#I want to take him on a train ride and let him honk the horn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peakyblinders1919 · 2 years ago

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Collision of Worlds

modern!Tommy Shelby and amish!reader

He barely registered the horn honking, much less that the shrill sound was directed at him. He prematurely stepped off the sidewalk, more concerned with the iPhone in his hand, the meeting coming through his headphones, the hot coffee in his other hand, to notice the crosswalk sign flashing red.

The white BMW screeched to a halt a few feet from him, the driver laying on the horn and waving his hands sporadically in frustration. Without missing a beat, he stopped, turned, and looked at the driver through his shades before taking a sip and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t the first time Thomas Shelby looked death in the eye.

He was mildly perturbed he’d nearly spilled his coffee and had to ask his buisness associate on the other end to repeat his question.

“No, no, we’ve stopped all trade with our supposed partners in Camden Town until the political upheaval is settled. We don’t want to make ourselves a vulnerable target by extending our hand or being found to associate with them at this time.” A brief pause as he took a sip of his coffee, suede shoes scuffing the pebbles on the sidewalk as he sandwiched himself onto the train. It wasn’t his preferred mode of transportation, but his car was in the shop and his brother, John, had dropped the ball on solidifying a rental car. It was the last time he trusted John with something important.

He was the only one deep in conversation as he held onto the railing overhead, nose tucked into the endless stream of emails he was replying to and the ranting in his ears from the treasurer of his company.

“No, No, Pol, you're not listening. Look at the numbers. We can stand to lose 3% for a week or two max… yes, yes I have it on good authority that whatever this is, it won’t last longer than that before the strike is broken.” He sighed, glaring at the people around him whose noses were upturned by his disruption. Who expected a train ride to or from work to be the most peaceful part of their day?

“I have it on good authority from Ada!”

The train pulled into his stop. Signals that the doors were opening rang out. Still heated, he moved to leave. She moved in a blur of color, in a hurry to get somewhere. It was that urgency which sent her out barreling into his chest, piping hot coffee staining his white shirt.

“Fuck.”

“Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Pol, I’ll call you back.”

If he put weight on the superstitions his aunt believed, he’d think it was going to be a day full of bad luck, karma.

Hanging up the phone, he put it in his jacket pocket, a sneer on his face as he looked down at his stained shirt, the coffee seeping through the fabric and leaving his abdomen warm to the touch. It was amazing that he had enough time to stop, to stop and look at his assailant. She was pretty in a natural way, not like the other city girls with their fake tans and fake eyelashes and fake tits. Her hair was shiny, her eyes aglow, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.

She was like a little mouse, grabbing for some napkins from her big purse on her shoulder, cautiously trying to wipe up the coffee on his shirt. Normally he’d tell her who he was, some big businessman who didn’t have time for these games, but it was almost more fascinating to watch her act, so unsure as she touched his shirt with the napkins, pressing lighting against his abdomen, his chest. Her touches were light, whether she was afraid to break him further or nervous to be touching him in the first place, he wasn’t sure.

“I… I am really sorry,” she finally said again, tossing the coffee-soaked napkins in the bin. “I… I don’t have anymore. I… I really should’ve watched where I was going.” “It’s alright. The damage’s done. I’ll send it off to the dry cleaner and it’ll be good as new.” He tried to smile at her, to let her know he didn’t care about his shirt, he had a closet full of them, but something kept him from doing so. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t smiled in years. He tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, he knew it was his because he hadn’t been looking around him, but he wasn’t used to public transportation and he wasn’t used to people not stepping out of the way for him when he walked by. So instead, he kept his mouth shut, pink lips in a tight line, lost in her eyes, before he felt his phone buzzing to life.

How peaceful those few moments had been.

“I’m late. And I’ll be even later having to stop, I… hope your not late either. Here, have a coffee on me. For the trouble.”

After handing her a few pounds, he answered the phone with a gruff greeting and disappeared.

It’d be much easier if you had a phone. Easier to find out who the mystery man from the other day was. You spent all night telling your sister about him, voices dropping extra low when you told her about helping wipe his shirt clean.

“It was hard, tight, like muscles. And I tried not to concentrate on it, really, but it was easier to concentrate on that than his eyes. A blue like the sky. Like I’ve never seen, hair dark as midnight.”

Although she hadn’t met him, your sister swooned with you over the whole thing, wondering how, if there was any, way for you two to find out his name, what he did for a living, where you could “accidentally” run into him again.

But that night was all “what-ifs” and little girl fantasies. Yesterday was a moment you could hold onto while you were busy at work, sifting the flour in the kitchen, elbow-deep in it as you rolled out the dough.

You didn’t need a phone, it wasn't necessary, nor was electricity when you had a fire to cook on and light your way with. It was a lifestyle you’d grown up with, you were used to, you had chosen to live, and you hadn’t once thought differently until now.

That night, you dreamt about your encounter with tall, dark, and handsome, as he was therefore known as in your mind. As much as you wanted to see him again, as easy as it was to remember his eyes and his hair, it was impossible to ignore how he lacked a smile, head bent and far too enraptured and controlled by the little device in his hand, or was it his ear? Thinking back on it clearly, the buzz of everything around him was what caused him to be so careless around you in the first place. And just like that, you drifted off to sleep with memories that turned into nightmares confirming that it was not only too good to be true, running into him that day but it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t ever meant to be.

“I can’t find her!” He brought his fist down onto his desktop with hammer-like force. Such an outbreak wasn’t uncommon for Thomas Shelby, but the matter in which it was about was shocking to those around him. His family.

“Tom, we’ve had the best internet hackers on call, working twenty-four hours at a time. We even got some secret service agents from the police tracking what you’ve told them through their database. Nothing.”

“It’s not enough. There’s got to be something else. They want more money? Give them whatever they’re asking for, I want her found.”

His men simply nodded and left, his Aunt Pol crossing her legs and making her disapproval known with her tsking.

“It doesn't take someone like me to know you in love. But I thought Mr. Thomas Shelby didn’t believe in love at first sight?”

“There was something about her Polly. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, but I do Tommy. I do. Love is magnetic, I’ve told you that since you were little. You just chose never to listen. And now that you have, the world has rewarded you with a challenge. A girl who can’t be found.”

“Don’t mock me.” He had risen from his leather-backed chair to pace. His office was spacious, on the tallest floor of the most well-known building in London, towering over the others, the wall nothing but windows that allowed him an endless view of the city, even to the fields beyond. The whole city under his watch and he couldn’t find the one person he wanted to see. He’d paced to get his mind straight but it didn’t work. Quickly, he was sitting back down behind four computer screens that lined his desk, projecting his work onto the flat screens on the wall. The wall to his left was lined with clocks synced up to represent all the timezones of the world, multiple tv screens muted to show the horseraces around the world and the stock market live. The office was always lit in a dim glow from the screens, a soft buzz from the electricity, and somehow it never bothered him. It kept his mind busy, sure, constantly busy, his eyes switching frantically from screen to screen trying to focus on only one thing.

Since meeting her, finding her was the only thing he could focus on. And Polly was right, she didn’t seem to want to be found.

With the best people he could hire already on it, he figured some fresh air could do him good. When he informed Polly he was going out for coffee, and she reminded him they had people for that, she didn’t prod any further.

Down on the ground floor, he nodded towards the security behind the desk, and the doormen, and headed onto the street in one direction, any direction the wind seemed to take him (there was a coffee shop on every block), but he seemed to end up at the one he went to that day he was taking the train. Something about their fresh ground beans. Tapping his feet anxiously while standing in line, it made sense why he employed someone to do this for him. He passed the time by catching up on emails, shoving his AirPods in to listen to the live race at Cheltenham to avoid the elevator-esque music playing from the shop’s speakers.

He wasn’t really paying attention then, taking a second to realize the line had moved. He ordered the usual; coffee, black, and waited where one picked it up. It was all a series of routine things that came next, listening for his name, taking that first sip to make sure it was right, shuffling around other waiting customers to get back outside. His nose still buried in the phone, he would have missed her completely had he not learned from his mistake the other day and looked up before crossing the street.

She seemed to be leaving the coffee shop from the back, heading in the direction that led out of the city. He had work to do, he knew that, but the business would run without him. If that little glimpse he’d caught of her held up to be real, he’d save himself a lot of money.

“Hey,” he called, taking a bit of a jog to catch up to her.

Not sure if that hey was directed at you, you stopped, and looked around you, before continuing on your journey home. You must have been going a little crazy, no one this far out from the country knew you, were even less likely to recognize you.

The coffee cup worked to warm your hands. You smiled, pleased to hear the city’s symphony as you headed home. It was all part of the reason why you agreed to deliver the beans to your best customer; while it came with an excruciatingly long walk, you were awarded the sights and sounds of the city, the excitement of it all, and a fresh cup.

“Hey!”

It was the same voice as before, and you would have continued to ignore it had you not felt a strong arm grasp your elbow, making you stop in your tracks. Your heartbeat quickened. This was why your father always warned against you doing the delivery on your own, but you’d fought with him more than once that you could handle yourself in the city for an hour or two.

Now was time to show him the truth.

In a quick maneuver, you dodged the stranger, turning quickly and shoving him back with your shoulder, hearing the familiar sound of coffee sippling as it was dropped to the floor. Ready to run, you caught a glimpse of your attacker before running. What were the odds it would be your Mr. tall, dark, and handsome?

He didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look as displeased as yesterday. He almost looked pleased.

You smirked. “You’ve got to stop wearing your coffee. You're supposed to drink it.”

“I’d be able to if you stopped spilling it on me. I think you have something against me.”

You both shared a smile, a true smile, before your eyes both scanned down to his torso, today’s blue shirt now dark with coffee on it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll send this one to the cleaners just like the others. I should be scared of you though, that was some quick thinking.”

You blushed, suddenly feeling so small and so seen in the city, a place you certainly didn’t belong but tried to.

“What can I say? My dad taught me right.”

“That he did.” Tommy used the napkins in his jacket pocket to wipe up his shirt enough to keep from burning his skin underneath, and it provided just enough time to figure out how to get you to stay longer.

“Why don’t I treat you to another?”

“No, I couldn’t. I… I wish I could treat you to one but…” Well how were you supposed to tell someone like him you didn’t have any money on you?

“Come on, my treat…”

Knowing your family would be wondering where you were, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get to know him a little more. You agreed, and he told you he’d be ready to go as soon as he changed his newly ruined shirt, assuring you he had an extra in his office and it was only one block away.

What were you doing following this man to his office? Everything in the building was shiny and new, reluctantly following him into the elevator. It never seemed to stop, crawling higher and higher until the final ding signaling you were at your destination caused you to jump a bit.

What you stepped into was too much for you to comprehend. It overwhelmed you, so much stimulus in his office with the screens and whatnot. He promised he’d be quick, and you barely noticed his lack of presence as you absorbed the sound and light of everything. The tapping of your foot, the pacing, it was all you could do to try and stay comfortable. You both wanted to know more about how it worked and, more importantly, why, why all this, but you refrained. You couldn’t comprehend a life where one person needed so many screens.

Everything was coming to fruition. It wasn’t meant to be. You were both from two different worlds.

When he emerged in a white collared shirt, pulling at the cuffs and rolling them up, you felt a strong wave of nausea hit you. He must have noticed the unfamiliar look on your face; it was amazing that a complete stranger noticed it almost immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

“Uh..” Opening your mouth to respond, you were suddenly made aware of just how dry it was. “Uh.. what do you need all those for?” You hoped it didn’t sound as rude coming out as it did in your head, but you couldn’t resist finding the answer, knowing more about him, more about a life you weren’t sure you would ever be ready for.

“Oh, those?” He chucked. “Sometimes I forget they’re even there. I need them for business, I can’t be in multiple places at once, though it would be easier.”

Silence lingered as you tried to compose a response, a silence that was anything but silent. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry. I… I hadn’t noticed the time and I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Oh, are you sure? Well, how about another night?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe,” you swallowed, stepping away from the harsh glow of the screen.

“Wait. Your name. Please tell me your name.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Though you left not a mystery but a mission, a challenge for Tommy Shelby, should he choose to accept, to you he remained a mystery. A mystery behind a screen, something for you to ponder as you took approximately 45 flights of stairs down to the ground floor.

-------

“She’s Amish.”

“She’s fucking what?”

“Amish, sir. They’re members of a church that believes electricity is not necessary for leading a fulfilling life, hence why we couldn’t find her online presence.”

“Ok,” he sighed, taking a hit from his vape and blowing the smoke out to the side. “What did you find on her?”

“We have a home location, family profile, and her background records. That’s it.”

“I want it all on my desk. Now. And a car, one that’s not going to shit the bed in the country. Have it parked outside, keys in the ignition to go.”

With a nod, Charlie was out of the office, but Tommy didn’t get much time alone to consider the grandiosity of the plan already forming in his mind.

“A car? Where are you off to?”

“The country Pol. I’ll be in a few hours. Might not have cell service. Don’t contact me… what?” He asked in response to her chuckle, almost a mocking one.

“Tommy Shelby never puts down his phone, nor does he ever stop business. Unless it’s a girl.”

He saw no reason to lie so, sighing, he told the truth and braced for impact. “It is a girl Pol. The one I’ve been looking for. I know where she lives and I’m going to her. I’m going. I barely know her name and I… I know I did something to scare her off but I… I’ve got to find out why, you know? I’ve got to do something to get her out of my head. For good. Whatever it takes.”

He found you outside the address he was given, his black BMW oddly out of place among the wheat and the fields and the barn and the expanse that was known as your house. You were tending to the horses, taking the pony to graze on the taller grass in the side yard, senses on high alert as the unknown vehicle pulled closer and slowed to a stop. Your dad and your brother, everyone in a 3 mile radius became aware of the unwanted visitor, trying to figure out why someone in a car was on their land. It was surprising how unfazed Tommy seemed to be with a few shotguns pointed his direction. His hands flew up in surrendor and if you weren’t sure it was him, the hair, the eyes, the commanding yet comfortable voice reassured you.

“Y/N, do you know this man? He says he knows you.”

“Yes, yes, this is Tommy. He’s a… a friend.” Pulling him away, into the shadows of the maples where the horses were cooling, you asked why he was here and how he had found you. It was a quick explanation from his end that both left you speechless and wanted to know more.

“I want to talk to you. Why you didn’t agree to going out yesterday?”

“We… we can’t talk here. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

It would have been comical seeing a man like Tommy ride a horse, but really he was a natural. He looked like the main character off a romance novel with his dark hair, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his posture perfect and hands tight on the reigns, in control of the horse. Stopping by a stream, you both dismounted and began talking.

“We would never work Tommy. I.. I barely even know you, you know nothing about me, and yet you show up in my yard. I can only imagine how you found all this out.” You shuddered at the thought alone, holding a hand up signaling you didn’t want to know the intimate details.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I feel this pull. This nagging in my stomach thats saying ‘go after her’. I had to come try. What was it? The office?”

“Well, it was all a bit overwhelming. We’re from different worlds. You live by the screen and I… well we’d never come to a compromise.”

“What if we could.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we could come to a compromise. Would you give it, would you give us a chance?”

“What kine of compromise?” You asked intrigued.

