ass?" You nod; stepping closer, he narrows his eyes at you, not sure what you're going to do. You reach behind him and squeeze his perky bum. "Oi, Bel was not expecting that."

You're smirking, arms crossed as if you didn't just grope his bum, and you know he liked it as well by how his eyes have darkened. "You said I could look at the goods and figured touching was alright."

"It's always alright and encouraged." He tells you, leaning close to you and pressing a small kiss to your nose, making you scrunch it, not at all expecting that.

"Noted."

Harry pulls you in, hugging you, letting your laughter fade out until all you can hear is each other's breathing, and that's how you stay, you're not sure how long you hold each other until there's a knock on the door asking Harry if he's ready. There are five minutes for him to get to the stage.

"I'll see you after, right?"

"As soon as the band is off the stage, mi estrella."

He nods, grinning at you, and walks out behind Jeff as they walk him over to where he needs to be to get under the stage unseen. Harry stops in his tracks when he realizes he didn't do something and turns around, rushing to where he left you. He found you slipping the lanyard over your head, fixing your hair so that it didn't get tucked under.

"Bel, baby," you turn in surprise, knowing he had left but don't have the chance to say anything as he crashes your lips together. It's fast and hot; you grip his shoulders to stay upright. He pulls back breathless, smirking at your smeared lip gloss. "I need my good luck." And just like that, he's off again.

Harry feels on top of the world.

The crowd was terrific, from the moment he got on stage singing 'golden' everyone sang with him. Every lyric being sung with him had him feeling like nothing could stop this. He felt how much the stage was shaking and knew there was a hint of fear in the band, but nothing they all couldn't handle.

Harry took a moment to walk around the stage, waving and blowing kisses to everyone he could. He took a deep breath as he scanned the crowd right before 'cherry' he looked down to where he knew you'd be standing with Jeff and Glenne. He could not stop the smile that overtook his face when he spotted you as you all held up individual signs. It started with Jeff and Glenne to you and ended with Tom. Your signs together read, "I adore Harry!" He loved that Tom was the exclamation point, but what he loved most was how well you got on with friends. This had you and Glenne written all over it.

He pointed at you all, screaming 'my best friends' then blowing you all kisses that you all happily returned. Harry made sure to lock eyes with you as he made a show of catching your kisses and pressing them over his heart.

Harry knew there were cameras all over recording but did not care one bit. These were his people, and he'd show them all the love he could.

The show continued on, pausing every so often to cheer out for New York. He appreciated every place he got to visit and perform, but it's this arena that he felt he really made it all those years ago when his life was changing.

"Every time I play in this building feels so special. I was very lucky to play here the first time on December 3rd, 2012." The cheers get even louder, and he chuckles into the microphone. Hopefully, he'll get to come back for years to come.

The end of the show comes all too quickly after an emotional 'fine line' performance; he was gone for a few minutes to relax before the real ending. He feels like he flies through the last three songs quickly. He's dancing his heart out and really belting out the lyrics to 'kiwi' when he feels his world freeze because he spots you easily behind the crowd with Glenne hand in hand dancing. You're laughing without a care in the world; you don't notice the cameras pointed at you. You look up at the stage a lot, always making sure you have an eye of where he is, and fuck, it makes his heart skip a beat.

Harry wants to end tonight knowing they're something more. He knows what he has to do once he gets off stage.

After the show, Harry feels his adrenaline pumping, and it's not because of the end of the show; it's because he needs to find you. He spots you entering, trailing behind Jeff and Glenne, who he is quick to brush past. He takes a deep breath at your shocked reaction to him skidding to a stop in front of you. He holds your face gently with both hands making sure you're looking at him needing to know you're focused solely on him.

"All cards on the table. I'm putting everything out there for you. I'm all in."

Your eyes widened; you clearly weren't expecting this, especially somewhere so public, neither of you realizing that Jeff has made it, so everyone keeps walking, not letting them linger.

Harry wants you. It won't be easy, but you think of right now, at this moment, there's nothing else you want more. You want to be his; you want to be called his. You want to show him off to your made family.

"I'm all in. I'm all yours."

He looks into your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, but all he finds is warmth.

Harry leaned in and pulled you in as he kissed you softly. His full lips lightly moved over your's needing the contact. It meant more than any other moment he had the last two days. It was moving forward in their relationship. It was one step closer to a forever love.

He knows it's too soon to say he's been in love, but this feeling is so overwhelming he's sure if you weren't here keeping him grounded, he'd be floating off to become one with the universe. He understood it now, how much you could care for someone, and he hoped to never lose you.

"Girlfriend," He starts with the cheesiest grin on his face, "wait for me in the dressing room, please. Then I can introduce you to all my friends."

"Sure, H. I'll sit alone in your dressing room as you shower and everyone else parties," you sass jokingly, but let him lead you back to where he left you earlier in the night.

"Bel, come on."

"Alright, I'll wait."

"Thank you,"

He pecks your lip grabbing his bag with his change of clothes and towel. "Twenty minutes tops."

You know he's going to push thirty, but you can't even be upset about it, he's your boyfriend, and well, nothing can ruin that. As you wait, you decide to send a text to Naomi, who you're surprised hasn't called you as much but texted just the same, always making sure to check in with you and remind you that you've missed.

Y/N

So guess who's got a boyfriend.

You know she's sleeping, having had a full schedule at grad school today, but I can't wait for her to answer you in a few hours.

Y/N

It's me! I'm a girlfriend.

A girlfriend, it's been a while since your last relationship, and although you had your fears, it's like they all washed away knowing Harry feels the same as you. You're going to do everything to keep Harry in your life, and you know he's going to do the same.

Harry doesn't introduce you to everyone in that room but never explicitly says 'girlfriend' he told you the label was for you two and no one else. There would be no declaration on social media as so many people tend to do. This is yours, and even though Harry trusts everyone in that room, he's still selfish enough not to share you. Although, you're sure they all assume as Harry never lets you leave his side. You have so many conversations apologizing for not remembering names, everyone telling you it's alright even though in your head you're repeating over and over something they've told you with their name to not forget. Harry tells you to relax, that it's okay, but you like remembering people. You always love that moment; when they see you remember them, a glimmer of joy enters them.

All his friends speak highly of him, mentioning how he's one of the best people they know and how much he's helped or even reached out just to check how they were doing. Harry ends up doing a lot of blushing as his friends talk him up. There are also a few who cheekily mention why you're hanging out with Harry. You shock them all by joining in on the teasing, saying you almost rejected hanging out with him, but who could say no to those puppy dog eyes. That's when everyone realizes how perfect you are together. Not to mention that you both gave each other heart eyes the entire night.

You're finally making your way back to the hotel and are no longer tired. The entire night, you and Harry have been teasing each other with sly touches. He had his hand resting on your waist most of the night, slowly trailing down when you'd find a spot to sit together or at the small of your back where he'd rest it on your ass with a smirk on his face as you made no move to remove it encouraging him more. You gave it back just as much, letting your hands graze his arms, occasionally slipping a hand to the back pocket of his Gucci jeans as you let your other hand rest on his stomach, occasionally slipping your fingers up his shirt to graze his abs.

Harry followed you up to your hotel room, not even having to ask if you'd be sleeping together because the answer would be yes, but you both had something else in mind to do in bed, and it was not sleeping.

You slip out of your boots, rolling out your ankles as you wore them all night. You took a seat on the queen-sized bed as Harry roamed around, stopping at the window to admire the view as you do each morning.

"Your friends are great."

He hums, "they loved you."

"Oh, did they?"

"Yup, told me when you were saying bye to Mitch and Sarah."

"Hmm... I've never thought I was good with people, but with you by my side made everything so easy."

"Guess you have to keep me around."

"I guess so. Doesn't seem so bad to me." You share.

"Why's that?"

"You're hot for one," you say as you head to the restroom to remove the makeup you had one wanting to do your night routine to feel a little more refreshed.

"Go on," he says, intrigued.

"You're filthy rich, and you're funny. The full package." You lock eyes through the mirror, and you catch how his mouth falls open.

"I do sound perfect."

That makes you break your stare as you laugh out loud. Harry is always great at surprising you.

You wash your face with your cleanser, then reach for your next item as Harry comes to stand next to you, handing him the cleanser without a word letting him copy your previous action. You end it by rubbing the hydrating moisture onto your face and neck, looking over at Harry, who looks relaxed and smiley. That felt very domestic, and you loved every second of it.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed where you were seated earlier, legs spread open, and you go to stand in between them, your hands resting on his shoulder as you play with the small curls that are wrapped low by his neck.

"Hi baby," He whispers, looking up at you.

"Hello, sweetheart." You lean down and place a gentle kiss on his nose, "how you feeling?"

"Good, amazing with you in my arms."

"I'm proud of you."

"Bel, angel." His voice is soft.

"Can I show you how proud I am?" Your hands move down his chest to rest over his hardening cock. He hisses at the contact as you squeeze him, not all expecting this but enjoying every second of what you'll give him.

"Yes, querida. I'm yours." He breathes out.

You push your lips against his. Harry responds eagerly, pushing you down to sit in his laps as he enjoys the taste of you. Your lips move in perfect sync as your hands begin to roam every part of his body. Harry bites down on your bottom lip, pulling a gasp from you as you slip your hands up his shirt, needing it off, wanting to see him exposed to you. He slips it off, throwing it to a corner of the room, bringing you back to his lips; you break away when you feel his hands pushing up your dress to your waist, giving you more room to move freely.

You trail kisses down his neck, sucking harshly as you pull a loud moan from Harry before soothing it over with your tongue. He doesn't stop you because he knows he has a few days before the next show. He is giving you permission to mark him as yours. Just as he had done before. You stand up, your dress stuck on your hips as Harry takes in your pink satin panties as you sink down to your knees in front of him. It's a true sight to behold, lips full and plush due to all the kissing; he groans as he can see straight down your dress, and you smirk, knowing you have all the control.

You lean in, pressing kisses on his chest, treating each swallow delicately before stopping at his nipples. You move forward, feeling bold, and lightly licked one pebbled nipple. Harry sucks in a breath. You smiled against his skin and licked him again. When you hear him hiss out a breath, you kiss across his chest and deliver the same treatment to the other nipple. You sucked the hard little peak into your mouth, and at the same time, added pressure with your friends to the moist little peak you left behind.

You look up at Harry. He inclined his head, urging you to keep going. You run your hands down his body, over his firm broad chest, down the ridges of his abdomen, and over his hips. You stop right over the button of his pants waiting for the go-ahead, and after a nod of his head, you're unbuttoning and lowering the zipper. Harry raises his hips to help you get it down past his thighs, and you notice his cock standing straight; you smirk, seeing he was bare the entire night and even then decided to tease you.

You click your tongue, "Sweetheart, your cock's so big, H. So hard. All for me?"

"All for you."

You smirk, "You're naughty, bet you thought of me in the shower, wishing I would have jumped in with you, that I had given you my mouth sooner."

"Baby, please." He moans out as he feels your hands on his thighs, not once touching his cock that's hard and leaking just for you.

You leaned in close, pressing kisses to his thighs, stopping at his tiger, kissing it longer, looking up, locking eyes with Harry as you sucked, grazing your teeth over, enough to leave a bruise behind.

Just as you were about to kiss his tip, Harry stopped you.

"You don't have to do this?" He tells you, holding his hand under your chin, stopping you from moving forward, wanting to make sure you're listening and that you understand that he doesn't need this if you don't want it.

"Good thing I want to. Now lie back and enjoy, mi estrella."

You pause, the tip of his cock poised right at your lips. The sight is so fucking pretty to Harry; he wants it engrained in his head forever. His beautiful girl, in your silk dress with a flush face, is ready to pleasure him. Harry feels breathless and a lot turned on; he imagined this sight but never thought it would be much better than he ever thought.

"You okay?" You check one last time.

Harry lets out a deep breath and smiles, brushing your hair back, and your mouth lifts in a grin. Your tongue laves over the head in one broad stroke, and his eyes sink close.

"Fuck," Harry growls, pushing his hands into your hair.

"You like that?" you say, teasing him, your tongue flicking over him seductively.

"Very much, lovie." Harry feels as if you're spoiling him and enjoys the moment. "Take me deeper, my angel."

You obey, opening wide and sliding your lips all the way down his shaft.

"Y/N…" Harry groans, thrusting his hips up to meet you on the downstroke.

Harry watches every movement you make, licking and sucking. Occasionally, you open your eyes to meet his for a moment before those mesmerizing eyes sink closed again. You make little sighs of bliss as if the act of pleasuring him brings you pleasure.

Harry feels like the luckiest person alive to be sharing this with her, something so intimate and special. You continue to move up and down, and Harry feels his release start to build. Fuck, he needs you to stop. As much as he loves how well you take him, he needs more.

"Love." Using three fingers under your chin, Harry lifts your mouth. His cock slides out between your lips with a soft sucking noise, and he groans at the loss of suction. "I need all of you." His voice comes out in a ragged pant as he watches your expression change from a slight frown to one filled with lust hungry for more.

Harry helps you stand up; you're still all dressed compared to his naked form. You smirk, knowing you had the upper hand here, but not for long. You don't say anything, only reach to your side, slipping the well-hidden zipper down, allowing the dress to pool at your feet. Harry lets out a groan at your exposed breast, revealing you had no bra on all night in that gorgeous dress.

"You want the honors?" You gesture to your panties.

Harry doesn't need to be asked again as he slips them down your legs. He is quick to have you sitting on his lap only to flip you around, finally having you under him. His eyes take you in every curve and freckle; you've never felt so vulnerable yet so wanted. The lust shining in his eyes only ignites more.

He bent down and put his mouth on your breast, covering the nipple and sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched as you gasped, the sensation so sharp. You reached for his head, sliding your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. The soft strands felt like silk against your palm. You wanted to have him this close, always. You sucked in much needing air and pressed his head closer. Harry took direction well; he bit at you and sucked at your nipple, then blew a cool breath across it to make it pucker. He moved to do the exact same thing to your other nipple and, for the next several minutes, proceeded to drive you more than a little crazy.

Harry's tongue flicked at your nipples, which you never considered sensitive. Tonight...they ached with sensation; you squirmed so much, you failed to realize he moved his hands to your ribs to hold you down.

You liked that. Oh, fuck, you liked that a lot. Harry began to kiss his way down your body, your hands dropping to his shoulders. Harry had one thing in mind. He slipped his fingers between your thighs, checking to see how ready you were, and you were soaking for him. A large smile fell on his face; he pressed a kiss to your stomach, getting off of you. Before you could say anything, he pulled a condom out of his jeans pockets. You reached your hands out for him to come back, and he took it, pressing a kiss to your palm before dropping it back to your side.

You needed him, but he stayed just out of grasp. And made sure you watched as he rolled the condom down his length. His intense focus made your lungs struggle for air. You've never been this affected by a man and knew Harry was going to ruin you for life.

You saw the way his expression tightened when he leaned forward again and rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit. Biting back a moan, you reached for his forearms, fingers digging into taut muscles as the ache between your legs built. Your hips rose to meet his, and his lips covered yours again for a kiss that fuzzed your brain.

You needed him inside to fill the aching void and make you come. But he wouldn't move; you were at his mercy.

His kisses were amazing. You cherished each one, but you needed more. You slid your hands up his arms as he worked his mouth over yours; you stopped for a few seconds to pet his shoulder before gliding down his back.

His skin heated beneath your psalm, so smooth. You felt all his muscles and released a moan as you felt each one as your hands smoothed down to his thighs and then up again, teasing closer to the seam splitting his cheeks; you felt his groan rumble in his chest as his hips rocked forward.

Yes, this is what you wanted.

Hands-on his hips, you tugged Harry closer. Except, he wouldn't budge. With a moan, you pulled away from his lips, one hand rising to sink into his hair; you tugged, not hard to hurt, but enough to get his attention. Except, Harry didn't falter. No, he was letting you know he was in control.

Instead of connecting your lips again, he bent to put his mouth on your neck. He laid a string of kisses down your neck to your collarbone then followed that to your shoulder. And then he bit you. The sting made you gasp and lit your entire body on fire, a blazing hot lust eating you up from the inside. And then you felt his fingers rubbing between your thighs once more, testing your readiness.

"Oh god, Harry."