He shrugged. “Less screen time. Weekend away from work, from the city?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under his eye. The space between you disappeared as he entered it, toeing a line he wasn’t sure he should cross. He knew your name, where you lived, and a little bit of the lifestyle you lived, that was it, and so he wanted to know more; your favorite color, the taste of your lips, the softness of your curves. And though you were less sure of what you wanted, you wanted the same thing. You wanted it to work out like a fairytale.

“Could this really work?”

“Are we insane?”

“Do I live without electricity?” The question, although rhetorical, gave him the answer he needed. Leaning in, he took all the air from your lungs. His lips found yours, the kiss chaste and soft, strong and loving.

“I’d give up everything for you.”

And there it was. The collision of two worlds, two people in a world of billions, two stars in the galaxy a little too close to each other's orbit, two atoms beginning their journey together headed towards the big bang.

#tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine

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slowpoke-fics · 4 years ago

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Scent | Mate Series

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek x Y/N

Summary: Derek is getting suspicious of you, you're hiding something and he wants to know what

Warnings: not really I think but just in case, as always, read at your own risk

A/N: This is Part One | Next Part

This whole thing is a whole family pack au and mate au, OC stuff in later chapters but I really loved writing this and love the idea of a family pack <3

You walked into Scott’s house, happily smiling at everyone gathered around the table, noticing that even Derek had showed this time. The wolves seemed to carry on about their business as you muttered something about dinner and moved to the kitchen. “I don’t like that ya know?” You jumped a little, turning to Derek and smiling in confusion. He sniffed the air, “All I can smell is your strawberry shortcake lotion. You use too much.” You scoffed, turning to the food, “I don’t care, go smell someone else.” He shook his head, “Why? I don’t like not being able to smell you.” You looked at him, eyebrows raised, "Derek, I know what you wolves do, it's a violation of privacy, I like my emotions being mine." Derek huffed under his breath, "Just trying to care." He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

You couldn't help but wonder if you'd been excessively hateful, but you were right. You knew better than anyone, wolves violate your privacy whenever they can by just smelling you, let alone with serious practice what they can do. You could never keep a secret around a pack of wolves, and living in Beacon Hills with the extra wolf sense going around is no different. It's better to just hide your scent all together. You of course knew how to do this very well without the nifty supernatural trick; putting lotion over your scent glands regularly, wearing tight clothes, and lots of deodorant. You sighed to yourself as you thought of how different it could be if you could come clean.

Derek hung back after the meeting, watching as you waved everyone goodbye, claiming he was cleanup help since you cooked. "What's up Derek?" Scott said once the door shut. "Y/n," Derek started, turning to Scott, hand rubbing his scruff nervously, "has she always covered her scent like that?" Scott's eyebrows furrowed, "Now that I think about it, yeah, why?" Derek shrugged, acting like it was no big deal but wanted to put the fuze out before it went to far, "Dunno, she's just the only one that does it, even Lydia with the amount of crap she wears, I can smell her," he sighed, "it's like Y/n is hiding something man, I've just never once smelled her." Derek shook his head, "I mean, it's never bothered you? Not being able to smell her?"

Scott could sense something he hadn't ever before with Derek, a sense of need, like when Stiles called to him when he almost lit himself on fire. "She just wants her privacy, she knows we can smell fear, anxiety, joy, embarrassment," he slapped Dereks shoulder, "relax man, are you really worried Y/n is out to get you?" Dereks hands fell next to him, "Something like that." Derek said his goodbyes to Scott and happily Stiles, as over the years he's grown to love the wild man, and left wondering about you.

At the next pack meeting, this time in his loft, you were the last one in again. As everyone was catching up and cutting up, Derek found his way beside you, "I don't like that one, it smells sour, what is it?" You blushed just slightly, "I don't know some cucumber mix." Derek huffed, "If all I can smell is fake shit, at least something good, citrus, sweet or somethin'," he shrugged as he made his way to the table.

You'd all been discussing new training for the supernatural creatures drawn in by the Nemeton and handling the strays that don't fall in line with the help of the argents. Derek was next to you, something you knew was no coincidence as he'd swapped places with Scott at some point. He reached over to the map in front of you, trying to rub just your shirt, but you slyly moved your arm, muttering an apology, "Oh, sorry," but Derek didn't miss the extra heartbeat, even if just for a second. What is going on with you?

A few days later you find yourself climbing in the passenger of Stiles' jeep, just leaving your house after reapplying lotion, knowing that you were going to Dereks' for pack training. "Scott needed a ride today, that okay?" Stiles quizzed you, studying you as you answered with a hum. "Everything alright?" he reiterated, turning the music up. You shrugged, "I just have a feeling something is going on." Stiles gave you a sympathetic smile as he pulled up to Scott's.

Scott climbed in Stiles' back seat, glancing at you, consciously aware that you only smelled like mixed berry lotion, smiling, "Hey, Y/n, how was your day?" You shrugged, "The usual, excited for some pack time." Scott listened to your steady beat, kicking himself for even listening. The ride to Dereks normal while you intently listened to Stiles ramble. It was impossible not to notice that something was bothering Scott, you just hoped it wasn't you.

Scott was the first to knock on the door, Stiles following impatiently while you stood behind the two men. Derek slid the door open, looking over the two men and directly smiling at you, welcoming you all in. You followed closely in behind Stiles, narrowly missing Derek. You sense him reaching forward, out for the small of your back, you quickly stepped out of the way and to the kitchen, hoping your heartbeat was steady. "So what am I making?"

You worked on finishing up the tacos, careful to clean up any mess you made and wash the used pans. You had Liam lay out the table who was cooling off from a tough session with Isaac. He was really slinging the plates down, you put your hand just inches from his, stopping him from laying another plate down, "Liam," his eyes connected with yours, "listen to my heart, get yours to match it." Liam shook his head, starting to lay another plate down, clearly frustrated, but you spoke again, "Liam," you sighed, "it is okay to lose control and get angry, but get it back. Take a breath, control your heart rate, ground yourself." Liam took a deep breath in as you guided him, smiling at you before gently setting the plates down. You could feel the anger dissipating from him as he did.

"Thank you for helping," you muttered as you rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, making sure your sleeve covers your bare hand, smiling at him, "I'm gonna go get them." You walked into the training room, sweat and power smacking you in the face, "Dinner's ready!" Scott and Derek let go of each other, playfully draping their arms around each other, "You wanna spar, Y/n?" Derek asked and you laughed, a sound that blessed his ears, "Uh, no thank you, I'll leave that to the big bad wolves." Scott smiled, "Come on! Even Stiles trains!" Stiles jumps at this, pointing to Scott, "Hey!" Causing everyone to erupt into laughter, you smiled, "Who else is gonna cook?" At that Stiles interjected again, heading to the meal, "Not it!"

After you all ate you helped Liam collect and wash dishes, Derek watching you dodge every corner of the tablecloth, studied your moments as you put up pates, careful to not touch them with your bare hands. He thought to himself as he watched you that he was reading way too much into it. That you were just a private polite person, but something was rubbing him the wrong way, something he was missing. As you put away the last dish, Stiles stood up, smiling, "Bye, sour wolf." Derek glared at him but turned to you who was side by side with Stiles, your arm around his waist, also heading out, "See you later, sour wolf."

Scott trailed behind, making sure you and Stiles were out of earshot. "Man, what is your problem I can literally see the fury coming off of you." Derek glared at Scott, "Y/n, she just-" Scott rolled his eyes, "You can't be serious, not with this again." Derek rubbed his face, "Man, I'm telling you," he shook his head, clearly troubled, "She won't let me touch her! At all, I'm talking not even an accidental brush," Derek spoke lower, "She wouldn't train because that causes sweat, we could smell her, won't even touch the tablecloth. She washes every dish she uses, won't touch the plates with her bare hands? The plates?" Scott could tell Derek was genuinely upset by this, "Why does this bother you so much man?" Derek sighed, "I don't know," he drug broth his hands over his face, an attempt to rub the stress away, "I don't think she'd hurt us of course, but she's definitely- Scott, there's too many questions I need answered." Scott sighed, "Okay, if it means that much to you, I'll look into it." Scott started walking and that's when you snapped back into Stiles honking the horn of the car, you giggling with him as Scott came rushing out.

How much longer could you hide your secret?

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 10 months ago

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Run Away, Runaway

1,569 Words

Dazai's Perspective

~ 15 Years After the Incident ~

"I'm 25, I can do what I wish."

I hang up before my aunt gets a chance to respond. It's bittersweet but mostly sweet. She's the woman who's kept me prisoner for most of my life, always afraid for my safety, she hid me from the world, using my mother's illness as an excuse.

"I may lose my sister but I will not lose my nephew."

And then when my mother did pass she made the tragic mistake of willing the responsibility for my care to my wretched aunt, my father joined in and it became

"Your mother wants you to stay safe, she wanted me to protect you." and "I lost my wife, I will not lose my son as well."

I was pulled from school and given tutors. My aunt took my mobile and shoved it in her jewelry safe. For the first month, it was dinging nonstop, and then she made a big point of blocking Chuuya. I tried to fight her, but it was no use.

I only ever had a flip phone after that, and even that she could track.

Now I place it on the floor and take great join in stomping on it until it is well and truly dead.

The rest of my things, the rest of my life, fit into three small suitcases. Clothes, toiletries, and my many books. The only possession that stands apart is my violin in it's case. Inside it is the instrument, two bows, and tucked in beside them, my last photo of Nakahara Chuuya.

In the small rectangle we smile, his arm thrown lazily over my shoulder, red hair brushing my cheek, grey eyes bright with happiness. Suddenly I feel cold, but I ignore it, leaving the sad beige hotel room behind and heading to the train station.

I'm not sure where I should go, only that it need be far, far away from here. As I board the train that little rectangle of Chuuya fills my mind, so I ride it to the end of the line, to Ihatovo.

Watching the sun rise from the rain fills me with a sort of sick feeling so I close my eyes. When I do, I swear I can feel someone leaning their head against me, but I know I'm the only one in the car.

When the last disembarking announcement chimes, I get up, lugging all my things behind me and head onto the platform.

The station is open-air, looking out over the orchards and rolling hills. The sun is high in the sky and the sun is warm on my skin. Most of all . . . it's quiet. No aunties yelling, nor cars rushing, or horns honking.

Then, footsteps.

"Hello, sir! Would you like some help?"

I turn at the voice. It's a young boy. His hair is golden yellow, like hay in the sun, his eyes are amber, and his gently tanned skin is marked by freckles on his round cheeks. He can't be more than 9. The same as I was last time I was here. Something about him looks familiar . . .

"Thank you. What's your name?"

"Kenji. Miyazawa Kenji. What's yours?"

Miyazawa. Like the market, we went to that one time. I shake my head, snapping myself out of it.

"Dazai. That is my name. Osamu Dazai."

"Cool. I can take your things to the Inn. Are you moving or just visiting, Dazai-san?"

"I'd like to move if there are any houses available."

"Well, most people what have been here for generations, like my family, and we don't get many new people so the only houses are some abandoned storehouses that were destroyed by the big floor four years ago. It took out one of our orchards nearby too."

"I see. I don't need much, just a roof over my head. How much is it going for?"

"Going for?"

"How much does it cost?"

"I don't know. I'd guess maybe a cow. It is a big plot of land, but it's also close to the flood zone."

Right, they barter here. Surely someone takes cash. Or I'll have to buy a cow.

"Yes, of course, but who owns the land?"

"Nobody, we all own it together."

"So if I did want to buy it, a vote would be held?"

"I'm not sure, we haven't had anyone new since Ozaki-san and her daughter, and that was last year when I was visiting the city for a farming exposition. But I think the council would let you stay as long as you can contribute something, even if you don't have a cow. What's your job."

"I've played violin and piano since I was very young. I have a writing degree, and a music degree centered around solo performances and composition. If that means anything to you."

"So you write books? Neat!" he pumps a fist in the air, smiling.

It's now that I notice that he's carrying all my bags effortlessly, but no point questioning it now.

"Yes and poems, I haven't published anything yet though."

"That's okay. I'm sure you will one day soon. You could still give music lessons. . . . The last music teacher in the village passed four years ago from the flood." The boy looks down at the dirt road. " . . . He was a really nice guy. He taught my two older siblings Seiroko and Toshi."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We're here now!" Kenji nods to the small house in front of us. A woman with brownish-grey hair steps out, smiling. She wears a puffy-sleeved blouse, a straw hat with a bow, a long brown skirt, and western-style rancher boots.

"Hello, welcome to the Inn. How was your journey?"

"Good."

"That's good. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Yokohama."

"My, what a trek. Are you visiting family?"

"No, I intend to move here, but I'd like a room in your Inn for now. Do you take cash?"

"How wonderful, and yes, I do. I hope you can find peace here." She says it as if she somehow knows what I've been through. Kenji gets my bags again as the woman leads me to a quaint room.

I thank her and hand her the appropriate amount of bills.

"Mrs Fitzgerald is very wise." Kenji explains, "She lost her eldest daughter a while ago to illness. Her parents sent her here because she was very sad and stopped taking care of herself. Her husband works in the big city and comes back every weekend. They live on the west edge of the village."

"Ah, well, she seems better now."

"She is. She moved here three years ago but it took her a year to come out of her house. I'm so glad she did because she's really nice. Now she helps out at school and makes and fixes clothes. She has lots of kids too, and they're all fun to play with."

"I'm happy for her then."

"So am I, well, I'll leave you to unpack. If you need me, just follow the signs for our farm."

"I will."

With one last smile, he leaves. He's so positive, perhaps I should try to be like that. I doubt it would work.

I don't bother to fully unpack, instead, I drop my bags and head back out (there's no lock on the door, but I get the sense that's only because this village is so safe) to check out the storehouses in question.

After a 10-minute walk, I reach them. They're four evenly spaced small buildings not even 3 x 3 metres with a tree in the centre. Still, I'll take it.

A month later A modest house stands where the storehouses once were. The entire village pitched in to build it and it was before I knew it. Now, I have a job at the local school teaching music.

All of the students are 14 or under because there's no high school in the village. They have to go to the neighbouring town for that and then to the cities for university.

The town has quite a collection of people, each with their own oddities, myself included I suppose. There's the farm, the school, the bakery that's also a butcher, and the Inn and that's it. Most people have at least two jobs. It's not so bad. It's not bad at all, but nothing external has anything to do with the grey emptiness inside me.

Sometimes I find it hard to fathom that I still remember him after all this time when I find it difficult to recall what I ate for breakfast. How does he take up so much space in my mind? It's unfair. I'll think I'm fine and then I'll see something that connects back to him in the vaguest way possible and it'll hit me like my gravity's been increased.

It's not even that I still love him, I just miss him. I just miss what could've been. I miss having the option to love. I don't know, not anymore. I wasn't very stable before, but the years of isolation stripped away all that was left of my sense of reality and left me floating in this endless grey abyss without a map or anything to hold onto. It was unfair of me, but I attached myself to Chuuya, he became my anchor, the one thing holding me to Earth. Then the anchor was slashed, and I was set adrift.

"Get over yourself," I whisper to the quiet morning, shaking my head as I splash water from the pump outside of the school on my face. My novel is almost complete, but right now I have a music class to conduct.

Through Glass Walls | Soukoku

He sighs, leaning his head on my shoulder. "If I asked you to . . . Would you run away with me?"

"Yes."

Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya are in love.

Dazai convinces Chuuya to sneak out one day and takes him to the beautiful small town of Ihatovo. Chuuya is sure this is the best night of his life and Dazai agrees until he passes out and has to be taken to the hospital.

The doctors won't tell Chuuya what happened. That's the last time he sees Dazai.

~ 15 years Later ~

DAZAI OSAMU: has been hidden from the worldever since the indcident at age 15, by his aunt and father. But he's done with that! Against their orders and probably good sense he moves to the small town of Ihatovo to live a life he can enjoy. This includes reading depressing novels, attempting suicide, playing his violin, and eating more snow crab than anyone should. It does NOT include a certain ginger with an intense passion for life.

NAKAHARA CHUYA: now a doctor who left his stressful life in Tokyo behind for something more relaxing. Ihatovo was just supposed to be a stop on his journey but the familiar face of his old classmate or rather enemy Dazai Osamu draws him to the quaint little town. Chuya hates Dazai, because he left him. Dazai just disappeared and never spoke to him again. If he saw Dazai on the street he'd just walk right by.

He can't ignore his curiosity over what happened to his old love, but is it more than just curiosity?

He should at least make amends since he's here, right?

When Chuya opens up his medical practice Dazai becomes his most frequent patient. He comes in with everything from small coughs to suspiciously even cuts. Chuya wonders about his ex-classmate and as the two grow closer things are bound to get interesting.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #bsd soukoku #bsd skk #skk #bsd au #bungou stray dogs au #bungo stray dogs au #bungo stray dogs alternate universe #bungou stray dogs alternate universe #bsd alternate universe #alternate universe #au

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

#helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo smut #zemo x reader #zemo x you #bun writes #baron zemo #zemo #i am KNEELING

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caffeineforbucky · 4 years ago

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As Time Goes By...(Chapter One)

Post-blip (five or six months later)

A/N: This is my first time writing on this website or anything public really, I usually just write for me, please just bear with me if it looks or sounds janky. Also, thanks for taking the time to read. I deeply & wholeheartedly appreciate you. Enjoy!

Summary: I suck at them but, I'll give it a shot. You- the reader, are surprised by 'old' friends when they show up out of the blue, asking for your help on a mission. (This is just the sum for chap. 1)

Word count: 2,760

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, ex-boyfriend jealousy...

The day was coming to an end, a small heatwave conjuring up a sweat as you wiped down your last table for the night. You blew out a breath, brushing back a sheen of perspiration with your forearm, watching the last customer walk out of the restaurant as the bell chimed above their head.

You never understood why people chose to sit inside when there were tables out on the sidewalk. It was hotter in here than out there, especially since the air conditioner had gone out just a few days prior and the fans above the tables were only circling the air inside. It was an actual oven, but they contended.

Your hightops heaved across the tile, dragging yourself with the sufficiency of a person who was only working because they had to. You kicked up the doorstop, pulling the door towards you with a small amount of goodwill and vigor to finish locking up, flipping the paper sign over from open to closed. It wasn't as if you hated your job. You thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of it all. It was the only person working the night shift job you hated with every fiber of your being. You weren't completely alone in the restaurant, having a few cooks and the owner to keep you company, especially on busy nights like the one you just had.

"I'm clocking out, Mrs. Turner!" You call out, reaching behind your back to untie the knot of your apron, pulling it up and off your neck once the ties came undone. Trudging back to the table, you picked up the disinfectant wipe and toss it in the bin, making your way to your boss's office before hanging up your apron on the hook. "Mrs. Turner...?" You murmur softly, poking your head in through the doorway, only to see her counting the profits for the day. "I'm heading home," You chime, pointing behind your shoulder with your thumb as she glances up at you.

"Alright, Honey," She beams, a bright smile pulling at her lips as her eyes meet yours. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Working for the Turners wasn't supposed to be a permanent job, in fact, it wasn't even your original plan, as opposed to the small favors you would complete now and then for the people that were willing to pay a pretty penny for your...services.

But you figured having a stable job was smarter and safer than the alternative. And the help wanted sign was very persuasive, due to the pretty colors and splashes of glitter. It looked like it was made by a child, which you later found out, was decorated by Mrs. Turner's seven-year-old. "Always." You accede, tapping the doorframe as your goodbye before parading into the breakroom to gather your things from the lockers.

You take your backpack off the hook and swing the strap over your shoulder before time punching your card and going straight through the back door. The sounds of the city hit your ears as the heavy door slammed behind you. Traffic honks and tires treading against the grain while you walk further into the busy streets of San Francisco.

As you were about to turn the corner, you were met with the sight of your friend's van, followed by a trumpet rendition of La Cucaracha. You grinned widely, gripping your strap tighter as you jog up the 1972 Ford Ecoline, aka Big Bertha. At least that's what you called it. "Luis!" You rejoice, resting your palms on the ledge. "What are you doing here?"

"Scotty sent me out for a few things," Luis answers, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his head turned to you. "I was just about to go when I saw you. Thought you might need a ride." He shrugs, a cute smile playing on his lips.

You nod, reciprocating the smile at his answer. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble..." You drag, your voice hesitant, as if he didn't offer at all.

"Nah, get in." He gestures, beckoning you with a wave of his hand. "Your place is on the way," Luis loosens his seatbelt, reaching over to the passenger side to pull up the lock, opening the door for you.

You climb in, plopping down on the tufted leather seats as you pulled the door towards you, closing it shut. "Thanks, Lu," You breathe, dropping your backpack below your feet, then you fasten your seatbelt. "How is Scott, anyway?" You ask as Luis changes gears and presses the gas, the van rolls onto the street.

"Ehh...he's...he's alright, know what I'm sayin'?" He answers, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. "I mean, he missed like five years of his daughter's life. He's just trying to spend as much time with her to make up for years they both lost."

You nibble at the inside of your cheek, nodding softly in agreement as the city lights passed you by. There wasn't much you could say to that, having lost so many people yourself. People you considered family just...gone.

"Yo!" Luis pipes up, snapping you out of your train of thought. "Didja see the news today?!" He shakes his head, whistling at the thought. "I can't believe they would just give some random dude the shield like that, ya know?"

You drew in your bottom lip in contempt, nodding once again at Luis. You had seen the news, and they couldn't have picked a better time to broadcast. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Turner asking you in, you would've hunted Sam Wilson down and kicked his ass yourself.

The van rolled to a stop, brakes squealing as Luis pulled up beside your apartment. You sighed heavily, glancing at the small apartment you shared with your Ex-boyfriend. By the looks of the living room light illuminating behind the curtains, he was home, and you absolutely dreaded when he was. It wasn't as if you wanted to live with him, but you had no other alternative. Ever since dropping your side job, money was tighter, and he was kind enough to let you stay, just until you found a place. "Thanks again for the ride, Lu." You mumble, unclicking your seatbelt as you took hold of your backpack. "You didn't have to."

"Don't even mention it, Y/N," Luis reassures, watching you as you pull at the door handle, opening it to get out. "I know how hard it is to get back into the norm."

You shut the passenger door, shooting him a sympathetic smile. "I'll see you around?"

With a smile, Luis waves goodbye and drives off into the night, the exhaust pipe blowing smoke as he rode off. You shook your head, cracking a smile at the honk of his horn. You turned towards the front entrance of the apartment, your stomach twisting as your smile dropped completely. You swallowed thickly, rolling the tension from your shoulders to prepare yourself before jogging up the small flight of stairs.

You fished your keys from the front pocket of your backpack, taking a breath before shoving the key into the lock, twisting as you pushed the door open with your shoulder. "Joshua?!" You voiced, calling out your ex's name to make sure it was him. You dropped your belongings beside the door, pushing your sneakers off before kicking the door shut with your foot.

"Yeah, in here!" He responds quickly, a slight tremor to his tone.

You frown softly, tossing your keys into the bowl on the console table before sauntering to where his voice was emanating from. "Josh, are you...?" Your voice came to a halt, your footsteps stopping altogether as you walked into the living room.

"Hey!" Joshua exclaims once your figure comes into view. "You wanna explain who they are?" He presses, his face crossed with fear as he gestures to the two men sitting calmly on your living room couch.

You remained quiet, your body tense, eyes wide as your focus shifted between the men on the couch and your ex.

"Well...?" Joshua demands, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting in his stance at the unsettling glare one of the men was sending his way. "I was in the middle of hosting game night-as you can see, when they showed up," Josh drops his arms, hands splaying out to gesture to the coffee table consisting of five different dips, two bulk-sized bags of tortilla chips, and a twenty-four pack of Blue Moon beer. "The guys were just about to come over."

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to refrain from any and all insults towards your ex. That explained why he was home. "Um..." You utter, pinching the bridge of your nose, "Fucking hell," You curse under your breath, eyes fluttering open to look at Joshua. "Josh," You begin, clearing your throat as you start with the man on the left. "They are Sam Wilson and..." You hesitate, eyes settling on the man to the right, his sight alone bringing back the memories that you swore you didn't want to remember. "James Barnes," You finish, ripping your eyes away from his baby blues to look at your ex. "Aka-"

"The Falcon and The Winter Soldier..." Joshua finishes for you, his eyes flashing with amazement, head whipping towards the guys. "Shit!" He curses, smiling widely like a kid in a candy store. "Can I get you guys anything? A plate? Beer?"

"Actually," You grunt, interrupting before Sam or Bucky could answer. "Can you give us a minute, Joshua?" Insisting while your foot tapped impatiently against the hardwood floor.

"Should I be worried?" He inquires, eyes filled with confusion as he looked between the three of you, trying to piece together the situation at hand. The main reason you and Joshua couldn't work it out was that you kept a lot of secrets, mostly from him. He didn't like the fact that you wouldn't let him in. Sure, you lied to him, the biggest lie being that you were an Avenger, but that was just to keep him safe. There were other reasons why you decided to split up as well. Joshua knew...he knew deep down you were just with him to pass the time. He could see it when he looked into your eyes. There was someone else in the reflection and it wasn't him. If he was honest with himself, he could admit that it did hurt him. That he wanted a chance to make it work with you, but with the way you were staring at James, he finally recognized that reflection.

He should've noticed it early on-like that day he had somehow convinced you to take a trip to D.C for a tour of the Captain America museum. You were hell-bent on not going, trying to make up some elaborate excuse or an alibi of sorts, but alas, you still went. And for some odd reason, you couldn't stop coming back to the Bucky Barnes portion.

"No," You reply, keeping it short to dismiss him.

Joshua's mouth set in a hard line, a foreign feeling forming in the pit of his stomach-jealousy. He never had to worry about it before, especially when his friends used to come over, back when you were still together. Except for that one time, but how could he blame them? You were the kind of person that listened, laughed at the jokes being made, could lend a hand when needed, and your looks were just a bonus in his book. "Uhm, yeah," He coughed, frowning softly while nodding his head at you. "I have to go pick up the pizza, anyway," Josh brushes past you, fetching his keys from the bowl while slipping on his Vans that sat up against the wall ledge that separated the front door from the living room. "Are you going to be okay?" He mumbles, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

You shoot Josh a smile, nodding reassuringly, his footsteps approaching closer before stopping in front of you, the palm of his hand landing gently on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Let me know if you need anything, m'kay?" Josh's voice is soft, the concern in his eyes making you feel guilty. You knew he cared about you, and there wasn't a time where you'd catch him staring at you for far too long, but you were well past that. "I'm just a text away," He notes, waving his cell in his hand.

"Josh, I'll be fine," You sigh, stepping away from his touch, the sound of his hand hitting his jeans as it dropped from your shoulder. "I always am."

"Right," Josh nods, looking over at the men on the couch before gazing back at you. "I'll see you in a bit, bug." And with that, he turns, opens the front door, and steps out, shutting the wooden door behind him.

You close your eyes, the pet name Josh had coined for you making you sigh. He agreed to stop calling you that all together and it only made you feel that more guilty for ending things. "So..." You pipe up, opening your eyes as you turned to look at the guys. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Bug?"

Bucky is the first to speak, his jaw clenched at the mere sound of the word. Indignant at the way Josh had touched you, even if it was just your shoulder. "I didn't know he knew you like that," Bucky flashes you a taut smile, nodding softly as he shared a look with Sam, but the falcon only shook his head. "How long have you been..." Bucky couldn't even finish the question, his glove-clad hands tightening at the thought of you being with somebody else...someone that wasn't him. Though, it was his own fault. If he hadn't done what he'd done-you'd have never found another.

"Wow," You scoff, padding closer to where they sat. "You don't miss a beat, do you? Just..." You sink into the sofa adjacent to the one they occupied. "-Right into the big stuff."

"I didn't bring you here to question her about her love life," Sam voices, his scolding eyes on the man beside him. "And she sure as hell isn't obligated to answer you, Bucky."

You smile gratefully at Sam before glancing down at your leg that had begun to bounce in anticipation. "What are you guys doing here? And how'd you find me?" You ask, tilting your head in curiosity as you look up at the guys. "When I resigned from the Avengers initiative, they ensured me that I wasn't able to be traced, not by your or any other remaining member. I was supposed to be scot-free," You declare, hitting your thigh with your fist.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Sam chuckles, shaking his head at the naivety. "We both know that's a bunch of bullshit. The government is always going to have its eyes on us. Especially free agents like you and us."

You draw in your bottom lip, biting down, eyes flickering between Sam and Bucky. You knew it was too good to be true, and part of you sensed the bullshit when the government explained it to you. You just didn't want to believe it.

"You were an ex-assassin. How could they not keep tabs on your whereabouts?" Sam recounts, emphasizing that it was in the past. At least, that's what they thought. "And I had some help from Redwing as well." He shrugs nonchalantly.

You choke out a laugh, shaking your head at the smug demeanor emitting from Sam. "Redwing," You whisper, smiling thinly. "Of course, nothing could ever be hidden from your personal P.I, huh?"

"I hate that thing," Bucky grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. in annoyance. "Invasion of privacy, I'm telling you."

"You love redwing," Sam jokes, playfully jabbing Bucky's arm with his elbow, "It's okay Bucky, you can admit it."

"Can we get back to the issue here?" You interject, "Not one of you has explained the reason you're here. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to see you...one more than the other," You whisper that last part but, completely aware that Bucky could hear it. "But, you both showing up out of the blue...? That's almost a bad omen."

"I didn't ask him here, by the way," Sam acknowledges, raising his hands in defense, "I just want to get that out of the way. Bucky came because he wanted to. I'm here," Sam gestures to himself, "-For one reason and one reason only..."

"And what's that?" You ask, leaning forward in your seated position.

"I need your help, Y/N."

#james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #angst #jealousy #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnesxreader #marvel #post blip #bucky/reader #samuel wilson #sam wilson #ex boyfriend #bucky x female reader #james barnes x reader

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tomtenadia · 3 years ago

Text

A Little Braver - 24

Hello everyone! Here we are with chapter 24

It’s winter in Orynth and the guys have a busy day. Rowan and Lorcan enjoy their ride with the team and we also have some Elorcan gossip.