"I like you saying my name. Do it again."

"Harry, please. Harry."

He smirked, "Now you're going to scream it."

You did as soon as he ripped his hand away but replaced it immediately with his cock as he slid inside, slowly allowing you to adjust. You know he was holding back for you. You urged him on as he slid more and more until he was in all the way.

You felt so full, you couldn't stop moaning his name as he began to move his hips. He started off slow, allowing you both to get used to each other, but soon all you needed was more.

"Harry," you moaned, "more, please."

His hips thrust with a controlled speed, fuck, you felt wound tightly knowing you were close. Harry knew that as he felt you squeeze him, he kept you close to the edge. You were close to coming when he would adjust his pace or angle to get you to the edge again. Fuck, he truly loved his edging.

Harry lowered his body until you were pressed together; he held himself up on one elbow to not rest all his weight on you, not that you would have noticed. You were too lost in the pleasure to care or notice. You came with a shudder and moan, sinking your teeth in his pec as he rode you through it. Only when you let your head fall back, gazing into his eyes, did he thrust one last time before holding still and letting his cock pump inside you.

He sighed, dropping his head to rest on your neck, pressing several kisses as you both tried to catch your breath. You've never felt so in tune with someone else; felt as if he knew exactly what you needed. You turned your head, nudged his head with your nose, needing him to look at you, and it's when he lifts his head do you see his emerald eyes staring at you soft, full of, dare you say, love and admiration.

"Hi, mi amor."

A lazy smile takes over his face, "Hi, love."

"You good."

"I'm marvelous, you, love?"

"Good, you're wondrous." You whispered, gazing into his eyes. You see the blush on his cheeks, and it's not because of what you just finished doing.

"You're perfect. Treat me so well."

"Ditto."

You lean forward, giving him a soft peck, "let's get you cleaned up." He leans up and slowly pulls out of you, and you kiss at how sensitive you are. He gets up and gets rid of the condom in the bathroom before coming back with a damp, warm towel. "Got to open up for me, baby." You spread your legs open as Harry cleans you up carefully, knowing how sensitive you are after you hiss at first contact. Harry has his eyebrows furrowed as he focuses on cleaning you, you reach forward to brush his hair away, and he lets out a sigh. "Darling, alright?"

"Mhm, thank you, mi amor."

"Course, love."

You make grabby hands at Harry, wanting him to come lay with you; he laughs, leaning in to kiss you before pulling away, keeping you content for a few seconds.

"H, come here. Time for bed."

He chuckles, "you want something to wear, love?"

You look down before looking up at him shaking your head no, and slip under the covers after Harry strips off the top one. He comes around and climbs in behind you, pulling you in close. Harry has you turn to let you rest your head on his chest as you both relax, taking in the quietness of the moment. It was a magical moment together, and you both know no words are needed because you have each other.

"I'm falling hard, darling." He confesses after a while of laying in bed together after he cleaned you up, knowing you're both close to falling asleep.

"Me too, mi amor."

"Will you catch me?" His voice is soft; you can hear the vulnerability in asking.

"I'm going to try, as long as when I do, I don't lose you."

"Never," Harry assures you.

And that is enough for you.

You sigh, letting yourself relax and let yourself be lulled to sleep to the steady beat of his heart. An arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to his side.

You're traveling city to city with a man you're falling in love with. If it's all a dream, you hope you never wake up.

thank you for reading <333 i adore you

it means a lot when you leave me an ask or tags in the reblog. i promise i reach each one. feedback keeps me writing :)

taglist: @alienorknight @harry-is-my-sunflower @myfavfanficsever

orlando part five

#harry styles #love on tour #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles story #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles one shot #famous reader x harry styles #love on tour new york #New York #hs #hslot #hs love on tour #harry smut #harry writing #lot: nyc

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kkusuka · 3 years

Text

Our little corner of the garden.

based on a request miss Puppy submitted that i was so in love with, i changed it a bit but its mostly of the request lol

the request: Imagine y/n is being forced into an arranged married to better her fathers company but obviously she hates the idea but she loves her dad so she agrees. Oikawa on the other hand refuses to let the love of his life go so with the help of Iwa Oikawa got a suit and crash y/n’s wedding. It was right before the bride had to walk. Y/N standing in her bridal suite wearing her beautiful and expensive wedding dress trying not to pass out when Oikawa walked in “wow, don’t you look gorgeous” “Tooru!? What are you doing here!?” Oikawa explains how much he loves her and he can take care of her and she can live her life free of unfair responsibilities. Oikawa asks y/n to run away with him to Argentina to marry him. Y/n ends up agreeing and they run out of the chapel giggling hand in hand while a cheering Iwa is in the drivers seat of the love birds getaway car and yes please I thought that would be so cute 🥺🥺🥺-✨Puppy🤩

relationship: Oikawa Tooru x reader, slight Atsumu x reader, and iwaizumi hajime is mentioned <3

genre: angst with a happy ending

synopsis: the moment he had lead you into the small corner of the garden your heart was his.

words: 2.4k

notes:i turned it into a royal AU because it adds more flare. i shed more than a few tears while writing this and it has to be my favorite thing I’ve ever published. and that's saying a lot. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do <3

also may or may not be influenced by speak now by taylor swift

Since you could remember there have been two constants in your life.

The first was a bubbly bright-eyed boy Oikawa Tooru.

You had both met on the eve of your seventh birthday, a day you dreaded. Your mother used any and all family events to invite every prominent family in the kingdom for a night of celebration. A night you couldn't participate in due to your age; an answer to a question that you hated to hear.

In your six-year-old mind, the best way to handle your anger was to run to the garden and hide for as long as you could humanly manage. You flung the most desolate corner and squatted right down, head between your knees.

You sat there for what felt like hours until a small pat on your back had you reeling your head to look at who dared to interrupt your pity-party. No one should know where you went and if they did they should know better than to touch you.

But turning and seeing the warmest brown eyes in the world was not what you had expected. The setting sun behind his tufts of chocolate brown hair made him look like he had a halo. Maybe your nights of prayer had worked, god had sent you an angel.

“Now Missy princess, I ain’t a professional but sittin’ like that can't be nice. ‘Cmon up missy girl!”

You aren't sure if you believed his words or if you were so mesmerized by him that you locked hands and let him pull you up revealing the two-inch difference in your height. A difference that he didn't let go of for the rest of the night.

He brought you to a small crevice in the high-leaved walls of your family's garden, settling you down he told you his name: Oikawa Tooru and that he lived in the servants quarters with his mother.

Along with that, you learned of his interest in catching a real-life alien, by the time the sun had fully settled you could hear your name called from the pathway Oikawa had led you down hours before, they had found you, it was time to go.

Oikawa led you back down the track making you promise to come back the next day to form a plan that no alien could avoid. And so every afternoon into the evening at dinner was spent telling stories and making contraptions that you were sure no alien could averse to.

You couldn't count how many times your childhood rebellion had got you in trouble with your more than disappointed parents. Not even their cliche speeches about being of a high standard and not meddling with peasants were able to deter you from seeing him.

One thing was for certain: Oikawa Tooru became your first friend.

The second constant was the fact you would never be able to have your own future.

You learned this at five years old when your mother began to groom you into the perfect bride she expected you to be. Managing to convince you to finally start taking lessons at age 15 by mentioning how late everything already was.

You liked to pretend the etiquette lessons are just because your mother wanted you to act like a lady. But the back of your mind always reminded you it was because she wanted you to be a great wife. She didn't care if you could hold a teacup properly, she cared if anyone else noticed.

You used your speech classes to strengthen your voice for when Oikawa asked you to sing for him when he wanted to sleep. Not because you needed to make speeches when you are crowned queen. It didn't matter that you were a complimented orator, you cared that in his daily letter to you he complimented how soft your voice was as it lulled him to sleep.

Your favorite was the dance lessons, the same ones where you would run to see Tooru in your secluded corner of the garden and teach him everything you learned. You'd spend hours telling him the ‘proper’ way to place his foot as he laughs at you about how up-tight you sound. Of course, he always listens, continuing to twirl you around with the utmost pristine.

These dances made you think about the ever-growing difference in height the two of you shared, no longer were you two inches taller than the brown-haired boy. Now the small boy you once knew towered over you, and he constantly reminded you of it.

“Aw! y/n you look so tiny from here!” he laughed as he held you from the waist and led you in a waltz that he was making up as the music went on. Emphasizing his point by placing a palm on your head ruffling your hair and once again laughing as your cheeks puffed out.

His voice was no longer high-pitched and no longer cracked when he whined about how annoying your mother was being. His deep voice lingered in your mind as you laid away in your bed after he dropped you off hours before, like a whisper in the night.

Nothing else had changed about him, his eyes were still the warmest and lightest you've ever seen and his hair was still just as soft as it looked. He still smiled like the world was at his feet and he still conspired with you about the aliens that WERE coming.

He was still your Tooru. Your Toru had grown so he could tilt your chin to look him in the eye. Your Tooruthat teased you by whispering improper things during gatherings, the same whispers that send chills down your spine. Your Tooru, whose hands grab your waist and leave ghostly touches on you for weeks, the same hands that envelop you and drag you to the gardens.

Your Tooru that you’ve been in love with since you met in the evening in your garden. The same love you would never indulge.

A love that you have been preparing to lose yet at the same time you would never release.

At 17 you had received the news you had blocked out of your life: your parents had found you a suitable husband. You were sure he was wonderful, but the idea repulsed you.

And it seemed to repulse Tooru even more. He had gone silent the second you came to him teary-eyed, spouting about how you would never be free again. For hours he held your shaking form telling you he would make sure you were happy no matter what.

Beginning the next day Oikawa tried to spend every waking moment by your side, running through the halls, late-night cooking when neither of you could sleep, and even taking your parent's crowns and pretending you were dancing at both of your coronations.

Weeks upon weeks you spent basking in each other's company doing everything to ignore the impending doom you rapidly approached. And finally, your sphere of bliss with Tooru was broken when your first meeting with your future husband was announced.

Atsumu Miya was wonderful. He was handsome and funny, knew how to converse, and your parents seemed to thoroughly enjoy his presence. And he was extremely nice to you, making you feel as if you’d known him your whole life.

But one thing had you entirely consumed the whole visit: Atsumu Miya was not Oikawa Tooru. Not in the slightest.

How was it possible they had the same brown eyes but Tooru’s were so much brighter and they looked at you like you were the entire world. How is it that Atsumu looked at you like everyone else? he didn't make you feel special.

Atsumu’s hair was not the soft brown you were accustomed to, his hair was colored an ugly yellow that you couldn't tell if your opinion was biased or you were beginning to hate the color.

Atsumu’s smile was not the warm, sweet tilt of Tooru’s lips, instead, it was a tight, flirty smirk that unsettled you to the core. Atsumu didn't have the cute tilt of Tooru’s eyes when he smiled.

He was simply not Tooru. And that would simply not do.

Somewhere in your mind, you knew that no one could replace Tooru. You were all his no matter who you were set to marry.

And that fact didn't help when he volunteered to help choose flowers. It was hard to swallow when he chose napkins and helped with the centerpieces. You wanted to scream when he asked if he could cake taste with you. You wanted to run and never come back when he sat and watched you try on the hand-tailored dress for your big day.

You held on to the delusion that you and Tooru were planning your own wedding, not you and another man who would never hold a place in your heart. That you and he were baking a cake that you and he would cut the next day, then go to a beautiful island and live in domestic bliss for the rest of your natural lives, maybe to meet in the next.

The hardest to swallow was the visit to the corner of the garden the night before you give up your freedom. How he pulled you into his embrace asking if the two of you could practice your first dance with Atsumu, “just to practice” he reminds.

“I can't believe you're getting married” he mused while rearranging his hands to the middle of your waist. Rocking you back and forth as you hugged your arms around his back. “Do you remember the first time we came to this spot? You were pouting about your birthday, and me, the amazing Oikawa Tooru, was the only one who could help you.”

He kept you tucked into his chest as he continued to list all of the most important memories the two of you shared in your corner of the garden.

“This really is our corner Tooru.”

“Yeah…. It really is, do you mind if I add another memory to our corner?”

He kissed you right there, holding on to whatever he could of your love.

Oikawa Tooru was not a prince.

That fact haunted him since that eve of your seventh birthday. He was the son of a barmaid who gained work doing labor in the castle for food and a place to stay. Not someone whom the crowned princess should associate with.

And the head knight in training thought exactly that, Iwaizumi Hajime was his closest confidant since coming to the country of Aoba, his best friend. And also the grounder of all of Tooru’s ridiculous rambling about spending the rest of his life catching aliens with you.

Oikawa has to give it to him, Iwaizumi did a good job making sure he didn’t do anything too stupid. Unfortunately, he couldn't talk him out of meeting you one last time before he’d probably never see you again.

He held you in his arms one last time, telling you all of his favorite memories he held so dearly, back when you had all the time in the world. Back when the two of you were invincible.

Back to when he wished he just grabbed you and told you everything you made him feel, all the times he just wanted to scream how much he loved you.

He wasn't a prince in the eyes of everyone else, but he didn't need to be when he had you.

Oikawa Tooru was not a prince, but when had that mattered to him anyway?

Before you could fully wake, you were being pulled in a thousand different directions for last-minute dress fittings and checking the venue a final time before being whisked away for someone to do your hair.

You didn't even realize what was happening until you were being once more uprooted and told to wait in a small fitting room. For what felt like hours you waited, thinking about what your new, presumably miserable, life would be like.

The two women helping you in your dress were far more excited than you were, a lump had formed in your throat and if they didn't leave you alone and stop talking about your soon-to-be husband, you were going to be sick.

You looked beautiful, whoever did your hair and makeup did wonderfully. You looked like a bride. Maybe you could get through this if you closed your eyes and pretend it was Tooru and not the blonde who was getting ready across the hall somewhere.

You were given your bouquet and a long veil was placed on your head, it was finally time. No more dancing in the garden or making traps for the pesky aliens. No more Oikawa Tooru.

Somewhere in your thoughts, you missed when the door opened and a hand was placed on your back.

Turning over your shoulder to see the same brown eyes that you have for the past eleven years and the same soft brown hair you've braided and run your hands through. It wasn't the sun but the light in the room as you looked up at him made it look like he had a halo. God really had sent you an angel.

“Now missy, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be happy on your wedding day.”

You couldn't think of anything but the way he was smiling at you, the same smile he had while leading you down the path all those years ago. The same one who was leading you out of the room to a side exit door,

“And I've been doing some thinking, I can't just let the woman I love go and marry someone else just like that. Especially not to come half-ass wanna be casanova!”

He was lifting the veil off your face, wiping away the flood of tears coming down your cheeks as you brought your hand up to help him with his.

“So, princess y/n l/n, would you follow me to make some more memories?”

“Oh, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth Prince Oikawa Tooru.”

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x reader angst #oikawa x reader angst #oikawa x reader fluff #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #hq #hq!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x you

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andmyvape · 3 years

Text

"Please tell me you're not wearing that."

Elayn looked down, then back up with a wide grin. She tugged at her bright rainbow suspenders with her thumbs. "What, not tacky enough?"

Serana gave the ensemble another slow scan. "No, it's… definitely tacky. The combat boots with the khaki shorts is a nice touch."

The grin got wider as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. "They're going to be throwing candy, and I wasn't anywhere near prepared enough last time."

Serana rolled her eyes, but softened it with a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"Isn't that why we're dating?" her girlfriend asked as they headed out the door.

She took a moment to lock up while Serana laughed. "'Careless Whisper' on a boom box outside my window. I can't believe my dad didn't kill you. I know you stole that, by the way. We both went to see that movie when it came out."

"They marketed it as a romcom!" Elayn protested.

They were in the car now. It would be a trick to find parking, but they were running early thanks to Serana's habit of scheduling everything. Elayn was more the type to go with the flow, but living together had her adapted enough that the flow she went with was largely dictated by Serana's schedule. As a research chemist, she worked interesting hours at times, but Elayn was a good roommate, she cooked and cleaned, mostly because she had the time. Lacrosse wasn't a well paying sport compared to something like soccer, but the off seasons gave her plenty of time to maintain their loft.

"Five dollars an hour?" Elayn griped as the machine printed out their ticket.

"Homophobia strikes again," Serana said with mock solemnity.