Rowan and Lorcan also talk and we discover something about Lyria...

Have fun!

The following morning Aelin woke up abruptly and missed the warm body at her side and curled under the duvet in a human burrito.

“Ro?” She called with just her head peeking from under her cover.

A moment later he sat down in bed offering her a cup of coffee.

“Cold.”

He leaned over to kiss her “it snowed last night. There’s over a metre of snow outside.”

“Lovely,” she protested “heaters fires, accidents, roof collapses due to snow, slips, more road accidents, pile ups.”

“Doom and gloom this early in the morning?”

She groaned and grabbed the coffee, sitting up with still the duvet all around her “I love snow and winter, but on my day off.” She took a sip of her coffee “house fires increase wildly. All those mantlepieces not properly attended. Electrical fires because too many appliances are connected to an outlet. And let’s not forget carbon monoxide related deaths. Such a magical time.”

“We’ll build a snowman when you are off shift.”

Then he offered her a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“You definitely know how to woo a woman.” She grabbed the plate and tucked in happily.

“You and Lorcan need to stay on the truck. No matter what’s going on outside.”

Rowan nodded “we will.” And he kissed her head. He was really looking forward to ride with the team.

An hour later they were walking across the yard in front of the station when Lorcan and Elide arrived as well. Together. Hand in hand.

Aelin tugged Rowan gently and he nodded.

“Arriving together?” Joked Aelin “naughty, naughty girl.”

Elide smiled “yes, I slept at Lorcan’s. Guilty.”

“Hey, I am just happy for you two.”

The four walked into the station and while Elide and Aelin went to get changed, the two men went to the common room where some members of the team were already there.

“The posh boys are here.” Shouted Aedion as soon as they stepped in.

Rowan bowed “indeed we are.” Then he noticed two new women and went to introduce himself “Hi, I am Rowan.”

“This is Borte, our new truck candidate,” Aedion went to the woman’s side and made the introductions “he is the captain’s flying boy,” then he pointed at Lorcan “grumpy pants over here is Lorcan. He grunts a lot but does not bite. And he’s Elide’s.”

Rowan burst out laughing.

“This young lady here is Evangeline.” And he moved to the side of the blonde-haired woman “she is our paramedic in training. She is riding with Lys and Elide.”

Rowan greeted her back and she gave him a timid smile.

Aelin arrived a moment later and went to give a kiss on the cheek of her cousin “did you remove all the snow from the entrance all alone?”

“No, he had two minions.” Said Brullo sprawled on the sofa watching tv “the man is a tyrant.”

“My arms are useless.” Complained Ress.

Aelin patted both on the shoulders “well, better get ready for a busy day. From the pile of reports I have on my desk from second shift it looks like we are in for a treat.”

“Are truck and engine all stocked up and ready?”

Aedion nodded “I did a check and we are good.”

“Lys and Elide are doing a final check on the ambulance for supplies.”

In that instant dispatch alarm went off calling all units of east station on site for a structure fire.

“Here we go guys.” They all scrambled, wore their gear and reached the trucks.

“You two, in there and stay put, ok?”

The two men nodded.

The trucks left the station and Rowan felt a thrill run through his spine.

“What’s a structure fire?”

“Bad news,” joked Brullo at Rowan’s side.

“Or usually, what we call Monday.” Added Aelin never averting the eyes from the road.

Rowan stared at Nox driving and was impressed at the skill. He navigated busy intersections with confidence.

Aelin honked the horn a few times “move, you idiots.” The traffic peeled to the side and the engine resumed its run swiftly.

Once they arrived at the site Rowan gasped. The fire had enveloped the entire house.

“That is a structure fire,” said Aelin and the team got off truck and engine and Aelin started to give orders.

“Manon, Luca, venting the back.”

“Wes you are taking second floor with me. Aedion, Kyllian, Nox, you go to the first floor. Borte you go with them and stick to Aedion. Asterin, Ansel, you do ground floor. Brullo, Ren you are at the water lines. We need to be quick.”

Both Rowan and Lorcan were watching the scene speechless.

“I know she does this on a daily basis, but seeing her jumping into a building on fire is different than just imagining it.”

Dorian arrived on the scene a moment later and got an update from Brullo and Ren who were ready with the water lines.

“Chief, captain, you have two minutes to finish primary search and rescue then you all evacuate.” He looked up at the fire and flinched “Manon, how’s that venting going?”

“Venting now, sir.”

Temporary relief washed over him when he saw Nox run out with a woman in tow.

Lorcan’s eyes set on Elide, jumping in the woman’s rescue with Lysandra.

Rowan stared as more firefighters came out with people but never Aelin. He noticed Dorian staring at the fire nervously “Evacuate now.” He ordered over the radio. The chief must have noticed a change in the fire to call for abandoning the rescue. Rowan followed in fascination trying to remember some of the thing about fire he had read in Aelin’s books.

Aelin was walking low, almost crawling looking for people hiding below the smoke “fire department call out.”

“I am all clear, we need to go.” Said Wesley at her back.

Aelin had a last look around and was about to leave the room when she heard a voice “Wes, get out. I got this.”

“Cap, we need to go. The chief ordered us to evacuate.”

“Wes, get out.” She shouted and left, running to the locked door where she heard the voice coming from.

She gave her back to the door and kicked it open. Then she turned and saw a crib and inside there was a toddler.

“Aelin, get the hell out now.” Dorian’s voice came over the radio. She picked up the boy and squeezed him in her fire jacket and held him close for protection.

“Come on… come on…” Rowan heard Dorian’s order and his heart was racing painfully. Why wasn’t she listening?

Then he saw it the flareup in her floor and shouted “Aelin, please…”

Aelin looked around the room and realised the flashover had cut off her only exit route. Then ran to the window and with her elbow she smashed the glass all while holding the infant.

“There!” shouted someone from a lower level.

“Ress, move the aerial to her.”

Aelin leaned over and sat astride on the window ledge.

Aedion ran up the aerial and grabbed the toddler “I got him, get your arse in here.”

She was about to fully climb over when another flashover rocked the house and Aelin got thrown off balance and grabbed the ledge with her hands and hung there.

Aedion saw her and ran back up “give me a hand.” The man grabbed a hand and pulled her over on the aerial.

“You are fucking crazy.” He told her quietly.

She followed him down and she was on the street again.

“I said evacuate.” Shouted Dorian.

“Don’t.” She bit back “I saved that boy’s life.”

“Sit.” Dorian ordered her. Aelin removed her mask and marched off to sit against the truck, rotating her shoulders to ease the pain.

Lysandra passed her a bottle of water “are you okay?”

Aelin nodded while drinking eagerly and watching while the rest of the team put the fire out.

Rowan opened the door of the engine and went to her “you are insane. And I think I almost lost it in there.”

“I am fine.” She told him quietly extending her hand to him.

He marched back in the engine, joining Lorcan.

“Do you still think women can’t do dangerous jobs?” He bit back. A part of him was a bit mad at Aelin. What she did had been insane. But he could not ignore the deep sense of pride he had in her. He was utterly in love with a super badass woman. He watched as the team slowly wrapped up their jobs. Dorian had called for a secondary search and they were getting out the burnt down house right now. Aelin still sitting on the front bumper of the truck grounded by Dorian.

He looked at her and smiled. She was covered in soot but she still looked stunning to him. Rowan turned his head and saw Lorcan still studying Elide while she went from victim to victim and checked them out with Lysandra.

“I think I am badly in love with Elide.” He said very, very quietly.

“You what?”

“You heard me, Whitethorn. Don’t make me say it twice.”

“Would it be so bad?” Asked Rowan, sitting beside him.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Well, don’t.” In that instant the door opened and the team climbed back in. He took a seat behind Aelin and with his hand extended he brushed her cheek and she took his hand gently “did you enjoy the show?”

“It was literally terrifying.”

“Main to all units. Car accident on Southside. Multiple vehicles involved.”

“Copy that main, east station is en route. Dispatch an ambulance on site. Our one is on its way to Orynth general.” Replied Aelin over the radio.

“Copy that east. We are sending an ambulance to assist.”

“Punch it, Nox.”

“You two boys are in for a ride. A nice fire and a car pile-up. We just need a chemical spillage and most of the fun is complete.”

“Don’t jink it,” said Asterin from behind.

They drove for a short distance and at the site Rowan looked out of the window and saw a few cars all smashed against each other.

Aelin and the team got off engine and truck and she patted at his window and blew him a kiss and ran away.

Seeing her in action he suddenly realised why she ate so much.

“Luca, you come with me we’ll take the upturned car.” She shouted at the youngster “Aedion, take the red one with Ansel and Borte. Everyone spread and take the other cars. Remember fuel leaks.”

Luca grabbed his tools and started trying to pry open the door.

Aelin kneeled down and checked the woman “I need a c-collar,” she screamed to the paramedics.

The woman’s head was bloodied, she checked the pulse through the cracked window and found it weak and she was not breathing.

Luca finally did manage to get the door open and together they pulled it away. Aelin sneaked into the front of the car and pulled the collar around the woman’s neck.

Lysandra and Elide were back from the hospital run and joined them ready and waiting for their patient.

“Aelin, you need to pull her out quickly.”

“I know,” snapped Aelin trying to cut the belt. Once the belt was free she realised the woman’s legs were stuck.

“Luca, I need spreaders. Right now.” She told him and the young man ran to the truck to grab the tool. He came back and with some acrobatics Aelin placed the tool in the area where the pedals were and started separating the metal. “As soon as she is free grab her.”

The metal slowly bent and freed the woman’s legs. “Go.” Luca took the woman and passed her in the care of the paramedics.

“Evangeline, grab an intubation kit and intubate the woman.”

The young woman nodded and Aelin stared with worry.

Once she was intubated Elide and Lysandra continued to do all possible to revive the woman. Aelin and Luca towered over them ready to help if needed.

She saw them use a defibrillator.

“Pushing epi.” She heard Elide say and Aelin knew from her emergency medical training that it was bad.

She paced nervously running a hand in her dirty hair. She took stock of the situation and noticed a few people out of the cars and being helped out and looked after by the other ambulances. Good at least the others did manage to save someone.

Aelin heard the long continuous beep of a flat line and realised the woman did not make it. Then she heard Lysandra calling it.

“Sorry, Aelin.”

Luca was at her side in an instant “cap, we did all we could.”

“Well, it was not enough.” She snapped while in her head she started going through all she could have done differently.

“Aelin,” Lysandra stood to face her friend “there was very little you could have done differently.” Knowing exactly where her friend’s mind had wandered off “She was in bad shape already. We did all we could, as Luca said.”

Dorian joined them a moment later “Aelin, come.”

They moved to the side “Get it out of the system quickly. Yes, you lost one person and it hurts, but I kept an eye on you and you haven’t done anything that I wouldn’t have done myself. You tried. But that was the car in worst shape.” He patted her shoulder “think about the boy you saved from the fire. Think about the second chance you gave him.”

Aelin nodded and walked away and joined her team in packing up all the gear once they were done.

Once she climbed back on the engine she looked at Rowan and his expression was full of worry for her. Gods, she just wanted to melt in his arms for ten minutes and shut down everything. She felt his hand sneak in the space between seat and door and try to grab hers. He didn’t say anything. He just held her hand.

They arrived back at the station not long after.

Aelin got off the engine and started removing her turnout gear.

“Aedion, take Borte and show her the checks to do to the engines after a call. I’ll take the equipment. Before heading to their duties they all ran to the bathrooms to remove the layers of soot and dirt from the two calls.

Once everyone had stored their gear Aelin hid in the room for equipment and began doing her checks and clean it. She needed some time alone.

Ten minutes later a head of silver hair peeked through the open door “hey,” he said quietly.

“Come in,” she said to him and Rowan took a step in and sat on the bench at her side.

“I am in awe.” His knuckles brushed her cheek “I had an idea of what you guys did, but seeing it for real. I was amazed. But also utterly terrified.”

“I could not help that woman, though.” She said sadly, placing a mask on the ground “she died.”

“Fireheart, I heard what Dorian said and I agree. I am sure you did all you could. Her car looked in pretty banged up state from my corner. If she survived it would have been a big damn miracle.”

“I know,” she let out a loose breath “I know.” Her head heavy against a jacket “it’s just not easy. I knew she was in bad conditions but I still wanted to save her.”

“Come here.” He pulled her to him “I have a piece of gossip for you.”

Her head whipped to him and he saw a smile finally appear.

“Lorcan admitted to me he thinks he is badly in love with Elide.”

Aelin’s hand went to her mouth in surprise “this is big.”

Rowan nodded “I don’t think he told her yet. He is just worried he will mess it up.”

“He’d better not. Elide has strong feelings for him as well. He breaks her heart and I will have his head.”

He nodded “I have been keeping an eye on him.”

“Good, now go back to the others and let me finish.”

He leaned forward and kissed her deeply. Aelin dropped what she had in her hands and once free they grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer to her and then on top of her as she leaned back on the bench. He caged her head between his arms and was about to kiss her again when dispatch alarm went off.

“Really?” She stood quickly and kisses him “stay at the station.” He nodded and she ran out. And he walked out slowly and joined Lorcan and both men stared at the vehicles leave the floor.

“Are they alway this busy? They have been back for forty minutes.”

Rowan sighed “Aelin mentioned this morning that with snow, things tend to get busier.” Then he had an idea “ever built a snowman?”

Lorcan rolled his eyes “yes, I was a kid once too, remember?”

“Get your coat back on and come with me.”

Once both men were ready with warm clothes Rowan walked outside to the front of the fire station near the entrance “Here.” Said Rowan pointing at the spot.

“Here what?”

“The snowman. To cheer them up. They had a stressful morning and probably it will not slow down.”

Lorcan tied his hair and started rolling the snow to form a ball for the body. Rowan smiled and joined him, preparing a second one. Once Lorcan had the bottom part ready, Rowan lifted the second one on top and both started fixing the body to give it an even shape. Then Rowan created a smaller ball for the head. Once done he lifted the final piece and took a step back to look at their work “not too bad.”

Lorcan removed his scarf and placed it around the snowman’s neck. Then Rowan ran back inside in Aelin’s office and grabbed the plastic fake firefighter hat he had won the day they did drills, got back and placed it on the snowman. Finally they gave him eyes and a mouth and Lorcan added some wooden sticks at the side so that they looked like arms.

Rowan looked around and then spotted something more he could add. He ran to a corner and picked up an abandoned tool.

“What is that?”

Rowan lifted the tool “I think Aelin called it an Halligan bar. The guys use it to pry open things.” He explained placing it near the sticky hand of the snowman “now he looks perfect.”

Once they were done the two men went back into the station and decided to prepare a meal for them “they must be famished.”

Lorcan nodded “I agree. Let’s prepare a nice meal.”

They were halfway through making lunch when they heard the trucks finally return and both ran outside, and only truck and engine appeared. The ambulance must have gone to the hospital.

Rowan’s eyes landed on a wet Aelin, her body wrapped in a few thick blankets. He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her frame. She was freezing and he felt her shiver and her teeth clattering “What happened?” His hands brushed her back quickly.

“We had two calls. Another fire and then a kid who fell in the water while skating on the frozen lake in a park. Aelin grabbed the kid but fell in when the rope dropped.” Explained Aedion.

As on pure instinct Rowan got into action. He took Aelin and dragged her to her quarters “we need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

She stood in front of him shaking and hugging the blankets against her body. Slowly he helped her remove all the layers until she was stark naked in front of him.

“Any..” teeth clattering “any excuse to get me naked.” Her tone was deep with tiredness.

He chuckled and went to the shower block to grab some towels and once back he begun drying her up.

“I’ll be back in a second.” Rowan disappeared once more and this time went to Aedion “do you have any spare clothes for Aelin?”

The man nodded and he was back a few minutes later with a pile of dry clothes in his hands “how is she doing?”

“Trying to warm her up.” He was about to move away when he turned to the man “what the heck happened?”

“Aelin wanted Borte to practice with the ropes in a real situation so she had Borte drop her in the ice crack to help the boy. The girl lost hold of the rope. It happened so fast that I was not quick enough to grab her,” he explained “She kept diving in in the cold water until she grabbed the boy. Only once he was safe she let us help her out.”

“You should have taken her to the hospital.” Rowan bit back annoyed.

“Don’t you think we tried?” Aedion matched him in tone “she is stubborn. She refused treatment.”

Rowan growled and grabbed the clothes “thanks for this.” And ran back to her quarters.

Aelin was sitting on her bed, the blankets still wrapped around her.

“I have dry clothes for you.”

“I have spare bra and knickers in my locker. The combination is your birthday.” Her speech was slow and he could feel her exhaustion.

Rowan gave her a smirk and rushed out once again and returning not long after with the garments.

“My underwear doesn’t scare you anymore?”

Rowan chuckled “we live together and I have seen enough of your daring lingerie not to be affected.”

Aelin slowly dressed up again and when she was done Rowan pulled back the blankets and pushed her legs under and finished drying her hair “now you relax, I’ll see if I can get some hot food for you.” A gentle kiss on her head.

Rowan then went to Lorcan and asked him to make something hot for her. She was still shivering hard and he was getting very nervous.

He was back in her quarters when Lysandra popped in with a bag in her hands “do you mind if I check on her?”

He stood “no, please.”

Lysandra took her temperature “still 33 degrees. It was 32 when we took her out.” She grabbed the transparent bag at her side “this is an IV of warm saline, it will help her and should bring her temperature up.”

“Lorcan is making something hot for her.”

Lysandra nodded “have water at her side as well.” And Rowan nodded “it might take a while before her temperature goes up again and she will be exhausted.”

The woman then hanged the IV bag against the edge of her closet and left.

Dispatch alarm went off again and Aelin made a move but Rowan stopped her “you are not going anywhere.”

“I-I am the cap-captain. I have to.” She was still shivering from the cold.

He ran to the apparatus floor “Aedion, Aelin is not coming. She is still cold.”

“I was not expecting her to. I told Dorian she is out for today.”

“Thank you.”

The man nodded.

“Stay safe, all of you.”

Lorcan met him halfway “I am making soup.”

Rowan patted his arm “thank you.”

“Lorcan is making you soup.” He announced as he got back to her “we’ll go home as soon as you are feeling warmer.”

“I am fine.”

“No,” he brushed his hand through her hair “you are still shivery. You eat something hot. Warm up and then we’ll see.”

“I should be with the guys.”

Rowan shook his head “Aedion alerted Dorian and told him you are out for the day.”

Aelin was about to reply but Lorcan joined them carrying a bowl with hot soup.

“How is our fearless leader doing?” He asked while placing the bowl on her night stand with a spoon on the side.

“Still feeling cold.”

“I hope you’ll like the soup. I made it the other night for Elide and she loved it.”

“Thank you, Lorcan.”

He gave her a quick salute and a tight smile and disappeared.

“Are we sure he is the same man?”

Rowan shrugged and grabbed the bowl but Aelin snatched it from his hands “don’t you dare and try to spoon feed me. Stop fussing, captain.”

“Fine.” He stood “I’ll leave you to it.” And left.

He reached Lorcan who was sitting on the sofa watching tv.

“You okay?” He sat beside him.

“Yeah. I put the food away until they are back.” He sighed “I thought we had it bad in our last mission but the guys don’t seem to have too much downtime either.”

“Yeah, today is pretty bad. I saw them on slow days when they have even time to play games. Today has been hell.”

“How’s Aelin doing?”

Rowan’s head snapped in his direction “this is the first time you finally call her with her name. It’s always the captain or your woman.”

Lorcan cleared his voice almost embarrassed “I am starting to like her.”

“Good because I am planning on keeping her around.”

“At least she is not whiny.”

Rowan sighed. He knew Lorcan never liked Lyria. He was the only person who had been the most vocal about his disagreement in him marrying the woman. His other friends were not her fans but had shown him support when he proposed and after. Lorcan had always made his opinion clear. He had told him in his face that he was marrying the wrong woman.

“Well, at least you approve of this one.”

Lorcan snorted “damn man, there is no comparison. Lyria used the marriage to try and change you into her puppet and when it did not work she lost it and became this jealous bitch.” He stood and paced “she came to me and begged me to invent an excuse to fire you.”

“I did not know.”

“I never told you because for some crazy reason you seemed attached to her. Truth is… the woman was toxic.” He stopped in front of Rowan “Essar told me she saw her a few times in a club with another man, while we were away.”

Rowan leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes “that I suspected, just as much as I suspected that the baby was not mine.” He confessed “before we deployed for the mission in which I had to go home for her funeral I found the divorce paper she had ready.”

“And you still grieved.”

“She was my wife.” He almost shouted “yes, she was not perfect but I loved her.”

“Loved her as much as you love Aelin? Because in all the time I have known you I have never seen you with a woman the way you are with Aelin.”

“No, not even close.”

“Would you marry her?”

Rowan only indulged on that thought once. It was far too early. They had just started to actually build their relationship. He was happy where they were right now.

“Not while I am still on active duty. I promised myself that next time I get married I will not be an absent husband again. And I want a family one day. I just need to hold on for a bit. Less than five years and the prison is over.”

“I can make a few calls and get you a full time position at pilot school. I know you have been having issue with the force recently but your skills are vital.”

Rowan shook his head “Thanks but no. Once I retire I will be out forever and I have another path in mind. I want to train to become a paramedic and work in a firehouse.”

“Well, I guess your time as nurse Whitethorn will come handy on your application.”

Rowan flipped him off and patted his leg “let me go and check on Aelin.”

He left Lorcan and joined Aelin and found her wrapped under the blankets with just her face peeking out. Her phone against the head of the bed. He smiled when he saw the bowl completely empty. Good.

“Hey you,” he sat her side and brushed her head “how are you feeling?”

“Not great and I can’t seem to shake the cold from my bones and I feel so tired.”

He lay down at her side and tucked her against his body and looked at the saline bag “the IV is almost finished.”

“You need skin to skin to keep me warm.”

He flipped her nose “we can’t do that here at the fire station so this is it for now.”

“I am going to write a review on the sexy nurse website that sent you and complain that I am not satisfied with the service.”

“Menace.”

“Are the guys still out?”

Rowan nodded “Lorcan prepared lunch for everyone and I hope they will have time to sit down and eat when they come back.”

Rowan nodded “what were you watching?” He asked as he noticed her phone playing a movie.

“I don’t know a random fantasy series Netflix recommended. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

He bent his legs and placed the phone against them and put an arm around her shoulder “well, let’s watch trash tv together.” He made sure she was all tucked in and cozy.

Eventually he heard the squad come back in the station, turned his head and noticed Aelin napping. He stood and joined the team at the front. They all looked exhausted and he hoped Lorcan’s meal would be enough to cheer them up.

“I saw our new frozen candidate.” Joked Brullo while shedding his turnout gear.

“Lorcan and I thought it would cheer you up guys.”

The tall dark-haired man joined them as well “I have loads of food ready. Come and eat before you get called again.”

The team cheered and scrambled into the kitchen. Aedion joined Rowan “how is she doing?”

“Warming up but tired. She is sleeping now.”

“How was the last call?” Asked Lorcan curious.

“Drunken driver. Crashed into a car with a family. The father is a goner and one of the kids is in bad shape.” Explained Manon reining in her rage.

Lorcan cursed savagely “the bastard.”

The conversation died after that, the topic too hard to even add anything else.

“Thank you for lunch, both of you,” said Elide, giving a smile to both Lorcan and Rowan.

“Honestly, it was all Lorcan, I was busy playing nurse.” Added Rowan.

In that moment Dorian popped in.

“Chief!” Shouted Ren “come have food.”

The chief sat down and joined the team “how are you all doing? You guys had a long day.”

No one said much “I went at the hospital and checked on the last family you saved from the drunken driver. The doctors are confident the boy will make a full recovery with time.”

Everyone sighed in relief.

He took a bite “how is Aelin doing?”

“She is in her bunk, sleeping under a pile of blankets. She is very tired and cold.” Rowan explained.

“Is she warming up now?”asked Lysandra “she was showing some very early stages of hypothermia. Her temperature was around 32 degree when we pulled her out.”

“She did not accept to be taken to the hospital.” Pointed out Aedion with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

“I heard that.” Continued Dorian “we should have pushed her. Aelin can be stubborn.”

A few snorts echoed in the room.

In that instant Aelin walked into the room with her hoodie on and a blanket around her.

“Hey,” Rowan stood and went to her “what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want to be alone.” And she sat heavily in Rowan’s lap, never letting the blanket go.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” she croaked.

Everyone laughed and Rowan gave her his seat and placed a plate in front of her. Lysandra sneaked in and took her temperature very quickly “35.5 you are almost back to normal. Do you still feel cold?”

Aelin took a bite “I still don’t feel great.”

“That is normal. Your body went through a lot of shock.” Explained Elide.

“Captain Whitethorn, make sure she takes tomorrow off. This is an order.” Said Dorian staring at the other man.

“I am getting used to play nurse.”

Lorcan snorted “you can ask Lysandra or Elide to give you a ride in the ambulance, paramedic Whitethorn.” Rowan glared at him. That was something he had confessed only to Aelin and Lorcan.

“What is he talking about?” Asked Brullo curiously.

“I…” Rowan sighed “when I retire from the TAF in less than five years I want to retrain as a paramedic and work in a firehouse.”

“That is awesome,” shouted Asterin, sipping on her tea.

“You know that women will pretend to be sick to be treated by you?” Joked Ansel winking at him.

“Over my dead body.” Added Aelin while eating her food.

“If you need help to get into the program you let me know. I know it’s still a long time away, but, I work closely with the board and some of the trainers.” Added Dorian with a big smile.

Rowan nodded “thank you, sir. I will keep it in mind.”

“Are you sure you will be okay with leaving the airforce?” Asked Nox.

“I already did 12 years and signed up for five more a while ago. I will have no regrets when I retire.” He explained

Aedion was about to add something when dispatch alarm went off.

Dorian stood “come on guys. It’s one of those days.” Then he looked at Rowan “take her home.”

They all disappeared and Aelin sighed and drank more hot tea. Rowan and Lorcan tidied up the table and the kitchen.

It was an hour later when Rowan and Aelin got back home. He took her to the bedroom and she curled in bed hugging bird Rowan.

“Go under the blankets,” he said, pulling the duvet over her head “I can make you some tea.”

Aelin nodded “green tea, please?”

He kissed her head “yes, milady.”

Rowan came back five minutes later with a pot of tea and a cup “here you go.” Then he touched her forehead with his hand “you seem to get warmer.” Another kiss on her head “that is good.”

He climbed in bed and opened his laptop and started Netflix “Fancy watching something silly?”

“Can we watch a stupid movie that we can make fun of?”

Rowan chuckled and browsed a few titles “what do you think?” He pointed at a movie “this one seems quite silly.”

Aelin nodded and he placed the laptop on their legs, bird Rowan tucked between them and then his arm went around Aelin’s and pulled her to him.

“You got a day off tomorrow. We can go to the theatre if you feel like it.”

Aelin’s head snapped toward him and she smiled “I’d love to.” She grabbed her phone and showed him something “have you seen this play?”

Rowan had a look on her phone and nodded and her saddened face broke his heart “hey,” he took her hand “we can go and see it. The first time I went I was on my own and I had no one with whom to enjoy it with.” She gave him a smile “I want to go with you. Also, it was another production. So it won’t be the same play.”

Aelin grabbed bird Rowan “yes, captain.” She said in a funny voice “I want to go to the theatre with you.” She brushed the toy in Rowan’s face “are you my boyfriend, sexy man?”

Rowan took the toy “you are actually cuter than your owner.”

“You are a mean man.” She hit him with a pillow.

“What do you think, birdie? She is also violent.” He hugged the toy “you and I we need to stick together, partner. Such a tyrant.”

“Well, I’ll let you two make out and I’ll go and make out with the last few chocolate brownies left.” She got off the bed and walked away swaying her hips on purpose to taunt Rowan “they are better boyfriend material than the current one.”

Rowan growled and got off the bed and padded quickly to the kitchen lifted her in his arms and placed her on the counter, his arms at either side of her.

Aelin’s stare was mischievous and she leaned over for a kiss but he moved away and Aelin pulled him back to her “come here, Whitethorn. Stop annoying me.”

“I should have really read the terms and conditions of this relationship.” He teased her moving a bit closer, reducing the space between their bodies.

“You might eventually get out of the airforce, but you are not getting out of this.” She whispered against his lips. Then tensed for a brief second realising the enormity of what she had just said. Truth was she did not want let go of him. A part of her, one that she kept still hidden, desired that they would one day become more. And those thoughts terrified her. She had gone from hating the man, to wishing he would never leave her. It was crazy but her heart was telling that what she was feeling was real.

Rowan stared at her, his pine green eyes on her and an expression that she could not read. Terror seeping through her that she had gone too far and ruined the moment.

“Is that a promise?” His voice low, almost hopeful, his gaze never averting hers.

Aelin’s heart raced madly “if you want it.” She shook her head “I am sorry, it just came out.”

His hand joined hers on her knee and twinned his fingers to hers “did you mean it, though?”

Aelin slowly nodded and he smiled at her. His lips tugged up and the smile reached his eyes in a way that never fully happened before. The result left her breathless. Gods, he was even more stunning than usual. And she knew she had just seen a side of Rowan probably no one ever saw before. He smiled with others but she knew they were not full smiles. But this one… this one was something rare.

“And that’s all it matters for now.” His free hand brushed her face “there’s no hurry and I am loving this. Getting to know you. Spending time together. Spoiling you.”

“I am loving it too. So very much.” Her body inched closer “are you finally going to kiss me or you placed me on the counter to brag that you are taller than me?”

Rowan closed the distance and the kiss was everything but gentle. His hand shifted and grabbed her buttocks pulling her close while Aelin hands found their target on his back.

“We shouldn’t.” He pulled away “you need to rest.”

Aelin grabbed the collar of his t-shirt “you get me all wet and then back away? A nice energetic tumble in the sheets will get me all exhausted and ready for bed.”

Rowan did not answer, he just lifted her in his arms and her legs wrapped around his back and he carried her to the bedroom.

“Good boy.” She whispered.