She snorted and wrapped an arm around her girlfriend's waste. "Which park did you say this thing started in again?"

It was a little place surrounded by tall buildings, but it was a green patch in a city largely made out of grey. It being Pride Month, the grey was broken up by rainbows. The two wandered around as they waited for the parade to start.

Well, at least, they started to wander when Elayn caught sight of a dog and all but dragged her girlfriend over to say hi.

"What's his name?" she asked, so full of enthusiasm she practically floated. "Can I pet him?"

The dog's owner, someone with a short haircut in a crop top that was orange, yellow, and white striped, nodded. "If he lets you. Sometimes he's not so-- oh gosh," they said, eyes wide as they watched Elayn kneel down and offer a hand to sniff that was immediately accepted. "You must have good vibes."

"She's a dog person," Serana said with a laugh as the dog put its front paws on Elayn's shoulders so he could lick her face.

"What's his name?" she asked through slobbery kisses.

The butch grinned. "That's Duke, I'm Cas. It's nice to meet you!"

The two introduced themselves just in time for a volunteer to come up with bottles of water. "Our city got voted best water in the state," she said cheerfully. "Take a few, it's gonna be a hot one."

Before the march, there were speeches. The first was an introduction to the city's first pride parade since the 80s. The second was from a drag queen inviting everyone to the show later that night. Finally, the speeches were closed by an Episcopalian pastor trying to make up for the rest of Christianity's sins.

"It's starting!" Elayn said excitedly when the crowd started to funnel out of the park.

The march went down the sidewalk for a few blocks. Traffic was halted and the waiting cars honked while passengers waved. Elayn waved a lesbian flag, Serana had a bi flag, and the two of them dragged a rainbow striped cooler.

"Mom! Mom!" Elayn heard behind her. "Look, it's two cicadas going at it!"

She glanced behind her. There was a set of twins, about twelve years old, one of them draped in a trans flag and holding the cicadas that were indeed trying to reproduce. Elayn snorted and hit herself in the face trying to keep a laugh contained. "You like bugs, huh?"

The girl in the trans flag beamed. "They're my favorite! Well, except for tarantulas, but Mom won't let me have one."

"The rabbit gets out of its cage enough." The way the girl's mom said it, this was an age old argument. "I don't want to squash it when it ends up in my shoe."

"I had a snake when I was growing up," Serana chimed in. "A corn snake that never got out."

The twins turned out to be part of a family unit. One twin was trans, and their older brother was too, and as Elayn found soon, was very excited to start HRT. "Get a Gc2b binder," she said. "When I'm feeling like a flat day, it works really well."

The boy, a younger fourteen, practically floated with excitement. "I will!"

Serana chatted with the parents while Elayn occupied the kids. "Have you folks been to Pride before?"

Their mom, a woman named Chelsea, shook her head. "Nope, both kids came out last September and they've been talking about the festival ever since."

"You seem like really supportive parents," Serana said. It carried the weight of one speaking who has not had contact with their parents since high school.

Chelsea could tell, and she opened her arms for a hug that Serana was more than happy to accept.

The march was only about a mile long, and it ended in another park. Elayn craned her neck and said, "I think I see the beer line, wait here?"

"We will!" said the girl, who was very proud to be named Luna now.

Serana and Chelsea shared a grin. "I guess we'll wait here," the mom said.

It was a bit of a line, which was probably not a good thing, but apparently people were restricted on how many drinks they could buy, so at least there was that. While Elayn waited, she was joined by two people wearing pronoun pins that said "she/her".

Elayn's jaw dropped at the sight of one of the girls' dress, which was a flowing, fae like ensemble. "Holy shit!" she said. "You look amazing!"

She blushed and ducked her head as she smiled. "Thank you, I got it from Amazon."

"It's her first Pride," her friend added.

That just amazed Elayn more. "With the sparkles and the green eyeshadow, I wouldn't have guessed. Everything you've got going on is just amazing."

"Thank you!" she squeaked.

Elayn wasn't alone in thinking the dress was gorgeous. Another person came up to compliment it, and they had such dope tattoos that Elayn could not help but comment.

"The guy that did them is great," they gushed. "He does blacklight work too!"

So she got a website saved on her phone for the next time she really wanted to get a tattoo on top of the three she already had; scrollwork on her bicep, a wolf on her shoulder blade, and a small date on her wrist that was the day she met Serana.

When she got back to her girlfriend and the others, an IPA in hand that was frankly piss, she told them about the girl in the fae dress.

"I saw her!" Serana exclaimed.

"Amazon."

"No way."

Next was food, especially if she was going to drink a beer. Assuming she actually drank it. "There's some food trucks," she pointed out. "I could go for a corndog."

"I'm going to get some mac and cheese," Serana said.

"Mom! Mom!" Luna's twin brother, Ian, tugged at his mom's sleeve. "Can we get pretzels?"

Chelsea sighed good-naturedly. "I suppose. Do you two want to meet up after?"

"Over by the stage?" Elayn suggested.

The group separated. She found the line for corndogs and funnel cake. While she was waiting, the woman ahead of her glanced her way, so Elayn said, "Howdy!"

"Hey there, hun!" She clapped her on the shoulder. "Having a good time?"

"I am," she said with a grin. "Everyone here is so nice. There were some moms back there handing out hugs!"

"Well, I'm a mom, would you like a hug?"

"I would love that."

It was a lovely hug, the woman was warm and smelled floral. When they separated, she said, "I'm Elayn! It's good to meet you. Can I get you a corndog?"

As she pulled out her wallet, the woman waved her money away. "It's Nessa, and actually, I'd like to buy you a corndog."

"You don't have to--"

Nessa laughed. "I miss my daughters, you'd be doing me a favor."

They chatted while the line went down, about lacrosse and about university. It turned out Nessa's two daughters went off to college in other cities, so it had been a while since she saw either. "I had a son," she said. "But now I have a very happy daughter, and I'm so proud of her."

"I wish I had a mom like you," Elayn said, thinking about growing up foster care.

Nessa grabbed her in another hug. "Now you do!"

When she got back to Serana and the others, they were listening to the music booming from the speakers. She had to yell to tell the group about her new mom.

Chelsea looked a little sad, because she could connect the dots, but Luna and Ian were too busy freaking out over the cotton candy Nessa had bought her too.

Not long after, the stage was occupied. Elayn was chatting with Luna with her back turned, so she missed it until Serana tapped her shoulder and turned her around.

"Holy shit!" She hollered and clapped at the sight of a gorgeous, sequin clad drag queen in four inch heels doing a backflip off the stage and onto grass. "Holy shit!"

As it turned out, the drag queens took tips, and it was at that point that Elayn knew she was about to spend a lot of money. Each queen that performed, and there were many, got a five in exchange for the sheer joy Elayn got when the queen before her touched her hand.

When there was a break in the performances, she went back to Serana, who had a smirk on her face. "Should I be jealous?"

Elayn cupped her face, and in a fit of sheer enthusiasm, kissed her girlfriend soundly, to the delight of the twins who hooted. "Don't worry, babe," she teased. "You're the only queen for me."

"Flatterer." Serana swatted at her chest, but the smile on her face was pleased regardless.

It was all a blur from there. Fair food, loud music-- and Elayn found beer that wasn't piss! She taught the twins a new vocabulary of cuss words the moment she found out their mom was fine with foul language. They parted around five in the afternoon, when a voice through a megaphone warned attendants that the festival was about to start catering to adults. There was a concert with more drag queens, this time in much more risqué outfits that Elayn would have given a kidney to see on Serana.

When she said something, her girlfriend got a light in her eye. "Really now?" she purred. "Maybe for your birthday."

By 11pm, Elayn was high on the party atmosphere and a few beers. The festival was over, and the walk back to their car would be a trick. "Did you have fun?" she asked Serana as they walked hand in hand.

She got a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad I have you. When are we getting married?"

"When I figure out how to surprise you with a ring."

#skyrim fanfiction #Modern AU #pride 2021 #Femslash #dragonborn #serana #Whoever gets the reference gets a cookie and to feel superior

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

COLORS

A/N: No smut, sorry. Written for @princessstevens if she's silk still on tumblr. Based on this picture

"Kellan, call me when you get this," I say hanging up before walking into my building.

He never checks his voicemail so I send him a text too asking him to call me. We go to different schools, he's in the Bachelor's program at Brandman for Business and I'm at Alan Hancock for Art. I know he's probably driving right now or doing something. I remember when I met him, three months ago at Target of all places. I typically don't even shop at Target, I go to Walmart, but I was in there and so was he with his cute ass. I fell in love in the hair section. I was actually stalking him on my way to the body wash, but he was standing in the hair aisle getting conditioner for his thickass curly hair. We were a match made in heaven.

"Hey mama," I greet on my way to the kitchen to cook the pack of chicken sitting out in the sink.

"How was school? Take that trash bag out for me," she says before I can respond.

I look in the trash and change the bag, taking the old one to the chute before washing my hands in the empty side of the sink. The moment I rip open the pack of chicken and start washing it, Kellan calls.

"MAAAA, CAN YOU GET THAT?"

She wanders over fast and answers it having her own conversation with my man as I clean chicken. It sounds like they're talking about how his week has been, his classes, and something that's got ma laughing up a storm behind me. I didn't know Kellan was such a comedian. Something about this seems reversed. I keep waiting but I never get the phone so when I heat the oil and start dredging the chicken, I decide to butt into their conversation and ask.

"Uh, ma, can you put it on speaker so I can talk to him, he called to talk to me!" I start putting the chicken in the hot oil.

"Oh hold on, Kellan, my daughter is here getting her knickers in a twist," she mutters putting the phone on speaker. "I think she wants your attention now all to herself."

Kellan snickers. He and my mama are always teaming up on me like it's funny.

"I know you not laughing," I threaten at the phone, dropping chicken in the pan. "I've been trying to talk to you all day because I missed you but you wanna talk to my mama for-" I look at the time, "Five whole minutes."

"Awww, this baby.. she jealous," Kellan chuckles. "I think she mad you like me more than her."

"Keep acting like you tryna take my Mama from me, nigga. I ain't down with no incestuous shi-stuff," I pause genuinely mad. "You ain't finna be my man and act like my brother, I got a brother. That's nasty."

I don't know why I get mad, but I do. I love my mama. She's mine, not his.. I love Kellan, but he be annoying me for real with that shit because my mama gets too into it like she's not playing. She really does like him more than me. He doesn't understand that and keeps rubbing it in my face.

"You got one more time and you ain't coming over here no more."

"That's our mama's decision," he jokes. I cringe.

"Exactly," she adds.

I put the tongs down and walk out going to my room and shutting the door. I was gonna tell him about COLORS and invite him to come with me but he's pissed me off and now I don't want to talk to him. My mama doesn't even bring my phone right away, it's two more minutes of them still talking. When she brings it, I yell that I don't wanna talk to him. "Well finish the chicken," she directs. I do it.. but I'm still irritated.

"And then when he finally calls me back he doesn't even wanna speak to me. Too busy playing mama's boy to a woman who's not even his mama," I vent at the table watching Yaya's thinned lips stretch in silent judgement across from me. I know she doesn't agree with me, but she's not in my shoes.

"You gotta understand he's just getting comfortable. Your mom's probably trying to be accepting. He's your boyfriend."

"No." That's not it, it's not that simple. "He will dead call for her and ignore me. She doesn't care what I do in a day and I can't get her to look at my art for more than two seconds but he gets her undivided attention. He's only known her for three months."

"That's how it is sometimes," she shrugs. I shake my head.

"No. That's not how it is, and if it is I can't be doing this. No, ma'am."

Her finger raises and I shut up as she takes a call. I didn't even hear a ring, but based on her face she's not liking whoever it is on the phone or what they have to say. She has that stank face that she gets when someone's got her twisted. Meanwhile, the waitress pops back up.

"Ready to order or do you guys need a few more minutes?"

"You must got me fucked up," Yaya blurts causing the server's brow to raise as she looks from Yaya to me. She only asked what we were ordering.

"We're ready to order," I smile. Quickly she takes her pen from her pile of blonde hair.

"I'm not working Friday after I already said I needed that day off," Yays waves to me to order for her since she's on the phone. I know what she'd order. The server looks from her again back to me readying her paper and pen.

"She'll take the fried chicken with mac and collards. I'll take the house cheeseburger with fries.. thank you," I nod as she walks away. I take a sip of my iced tea, wiping the condensation from the glass onto my dress and leaning forward with my hands in my lap.

"Right, but I said it back in July so you'd know I'd need this Friday off. It's in writing, do I need to pull it up," Yaya threatens to whoever is on the phone. I wonder what's going on on Friday. "Yes, pull it up and look at the email.. uhuh.. Yes, so Fri-day I will NOT be there," she enunciates. "Correct… Uhuh, buh-bye!" She rolls her eyes and hangs up shaking her head at me and I know the frustration well, we work at the same Michael's. It's awesome, but our manager is very manipulative. I sip my tea thinking about it.

"You need to be the manager." I wish she were the manager.

"Pur!.. and Dean needs to go," she laughs sipping her coke. "How's your Fiverr going?"

"Oh girl I got some gigs, I've made about $110 from it so far."

"Okay! I'm on Upwork I made about $200."

"Damn. Well I'm looking at working at the Children's Museum for more money."

"True, I saw that position too.. but don't overextend yourself. I'm not.. because we still need to finish with these classes and get our art portfolios together and we ain't finna graduate late-tuh!"

I know, but I also need money.

When our food comes, we get refills on our drinks and that's when she comments on the restaurant, after she bites into her chicken. It's both of our first time coming in, but it's right near our college which is why we decided to give it a shot for lunch. It's called Urban Hangout and that's exactly what it looks like, a coffee shop to hang out in and just sit. The food is really good too.

"So what you got going on Friday," I ask dipping and shoving fries in my mouth one by one.

"Tuh, Friday? Nothing I just needed a day to myself and that's the day I'm taking," her lips pout when I laugh.

"That's smart! I'm glad you ain't let Dean try to sucker you like he be trying." I lean in. She's curling her finger like she needs to tell me something. "He's famous for shit like that -What," I whisper quickly. She waves her hand aggressively for me to stop talking.

"Meg.. you know that guy over there," her eyes flicker to my left. My head stays still but my eyes briefly follow hers to a quiet looking guy sitting at a table alone with an art pad and a beanie on covering his ears and eyebrows, eyes focused down as he draws.

"Mm-mm, no.. Never seen him in my life.."

"Well he keeps looking over here at you, I think he drawing you." She bites her chicken and sips her coke as I stare.

Me? Why he couldn't be drawing her, why does she assume it's me? I take another look at the guy but turn my head too far and end up making eye contact when he looks up. He looks different than I thought he would now that I can see more of his face. He blinks like he's waiting to see what I'm a do so I get up and sit across from him. He's really cute, though I got a man. There's nothing wrong with being nice, I tell myself.

"You go to Alan Hancock?"

The corner of his mouth lifts as he looks straight at me. He has long eyelashes and pretty, full kissable lips. I sit a little straighter. If I weren't already three months deep in a relationship I'd give him my number. He focuses back on his artpad, sketching, his eyes moving back and forth between my face and his paper with new energy. I look over at Yaya wondering if she sees what I see and she's smiling like she knows what I'm thinking. She knows my type, brown skin and bearded. He looks like he has a nice build under the loose shirt. And he draws.

"You speak..?" He doesn't respond. I'm starting to think he's deaf and cute. Maybe he can read lips, both sets. I wave and when he looks up, I point to my lips. "What's your name?" He only and smiles, his eyes creased at the corners, still sketching away.

I decide to just sit still and wait until he's done to see the picture, curious of his skill level. If he doesn't go to Hancock for art, then dammit he should.

Suddenly he stops, looks his page over seriously, and hands me the artpad across the table. He watches me for my reaction. It's a full rendering of my face in great detail and he's made me look beautiful. He's even got my negro nose with the piercing down to the shape of my eyebrows. My locs are accounted for and he put texture on them. Next to that is a full sketch of me sitting at my table, leaning onto the table with the straw in my mouth to drink. He's even got the print of my dress down. Only thing is he's added a realistic looking flower behind my ear in both pictures and I'm not wearing a flower. I look up briefly, curious.

His smile returns as he sees my head tilt with a question in my eyes about the flower. Going into his backpack beside him, he gently pulls out a lively bright golden yellow flower handing it to me. I look to Yaya, who looks equally surprised while I show off my flower. She's fawning.

"Is this how you pick up girls," I smirk smelling it. It's real and I'm geeked. I tuck it behind my ear like suggested by the drawing. Taking his pad, he writes a message on the page and hands it back to me.

24 hours of silence in memory of black women killed by police brutality. My older sister was one and she loved daffodils. I've been giving daffodils to black women all day. This is my last one.

I look up at his warm eyes but now I see traces of sadness.

"When did she die," I whisper unsure of whether to speak or write now. He takes the pad and writes.

2 years ago today.

My heart breaks for him and I hold my heart looking over at Yaya who has no clue what's going on. I'll have to fill her in when I get back over there. In the meantime, I do my best to communicate that I'm truly sorry for his loss.

"Can I have this," I point to the paper. He frowns comically shaking his head and takes his pad back writing again.

I'd rather keep it. I like how it came out.

Can't say I don't understand him as an artist because there are times when you look at your work and love it too much to let it go. Still, it is my face. He smiles seeing my disappointment. I nod deciding to let it go and stand to head back to my table. By the time I sit down, he's up with his things and leaving the cafe. I let Yaya into the loop and she sympathizes looking over to the space where he previously sat.

In class, my eisele faces the window and I start my under painting which is a wash of the background.

"How did you get yet another picture in the hall," I turn to ask Yaya after thinking about it for a good few minutes. She grins with her tongue out between her teeth.

"I keep telling you, taking outside classes and going to workshops really helps you develop in realism."

"I keep saying I'm going to," I sigh as I plop my brush in water. She sweeps her brush across her canvas back and forth.

"You're lazy. That's why you haven't had anything in the hall."

"No, but why can't I just practice and learn from the classes I'm already paying for," I groan. "Otherwise why am I paying?"

"Because you can't, suck it up. You want to be in the hall or you wanna be average?"

"I wanna make $200 on Upwork."

"Up your skill set and you can," she points to my canvas with her detail brush adding insult to injury.

"Bitch, I'm trying!" Honest, I am. I've improved on my own a great deal but I've still never sold like she has. Her art is in THE HALL.

At Allan Hancock College, only the best student work lines the white brick walls of the art halls. The best of the best make it to the glass display. Every visitor to the building had to pass through the art hall and without meaning to, they stop to admire the art almost without fail. Sometimes the art sells for prices upwards of $300. Colorful portraits, hyperrealistic paintings of still life and everyday objects.. Needless to say, the hall is the goal of every art student and the golden standard to aspire to.

"That's pretty," Francis smiles in passing on the way to his easel. He's referring to my self-portrait. I started with the background and now I'm painting my skin tone. Glancing over to his station, I move from my spot to take a look at his canvas.

"Aww, look at Gravy lil fat self!" He's painting his lil fat French bulldog. "Wait a minute... Francis, you got better!.."

"I went to a painting workshop this past weekend, it was a bring your dog paint and sip night. You should've seen all of the puppies! I met a few new people too, 100% reccomend."

"You talkin bout COLORS," April jumps in from behind. Instantly I look at Yaya and she looks at me.

"I love COLORS, I'm telling you, I go there all the time. I've learned so much skill-wise and every day they have something different going on," Francis says. "You ever been?" The question is to me, but before I can answer, April cuts in.

"Y'all need to go on a Saturday night," she smirks.

"I went Sunday, it was fun. Had a lil wine," Francis adds.

"Exactly, no.. Go Saturday Night it's portrait and figure drawing night but there's always a live model and 9 times out of 10 they're always fine." She goes to her portfolio and pulls a painting of a nude black woman. Her strong features are in great detail I notice as I appraise it. This could be in the hall too if she were serious.

"Damn, I been going the wrong day, sign me up," Sheena cuts in. I ain't even see her behind me. "I wanna go, but I wanna paint a woman," she says causing Francis to look back playfully.

"We know."

"Look, I'm going this Saturday night if y'all wanna meet me there," Yaya announces as she focuses on her picture reminding me that I need to head back to mine. "Let me know and I'll get us a table. Just everyone chip in since I'm using my card."

It seems like everyone plans to go. "I'm going too," I say not wanting to be left out.

"Oh I know you are," Yaya's brow raises. I turn my lip up playfully. Kellan would've been bored there anyway he doesn't have an artistic bone in his body. He's like my mom, not interested.

Cutting the engine on my mama's car, I exit the gps and call Yaya.

"Hey. Where you at, I ain't see your car?"

"I'm coming. I'm a few minutes away, wait for me."

"I see Sheena and Francis standing outside. I can claim our station, it's fine. Just meet me inside," I tell her and on entering the urban paint bar with Sheena and Francis directly behind me, the walls are dust free and eggshell white. The overhead fixtures bring white artificial light. The floors are a light sandy wood, finished for easy clean. It looks way better than the outside, bigger too.

Francis leads the way to the desk/register/information center and I grab a brochure advertising a gallery showing that's supposed to happen.

"Hey we have a reservation for five under Yaya. 8PM," he states and we're escorted to a warm white brick space with finished wood floors easy for cleaning. Still there are plastic tarps. There are three other small groups with clustered easels signifying a division, each group with a corresponding table. Our table is table three and we order a bottle of red wine which comes around the same time as April and Yaya. We're all here and ready.

April and Francis take control since they've been to COLORS. They secure our palletes, paints, and brushes.

"Let's make it a competition," April suggests.

"You're on," Yaya points. We're all in, prepping our canvases before the model arrives and when the door reopens we all look up. "IT'S HIM," Yaya gasps echoing my thoughts. He looks just as stoic and reserved as the first time we saw him. I wave catching his eye and jog toward him stopping with my hands on my hips.

"You gotta be an art student," I gape up at him realizing he's taller than I remember. "You everywhere we be!" His lips pout in the tiniest smirk and I wonder if he's still not talking. "My bad, yes or no questions only. Nod for yes.. Are you an art student?"

He shakes his head no.

"Wow wow wow, you in school?"

He nods.

"I really wanna ask you where I'm about to start guessing schools."

Raising a finger to say wait, he proceeds to lightly grab my upper arms and shift me from his path like I'm in the way. I'm offended!

He heads to the middle point of the room which houses a small platform with a few props.

"Ohh," I mouth watching him pull of his thin but loose long sleeved purple vneck. "Dayum!"

I head back to my easel and my group has the same expression. This man looks like a gym rat. I suspected as much but you really couldn't tell through the shirt and that seems to have been on purpose. He's not like me, I flex hard af when I know I look good.

"Professionalism," I remind my classmates. "Y'all seen a naked body before. We are artists, we do not ogle... We respect the human form."

I'm half joking because I know it's normal to have a reaction, but they take me seriously and go into mature mode. Then the man takes off his ripped skinny jeans revealing strong, long, lean calves and solid, defined thighs. He's standing in burgundy briefs that expose that he's working with a monster. Big boy status in those briefs.

It's not like I've never seen a penis, Kellan's is not small. It's not as girthy as this guy's.. but it's similar in length. I'm glad he's not hear to see me damn near simping over this model. That could've been extremely awkward.

I look at the other groups and they seem to be really mature about it. I watch their eyes to see if they're faking composure but quickly change my mind and mind my business. It's a good time to grow up myself.

Then the briefs come off. I keep my face neutral but I see from the corner of my vision that the big boy is hanging. It's been a whole strip tease, I'm almost nervous to look up because my poker face is too fragile. Instead, I start with his face and upper body and jump to his legs based on my view of him. His side is turned to me. I mix my colors for the tonal differences in his skin, accounting for shadows and highlights. I want this portrait to look as good, no.. BETTER than the one he did of me in the cafe. I also want to win this little painting competition. I work on getting the color placement blocked out and accurate and then I follow up with blending and details. His hair is one of my favorite things to paint and I'm confident no one's touching me on that.

He moves around every so often to give the ones who request it a closer look. I don't mind it because he's good at returning to his mark and exact position. Also the lighting doesn't change.

I get his whole body down nearly, left with the gap between his v-cut and his thighs. It's childish but instead of drawing his penis, I start painting in the props. I paint the blue vase and the small stand holding the half full water bottle he keeps taking little breaks to sip from.

"Anyone else hot," I whisper blousing my shirt to give myself air underneath. April takes it as a sign to walk around our easels to look at our canvases and we do the same with each other's. Instantly I realize my painting isn't as good as I thought it was and that I can do better.

"You missed a whole part," she comments inspecting my painting carefully. She's looking at the way I painted his locs. I definitely succeeded there. "You just not gonna give him a dick?"

"I'm not done, I couldn't really see it from this angle," I lie. "I'm just gonna paint a modesty leaf."

"That'll ruin your pretty picture, I've seen your leaves," Francis grimaces. "It's a small part, you can finish it we have time."

I wanna tell him it ain't that small. That thing is big. Instead I pick up the brush to deliberate.

"Hey, could you come just a little closer, please? She's trying to see from the side," April points to me and when he comes closer, I have no excuse.

"Helps to paint it if you look at it maybe every once in a while," he deadpans. I freeze momentarily to look him in the eye. He thinks he's clever.

"Oh you talk now," I smile sarcastically. His small answering smirk shows no malice, purely teasing.

"I like to let people talk who like to talk."

"Yeah aight." I have to look. I start filling in the missing part of his body and when I glance left, Yaya is smirking at me. It's subtle, but I know her and I ignore her.

Kellan wouldn't understand me standing up here sipping wine and drawing dicks with a naked man so close to me. I don't think I'll tell him. That's not something I care to explain and I don't have to, it's art not sexual. I make sure I copy the smooth transition from brown to pinkish-brown on the tip of the dick. I get the healthy shine and the light pull of the balls which are big. He's clean shaven or waxed, I don't know which. When I've got the gist of it he returns to his original position.

"What's your name anyway," I call out. I can't be the only one curious.

"What importance is a given name? The universe will mold us into what we're truly meant to be."

"Erik. His name is Erik," a girl from table four says with a humored sigh. "Ignore him, he's a troll."

"That's a label you've chosen for me. You're a white woman, you are not the universe. Only black women can attempt to perceive me."

"Shut.. up," she groans. It's hard to tell but I'm starting to see he likes mixing his genuine responses with satire. It's confusing. He could be a hotep or he could be fishing. But why would hotep be a nude model? Are there hotep nude models who hand out flowers and draw in cafes?

"Let's compare," Yaya announces and we all vote on the winner with feedback from the other groups who actually consist of nice people. Yaya wins, no surprise there. I'm still proud of my painting. It's my best so far. I wish I could show it to my mama and my man without them viewing it as something perverted.

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #colors

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pleom · 3 years

Text

There would be no other day like today. Where time is precious, when moments come to be lost forever, you cannot allow yourself to pass up any more. You will not. You will pull on your tattered coat, dust off your saddle shoes and hush your stationed horses—ssh, not today; when a day rears close on its anxiety-driven metal wheels, then the appreciation of serenity is in order.

Today, the doors will glide instead of creak. The floor will come hardened instead of splintered. You will climb upon a new form of transportation, and ride it from the wilderness-shrouded cabin you call your home. Your heart will beat fast, your mind will think of nothing but everything. But you will learn to enjoy it.

Except...there is a man sat in front of you. The train rode in from Nowhere to the East, and inside, when you climbed aboard, there was no one except you and this man. He hummed to himself, wrapped his lips around wordless lyrics. His gaze flickered from the trees whizzing behind you to the fabric of your clothes, the split soles on your shoes. You tried to keep your face stoic, like you weren’t also comparing the quality difference between you and what a respectable human should look like. Your chest squeezed, heart beating fast in a way you did not enjoy.

This...this was a mistake. A backwoods-born vagrant like you had no business crawling where the affluent passed. You had half a mind to leap from your seat then and there, to exit the train by any means necessary. It had already dragged you miles from the point of your home, but you knew with your lack of expertise, you could make it anywhere.

The thought of leaping—of standing to attention—however, seemed to bring shame in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. You were constantly wracked with all layers of guilt and humility, but they wrapped themselves around you in the comfort of your own home. You were alone to quell them. You were alone to indulge in them.

Now, all you could do was keep your head down and pray that your presence didn't bother more oncoming passengers. Soon, you were barricaded on all sides by strangers, those who jumped on to jump off. You didn't dare to bring your gaze on any of them, mentally blocked out their conversations in case any of them were directed towards you, involved you.

This was fine, you supposed. You could handle this.

You could handle keeping your eyes locked to your shoes, minding others as they walked passed. You'd feel the train shutter to a stop every so often, and patterns would disappear from your sight. Sounds grew quieter. You could breath again.

Until, a pair of shoes seemed to step directly in front of you. They didn't move until you forced yourself to look back up and—no.

The same man from before stood before you. You wanted to flee right then and there, but he held up a palm as though he read your thoughts. From his pocket, he pulled out a couple of crisp bills.

You stared at him, and he nudge them forward as the train's robotic intercom announced its next destination. Silent and slow, you grabbed the money from his hand.

He nodded with a smile, and that expression sent shivers down you. You watched as he bounded off the train, the train doors closing immediately after.

The train jerked and rumbled and left the station and man behind.

The next time you got on the train, you went for medicine.

You had scrounged up some antiques you had no more use for, and planned to visit any ol’ pawn shop you might come across. You had trouble gauging the worth of your properties. You might come out with more than enough or come out too short. You had already made peace with the possibility of both. Though in your heart, you desperately hoped for the former. But you couldn’t waste your time mulling over such minute details like that. You’d since learn to count your blessings as they came, to face the present and only the present.

And presently, a familiar face stared at you from across the train cart.

Dressed as prim and proper as ever, the same man from before whistled a pleasant melody from his seat. You grew uncomfortable, though you were surrounded and—not so—hidden by others. You couldn’t be sure he was staring at you, right?

You glanced down at your attire. Luckily, you didn’t look so dingy as you usually did. A new longcoat, bright yet blending well within the crowd, and you felt really proud about it. It was a treat. You’d figured holding onto currency that meant nothing to you would be a waste. He had given it to you for a reason, certainly.

Though you knew, begrudgingly, that any such sort of generosity came at the price of your image, your non-existent reputation. You would’ve—should’ve!—felt shame then. But…

You brought your gaze up to meet his. He seemed to trace his eyes over other parts of your body. He looked...contemplative. Again, you should have averted your eyes in shame. But your heart fluttered.

You didn’t feel judged.

Logically, you knew exactly what you were feeling. You knew exactly how childish your emotions were.

You left the train before he did, at the first sign of urbanization. Didn’t matter where you were, as long as you found the shops you were looking for. You walked into a pawn shop, bartered, betted, auctioned, and came out with what you hoped was adequate.

Rationally, you knew where you should have stopped at first. You knew exactly how foolish you were when you walked into an entertainment shop instead. One where they sold books and DVDs and music. You walked past the humming shoppers, strained an ear to see if you could catch an accustomed tune. You didn’t linger for long. Indulging in these feelings were dangerous. You set your eyes on the first book cover that caught your attention.

A man and a woman, coiled around each other in an embrace you’d never seen before. It had a title, perhaps an author, but it didn’t matter. You rung it through the cashier and stuffed it in your coat pocket before you could mentally process the cost. You’ll deal with the guilt at home.

It helped. A bit.

What didn't help—and you were quick to realize—was that your literacy was entirely not up to par. You struggled through words, lost the plot on many occasions.

You looked to your bookshelf filled with thick and vibrant spines, some bent, some peeling and revealing the aged yellow pages underneath. But none of them were yours, well, had been yours.

Your mother had spent years fretting over instructing you to read, count, and learn many skills that could get you by in life. And petulant you had refused her attempts to fool around instead. The horses won't know how to read, why should you?

You swallowed a lump in your throat. She was gone and you had no one but you to force yourself through these pages.

The next time you hopped on the train, you were shocked to see that the same man wasn't there. It was you and a cart full of empty seats and a handful of passengers.

In a way, this was the best possible outcome for you.

Taking a seat, you got to reading. It had gotten slightly easier for you, you were now able to get the gist of the passages every few paragraphs or so. The main couple seemed to be enthralled by each other, proclaiming their love for one another through stubborn and rebellious actions.