And Rowan realised, while leaning forward to steal a kiss from her, that if he could do this for the rest of his existence, he’d be the happiest man of earth.

TAGS

@rowaelinismyotp

@swankii-art-teacher

@courtofjurdan

@whimsicallyreading

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@bruiseonthefaceofhumanity

@acreativelydifferentlove

@mis-lil-red

@thegreyj

@sailorsassley

@leiawritesstories

@clairec79

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #elide lochan #Lysandra #aedion ashryver

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hrina · 5 years ago

Text

1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals, because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening. That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

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#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #there's not a single curse word in this fic holy shit.............i think this is a first for me snfsjsdnsfsjfsn #ANYWAY i hope u like it!!!!! i'll be here if yall wanna chat after lol #farmhandrry #harry writing

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disastermages · 3 years ago

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[read it on ao3]

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“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” Cangse asks, her eyes looking up at the tin roof that hangs over the train station, as if she could see through it and watch as the building gets pelted with rain without letting it touch her or the bag that’s starting to dig into her shoulders. The weight of it is welcome and familiar, it no longer burns and itches like it had after she’d first left her mother’s house.

The old woman who’d been standing next to Cangse for the last two stops only smiles and shakes her head, “This is a winter rain still, my dear, you haven’t seen a rainy day in Yunmeng until you’ve been here in the spring.” Bringing one finger up to her nose to try and brush warmth back into it, Cangse wants to ask the woman what the difference between a winter and a spring rain was, but she doesn’t get the chance.

The headlights of something bulky and black sweep over Cangse and the old woman, making them squint, even as Yu Ziyuan sucks on a lemon in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel. They needed her there, but it would be a cold day in hell before Yu Ziyuan would be happy about it. Cangse doesn’t dare dim the smile on her face as she waves and turns back to the woman standing beside her.

“Popo, are you going to be alright by yourself?” Cangse does her best not to bend to speak to the old woman, but it’s hard, the woman is short, and Cangse worries about the woman hurting herself to look up at her. Rain and cold were supposed to hurt old bones, weren’t they? “My friend could give you a ride if you want.”

Calling Yu Ziyuan a friend was a stretch when she was already honking the horn, the sound of it blaring, but the old woman only smiles and shakes her head, her hands gripping her bag tightly. “My son will be here soon, you go on. Your friend doesn’t seem like the patient type.” For one moment longer, Cangse and the old woman share a conspirator’s smile, trying to drag another round of honking out of Yu Ziyuan, but then Cangse is being nudged down the steps.

“Are you wearing bell bottoms?” Cangse hadn’t expected to be helped with her bags, but the sight of Yu Ziyuan’s bell bottoms more than makes up for it, the grin spreads across Cangse’s face before she can stop it, the rain is still pelting her back, and Yu Ziyuan is still frowning up at her, though she shuffles further against her side of the car, the heel of her boot catching against the car’s floor.

“Shut the door! It’s freezing out!” Yu Ziyuan demands, though she looks no less like a ruffled cat when Cangse does as she’s told, the car shaking and bouncing as she gets settled into her seat, tracking in mud that neither of them mention. Cangse would get used to the mud, she would have time.

The car starts and Yu Ziyuan reaches into her bag with one hand, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, her foot still heavy on the brake. She must feel Cangse looking at her, because Yu Ziyuan looks back, the cigarette between two fingers, “Did your mother not tell you what mine did? It’s fine to smoke, but only in the car.” It’s the driest thing between either of them, but Cangse knows a joke when she hears one, and she doesn’t stop herself from snorting, even as she cracks the window, just enough to let the smoke out and to keep the warmth in. Cangse doesn’t blame Yu Ziyuan for smoking, not since Jiang Yanli’s health had started its downward tick, but it still almost makes her cough, and it still makes her eyes burn.

“I thought you and Jiang Fengmian would have sent Wei Changze after me.” Wei Changze would have been happier to see her, but he would have insisted on helping Cangse with her bags, and Cangse would have had to thank him, but not in the same way she would have thanked Yu Ziyuan, had she offered.

Finally, Yu Ziyuan takes her foot off the brake and they start rolling down the gentle slope of the hill, picking up speed when she finally presses on the gas, the cigarette still held between two fingers. Those fingers are no longer near Yu Ziyuan’s mouth, though. “Wei Changze had to drive A-Li and her father to a doctor’s appointment.” The phrase “A-Li and her father” raises Cangse’s eyebrows, the meaning behind it clear. They were fighting again. She’d seen it during their courtship, during their engagement, even on their wedding day. Or, at least, she’d seen some of their fighting on their wedding day. Wei Changze had carefully pulled her away from that, keeping her hands held tight in both of his.

Cangse sees the smile on her own face in the window’s reflection, but she can’t see the old woman on the train platform anymore, but she doesn’t see another pair of headlights behind Yu Ziyuan’s car, either. She must have gone inside of the office, she’d only stepped out to keep Cangse company after all, hadn’t she?

The woman had been there, and she’d gone inside the station office, where it was warmer and drier, to wait for her son.

“Fengmian wants another baby.” Yu Ziyuan says it suddenly but steadily, the train station behind them growing smaller and smaller in the rearview, the cigarette between her fingers is already halfway burnt. Cangse presses her lips together, but she isn’t surprised. Jiang Yanli was almost five, she was almost five and already needed delicate handling. Jiang Fengmian would want someone he could play with. It still sets Cangse’s teeth on edge.

“What do you want?”

Cangse doesn’t ask the question lightly, nor does she ask it to be cruel, but Yu Ziyuan’s cigarette is almost completely ash by now, only a sliver of white left to see before she stubs it out quickly. Some of the ash blows onto the denim of Cangse’s jacket, but she won’t begrudge Yu Ziyuan for it.

“I think,” Yu Ziyuan starts and stops, loosening her grip on the steering wheel, “I think I’d like a boy.”

“He fucking didn’t.” Wen Qing’s voice rings out across the dining room, a coffee cup still held in one of her hands, but Meng Yao doesn’t turn to look at her. The spoon in his hand is too heavy, but he still plays with it, even as Jiang Yanli stands up from where she lingers just inside his line of sight. She’d been lingering like that, since Saturday evening had dripped into Sunday morning like ink, and Meng Yao had pretended that he hadn’t heard Wen Qing tell Jiang Yanli that the bruises on his neck looked self-inflicted.

They weren’t, Jiang Yanli knew that, though she hadn’t said it. It went unsaid that there was no point, but Meng Yao knew that the bruises that had been there, even though they’re fading into nonexistence. He’d hoped… he’d wanted them to be gone by the time Lan Xichen got back, so he wouldn’t have to explain, but his hand still strays up towards his neck, trying to feel for swelling that went down. Jiang Yanli and her constant, too cold, ice pack had seen to that.

“I’m not pulling him out when he gets stuck in the mud again, my whole front end almost came off the last time.” With sleep heavy eyes, Meng Yao can see Jiang Yanli’s hand on the small of Wen Qing’s back, neither of them backing away from the window. They don’t have to worry about being seen, both Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were already in town, taking care of their own businesses. They rarely came home for lunch. Jiang Yanli had told him that when she’d stepped into his office, refusing to let Meng Yao take his lunch there. Jiang Yanli had gotten stubborn about leaving Meng Yao alone. She’d left his office door open, and lingered like a ghost dressed in blues, and purples, and the occasional yellow or green, or she’d kept him from leaving to the loneliness of his own room.

She’d almost driven him crazy, but he’d been grateful for it. Meng Yao had been grateful for every interruption and every excuse she’d given just to keep him from being alone.

It still hadn’t stopped the nightmares, nor had it stopped the sleepless hours that came in between, but Meng Yao is grateful for every measure Jiang Yanli had gone to. He’d done his best to swallow it all down, but even Yu Ziyuan had called him out for the dark bags under his eyes and the way he’d only picked at his breakfast.

His work still hadn’t suffered because of it, Meng Yao had made sure of that.

“A-Yao,” Jiang Yanli’s voice is as gentle as the hand she puts on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts and making Meng Yao look up at her. He wants to shield his eyes from the brightness that spreads across Jiang Yanli’s face, “You’ll come to the door with us, won’t you? Xichen is back, and he’ll want to see you first, I’m sure of it.” There’s insistence in Jiang Yanli’s voice, her smile wide and bright enough to make Meng Yao think to shield his face from it.

It takes him a moment too long to realize what she’s said, but when he does, Meng Yao is letting the spoon clatter into the bowl as he stands. He doesn’t care if Wen Qing turns to glare at him, he hasn’t cared about that since Saturday evening, but he somehow cares even less now.

Meng Yao can’t help but glance out the window as he walks by, his eyes falling on something light gray and shiny, and tragically just low enough to get caught in the worst of the mud if a storm were to come and swallow them up. Wen Qing’s words make sense now, even if Meng Yao had only been half listening to them. The three of them walk to the front door together, but Jiang Yanli allows Meng Yao to lead, trailing behind with Wen Qing as Lan Xichen beats them to the door, his bag hanging heavy on his shoulder and his keys still jingling in his hand.

Something makes Meng Yao stop short, his throat going tight and the light bruises around it suddenly burning again, as if they were fresh. His hand twitches, but Meng Yao won’t let himself reach up and press his fingers to them, he’d done enough of that when he’d looked into his own reflection, wary of any sudden change that might happen.

Can Lan Xichen see them? Would he have any idea that they had been there? If he doesn’t, Meng Yao won’t tell him, he couldn’t and wouldn’t put that weight on Lan Xichen’s shoulders. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he did, and he couldn’t expect Lan Xichen to either, no matter how much he might want to.

But there’s already a hand pressed against his cheek, a thumb already stroking just underneath Meng Yao’s eye, soft enough that he can’t choke down the pull he feels to wrap his hand around Lan Xichen’s wrist. His own thumb strokes over the rounded bone of Lan Xichen’s wrist. If they hadn’t had an audience, Meng Yao might have pressed a kiss to Lan Xichen’s palm, but he’s too aware of Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli standing at his back, pretending that they don’t see the two of them, just like Meng Yao pretends not to see the two of them in their spare, stolen moments.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen starts, a gentle smile spreading across his face, but Meng Yao feels no need to shield his eyes from it. His other hand twitches, wanting to reach up and hold Lan Xichen’s face in return, but the chance is taken away by the sounds of two people bounding down the stairs from where they’d been doing who knows what for how long, only coming down to cut Lan Xichen’s words before they’d even fully formed.

Meng Yao has no energy left to be angry at them for it, nor does he stop Lan Xichen’s hand from slipping away from his face, though their fingers still linger, still clinging to each other by the tips. Something so small shouldn’t settle all the ruffled parts of Meng Yao, but it does. Touching Lan Xichen soothes the frayed ends and soothes the bruises that still burn at Meng Yao’s throat, whether Lan Xichen can see them or not.

It’s easier to follow the group of them to the kitchen this time, to watch as Lan Xichen drinks water from a tall glass that Jiang Yanli gets for him, to watch him lean against the counter, to participate in the flurry of conversation that comes when Lan Xichen returns, a glass of water held in his own hand.

This is a routine that Meng Yao had seen before, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be part of it. He’d tried to stay out of it, and he’d tried hard, but now Meng Yao doesn’t have to force himself to remember Lan Xichen’s name, nor does he feel the prickle of being someone new somewhere old.

He doesn’t stop himself from listing, just a little, after the others leave him alone in the kitchen with Lan Xichen, all the frayed, ruffled, and now soothed parts of him dragging him downwards, until his forehead meets Lan Xichen’s shoulder and fingers press into Meng Yao’s cheek.

“Yanli called me, you know,” Lan Xichen starts gently, stroking the apple of Meng Yao’s cheek with just the tips of his fingers, “she told me what happened.” Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn’t imagined that Jiang Yanli would have told on him, but he might have known that she would, if she’d been pressed. “Let me see?” Lan Xichen asks, and Meng Yao starts. The prickly feeling comes back into his stomach and he hesitates for a moment too long, swallowing thickly. “I won’t make you, A-Yao, but I was worried, I thought…” Lan Xichen doesn’t finish, Meng Yao won’t make him.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Meng Yao makes himself tilt his head back, exposing what remains of the bruises and letting Lan Xichen bend down just a little to look at them. His thumbs press into the sides of Meng Yao’s throat, and he closes his eyes, his own hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He won’t allow himself to push Lan Xichen away, he would let him be kind.

Lan Xichen deserves to be kind, if he wants to.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispers, leaning in closer and pressing a kiss to either side of Meng Yao’s neck, “what got ahold of you?” Lan Xichen isn’t looking for an answer, Meng Yao knows, but the words stick in his throat like bones.

Meng Yao doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels both of Lan Xichen’s hands on his cheeks, his lips on his forehead. There isn’t a breath of space left between them, and Meng Yao finally lets himself set his hands onto Lan Xichen’s hips, asking him to stay close without a word. “I should have been here, I could have…”

“Xichen,” Meng Yao tries to speak, but his voice is already muffled against Lan Xichen’s chest as he’s pulled close and bone crushingly tight. What could he have done? Would he have gone out into the woods and returned with nothing, just like the police had? Would he have tried to open the door from the hall, and would he have gotten the same result that Meng Yao had? Meng Yao presses his face into Lan Xichen’s chest and breathes hard, trying to shake the cold memory of that room off of his skin still.

“A-Huan.” Lan Xichen reminds him softly, fingers stroking gently through his hair now, though his voice is no less serious, “When we’re alone, I’m A-Huan, remember?” Meng Yao nods, but doesn’t dare raise his face from Lan Xichen’s chest, not when Lan Xichen’s whole body is still so comfortingly warm around him, driving whatever miniscule amount of wakefulness away, and making Meng Yao sleepier by the second.

“A-Huan, I missed you.” Meng Yao allows himself to say it finally, no matter how muffled his voice is in Lan Xichen’s oversized sweater. The words twist a wary laugh out of Lan Xichen, the sound of it comforting against the top of Meng Yao’s head.

“I didn’t get around to grading any of the boys’ work that I said I would, that’s how much I missed you.” It pulls at something in Meng Yao’s chest to hear that, his arms sliding up to curl around Lan Xichen’s neck, though he’s almost too short for it. “I would start to, but then I would think about you, and I would think about how you would already have all of this done. I would try again, but the same thing kept happening.”

Despite everything, Meng Yao hears himself chuckle, the point of his chin pressing into the center of Lan Xichen’s chest. For a moment, there’s only quiet and the two of them, clinging to each other like no one else could walk into the kitchen and see them, but then Lan Xichen is speaking again, the sound of him quieter now than it had been before, “I thought we could sneak away a little bit later, that’s why I brought the car. There’s a place down by the cove, Yanli told me how to get there once.”

“You’d take me there?” Meng Yao has to ask, but the words are brittle. Even if Lan Xichen didn’t know how to get there, Meng Yao remembered the walk to the cove well, when he was younger, couples went there for bragging rights, but Meng Yao had never been lured there by some high school boyfriend’s siren call, not once.

“I would.” Lan Xichen answers, pulling away, though only far enough to look into Meng Yao’s eyes before he kisses him, soft and sweet, and far, far too quickly. “Yanli says it’s prettier at night, but I thought we might catch the sunset.”