You yourself fell lost to their world, didn't even notice when someone found a place to sit right next to you. The jingle of jewelry caught your attention.

You will never not be awestruck by his presence.

The man's gaze fell to the book in your hands and you were too late to hide the cover once you realized what he was looking at. You grew warm when a smirk wormed its way onto his face.

No words were passed between you. Time went on in silence as the train rode closer and closer to your destination.

It felt a bit too comfortable to you. To be sat next to a man who seemed to exude such confidence and stability. It seemed uncanny that someone of his ilk would be fine to be near you, even more so when that someone also deems it alright to offer you a snack.

You blinked up at him as he extended his treat, his eyes focused on yours. It slowly came to you that this was the first time you had ever heard him speak.

You were struck by the warm chords of his voice! It sounded even more beautiful than the choruses he chanted under his breath. You didn’t know what to say, and in the wake of his own, you felt compelled to keep the sound of your voice a secret. Here, you had no idea what sounded normal and whether you did or did not. You never paid attention to the chatter around you, never spoke when spoken to. It hadn’t occurred to you that you might sound cacophonic to others.

So all you could do was nod. A tight smile on your lips while his grew. He broke off a piece and handed it to you, and you took great care to avoid the tips of his fingers—out of respect for him, of course. He watched as it met your lips; you almost squealed at the taste of it! A sweetness that couldn’t be found in the straw-or-blueberries of your gardens. It was dark, yet tasted light.

You felt silly for having such a strong reaction to something so small, especially under that strong gaze of his. But the edges of his eyes crinkled as he observed you. He broke off more pieces, gave them to you, and didn’t stop until all that was left was a shiny wrapper that he crumpled and shoved into his pocket.

The exchange ended there. He stood up, hung on tightly to the railing as the train jerked into its station. You thought that was it, and was ready to dive back into the book that was currently sliding off the edge of your lap. Then, he tapped you on your shoulder.

He pulled his hood over his head with a smile and said, “I’m Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo. Sunwoo.

You thought of carving that name into the plaque fixed over your room’s bed, somewhere private and personal. If only you knew how to spell it…

You could sound it out—S-U-H-N-W-U—but...something about that felt a bit...off. You were running out of things to sell. Pretty soon you might become one of those rowdy vendors that sold… aged vegetables to the people. That wasn’t to say you had no more belongings worth a coin. But even a woodlands-frolicker like yourself held sentimentality for some things.

Your horses for that matter. Betty and Jackson were pretty much useless at this point, replaced by a machine that raced faster than the trees around you when you rode on their backs. But you promised to yourself that you would die with them, if it ever came down to it.

Your hut was filled to the ceiling with tiny, wooden trinkets and clothing that would require a dream to fit you. Some of them were old children’s pajamas and riding gear. The others belonged to your mother. They were stitched over in cobwebs at this point—the dresses and shawls of your mother. Some part of you itched to bury them next to her, but… you weren’t sure if you were ready to say goodbye to your past just yet.

You hesitated on saying goodbye at all.

You don’t have to say anything, do anything. You were taught to face the present and expect the future.

The train should be arriving any time now. For a while, you had gauged where the train tracks went. From your cabin, growing up you had wondered what could bring such a violent ruckus. The trees did well to muffle the sounds of animalistic pain and anger, sorrowful songs, and cheerful bleating. You would only ever hear such noise when it came near to you. Young you would sprout through your front door to investigate. You had made many natural acquaintances this way.

The first time you had heard the raucous sound of a steam whistle you were struck by a terrifying sense of grief and unsettlement. It was unlike any sound you’d ever heard—too savage, the sound of pent up hunger or fear. You remembered rushing to your mother, heart beating so loud you could barely hear your own speech. Confusion filled you when she grinned; that cheeky grin she had whenever it was prime time for a joke, or a white lie about what lurked beyond the forest.

“That’s a train,” she had said, “it picks up lost travelers and takes them places that never spell out anything good. Best to avoid them.”

Dear mother... you prayed that she wouldn’t find out what went on in your head. You knew your surroundings so well you could navigate with your eyes closed. But, still, you couldn't deny just how utterly lost you were without her guidance.

You closed your eyes and clutched your head.

The train tracks were only west from here.

It came too early. It whizzed by. The vibrations gripped you by the bones and you nearly fell onto your back. Your legs were trembling for a whole other reason. The tears in your eyes swelled but didn’t spill for someone else. You kept them locked on the windows, hoping for that one other face you knew. Maybe he’d see you, and he’d mime words and pleas that you might change your mind and back out.

The train was gone and all you caught was your own face, and the deflation in which you realized.

The next time you hopped on the train you were carrying boxes upon boxes. Your cabin was effectively empty.

You prayed that you wouldn’t happen across Sunwoo this time. In fact, you had made the conscious decision of picking a different cart to ride in this time. You didn’t want him to see you like this, face blotchy as a homeless man in winter. You hugged the boxes closer to you, breathed in their woody scent. If all went according to plan, you would meet Sunwoo as a new person, for just a moment, like all the moments before. You would leave an impression on him as strong as his to you. All those fleeting memories from before would vanish and be replaced by something magnificent.

If you had Sunwoo’s musical talent, you would present to him your swan song and it would be half as beautiful as him.

You had even written him a letter to make up for all the silent conversations you had until now. Reading over it you could scarcely make out your own handwriting, and it was filled with eraser marks and misspellings (though you had double checked using your book as reference). But despite it all, it was enough.

And yet, when it came down to it, you found yourself more choked up than usual. You said nothing when Sunwoo found his spot beside you, said nothing when he asked how you were.

“I saw you...by the train tracks,” He looked more than concerned. “You were looking unwell.”

Rather than looking poor or unkempt, a small victory.

“I probably won’t be able to relate to anything you might’ve experienced." A truth that hurt more than you thought it would. “But...you could still talk about it, if you want…?”

Sunwoo paused, expecting a response from you. But what could you do? Your throat was clogged up by an invisible force. It hurt to talk almost as much as much as it hurt to breath. You would have nothing of substance to say even if it didn't. Nothing worth hearing.

Sunwoo inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. He looked at you again.

“I’ll listen,” and he folded his headphones in his lap.

Your days were filled with music now. Not only the sounds that would drip from Sunwoo’s lips, but from the speakers lodged just overhead. You bobbed your head to the tune as shoppers weaved in and out of the store.

The sun was going down, and it was a sight you could finally admire without lines of trees blocking your view. You tallied your stocks and were getting ready to head home. Your boss tipped his hat as he came out of the storage room, Sunwoo following close by. He was distracted by a small box in his hands. Despite that, the store keys jingled in his other hand as he tapped his finger along to the song playing. You smiled.

“Still unpacking the supplies?”

Sunwoo looked up at your voice, then a small smile graced his lips.

“Nah, just grabbing something special before I forget.”

“Special?” Your eyebrows shot up at that. A terribly restrained snicker came from your boss at the corner of the room. “Did you order a new sound board?”

To be truthful, you had no idea what a sound board was, and the box Sunwoo was holding seemed much too small to carry a board of any kind. But your knowledge of technology was expectedly limited, and you shared the same eagerness to learn such intricacies with your new boyfriend.

Your heart stuttered at the thought. A boyfriend. B-o-y f-r-i-e-n-d—and yours, at that! You had no idea such a thing existed when you were a kid. Sharing conversations with your new coworkers revealed that such themes—dating and lovers, and with that, flirting and protecting—were dreams and goals set since childhood.

The book from months ago was your first introduction to this . You thought it fiction at first, much like the fables and cautionary tales your mother imbued in you since birth. You knew what love was, of course, you knew what marriage was, too, despite its absence in your life. But all that led up to it might have been some impromptu decision, for all little-you was aware.

Yet here you were, dancing in the little steps it took to get to that point. It still didn’t feel real. You had already gone through the custom of dates more than several times, had already felt his lips on yours, had already felt what it was like to grasp his body in a hug. And yet, it still did not feel real.

You felt like you were floating when Sunwoo looked into your eyes. When Sunwoo pulled your hand into his and led you out the front store doors, you felt fifteen times lighter.

“This is for you,” He said, presenting the same box in his hand to you. You took it. It was incredibly light. Whatever was inside must be fragile. “Open it when you get home.”

“I can’t open it right now?” You grinned mischievously and reached for the slits of the box as though you were planning on tearing it open before him. He didn’t react, just looked at you with fond eyes and shrugged.

“I think you’d appreciate it more if you opened at your house,” He waved at your boss as he passed through, then locked the store doors behind him. He took your hand in his again and led you towards the train station. “S’not just any ol’ gift. I spent a lot of money on commissioning it.”

As he’d always done, even when you began dating and were no longer the same financially as you were before. Not since he had convinced his boss to bring on a new employee. No longer did you have to dig behind your cupboards to find something to sell for a pretty coin. No, actually your home had slowly became replenished. This gift won’t be the only one lining your shelves.

You expressed your gratitude once your stop arrived. You kissed him, savored the feel and taste of his lips, and hugged him goodbye.

You were more than excited to unravel the gift. Your horses greeted you by the stables. The silence of the forest was disturbed by your thrashing. You gave yourself no time to relax in the comfort of your own home. You cut through the tape and retrieved Sunwoo’s present with an anxious heart.

This was it:

A figurine. One with an idle person, kneeled on verdant grass, encircled by a small family of deer. A doe and her fawn. The person reaches out to the infant deer, pets it with the edges of their fingers while the larger mother looks on.

The sight of it made you cry.

Everything sounds louder when you’re alone in the wilderness.

Sunwoo’s screams were no exception.

“It’s okay,” you said, holding a bundle of radishes by the stem. Your horse Jackson nibbled on them in peace, but your Sunwoo thought anything but. He cowered behind you, keeping an eye on the horse while he waved away buzzing mosquitoes and other insects. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Horses are predators disguised as prey,” He shrieked, “And I don’t fall for their act one bit! He seems gentle now but I heard those teeth can crush all the bones in your hand.”

“Yeah, if you stuck your hand in his mouth,” you took his hand as you said this. Forcibly passing the vegetables to Sunwoo, you slowly wrapped your hands around his. Carefully, you maneuvered him in front of you and in front of Jackson, who only sniffed his knuckles in response. Gently, “Do this.”

You felt Sunwoo’s breathing on your skin, hurried. Yet, he complied, bringing his hand up to the horse's mouth. He gasped when he felt his lips brush against him, but seemed more awestruck when Jackson daintily worked his teeth over the leaves.

When you felt it was right, you let him go and sat nearby on the stone steps to your house. What should have been a moment to relax, instead your heart seemed to be trying to beat its way out of your chest. You were home and you were with Sunwoo. The place that held your fondest memories and the place that spurned you in your darkest times.

There was more than confliction when you thought of this place.

This was your home, the one and only place you could truly call safe. For the majority of your life, this was all you knew. And yet, you grew to be ashamed of your living space, once mother vanished and you were left to discover that you were the anomaly, not the “travellers.” (In the end, you became one yourself.)

You learned to move past that oddly rooted self-pity. But some of it still lurked. Especially now, with Sunwoo steps away from welcoming himself into your personal space.

You still only had a vague idea of what ‘looking presentable’ meant. Your coworkers would dust off knicks-and-knacks and giggle about how ‘dated’ some looked. Such words meant nothing to you. That is, until you brought home a city-raised boy. Then, suddenly they meant everything.

But there were times Sunwoo never passed judgement on you, though he was well within his right to.

You looked back at Sunwoo to see that he’d warmed up to Jackson. The horse gobbled down the last of the radishes, and neighed happily in his direction. Sunwoo’s cheeks bunched up in a giddy smile. You noted, as he ran his hand up and down Jackson’s side, that he shared the same gentleness with him as he did with you.

You got up from your seat and reached your boys. Sunwoo looked at you when you pulled his hand into yours, a smile on your face.

“Ready to go inside?”

Tea was drained. Snacks were set and wolfed down and Sunwoo’s lips were on yours.

There were many things you were feeling, many thoughts crossed your mind as he pulled you close to his body while you savored his heat. He smelt good, felt better, but above all, he was sweet. Sweeter than chocolate, sweeter than any berry you could ever hope to pluck.

It had been two years since you had met on the train. Two years since you thought you had made your final decision. Now you could look back at the past with pitiful fondness.

“You know, when I first saw you I thought you were a prince of some kind,” you huffed when you pulled back. You made note of the color of his cheeks and lips, how glossy they were up close. “In fact I thought everyone around me were nobles.”

“You…” He began, but paused to smile. “I won’t lie, I was intrigued by you. The train that runs past here is pretty remote, so I knew pretty much every face that boarded and departed that thing. Then you came, and you certainly weren’t from town.”

His hand began combing through your hair, gently untangling the knots and twirling at the ends. “Didn’t know where you came from or were planning to go, and apparently neither did you. You were lost and I was curious and hoped that maybe we’d get off at the same stop. Then mine came and you were still sitting there and I thought, man, if this is the only time we cross then I’d like to at least do this person one thing, do this one favor, and hope for the best.”

You hummed. Hearing that felt nice. Feeling him on you was nice. Sunwoo then pressed a warm kiss onto your forehead.

“Karma certainly worked itself out for me.”

---

A/N: damn editing this rlly made this story seem all over the place ANYWAY i finished this fic within days then was stumped on the ending for w e e k s bc i wanted the last interaction to be abt first impressions and well….it was either sunwoo having a savior complex or being like “yeah so i thot u were a homeless bum” but i got tired of putting it off so fuck it. cheesy corny dialogue bc i wrote myself into a corner and I GIVE UP!!

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

Warnings: smoking, drinking and sex. Please don’t read if you are underage.

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Paris, 1953 – artists loft.

“Anything I should know about?” he asks, almost absentmindedly as he sets up the canvas and chooses his tubes of paint from wooden boxes filled with tube after tube of vibrant colours. Now, this would be the point where the model tells the painter that they don’t do nudes, or that they’ll need a 15-minute break between long poses, or that they’ll smoke.

“Don’t paint me in yellow”

“You don’t want me to use yellow?”

“That’s right, or gold.”

He looks at you then, straight at you. Not a glance or a quick scan to see if you’ll do as the model for the day, but instead the kind of stare you imagine doctors gives a patient who shows vague symptoms when they suspect something malignant underneath. He sits down on his stool and picks up a cigarette case. With effortless grace he picks one for himself and offers another to you. Then, in true gentlemanly manners he lights you up before lighting his own.

“Sit down” he orders, hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of the worn leather sofa. You do as you’re told and to avoid his eyes you take in the room. There’s parquet floor in oak and floor to ceiling windows standing ajar to let the fresh air in. Still, a faint smell of turpentine, oil paint and, of course, cigarette smoke lingers. Rays of the midday sun are making its way through the Parisienne rooftops outside and lights up the room. In the rays of sunlight, you can see little pieces of dust falling swiftly through the air.

“You’d look good in yellow.”

“I’d look good in any colour.” You puff out smoke.

A smile tugs the corner of his lips, “Yeah, I dare say you would." Then, "I thought I had met all the models of the agency, are you new in town?”.

You nod, take another deep drag and keep avoiding his eyes, there’s an intensity in them that you can't cope with. Countless paintings are leaning against the walls, perhaps waiting to be redone, or put up, or sold. On one of them is a naked woman lounged on a divan, eyes looking directly at you. There’s an intensity to her stare, and although she is the one naked you feel strangely bare just looking at her. He’s a got talent, this painter. That much is for sure.

“And why did you come to Paris?”

“I didn’t know modelling involved this many questions.” You stump out your cigarette on the ashtray on the floor. “Now, how do you want me?” When he doesn’t answer, but keeps looking at you like you’re a puzzle he’d like to solve you nearly grow angry.

“Naked? Clothed? On the sofa or standing? How do you want me Mr. Chalamet?”

He gives you another long look before getting up and walking across the room. He pulls out a rug from a cupboard and drags it across the floor until it’s in front of you. “Get up” he orders, offering a hand to help you do so. Leading you to the middle of the carpet he then tells you to kneel. Spending some time adjusting your pose, making sure everything is just right before setting up the canvas behind you.

“Now look at me” he directs. You obey, looking at him over your shoulder. “Yes, just like that” he confirms. “I’ll just get the shape of you, and I'll start on the face today. Next time you’ll get a robe to wear.” You nod, not knowing what to say.

“Oh, and don’t worry” he says as he moves across the floor to the record player, “it’ll be a blue one” he adds as the first notes of ‘Stormy blues’ by Billie Holiday starts playing.

***

On your second session he makes you laugh. He hands you a whiskey and soda and you get undressed to change into a Cobalt blue robe. This time Sam Cooke is playing on the record player and a golden afternoon light fills the room. He paints you until the sun sets then he takes you out for dinner at the brasserie across the street. You discuss Hemingway at length, argue a little over your preference of Monet over Picasso, thought you both agree that Picasso is better than Matisse.

It’s too early in the season to sit outdoors this late, so you’ve squeezed yourself into a corner table at the back of the brasserie. The room is buzzing, every table occupied and hurried servers are balancing trays of food and wine through the cigarette smoke filled room. Most guests are talking and laughing. Some are singing, loudly, cheerfully and out of tune.

“You should listen more to classical music” you tell him in a mock stern voice as you sip your wine.

“Oh, should I now?” he leans back in his chair, looking as effortlessly careless and happy as you spent most your life pretending to be.

“Yes, all this old jazz and then the modern music you’ve got going on, it’s like you’ve never even heard of Chopin”.

He scrunches his nose in mock-disgust “Chopin?”

You hold up a warning finger. “Not a bad word about Chopin, or you’ll finish this painting with another model. Chopin is off limits, Chopin is holy” You’re just playing with him and he knows it, he laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I mean I guess he’s better than Liszt, but he’s no Mendelssohn.”

“Oh, you cannot be serious, god damn Mendelssohn?”

“What do you have against Mendelssohn?”

“His music”

He laughs. You laugh too. Somewhere in the city church bells are ringing.

***

So, let’s take a second to examine the circumstances.

Your great aunt Marguerite is, and according to your mother has always been, a true grande dame. The kind of women who has a string of lovers and admirers still at the respectable age of 85. Admirers who sends her flowers, gifts and love letters on a regular basis. Admirers who has dedicated books, paintings and even statues in her honour. She has a regular seat at the opera, only wears exquisite handmade clothing, drinks Champagne for lunch and has a bichon frisé called Coton. Her closest confidante is a perfumer who years ago created her a signature scent that only she has, which along with her bright red lipstick, she always wears. She can sing opera, speaks seven languages, danced ballet in her youth and referrers to everyone as ‘dahling”. She has been married four times. After her last husband died, (‘dahling Humphrey’) she settled down in a magnificent apartment at rue de châteaudun, Paris.

When your parents sent you to Paris, they sent you straight to aunt Marguerite, in hope that she could teach you a thing or two. Aunt Marguerite took you in with open arms and gave you a promise that Paris would teach you all there’s to know about love.

“So, dahling” your aunt begins, throwing down her morning paper on the breakfast table. Coton is in her lap and she’s absentmindedly stroking him with one hand while the other picks up a coffee cup in the finest china from its saucer. On the table there’s steaming coffee, fresh fruit, brie cheese and just baked break from the boulangerie across the street. Everything presented on the finest of porcelain.

“Yes, aunt?” Once when you were nine years old you had called her great-aunt and you had promptly been informed that if you ever were to call her that again you’d be stricken out of her will before you could say 'but’.

“So, tell me about him.”

You stiffen. “What, about William?”

“No, no, no” she swats her hand in front of herself as if to get rid of a persistent fly. “Not that boy”. The amount of venom she manages to fit into a single word is truly impressive and you’re guessing it’s an ability that’s taken decades to master. Your shoulders relax, “but who then?”

She leans over the table, a serious look in her old, sparkling eyes. “Dahling, don’t play coy, not with me”. But you still don’t understand so you just blink back at her. She sighs and leans back into her chair again. “You’ve had a flush in your cheek these last few days. You look – ” she goes quiet. “Dahling, when William left I -” but you stiffen again, decisively not wanting to talk about this. She leans closer again but this time she grasps your hand and looks at you with gentle eyes. “Dahling, I'm just saying, I had never seen you so hurt before. But I know, I know what it’s like to be burned by love and have everything you believed in ripped out of you, I know. I’ve been there too and it is a painful place to be.” She squeezes your hand gently in hers “All I'm saying is, if there’s someone out there who can put that blush back into your cheeks then I’m happy for you, cherie”.

***

On the third session he finishes his first portrait of you. So far, you’ve not been allowed to take a single look at it. You have no idea of what to expect. He covers your eyes with his hand as he leads you to the painting.

"Ready?"

"No, please, I like to stand here in darkness for hours in suspension and wait." He pinches your cheek, "cheeky girl".

Then he removes his hand from your eyes and lets it settle on your shoulder instead.

At first all you see is blue, your body covered by the Cobalt blue dressing gown against a marine background. Your skin vibrant against the abundance of the colour, eyes looking wild and fearful and full of mistrust. It looks as if you're drowning in all the blue around you, yet somehow holding yourself afloat. It's frightening, but mostly in the way he's managed to capture something inside you, something you thought you'd kept locked in, and put it on canvas for anyone to see. The only visible skin is your face and some of your shoulder, yet you've never felt more exposed.

He doesn't ask you if you like it, you don't tell him that you do, but as you both stand there and look at his creation his hand doesn't leave your shoulder.

***

A few days later he calls the agency and asks for you. He needs to paint another portrait and you’re just the model he has in mind. So, on a Wednesday afternoon with rain pouring down you rush to his apartment. In the elevator ride up to his floor you catch a glimpse of yourself in the dirty mirror on the wall. You look like a drowned cat, hair hanging in wet stripes against your face and you wonder if rushing over in such a hurry only make you look desperate.

"Oh, is it raining outside?" he asks as he opens the door to let you in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, it is" you confirm, unaffected "and unless you'd like me to die of pneumonia, I suggest you lend me something to wear, or warm myself with." He looks as if he's about to say something cheeky, but instead he hurries inside to look for a towel.

Later, you're lay on the leather worn coach, wearing only his white button-down shirt. You've dried up now, and the studio is warm and the whiskey he offered you is burning nicely in your throat. You can still hear the storm outside, but he’s put on Chopin. That warms you too.

“Oh, so the great artist does listen to Chopin after all.” You try to keep the smugness out of your voice. You fail.

“Yeah, well, found a record for cheap.” He’s sitting on the floor, right by the sofa, sketchpad and pencil in hand. He’s sketching your face, in great detail. He says it’s for a portrait study. “It’s been growing on me”. He admits.

“I told you” you say, looking down at him. Outside it’s dark but the entire loft is lit up by candles, casting a golden glow over you both. “Chopin is holy.”

He smiles, but keep his gaze on the sketchpad, brows knitted in concentration. You sit there, listening to the rain crashing against the window and the tones of Chopin. He starts sketching your eyes and looks up at you with an intensity in his gaze that warms you more than the whiskey.

“Why haven’t you’ve tried to fuck me? Isn’t that what great artists do with their muses?” Maybe it’s the whiskey giving you the courage to speak, or maybe the whiskey’s just an excuse.

“Oh, so you’re my muse now, are you?” It sounds like he’s buying himself time.

“Yes, I’m your muse now.” You laugh, “I’m your Picassos blue period”.

He stays silent but lay down his sketchpad and pencil and drags a hand through his hair.

"I know you want to touch me. I just don't know why you're holding back".

So, he doesn't.

***

“Why not yellow?” it’s a tender question, asked at last. He understands the weight of this.

You’re in his bed and you can feel his heart beat under your hand.

“Before I came to Paris I was engaged. Announced in the papers, letters of invitation sent out to family and friends' and all.” You stop, humiliation rising like bile in your stomach. “You know, I was always a blue girl. Some people, they shine like the sun. They are golden, sun-soaked, care-free creatures. Happy and grateful just to be alive. The life of the party. They lift up everyone around them simply by being near, their happiness is so contagious. They are yellow and golden like sunshine. Others, like me, well...” You trail of and his hand start stroking your cheek. He’s looking at you with a serious gleam, but he doesn’t push you to continue. He’s letting you take the time to tell your story.

“I’ve never been carefree. Things feel heavy for me, everything feels heavy for me” You paus again, because here comes the heaviest part.

“He met someone else. Two weeks before the wedding he came over my place, told me that he’d married her. I had been a spur of the moment sort of thing. They’d known each other as children, you see. First loves and all that. He felt happy with her, not weighted down. Who was I to stand in the way of that?”

“He said you weighted him down?”

“Like fucking anchor, apparently.” You sigh, and you swear you can feel the sea water in your lungs. "That's why I don't want you to paint me yellow. I'm not one of those happy, carefree girls and I’ll never will be."

You remember it vividly. How William had come over, looking handsome as ever and you had excitedly thought he’d come to discuss details about the honeymoon. He had sat you down and in ever such a gentle tone of voice calmly explained that last week he had run into a girl from his past, and in an explosion of old feelings they had decided to wed, leaving you in the ruins of the aftermath while they sailed off to America to start a new life in New York. It's a strange thing to feel hope die in your chest. To have that flicker of light somewhere between your lungs distinguished. But that’s what it had felt like. Like breathing in water. Now here you were with ocean lungs and not a flicker of hope. The humiliation had been excruciating. Everyone knew what had happened, had to know when the wedding was cancelled and a picture of William and his blushing new bride appeared in the morning paper. Your mother had been devastated, wailing all over the house that your reputation was in ruins, because who would want you now that you’d been rejected in such a public way?

Timothée doesn’t say anything, but kisses you and kisses you and kisses you until the first rays of sun light up the small, cluttered bedroom. Kisses you so softly and so sweetly it feels like artificial breathing, like maybe he’s what's keeping you alive.

***

“The rain, the whiskey, the long nights. Chopin, aunt Marguerite. The opera, Monet, Casablanca lilies.”

Timothée looks up from his canvas. “What?”

“Nothing” you respond, careful not to move from your intricate pose on the floor. Last time you’d move a little Timothée had thrown a small fit and told you that this was the most essential part, that he had to get your composition just right, that you were perfect right now and he couldn’t miss it, and the last rays of sunrays that were painting your body were rapidly passing outside.

“No, not nothing, what was that?”

“Aunt Marguerite says that when I'm feeling uncomfortable, or sad, or bored or angry I should count to ten things I'm grateful for. She says this is a thing to practice at red traffic lights or queues. She says this will stop me from becoming ungrateful.”

Timothée’s quiet for a beat, then, “And what are you right now? Uncomfortable, sad, bored or angry?”

“Uncomfortable”.

“Because of the pose?”

“Yes, but I know it’s important, and it’s only a few more minutes left. It's what you sign up for as a life model after all. Last week, there was this artist who positioned me with my arms up in the air, that was not fun after 15 minutes”.

“Oh” is all he says at first, but then, as in a rush to get all the words out “I didn’t know you were seeing other artists”.

“Well” you begin “it is my profession while I'm here”. Home in London you hadn’t work. It wasn’t necessary for you to do so, and you had never felt the need for it. Here in Paris however, it was just an opportune way of meeting new people.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He keeps painting, and maybe it’s all our imagination, but there seems to be a new velocity to his technique.

“Timothée?”

He hums a reply, brows furrowed and eyes on the canvas.

“I’m not, you know” you trail of, “well, I'm not their muse, or anything, you know? I just sit for them. They don’t even play me Chopin” you finish in a lame attempt at a joke.

He breathes out, seems to relax his posture a little. “Yeah, well that’s good to know”.

“Do you have?" You look at him questiongly.

“Have what”

“You know, do you have other muses?”

“No” he says, firmly. “Well, there’s other people I paint, that’s my profession after all. But no. No one like you”. He lays down his brush and walks over to you, offering you a hand. “Finished for today, you can relax now.” You take his hand and he help you up. He leads you to his bedroom and lay you down on the soft mattress. “Better?” He asks. “Much” you all but moan and he smile, laying down next to you.

“Tell me a story” you request, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“A story?”

“Yes, a bedtime story”.

“Alright, once upon a time - ” You interrupt him with your laughter and he tries not to smile when he sternly says “do you want a story or not?”

He begins again, “once upon a time there was a princess and a penniless painter”.

***

Your soft feet are moving across the ground. Penché and développé and bourrée and arabesque and pirouette. Backward and forward you move, smiling and laughing along, your pink silk dress soft against your skin. You move in and out of the sunlight chasing something no one else can see.

And then there's him. Eyes moving between your dancing body and the canvas in front of him, a brush in one hand and a palette in the other, brows knitted close in concentration. Painting you is a serious affair. He wants to capture your beauty on the canvas, the loveliness of your movements and the softness of your pink dress but he's not even sure he can take it all in, the breathtaking loveliness of you, never mind getting it down in the brutal finality of an unmoving picture. He wishes he could paint your laughter and the way your eyes gleam with happiness. In the end a painting is just colour on a canvas, that only make sense to us, only resemble familiar things, because of how you use those colours. Light and shadow. Lovely shades of blush and orchid pink, of lavender, and ballet slipper pink are all the tools he has to capture your likeness with. But you are much more than just colours. More than your dancing movements and gleaming eyes and he doesn’t know how to mimic any of it. Still, he tries.

Specks of colour doesn’t just adorn his palette and canvas though, but dots of paint have made its way across his fingernails. It adorns his hands and his white shirt, and a fleck of vibrant crimson even embellish the tip of his nose where he must have absentmindedly scratched himself while deep in concentration.

“Mind playing something else than Chopin, eh?” he requests, eyes not diverting from the canvas.

“No” you laugh. “Chopin is holy”. And even with a frown on his face he can’t help his mouth from twitching, revealing his amusement.

“Come here, little dancer” he calls for you some moments later.

You laugh, “tiny dancer?”

“Sure” he laughs too “come and watch what I made of you”.

So, you stand before his canvas and the air gets caught in your lungs and it takes you a few heartbeats to calm yourself. Pictured on the canvas is a woman. You think she’s prettier than you, loose and unbound. Yet you see yourself in the way she holds her neck and in the pretty silk dress and particularly in the eyes. For even though the overall impression of the dancing girl is a much prettier than you are, or at least much prettier than you see yourself, you recognize your eyes in the portrait. The colours are lovely and bright. It is you as he sees you.

“So?” and you swear you can hear the tension in the short syllable. This is the first time he has asked your opinion on his craft.

“I love it”

***

“Tell me that story again”.

“What story?”

“You know which one, the one with the painter and the princess”.

It’s sometime later but the record player still plays Chopin. You are straddled over his lap as he lounges back in his chair. You’re sharing a glass of whiskey and ginger ale. Well, he poured one for himself and you take in from his hands to take a sip, so you’re basically sharing.

“Again?” He asks, but he’s smiling. “Alright then, once upon a time there was a penniless painter.”

“A very handsome penniless painter” you interrupt, taking a sip from your – his – drink. He continues, “one day he was summoned by the mighty king.” Again, you interrupt him, “and what did the king want?”

“Quiet, my little dancer, or I won’t tell you my story” he mock-scolds, hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheek, staring at you in adoration. You smile even wider though you keep quiet this time.

“The king and queen were organizing a tournament in the princess, their only child's, honour. Knights and noblemen from all of Europe were to travel long and far for even a glimpse of the princess, for they had heard of her beauty. The grand price of the tournament was the princess hand in marriage. But no one asked what the princess wanted. What she wanted was to laugh and dance and drink and to love someone and hold them close to her chest like a secret love letter. The penniless painter was supposed to capture the princess beauty, but he himself had never seen her. You see, she had been kept far from the common folk and locked in her ivory tower. She had no one, not really”.

He stops then, perhaps distracted by your hands playing with the buttons off his shirt. Perhaps distracted by your eyes and how every time you blink it reminds him of the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

“And then what happened?”

“And then the princess met the painter.”

***

Next morning as you come in to the breakfast table aunt Marguerite hands you a letter and a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be on the balcony if you need me, dahling”.

It’s addressed from home. Your parents' home. With shaky fingers and a sense of dread in your stomach you rip it open.

Dearest,

I was glad to hear from aunt Marguerite about your progress in Paris. She says your French has become quite perfect and that you are making great improvements overall. Time has flown by so quickly and February is, as I'm sure you know, just around the corner. It is, as you surely must understand, vital that you are back in London in time for the Cheltenham festival, and preferably some time before that so we can have some new frocks fitted for you. It is of utmost importance that you make a good match this year, as I'm sure you’re aware.