If Jiang Yanli had gone to the cove… Meng Yao silences that thought with a tiny shake of his head. He wouldn’t think about what Jiang Yanli had done with anyone at the cove, be it Wen Qing or anyone else.

If Lan Xichen took him there, it would be their cove. Theirs and no one else’s.

“Alright.”

#the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fic #xiyao #untamed fic #jin guangyao #lan xichen #cangse sanren #yu ziyuan #meng yao #lan huan #jgy #lxc #madam yu #this chapter is a day early but who cares #its been two chapters of horror so i think im allowed a little fluff

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blush-and-books · 4 years ago

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she lives in daydreams with me

3+1 in which julie’s daydreaming spreads to luke, too. title and inspiration from she by harry styles.

a gift for my fellow fantoms on this beautiful clowngate.

a/n: this isn’t meant to be tied to/inspired by blissful reveries by noblealice on ao3, but it’s a great fic that i love and it’s a julie daydream fic so i may as well link it because you should check it out!!!

Luke noticed that sometimes, Julie would completely zone out.

It wasn’t often that she did it around him, but while she would try and study her pencil would be moving on the paper but her eyes would not be focused. Or when she would be washing the dishes, a faint humming could be heard under her breath as her hands mindlessly rinsed the plates and placed them into the dishwasher.

“They’re daydreams,” she whispers into the nearly pitch-black garage one night when they stay up, despite their exhaustion, just to be with each other. “I had them a little when I was a kid. It was how I got inspiration for a lot of songs.”

Julie’s voice raises to a higher pitch at the end of her sentence. It’s a familiar sound to Luke, now -- most of her little vocal cues are -- so he turns on the floor to face where she’s lying on the couch, and brings his hand up to her bare ankle.

“They’re musical?”

“They were, and then… They weren’t. I daydreamed a lot after my mom, but it was mostly her walking through the front door like she never left.”

He doesn’t have to say anything. He just needs to be there.”

“And then,” Julie continues, “after I met you, the music came back.”

His heart skips a beat. He knows she meant “you” as in him and Reggie and Alex, them as a collective unit; but it’s a fun little dream of his own for her to just be thinking of him.

Lightly, his thumb skates across her skin. “I’m glad. If anyone should have music in their life, it’s you, Julie.”

“Do you ever daydream?” Her voice is quiet. She’s probably falling asleep.

There’s no reply. So it’s just the two of them, in the dark, with his hand attached to her because now that he can feel her like this he doesn’t want to stop until he has to. His hand is just barely on her ankle, but with every trace of his fingers back and forth along the curve he marvels at his ability to do it in the first place.

A smile pops at the corners of Luke’s lips. “Not really,” he tells her. “If I did… They probably wouldn’t be musical, like yours.”

“Then what would you do?”

He stares, fixed, at his hand on her leg.

“The stuff I want to do, but can’t.”

nine in the morning, a man drops his kids off at school; and he’s thinking of you (like all of us do)

It’s a few days later when Luke realizes that something is off.

A simple Wednesday morning, when Julie darts into the garage before school with her backpack bouncing on her back as she runs up to each of them for a hug. Luke is the final recipient.

He enthusiastically throws his arms around her just as tightly as he does every morning, because in his heart, he wishes she could just stay. It’s ridiculous, and selfish, but he longs for the ability to lay on the torn old couch with Julie at his side and never have to leave.

“Writing when I come back?”

Her eyes are gazing up at him, round and wide and hopeful as her arms stay latched around his neck. Safely, he keeps his hands at her hips and doesn’t allow himself to consider letting them go anywhere else.

“Won’t you have homework?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I also have a song I want to work on and I won’t be able to focus until we finish it.”

Ironically, it sounds like one of the excuses he would give his parents long ago. Once the music was out of his head, he would tell them, then he could focus on homework.

(He didn’t.)

“You’re turning into me,” he jokes at her; to which she laughs with a bright and beautiful smile right in front of his face. His eyes can’t help but slip their focus to it. “Music before school? What happened to your dad saying ‘school first?’”

“I’ll tell him I’m going to the garage for peace and quiet.”

God, she’s making this harder and harder. For months, she was the one scolding him about her need to focus on school; and so he trained himself to come across as (marginally) less eager. But now that she’s bouncing on her tiptoes and her head is lifting right in front of his face as she teases fibbing to her dad to write with him, he doesn’t think he has much restraint left.

“How about…” He begins, trying to find something neutral to say. “How about you see how much homework you get and then decide what you want to do first?”

��Since when did you-”

The sound of Ray honking for Julie to come out ends their back-and-forth. It Luke looks close enough -- which he is, because why would he have anything better to do right now than look at Julie -- he can see her disappointment. “Go on, Boss. Your ride’s waiting. I’ll see you after school.”

Carefully, she slips from his arms and wishes them a final goodbye before hustling out of the garage.

And Luke collapses onto the couch the second she’s gone.

“You okay, man?”

“He’s fine, Reg. Just an idiot.”

Luke’s arm, that was covering his face, slides up so that he can glare at Alex. “Hey! Rude. Why am I an idiot?”

“Because all you do is agonize over Julie instead of talking to her.”

His forearm comes back down, blacking out his vision. “No point.”

Moments of quiet pass between the three boys, and eventually, the telltale sound of his bandmates poofing out of the room is faintly heard. Luke is left alone, on the couch.

He doesn’t know how much time passes where he sits in his self-made darkness before the garage door is opening again, and Julie is standing in the doorway, looking adrenaline-rushed and practically glowing. Luke, being Luke, jumps up from the couch in surprise.

“Julie! Hey, uh… What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave for school?”

Her grin is almost fake, it’s so blinding. “I forgot something.”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Julie is confidently making her way towards him before softly resting her hands on his jaw and pulling his lips down to hers.

Even through his all-encompassing shock, his hands somehow find their way to her waist, and then her back, and then her hair. She’s pulling him down to her, so he’s kind of uncomfortably arched over her but he doesn’t care one bit. Just the same as this morning, she is pressed against him from head to toe but this feels so much better.

He’s trying to keep it slow and soft so that he can savor every moment of this random, welcomed action; but Julie’s asking for a quicker tempo. Her hands are skating across his shoulders and running up to his hair, pulling him down even farther, and he finds himself grasping at her thighs to lift her up and make things more comfortable but she’s pulling away before he can.

Once they part, she shyly takes her bottom lip between her teeth and Luke almost steals her away and begs for more. “That was it,” she mumbles, and then the car horn is echoing out front again, and-

Luke shakes awake.

he takes a boat out, imagines just sailing away (and not telling his mates)

He knows it’s a daydream almost immediately -- a long period of staring at a blank journal can do that to a guy -- when Julie suddenly appears and dangles car keys in front of him.

She’s only just got her permit. She can’t actually drive independently yet.

But he’s spent time on more than one occasion considering what they can go do together when she can.

“You ready for a break, Rockstar?” She asks with a coy smile, and it’s just more confirmation that it’s a fantasy. Julie has only ever called him “Rockstar” once.

But he already likes where his imagination is taking him, so he puts the journal on the coffee table and poofs over to her. “Born ready.”

Her hand tangles itself in his, and she enthusiastically tugs him from the studio into the sunny daylight where her dad’s car sits in the driveway. “Carlos and Dad and Tia are at a baseball game,” she grins, almost proudly, “so you and I get to have an adventure.”

God, this really is a dream. Julie isn’t as impulsive as he can be, but he occasionally finds himself wanting at the idea of going MIA for a day. Just a day. Less than 24 hours, even, with Julie by his side and nobody around who knows them or their situation. Julie and Luke against the world, against life and death, and whatever comes next.

“Lead the way, Boss.”

Nearly within the blink of an eye, they’re on the PCH, speeding down the asphalt with loud music blaring from the speakers. With the windows rolled down and the humid but fresh air billowing around them in the car, it was all too easy for Luke to imagine that he was…

Alive.

This should have been them in 1995 -- him and Julie, him and the boys, all of them together and feeling the rush of being a group of stupid teenagers who love each other.

He knows his hair is getting ruffled as he tilts his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes to directly face the air blowing into him. Maybe, through this dream, just for a moment, he can be human.

“This is so fun!” Julie screams next to him, and his face just breaks into a grin because it is so fun. She sounds so full of joy. It’s his favorite sound.

While a part of him wants to hold the daydream in this moment, with the sun hitting his legs and Julie’s hair chaotically whirling around her head; he decides to let things keep going. A moment later, they are pulling into a nearly empty parking lot on the beach.

Their seatbelts click and slide from their chests. Julie’s hand firmly latches around his wrist and proceeds to sprint with him laughing hysterically as he trails behind her, the ocean shimmering in the distance. The moment that their feet splash in the saltwater, Luke takes the chance to pull Julie into his arms by her waist and lift her up; droplets popping up from the water in a cyclone of laughter.

There’s already sweat layering both of their foreheads, but Luke feels honored that he’s standing close enough to her to be able to see it.

Hours -- or, what he assumes are hours -- pass by with water lapping their legs and Luke licking the salt from her shoulder in a move that started as a joke but was really just another ridiculous fantasy fulfilled. After he tries to splash her particularly roughly, she squeals and turns away; turning back to reveal a dripping wet face behind a curtain of hair.

Even though there’s a glare in her eyes, it’s playful. And she doesn’t fight him when he walks up to her, lifts the hem of his loose-fitting tank, and swipes across her cheeks to catch most of it.

The blush on her cheeks could be blamed on excessive sun, or the affectionate gesture, or-

“Luke?”

It takes less than a second for Luke to be back in the studio, back in front of the blank page, back in his reality.

And Julie is in the doorway.

Her cheeks aren’t pink, her legs aren’t bare, her skin isn’t sweat and seawater sticky. It was just a regular school day for her.

She still glows.

“Luke?” He hears her say again, and it’s the final nail in his coffin.

“Yeah, sorry. I was zoning out there for a sec.”

Her curious smile relaxes, and she takes the unspoken invitation to enter the garage and throw her backpack down next to the couch. Her eyes quickly find the journal, “write anything good?”

“Not a word. Didn’t have my partner.”

The line earns him a friendly shoulder-nudge. It’s not much compared to what he just had, but it’s something.

Only, his impulsive brain tells him he needs more.

“Can we go to the beach one day?”

Refocusing her gaze from the open notebook to his face, she amusingly furrows her eyebrows. “I mean… When I have my license, totally. Whatever you guys want.”

“I…” Shut up. Stop here. “I was thinking you and I, actually. Just us.”

“Oh.” He knows that “oh.” It’s the same one she gave him when she was flustered in the school hallway. He can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad sign. Her fingers are twitching against her legs and her eyes avoid his, but a part of him sees his daydream bleed into reality when a pink hue dusts her cheeks. “Just us.”

“Yeah, if you’re-”

“I’d love to.”

Her mouth zips shut like she didn’t mean to say it. But he’s already smiling at her, and probably sporting a blush of his own, and he knows he doesn’t even have a funny remark to say in response.

All he can do is count the days until Julie gets her license.

and she sleeps in his bed (while he plays pretend)

Sometimes, when Julie is gone, he’ll just… Go to her room.

It’s not weird.

He doesn’t snoop -- well, he tries not to -- but everything that’s out in the open is there for his eyes to take in. This way, he gets the little intricate details of what makes Julie Julie that would otherwise take years to learn about a person.

Today, when he poofs in, the bed is unmade. Normally she makes it before leaving for school, but on the rare occasion that she is running late, it will remain in disarray until her return.

Unless, he…

No, no, boundaries.

But it’s just a little favor. And it’s not like she can kill him or anything right?

Once again, his impulsivity dominates the argument. And he’s suddenly wrapping her sheet in his fists and tugging it up and over her pillows, followed by the comforter.

With each puff of air that brushes his face from the falling sheets, he catches a bit of her peach perfume.

The action of making a bed feels so distant to him, but he remembers having to do it himself like it was yesterday. He was too careless to tuck anything in or smooth anything out -- it was just a simple tugging of his sheets to cover the mattress. If he had Julie around back then, pulling him back from the precipice of his relationship with his parents and making music that Bobby wouldn’t steal, then she probably would have shown him how to make his bed more presentable for when she came over.

In front of him, the bed he's making doesn’t look like Julie’s anymore.

It looks like his. His old twin bed at Mitch and Emily Patterson’s house, his old bedroom tucked in at the end of the hallway. Every shade of blue and gray and yellow feels so familiar but only a little off; like his brain is vaguely reconstructing his home with blurred edges and familiar memories.

“Your bathroom is surprisingly clean,” a familiarly warm voice says from behind him. Julie stands in his doorway, adorning an ethereal flower-patterned dress and clunky black combat boots.

The strength of the daydream takes over when she approaches him with a smile and his hands, on instinct, find her hips. “I don’t know why you’re shocked. I’m not a slob.”

“Well…” They both chuckle at her tone. “I thought that with your parents out of town, everything here would be falling apart.”

“Well, you’re here, so that could never happen.”

Her smile is the one thing that he knows he got exactly right in this reconstructed environment. He will always know Julie.

The smile that he leans down to lightly kiss is the same smile he sees when they know they have a catchy chorus on their hands, or when she gets an A on a test, or sometimes just when she comes come to say hi to them. It’s pure Julie joy.

“Now that you’ve made your bed since I was in the bathroom,” she murmurs as they pull away, “can we take that nap we were talking about? School was exhausting.”

Tiredly, her head falls to his chest. It’s such a small, warm gesture; but it sends his heart soaring painfully into the wall of his ribs. “Of course, Boss.”

With a gentle touch, he pulls back the covers of his bed and gestures for Julie to crawl in first. She waves him off, trying to tug at the laces of her boots so that she doesn’t sleep in her shoes, but Luke is quick to prop himself on the edge of the bed and lift her foot to her knee.

“Such a gentleman,” she mocks him, but there’s no venom to her voice. In fact, she’s looking down at him like she loves him.

He slowly helps her slip her foot from the boot with a soft grip on her ankle. “For you, anything.”

Charged, quiet beats pass between them as he finishes work on the other shoe and instantly scoots over to make room on the bed for her to lay next to him. He can make out a small, pleased smile as she does so; rolling over to cuddle into his chest and tangle their legs the moment that she is able to do so.

He feels her take a deep breath against his collarbone as he pulls the sheets up to cover them both. “It all smells like you,” she sighs as she exhales.

“Is that a good thing?”

No verbal response -- just a nod, and the sight of her fingers curling into the edge of the sheet and pulling it up right under her nose. “You cozy, Boss?”

Her melodic hum vibrates against his sternum. Parents out of town, cuddling with his girlfriend, playing music -- this was the dream.

Truly, because it fades around him the moment the recognizable sound of a car rolling up the driveway hits his ears.

And he’s poofing down to greet Julie, acting as if he doesn’t have all of these wants and needs in his head that all go back to her.

It’s a late night, it’s after a gig, and adrenaline is still running fast through Luke’s nonexistent veins. The elevation is still carrying him across the walkway as he recalls the way he shredded his solo and the audience leapt to their feet in roaring applause.

Sometimes, just to spend a few more minutes with her, Luke will walk Julie to her front door after a gig. She’ll send her dad inside and tell him she was going to “call” the guys, when really they would be partaking in a celebratory band hug before they all cleaned up and retired for the night.