Your loving mother

P.S. Your father ran into Earl of Abingdon last week when he was with his son Freddie. Young Freddie asked about you. Let this be an encouragement, all hope is not yet lost.

Let’s now examine the season.

The social season, or season, refers to the traditional annual period when it is customary for members of a social elite of society to hold balls, dinner parties and charity events. The most active part of the season is the period between Easter and when parliament adjourned for the summer, in July or August

It is a long string of gatherings which are deemed the opportune occasions to meet one's future husband or wife. It is common knowledge that if one has not made a romantic match during the season, ones hope of finding a spouse are at best none existing, and one will just have to wait until the following year. During that wait, one should work on improving oneself so that next year one will seem a good catch.

The season is upon you.

***

You lay in bed, wearing only the sunlight on your skin as its beaming through the open window. Outside you hear the birds. Outside you hear the traffic. Outside you hear Paris in all its roaring glory. Beneath your fingertips you can feel the stable hum of his heartbeat, and when you put your head against his chest you can hear its steady beat. A reassuring sound. A holy sound, holier than Chopin even.

“What are you listening for?” he asks, voice amused but somnolent.

“I was wondering, if I put your heart against my ear, could I hear the ocean?”

“You want the ocean?” he asks, hand playing with strands of your hair, slowly combing his fingers through the tangled mess he’d created earlier.

‘Yes’ you think to yourself. ‘Yes, I want the ocean. I want to live by the ocean with you and play Chopin every day and I want your paint-covered hands all over me repeatedly, and endlessly. I want to live like this forever, you and I, in a small loft with no musts, no trains to catch or letters burning holes in your pocket. I never want to hear a ticking clock reminding me of time wasted ever again. I just want to hear the waves crashing against the shoreline and Chopin on the record player and your voice and the things you whisper to me in the dark. I want the smell of the sea, of rum and of you. I want to live on nothing but wine and bread and fresh fruit. But most of all I want you to paint me as I am, not as you see me, I don’t care if it’s impossible’.

“I want the ocean” you confirm.

“Then I’ll give you the ocean”. He looks at you, eyes heavy with sleep and perhaps a fair share of adoration.

You want to ask him ‘Do you see me as I really am, or have you made me up?’ You don’t. Instead you say, “Actually, I was listening to your heartbeat and thought what a blessing it is that you’re real”.

He looks at you and you can see that he doesn’t understand.

Then he says, “I know your scared that you’ll weight me down, but if you do, it’ll be in the way a siren makes her claim on a sailor lost at sea. I don’t care, don’t you understand that? Drown me with your love, I'm lost at sea”.

When he’s asleep you untangle yourself from him, carefully so not to wake him, and make your way across the room. You take another look at him. The bed is too small really for the both of you and when he’s alone in it he can spread out, and so he does. Torso twisted so he’s laying partly on his side and partly on his stomach, arm spread out, as if he’s holding onto someone who isn’t there anymore. You close the door behind yourself when you leave.

‘He should have painted me blue instead’ you think, exanimating the canvas. The vivid colours forming your shape are lovely, but they belong on someone else. A lively, carefree creature who don’t have ocean lungs heaving for air and a heavy heart. ‘Or better yet, he should love someone that isn’t blue’. And with all your heart you wish that person was you.

You pick up your dress from where it lays discarded on the floor and you put it on. His cream-coloured knitted sweater lay on the floor too and you remember desperately removing it from him in order to get to the naked skin underneath. You put it on as well. It feels strangely like wearing armor. Then you put on your boots and you leave.

In the taxi the scent of Timothée surrounds you, oil paint, tobacco, rum and cashmere. The taxi stops at a traffic light and you begin counting things of which you are grateful.

Taxi drivers, Billie Holiday, warm cashmere sweaters. Cigarettes and rum. Timothée, Timothée, Timothée, Timothée, Timothée.

***

“This is the part where you tell me, isn’t it?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re leaving.”

You don’t say anything. Taken aback. “You are, aren’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound sad, though it’s like you can feel the weariness coming off of him in waves.

“I have to be home for the season” you explain, but it seems ridiculously inadequate and he’s just standing there, painting and not looking at you. “My parents insist, I have to make a good match, find a good husband”.

“A rich husband, you mean”. He says it without judgment, but with a fair share of bitterness in his voice and you don’t know how to reply him because yes, that is what you mean.

“My parents, I'm their only child. It’s on me to, to - ” but you falter.

He sighs then, so deeply your lungs begin to ache for air as well, as if you both been under water for far too long. “I know” he says, then in another sigh “I know”.

“So, do they have anyone in mind?”

You swallow, feeling a sudden need to shuffle your feet, but you hold your pose. “Well, the earl of Abington's son, Freddie, has been mentioned as a suitable fit. We’ve known each other for years, and I know he’s always had a thing but there was always William.”

He drags a hand through his hair and sights again. Then all is quiet for a long while.

Then, as your body has begun to ache from standing in the same position for too long, he suddenly says.

“It’s just-” and he waves his hands in front of himself, as if he thinks he can catch the words that will explain how he feels from the air around him. “I just wish I didn’t know what it feels like to love you., you know? Right now, it feels like I'll carry the weight of loving you around with me for a long time to come. For a very long time to come.”

Silence. The record comes to an end and everything goes quiet, even the birds outside has stopped singing, the traffic has gone quiet. The whole of Paris has come to a stop. Only your shallow, panic-stricken breaths and the scrape of his paint-covered brush against the canvas can be heard.

One last sigh and then,

“and what a heavy love it is”.

(‘He said you weighted him down?’

‘Like a fucking anchor, apparently’)

That night he fucks you with a kind a fever. He fucks you fast and hard and after you’ve cum with a half-strangled scream, one fist in his hair, he fucks you deep and slow. Both your hands are gentler with each other this time, but his eyes just as intense. Later, he kisses every part of you. Like he’s trying to memorize each inch of your body. Like he thinks you’ll disappear in front of his eyes, like sand slipping through fingers.

As you’re about to drift off to sleep, safely in his arms, you hear him whisper words into your hair, so softly you’re almost certain you’re not supposed to hear them,

“Oil paint, cigarettes and rum. Paris, Picasso, jazz. Chopin. Blue. The ocean”

Then, in a voice so soft it might as well have been a sight,

“you”.

***

“I have a suggestion” he begins a couple of days later. “If you don’t like it, just tell me”.

“What?”

“I’d like to paint a portrait of you nude.”

You smile and start to unwrap your dress, “alright, where do you want me?”

He clears his throat and looks away, shy all of a sudden “on the divan, just, you know, lie how you’d normally would lie. Normally”.

You do, trying not to smile at his uncharacteristically unsmooth self. “Like this?” you ask after you’ve positioned yourself. He looks up, bites his bottom lip and walks over to you. He rearranges you slightly, placing your hand in front of your cunt, as to cover you up. “How modest” you tease and look up at him. His cheeks are blushed but he says nothing, just sets up his canvas and paints and goes to work. Before he starts painting, he puts on the old, familiar Chopin record.

He paints in silence for a while, in deep concentration and you study him as he does. You want to remember him like this, paint splattered and in concentration, and with a hunger in his eyes every time he looks at you.

"Do you have any buyers for them?"

"For what?"

"The portraits? Well, the ones of me"

He doesn't answer, just keep on mixing paint to get that precise shade of red he's had on his mind all day to paint your lips. You wonder if he doesn't want to answer, or if his mind is just occupied on the task at hand. Or perhaps it's rude to ask an artist about money, like asking the pope about evolution. But in the end, he does answer. Hours later while you lay on the carpet together, your head resting on his chest and his hand in your hair, his heartbeat under your hand.

"They're gonna go up for an exhibition later this month. I'm selling all of them" his thumb strokes your cheek "Well, except this one, I'll be keeping that".

You want to ask him if he keeps portraits of all his models, if he's keeping it because he’s proud of the painting or as a reminder of the sitter. But your courage fails you and his thumb keeps stroking your cheek as you lay there in silence. There’re specks of red paint all over his hands and you find yourself wishing they’d stain you too.

***

“I’m leaving tomorrow” you whisper out into the dark. He’s above you and you can still feel him inside you. The words have been on the tip of your tongue all evening and now they’re finally free. He doesn’t say anything but you can feel his hand gripping your hand tighter. And maybe there isn’t anything left to say. He rolls off of you and lay beside you instead, still holding your hand tightly in his, as if you were a balloon that would otherwise drift away. As if you were a lifeline out at sea.

***

In the early hours of the morning he walks you home. It’s Sunday, and the whole of Paris seem to be asleep apart from you. You are wearing his cream coloured knitted sweater and he has a painting tied up in brown paper and string under his arm. His hand is holding yours. When you’re just around the corner to aunt Marguerite’s home you panic, not wanting this to end so in a rush you request,

“tell me that story again”

He smiles, but its strained and his eyes are sad. “Again?”

You nod. “Yes, give it a happy ending”.

“Painters aren’t good with words. That’s why we paint, to express what we can’t find the words to say”. He hands you your portrait, leans in to gently kiss your cheek and whispers in your ear “keep it somewhere special, won’t you?”. Then he’s gone.

Later you unwrap the painting and place it on your bed. It’s a portrait you haven’t seen before. Shades of lemon yellow, amber, cream, topaz, bronze, sunflower yellow and gold make up your face. Around your head is something that looks alarmingly alike a halo made of yellow tulips.

When aunt Marguerite sees it, she sighs. “Yellow tulips, I see.”

“Yes” you say, suddenly feeling defensive “a cheerful colour, is it not?”

She gives you a long look. Almost apprehensively she says “perhaps so, dahling. But in the olden days it used to represent jealousy, and unrequited love.”

You don’t know what to say, perhaps she doesn’t either, for she pats you gently on the shoulder and leaves.

It’s only later, much later, when you’re on the train back to London that you examine the back of the painting. In the corner he has written something in his signature scrappy handwriting. It takes a moment before you can make out what it says. When you do you swear the whole train can hear your heart break.

“I’ll think of you at every red light and I'll be grateful – T. C.”.

***

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet #timothèe chalamet #timothee imagine #timothée fanfic #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée imagine #timothée x you #timothée x y/n #timothée chalamet x you #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x y/n

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effervescentvampire · 4 years

Text

Finally

Charlie Weasley x reader

A/N: This is the first one shot I'm posting. Hope you enjoy it 😉

Warnings: none I can think of

Y/N: your name

Y/fc: your favourite colour

Y/ec: your eye colour

Y/hc: your hair colour

____________________________________

You and Charlie had been dating for a few weeks and best friends for two years already when he asked you to stay at the Burrow with him and his family over the holidays.

Naturally, you had said yes to it, but your parents didn't like the idea of not seeing you in the already limited holidays. So, they had agreed on sending you to the Weasley's for a few days before going back to school, together with Penny Haywood. She, Bill, Charlie and you were the best of friends and your parents liked the idea of sending you over far better with Penny there.

When you arrived at the Burrow you felt quite dizzy. Even though you had already travelled via portkey before, you couldn't really get used to it. As the world stopped spinning around you, you looked up at the snow covered house before you. You thought the tall house with its many floors and wrinkles already looked amazing normally, but nothing could match the coziness of it surrounded by nearly 2 feet of snow and fairy lights all around.

"Y/N!", a familiar voice shouted. Mrs. Weasley was standing in the dorway, smiling at you. Looking behind her in a no less loud voice she cried: "BILL! CHARLIE! Come here already and help Y/N inside!".

You went up to the house as you heard hurried footsteps coming your way. Charlie came nearly running toward you, not having bothered to put on a coat, his bright red hair and the new jumper he was wearing a great contrast against the white of the snow. "CHARLES WEASLEY, GO PUT ON SOMETHING WARM, YOU'RE GOING TO CATCH A COLD!", erupted the voice of Mrs. Weasley.

You certainly couldn't care less, as you only had eyes for one person.

"I've missed you, Y/N", Charlie whispered as he hugged you tight. Behind him you heard a small chuckle. His brother, Bill, was standing there beside Penny, your big Hogwarts trunk already in his hand, waiting for you to get out of the cold.

You separated and hugged both Penny and Bill and finally got inside. You were greeted by the inviting smell of hot chocolate and an overflowing amount of christmas decorations. Everything was gold, red and green, you were even sure there was a gnome in a tutu on top of the christmas tree.

Ron and Ginny were playing beneath the tree, giggling and waving at you.

"Bill, you should show our guests where they will be staying", Mrs. Weasley said, and to you: " Penny arrived just five minutes earlier, dear. You can catch up while unpacking, I'll bring you some hot chocolate and a snack"

Charlie blushed, looking at you: " She thinks she has to feed everyone like her life depends on it".

The four of you made your way up the stairs, you hand in hand with Charlie, Bill pulling your trunks up after him. Penny and you had both insisted on carrying them yourselves, but he had refused.

"...and my sister got me a necklace!", Penny told you when you arrived on the second landing. There were two doors, both wooden. One simply with a sign saying: William's room, the other covered by the image of a big Common Welsh Green. Even if you hadn't already been here, you would have ultimately known whose room this was.

Slightly smiling you looked at your very favourite dragon enthusiast, squeezing his hand. "We thought I would move in with Bill and the two of you could share my room", Charlie said, blushing again, his skin as red as his hair. The sheer thought of his girlfriend sleeping in his room seemed to make him uneasy.

"Only if you'd like that, of course", he added quickly.

"That's brilliant guys, thanks for inviting us over!", Penny answered. She was such a sweet person and was able to make anyone feel comfortable in an instant. Charlie had returned to his normal colour, and pushed the door open to let you in.

The walpaper covering the walls was of a bright shade of dark yellow. Photos of your friend group and cut-outs of dragons and his favourite quidditch team covering an overflowing bulletin board. School books piling on the messy desk and next to a book case full of books on dragons. They had somehow managed to fit a second bed in the tiny space.

"Well, Y/N, you should take Charlie's bed! I'll be just fine right here. You know, I like getting up early in the morning, I don't want to climb over you to get to the door", Penny stated. Normally you would have just thought she was generous and nice as ever, but the wink of her eye told you otherwise.

"Uh, I guess, if you're ok with that?". You were a little embarassed, so you asked the first thing that came to your mind: "What was your Christmas like? Penny told us already, but what did you do? Mine was pretty quiet, just my close family, got a new set of dressing robes"

When Bill groaned, you knew you had asked a sensible question. "Don't get me started on that. Our Auntie Muriel was there... Fred and George pulled pranks on her like every year... put some potion in her dinner they got at the joke shop at Diagon Alley in summer...she grew feathers and threatened to never come back. They're grounded forever, that's why you haven't seen them yet. Mum threatened to turn them into owls so they would deliver the post as punishment".

You spent the whole evening up in Charlie's room, chatting about what else had happened and if you had heard anything from your other friends. Mrs. Weasley appeared to bring hot chocolate and snacks. It felt like only half an hour later that she came back in to tell you that dinner was ready.

Penny and Bill went downstairs, while you and Charlie stayed back a few minutes.

"You know, I really enjoy it every time I'm here. It feels so much more like home, especially after this whole thing with Jacob... . Thank you for always being there for me, Char. It means a lot to me", you said.

He looked at you, his freckled expression softening, brown eyes meeting Y/ec ones. "You mean a lot to me, even more than dragons. Of course I'm there for you".

You felt the familiar butterflies in your stomach. Charlie and you rarely got some alone time in between classes, the search for cursed vaults, meetings with you friend, quidditch practises and the unholy amount of homework. You practically couldn't think straight anymore when his face came closer to yours. It struck you in an instant: he's going to kiss me, you thought. The only thing in the world seemed to be his face, your heart beating loud and fast with anticipation. Your first kiss, it would happen now...

"CHARLIE AND Y/N STANDING ON THE STAIRS. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Fred and George bolted past you down the stairs, snickering. Charlie had been so shocked he backed away and hit his head on a cupboard. As soon as he recovered he chased them into the kitchen. Until a minute ago you had felt sad for them being grounded, now you thought they deserved it.

Neither of them stopped singing this ridiculous muggle song, lord knows where they learned it. Mrs. Weasley had managed to make them sit down at the table and was making sure Charlie wouldn't shout at them by shooting mad glances.

Ginny called out: "Oh, how lovely, Charlie!", as she entered the kitchen through the back door. You came down the stairs to see that Mrs. Weasley had finally managed to shut Fred and George up. Ginny, however, asked you sincerely: "When the two of you are getting married, can I be your flower girl?", causing Charlie to choke on his drink.

"Don't be stupid, who would ever want to marry Charlie?", Ron said.

It was all oh so embarassing. Minutes ago you were about to share your first kiss and within seconds the whole family knew. Charlie was deep red as rhubarb again, ashamed. You sat down next to him, holding his hand, hopefully showing him you weren't mad.

"Nobody here is getting married, not until they're at least in their mid-twenties!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, " and I don't want to hear any of that again. Sit down and EAT!".

The rest of the night went by without further interruptions of that kind, only some curious looks from Fred and George. Your relationship wasn't new to Bill and Penny, so they just brushed it away, saying they knew they would kiss someday and it wasn't a big thing, but every now and then you could see a kind of sparkle in their eyes, following you playing with Ron and Ginny and their game of exploding snap.

Bedtime for the younger kids came and went and you and your friends were thinking about building a snowman when Charlie's dad arrived. He was working on a weird schedule at the moment, something between morning and night shifts.

"Arthur, dear, come on in! We have been waiting for you... would've already sent them to bed, but we have to give Y/N and Penny their presents first!", Molly said.

Mr. Weasley looked very tired, wearing an old traveling cloak and soaked by the snow. He quickly pulled it off and used a spell to dry his clothes up.

"Penny, Y/N, it's nice to see you again! I hope you don't mind if I go to bed soon, it's been a very busy day at work. We just wanted to hand you your presents"

Mrs. Weasley appeared behind him, holding two identical shaped packages: "Go on, open them!"

You carefully unwrapped your present and gasped a little when you saw what it was. It was a real Weasley jumper in Y/fc! It was perfect, with your initial on the front. Bill and Charlie must have told them how much you loved their jumpers. You could often be seen around Hogwarts wearing one of their cozy pullovers, wishing you had one of your own. Now your dreams had come true and you saw Penny was holding a yellow jumper with a P on it.

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! I didn't know you would make me a present, now I feel bad for not getting you something", you said.

Mrs. Weasley pulled you into a hug and simply replied: " I was told you always wanted one. Also you have had quite a hard time with your family lately, so I thought getting you something to show you that you are always welcome and loved here would be just right".

Penny also did her thank you's. It was apparent she mainly got one because otherwise she would have been left out, but to you that was just as nice as knitting you a jumper. At the Weasley's, no one got left behind, own caring family or not.

Soon, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said goodnight and ushered you up the stairs, where you said goodnight to Bill and Charlie as well. When you got into your beds, Penny fell asleep almost instantly. You were very tired as well, but you didn't seem to be able to find any rest that night. Maybe it was because of this heartwarming gift, the excitement of being here. Maybe the fact that you were lying in your boyfriend's bed at the moment, staring at his ceiling, maybe the fact that even though the bed sheets were clean, they still faintly smelled of him, grass, honeysuckle and something so entirely Charlie, you didn't know how to describe. But mostly it was the thought of you nearly kissing earlier. The rest of the things didn't make it easier, though.

You tossed and turned and failed to sleep. At some point, you got tired of this. Pulling back the covers, you pulled your new jumper over your pyjamas. As quietly and carefully as humanly possible, you climbed over the sleeping Penny's bed in the darkness and exited the room. It drew you to the small window on the landing. The sight of snow silently falling calming you down, though you could not get Charlie out of your mind.

As if you had conjured him by your silent longing, he appeared next to you. For a second you only stood there, arms touching because of the tight space of the landing. Just enjoying the peace and rare silence at the burrow. Then you turned to face your boyfriend. Next to him, the beauty of the snow seemed dull and mundane. How could you marvel it, if the true miracle was standing right next to you, messy red hair, freckled skin and a jumper matching yours? You still couldn't quite comprehend how he could be yours.

"What are you doing here?", Charlie asked, already looking at you, his brown eyes full of affection.

"I can't fall asleep. It's... something is keeping me awake", you replied. You didn't want to admit that it was the thought of him haunting you.

"I... I also couldn't fall asleep, Y/N". Suddenly, his face was impossibly close to you, but at the same time not close enough. Around five centimetres away from him, you stared at Charlie in shock, butterflies in your stomach. You heard him draw in a deep breath. He only hesitated for a second, then his lips met yours.

It felt like heaven to you, finally being able to kiss the boy of your dreams. You kissed him back, wishing it would never end, the nerves of your lips and where he touched your cheeks singing in ecstasy, your heart beating as if it were to burst of love and joy, in a steady rhythm. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

When you pulled away, he held you in his arms. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. So bad actually, that it was the reason I couldn't fall asleep tonight", you finally admitted, knowing that was his reason as well in an instant.

So, you two just stayed there in your embrace, looking out of the window. It finally truly felt peaceful and a weight lifted from your heart, as you realised this was exactly where you ought to be, like home. And you knew, that if you could, you would never leave his arms ever again.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley oneshot #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery fanfic #hogwats mystery #jacob's sibling #penny haywood #hphm charlie #weasley family #hp hogwarts mystery #hphm penny #bill weasley #hphm bill

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randomsevans · 4 years

Text

LATE LIES

Part 2

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary:you have recently decoved that your finance captain america is cheating on you. But there again you could be wrong. But what will happen when your not wrong ?. And your not the only one who has cort on to steve shaddy activitys .

AN : my grammar and spelling isn't the best so bare that in mind .

@nomadevans82

Breakfast was quickly over. No word . No affection. Shown by the man who was ment to love you, the man you are ment to marry , the man you suspect is cheating on you. But maybe your wrong , maybe your brain is just over thinking. This is captain america we are speaking about, man who said your his world , his love , he wouldnt do anything to hurt you , especially in such a way . Would he ?

He wouldnt or so you thought/knew.

'God why cant I think straight ' you mind was racing around and around , question after question , excuse after excuse for him .

Maybe your just overreacting, I mean my spy training doesn't mean I have to be right every time . Nobody else has notice his behalf? Right .but you have and you know him better then anyone . Or so you should. But your not the only one whose notice a change . Nat did , she look like she was about to skin him alive with her butter knife at the breakfast.

You mind racing , your fist rapidly punching the bag , never stop . The training room had blurred form your vision along with everyone in it . You can feel you blood boiling , tight knots in your stomach as you think about steve with sharon . Your temper going just above busting point . You didnt notice you went breathing. You didnt notice your eyes glowing, you didnt notice the punching bag flying off , with a swerling yellow sting glow around it . You just stare at it , forgetting all the people . Nobody would notice anyway , it's not unusual for this to happen , but what is , is the power running through your veins . The very thing , nobody knows, the thing you hide , the thing you run away from , thing you dont want people to know about you , hell you dont even know what it is exactly. You spend all you time hiding it . The minority of the time you cant feel it running though , you normally have hold over it . But when your emotions get to extreme (more like things you dont experience often ) such as a need to cry, or your anger , anxiety. It slips out and your cant control it. And it doesn't help you are feeling all these right now.

You final brought back form your blurred vision with a hand on your shoulder. If it was anyone else you'd push them off , but not this person. Youd no them any way . Ever since it first comforted you when you just a child, in place no child should be , in a situation no child should be , expecting things no child should ever .

You slowing turn your face toward him . Bucky .or james as you knew him as a child . Hes your comfort , the closest thing you got to w father in the red room . This you keep a secret form everyone else , no one apart from nat knows that you were in the red room with her and as she was training and falling in love with james . He acted as a father to , never letting you get near the same amount punishment as the other girls. So when you found he was still alive , when you found he was becoming sane minded again you couldn't be happy. You weirdly felt safe the world again . After you were told just after he managed for you to escape that the red room had killed him .

You have alot of secrets such as people dont know about the fact that the red room trained you , Bucky trained you , or the fact that you two have a father and daughter relationship . Nobody knows not even Steve, to everyone else sheild trained you, you were a good field agent and was giving the opportunity to become an averager under the request of Nat .But at least two people know them nat and buck , they raised you basically, they know you , they know your history. But theres one secret that nat doesn't even know, only james . And that's about your mutation. James found out about it the same time you did .

You were 11 years old , training with james in a dark cold room . The constenced shouting in russian and girls crying was getting to your head missing punishing and kicks , you head was fuzzy, everything was become to quick , to fast . You couldn't handle it , although you go thought it every day . You final get a burst of energy and it shoots thought your veins and bones , the bright yellow light swerling around, pushing James into the wall . He knew what it was , he had heard of mutation before and what happens when the red room find a girl who has one , they either dont last very long or are put into different facilities. He protected you , help you hide it . Still does today .

So when you turned around , you saw the panic on his face, he knew what had happend , he was the only person in the room that saw as always. And he knew something was wrong because you knew let it get the better of . He automatically pulled you into a hug hiding your face from the rest of the world in his chest . It would be so easy to cry , so easy. If you wernt so anger you were shacking .

"Your okay " "your safe " "I got you " " you can calm down " he constantly whispers until you did as you were told and calmed down . You glance up till you met his glaze . His eyes was swerling with fear and empathy for you . "Now you gonna tell me what's got you all worked up ?"he asked pulling the hair out of your face . You just shake you head negatively, he nodded in return , knowing you was going to answer him anytime soon .

"I might have an idea " nats voice stalled you . 'Did she see ?' You become anxious again you dont want anyone to know about you mutions .

"You've go quite the rage and strength, and rightfully to " at this you know she must think you just punched the bag down .

"What do you mean ? What happend ? Do u know what's wrong? NAT tell me ! " buck quietly shouted concerned, pulling away form you , facing nat with his armes crossed .

"Calm down papa wolf , I dont think nows the time , let's calm her down and get a drink in her first , I know she needs it " she glanced at you sympathetically, she knows about sharon and Steve.

"What ! Nat Its 11am the mo...." bucky was cut off by the annocument above.

"Party tonight people. Main floor see you there tonight. Peace out , Iron man ! " Tony said though the speakers .

"Great !" You said walking out of the training room , towards your room , knowing you'll stay there u till the party.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Hours had passed and you haven't seen anyone all day , steve didnt come to check up on you like he normal did , you asked friday what he was doing every hour and your were denied access.

You and Nat hadn't spoke about what was playing on your mind , you just spent your day with a few early drinks and tv . It got to the time where it was time to get ready .you sat in that's room with a dress she picked out for you lying on her bed . You sat at the mirror finishing your simple make up nothing to extreme hust enough to add to your natural beauty.

You heard the bathroom door open , you turned to see that Nat was almost ready

"Come on kid , I know parties ain't really our thing but at least they'll be vodka "she joked .

"Thank god " you rolled your eyes and got up picking up your dress and heading towards the bathroom. You were just about to close the door when Nat sighed

"Y/n you .... I..... do you see what i see " she ask clearly neverous .

"About ?" You tried to act clueless but you knew what she was about to say

"About steve "

"..... " you stay silent for a while " can we not.. not right now .. we both could be wronge his the man I'm marrying, the man I love .... i dont want to think about it .... I... we might be wronge "

She scoffed at the thought but she nodded her head . And in you went into the bathroom to finish getting ready .

When you emerged out of the bathroom in your dark blue silk dress that hugged and was lose in all the right placed . With your hair curled and pinned half up and half down .

"Oh my .... you look gorgeous " Nat said with wide eyes . You felt it too as much as you ddint want to go to this party you felt great in this dress almost forgetting everything

"You look stunning as always " Nat just shrugged it off and grab your hand while heading our her door .

When you got into the hallway you and nat both stopped in your tracks.

"There you are ... iv been looking for you ... Tony and his parties eh " Steve laugh making you laugh too . This man put you into a trance everytime you saw him , he was in a dark blue shirt similar to your dress (not on purpose) . He looked as good as ever , you sighed with the biggest smile thinking this man is going to be your for ever soon . But then the voice started to creep back into your head ,instantly your small dropped to a frown

Steve took a step closer to you and kissed you on the check you let out a breath that you didnt know you was holding all day ,

'See everything normal we were just over reacting '

He smiled down at you "you look good " he said but he didnt even look at you the way be usual would , he didnt say what he usal would , it would be more then just good ...

"Good ? She looks stunning " Nat blurted out , you could tell she was staring at him like he was the target .

He just wrapped an arm losly around you , not tight like he normal would, he once said it was to keep you by his side and let everyone know your his . But not now . You felt so stuiped being in his arms .

"Let's go shall we "

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You had been at the party for not that long Steve was by your side laughing and joking with everyone around the group . Nat , Bucky and Tony all laughing and joking

Everyone would feel fine if it wasnt for Steve's eyes keep wondering off

You sighed , chucking down your drunk , thinking your the only one that noticed but you forget that you were next to the best assassins you have ever know .

"Hi everyone "

"Oh hi sharon " Tony said

Your eyes snapped to her stunned , everyone eyes fell on her as you all stood at the bar in a circle she had managed to get her way inbetween Tony and steve

" you look stunning " steve said looking her up and down with a smirk , your heart dropped

"You get good and she gets stunning!"

"Thank you " sharon whisper trying not to star at steve but failing as there both keep sharing glances at each other, as a blush creeped on her check .

The music was the only thing filling the silence for a while as Tony sipped on his drink clueless . With steve and Sharom basically eye fucking each other while unknowly to you two very very anger killing mansions were ready to be Roger's down . You just stood there tears threating to make an appearance.

"I'm... I'm just going to pop to the.. " you couldn't finish your sentence already making your way down the hall .

Nobody looked at you are asked if you were okay .

You made your way blindly down corridors in all different directions you didnt know where you ended up, all you knew was you were far way you didnt hear the music and you were safe alone . You let out a quiet sob that lead to a few tears escaping your tear duck as you fought them off . Ignoring the stinging feeling with the tight chest and pit in your stomach .

Some one pulled you into there arms you you could see was a few red strains of hair

"Sshhhhh "

"I dont know why I'm like this.... I might be wronge " you choked out

Nat just gave you a look like 'when are we ever wronge "

"Come lets go back " was all she said you nodded .

She rubbed your back as you made your way through the corridors . Before you turned a corner you heard a quiet bang followed by laughter and giggles . You and Nat quietly laught and slowly made your way to the corner.

You stopped dead in your tracks with nat behind you . You were barely visible as you were still hidden around the corner .you quickly took a step back , pushing Nat backwards , she looked confused but you both listen carefully.

All you could hear was short breaths with giggles and growls

"Stop that "you heard a high pitched giggle

"Hell no ! I wanted to get my hands on you all night "

"You would be able to if you didnt have her ..."

"Soon " The deep voice cut her off "soon I'll be all your okay "

Your heart drop you could help the tears roll down your cheek. As you saw and hear Steve with sharon , it hit you hard , it all become reality and you couldn't take it . Nat griped you tightly clearly trying to calm her anger .

There voice went away and nat looked around the corner

"There gone ..I'm going to kill him " she snapped

You sobs became louder and louder your whole body was shaking

"Why ? Why ? Why ? He said he loved me , said I was his world , I'm meant to be his wife soon why ? What did he mean by soon ? Was he going to leave you?

Your body was shaking as nat stepped back , unknowly to you everything around you was shaking to . You vision blur and lost all connection to world around you and your heart was literally tearing into piece making the unwanted power over come you .

"Uh no nooo no " was all you hear and Bucky ran his way towards you

"Calm down it okay " bucky slowly came near you as the shaking stopped. He quickly wrapped you in his arms

"Calm down !"

There was silence that felt like forever Nat with her anger towards Roger's and shocked by you . While Bucky was staying calm for you

"You going to tell me ? " he asked slowly.

You shook your head no

There both sighed

"Fine I will!" Nat snapped

"No .. no please dont" you begged.

"What ? What is it ? "Bucky asked getting impatient

"No .. don't say it...its not real until you say it " you hiccup on everyone word

"Please " you begged one last time

"Just tell me god damn it "

"Roger's is cheating with carter "nat barked over youf sobs

"What !"

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers au #steve rodgers imagine #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve x reader

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