Tonight was one of those nights, and the cobblestones felt like clouds under Luke’s shoes.

“Jules, you don’t understand, that high note? I didn’t think it could get better, but something about the lights and the crowds and-”

“It was your guitar solo that kept the audience hyped, though!”

“I think after you swung your wrecking ball voice at them, they would have listened to anything afterwards. You don’t get how magnetic you are, Jules.”

The two of them step up her porch, lingering on the top step. Even though he’s been looking at her all night, post-concert Julie has messy makeup and wild hair and he still sees the flashing lights of the stage reflected in her eyes. She carries the energy of performing with her everywhere she goes.

They’re closer than he realized. He can see the exact dark clouds under her eyes where her mascara has rubbed off, and the strands of hair dotting her hairline, and-

“Luke…”

He doesn’t know what she wants to say, but he doesn’t care. “You’re magnetic, Julie, really. It’s like magic. Nobody can resist you.”

The energy crackles against his fingertips, because he can feel himself twitching to touch her.

It’s true -- she’s magnetic. He’s leaning in closer and closer with every passing second.

But she’s the one who makes the first move.

It’s expected and it isn’t when her hands dart from her sides to his neck to his hair and guide him to her as if he would need any help finding her. His hands waist no time in pressing up against her back, bringing her body against his in a way he only feels in hugs-

Only this time, their lips are colliding, and he almost convinces himself this isn’t real.

It’s a sudden and beautiful situation that he’s sure he could only conjure in his daydreams that he has her to blame for in the first place. He’s probably laying on the couch in the studio replaying the look on her face when she hit the high note in question at the gig, and how the gasp she let out at the end propelled him into his solo like he’s never played it before.

There’s no way he’s making out with Julie right now.

And he doesn’t mean to vocalize his hesitation, but as her mouth breaks from his with deep breaths that are muted versions of the gasp from the gig, the words tumble from his mouth.

“Is this a dream?”

With a confused mirth in her eyes, she scrapes the back of his neck with her fingernails and it’s almost tantalizing enough for his head to lull back.

Please let this be a dream so that he doesn’t wake up tomorrow realizing he did all of this on the Molina’s front porch.

“I don’t think so,” Julie whispers through her grin. Her fingers apply pressure on the back of his neck, wanting him to come back to her lips probably as much as he wants to come back, and she leans farther into him with their faces barely an inch apart. “But even if it is -- isn’t it a wonderful dream?”

As her mouth parts underneath his and he coaxes another gasp out of her, he agrees -- it is a wonderful dream.

Tags: @willexx @bluefirewrites @pink-flame @lydias--stiles @constantly-singing @fighttoshinetogether @babydagger28

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #jukebox #palina #juke fanfic #jatp fanfic #julie molina x luke patterson #netflixwewantjatp2 #netflixwewantjatps2

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cno-inbminor · 5 years ago

Text

domus - pt. 3 (final)

a/n: it’s done. oh god it’s done. it’s like 2AM so it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. i also apologize in advance for the slightly rushed ending fas;elifjac you will need to read parts 1 and 2 (linked below) for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~8k

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; mentions of alcohol and getting drunk

pt. 1 | pt. 2

The grey sheets fail to startle you this time around, granted that it’s been about four days since you first arrived. It’s the constriction of cotton around your body that wakes you up on this Tuesday morning, and your brain can’t fathom why your loose pajamas have suddenly become so uncomfortable. But then the threads tickle the skin of your arms, your legs feel the slight scrape of denim, and your toes have trouble wiggling around due to the constraint of…socks.

Why are you wearing socks to sleep?

Much to your body’s protest, you stumble out of Keiji’s comfortable sheets (note to self: ask him where he got them from) and into the reflection of the body-length mirror in his room. Your vision blurs when all the colors of the rainbow come into place, exploding into a million stars as you lose a bit of your balance. Thankfully, your hand finds purchase against the wall and allows you to regain some stability. It only takes a few seconds, overwhelmingly agonizing as they are, before you can properly assess your current state.

Yesterday’s outfit glares back at you, though much more mussed and wrinkled than you last saw it. Similarly, your hair is in a disarray, hands subconsciously trying to take out any tangles while you can. Knowing the state of cleanliness that Keiji keeps his space in, you feel a wave of regret wash over you for having slept in his bed in air-polluted clothes that must have caught who knows how many germs. Immediately, you move to your suitcase to find something to change into, discarding your current outfit into a large plastic bag that acted as your nomadic hamper. As soon as you’re done, you begin to gather up all the layers of Keiji’s bed, fitted sheet and all, and leaving them on top of the mattress in separate piles by how they should be washed. But while you gather the first bundle into your arms, you take a quick look at the clock, slightly flabbergasted that it’s only a little past 6AM.

In your somewhat frantic attempt to atone for your sins against Keiji’s abode, you failed to notice the lack of sun rays peeking from behind the curtains. And much like you’ve done every day since you showed up, you pull the material back and greet the nostalgic view of Tokyo once more.

But serenity doesn’t come to you. In fact, your heart seems to be weighed down by an unknown anchor. Instinctively, your arms come up to hug yourself slightly, knowing that it’s a feeble attempt at best. The weight gradually mixes with a grasp of suffocation and the feeling closes around your throat. Immediately, you seek a source of fresh air, eyes catching a handle on the window that you somehow missed all these days. This means that Keiji has two separate doors to the balcony, including the one in the living room, and you do your best to quickly yet quietly slide the pane open. As soon as there’s enough space for you to slide through, you practically bound out and lean yourself over the rail of the balcony, lungs taking in deep breaths of oxygen.

Below you, the city has already begun to awaken, pedestrians the size of ants seemingly crawling their away down the street. Faint car honks echo through the city, the occasional train horn blaring louder than the rest. These are sights and sounds you find familiar, and somehow, the unease in your chest settles. Everything seems okay again, and you wonder why it crept up on you so suddenly.

The realization creeps through your veins as you drink in the sight of the SkyTree: you’re not quite ready to leave yet. You don’t think you’re ready to hop on a plane back to Sapporo and back to the apartment that you and Tetsuro spent the last few years building together. Every corner, every nook and cranny of that unit was filled with memories upon memories, mostly good and some bad. And even if you want to think back on them, to be able to look at them and recall the moments fondly, you know that Tetsuro’s unfortunate confession would immediately overshadow all of it. They would just leave you in the same pool of broken bitterness that you originally escaped from.

You still haven’t texted him.

He must be worried sick, you think as your feet drag you back inside and grab your device from the nightstand. You check through your notifications as you step out onto the balcony again, and after a few minutes, your thumb hovers over his conversation thread. A stinging pain courses through your system at the nickname you have set for his contact, and you hate it. You hate how fresh it still feels, completely and utterly frustrated at yourself that part of you still hasn’t let go of him. Why couldn’t you be stronger than this?

But despite your distress, you tap on it and hesitate above the keyboard, trying to think of the right words. Only a few come to your mind, and before you can convince yourself to back out (because you owed him at least this much), your thumbs type out two words and hit the send button, immediately locking it afterwards and sliding it into the pocket of your gym shorts. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He wanted a text of confirmation, you give him a text. That’s all you would allow yourself without crumbling again, and you were trying to put all the Band-aids you could on it.

Undoubtedly, Keiji’s presence helps. It’s easy to not think about Tetsuro when you’re around him, busying yourself with either work emails or recipes that you want to try out. The former doesn’t mind being a guinea pig, as he so kindly put it on Sunday. In fact, he handed you a cookbook from his shelf that had some recipes tabbed with sticky notes, pointing out the ones he thought you might enjoy. Surprisingly, they were all very appealing and to your taste, and part of you wonders if it’s just a mild coincidence. So far, you haven’t messed anything up, and Keiji always finishes his portion with slightly veiled enthusiasm. He knew how much you enjoyed cooking and baking for others, evidence presented by the years of instances when you stopped at their house to drop off your newest creations – so whether or not his compliments were genuine, you took it.

What you don’t know is the number of knowing glances throughout middle and high school that Keiji’s mother would give him as he munched on your edible gifts, pretending to seem unfazed though his eyes adopted a slight twinkle as he ate his fair share. If she could see him now, she’d notice the same shine in them.

Part of you itches to see if Tetsuro read your text message, if he will bother responding. The phone burns in your pocket, but you decide against it, letting it scorch against your thigh as you lean against the rail and watch the sky grow brighter. You miss the carefree mornings like these when you aren’t in a rush to leave the apartment. All that’s really on your mind now is what to make for breakfast, mentally running through all the ingredients that Keiji has.

Today seems like a good day for pancakes.

Keiji’s eyes snap open when his phone goes off, mentally groaning when he realized he forgot to turn off the daily alarm he usually sets for going into work. Now that he’s spending a few days at home, there’s been no need to get up so early. He left it on yesterday since they had that early ride on the bullet train, but with all the events that happened last night, he simply forgot.

Keiji sees that his bedroom door remains closed and believes you’re still asleep. But when he stands up to stretch and looks out his balcony windows, he catches a glimpse of your figure through the gap in the curtains. The breeze from the AC slightly causes them to flutter, giving him a better view as he steps around the couch to get a better angle. You look pensive and somewhat defeated, staring out into the open space as the wind from the heights tousles your hair. He wonders if you’ve taken the initiative to let Tetsuro know if you were okay.

At this thought, his eyes are drawn the phone on his coffee table, staring for a few seconds and calculating to see if this is a good idea. Unable to find any issues with it, he steps back to reach for the device. On the off-chance that you did text him, he doubts that you told your boyfriend where you’re staying. Keiji knows that Tetsuro would be worried regardless and perhaps might gain some comfort from knowing that you were staying with a friend. So before he can chicken out, he taps a short text, ignoring the fact that it’s been months since the two had last spoken outside of the group chat Koutaro created for the three of them and Tsukishima.

The lack of an immediate reply indicates that the former Nekoma captain is either still asleep or busy with his residency. Keiji casts one last look at you, noticing that you haven’t moved in the last few minutes. It seems that you’ll be there for a while and lost in your thoughts. There were only a few times in his life when he had witnessed this faraway look of yours, knowing it was better to leave you alone than to try and rip you out of the reverie. Perhaps he’ll take a chance with breakfast today, a small repayment for the onigiri and juice boxes you bought him on the train.

He thinks you might enjoy having some pancakes.

The deafening creak and slide of plastic ripping away from its rubber suction startles you. Much like you did when Keiji first scared you on Saturday morning, you turn to the source of fright with a hand over your pounding heart, staring in disbelief as said man walks out with a tray of food. Though this time, much to your amusement, he looks rather apologetic. The humor quickly morphs into guilt as you notice the two plates of pancakes – just how long had you been standing out here?

In a few steps, you meet him and silently take the tray from his hands, allowing him to close the balcony door. There’s no good place to put it besides the ground, and when Keiji sits next to it – legs stretched out – with his back against the plexiglass, you demurely mimic his movements on the other side of the tray. Without a word, Keiji places his portion onto his lap and grabs his own set of fork and knife. You simply stare at him until he gestures for you to do the same, returning the small smile he gives you. Both of you say your thanks before digging in, and you can’t help but notice how Keiji has drizzled just the right amount of syrup and in the way that you like it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” you apologize after a few bites in. Despite how fluffy and soft they are, the pancakes have a hard time going down your throat. Keiji had also gone through the trouble of making some freshly squeezed orange juice, yet the sip of the beverage doesn’t help much.

“It’s the least I could do after yesterday,” he says softly, and his eyes let you know he really didn’t mind. “Really, you’ve been cooking everything else. I saw a chance and took it.”

“But still—”

“I was more than happy to do it,” Keiji interjects. “It’s my way of saying thanks.”

“…has anyone ever told you that you’re too kind sometimes?” It’s easier to swallow now.

“Bokuto-san has mentioned it a few times,” he replies quickly, staring at you before you both burst out laughing.

From there, conversation flows more smoothly, topics ranging from the MSBY practice session yesterday to what mangas he’s been editing. The pancakes quickly disappear as the sun beams through the clouds, gradually heating up the earth until it was becoming somewhat unbearable in the heat. Keiji sports a light sheen of sweat by the time you two decide it’s wise to go back inside. He takes the tray before you can even think of grabbing it, ushering you to go ahead and shower first while he washes the dishes. As a sign of thanks, you give an affectionate squeeze around his upper arm as you walk past him.

Keiji pretends that his skin isn’t burning from the touch.

Right as he’s placing everything onto the drying rack, his phone rings from the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s not entirely surprised when Kuroo’s name flashes on the screen – after his text, he figured your boyfriend would either message back with lots of question marks or simply call to demand answers. A quick exhale leaves his lungs as he hits the green button and brings the device to his ear.

“Hi Kuroo-san.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s staying with me’?”

Keiji glances in the direction of the bathroom and hears the shower still running. Chances of you eavesdropping or overhearing would be low.

“It’s exactly what I mean. She’s staying with me for the time being.”

“Why you?”

“Honestly, that’s a good question.”

“…wait, so you didn’t know she was coming?”

“She called me when she was at the airport,” Keiji sighs, leaning back against the sink to keep a lookout on the bathroom. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“You’ve been treating her okay?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kuroo groans. “I only have about 10 minutes left in my break. How’s she doing?”

“As well as someone can do when their significant other suddenly tells them they’re not in love with them anymore.”

The silence is deafening over the phone. Keiji didn’t really mean to slip up right then and there, but he couldn’t help the simmering anger rising in his stomach.

“…I’m guessing she told you then.”

“Just last night. I asked when she got here, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. We went to see Bokuto-san yesterday.”

“That would explain the weird text I got from him last night. Did it help?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good then,” Kuroo sighs into the speaker, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keiji replies. “Though if you don’t mind me asking…how did it happen?”

“I don’t have a lot of time left so I’ll make it quick. It just – I don’t know, it kinda hit me one morning. I was wondering why I stopped feeling like I needed to get home as soon as possible. Stopped asking for details about her day, or at least nothing more than how it was. I’d forget half the things she was telling me whenever she talked about her job. It was nice coming home to someone after a long shift, but I just…it didn’t feel all that special knowing she was the one waiting for me. I love her like a best friend, just not romantically anymore. She doesn’t deserve to get dragged along because I can’t speak up about my feelings, so I told her. You understand, right?”

Immediately, Keiji wants to say no. No, he doesn’t get it. It’s nearly unfathomable to him that Tetsuro can just slowly stop caring about the things that were important to you. He imagines your figure curled up in bed, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to come home safely. He imagines you greeting Tetsuro happily, blissfully unaware that the man only kissed your cheek in greeting as a force of habit.

He imagines your face falling little by little as Tetsuro explains himself, your guard failing to mask the anguish you were feeling, and it pains him. Yet his torment at the thought could only be a small fraction of what you experienced – neither was this the time to be heavily biased.

“I don’t have any say in the matter,” Keiji begins and tries to keep his voice as level as possible. “But you know she’s not going to give in to your terms, right?”

“I know it’s not exactly sensible, but I’m trying—”

“Do you really think she’d be happy knowing that?” He nearly hisses into the phone, simply fed up with Kuroo’s stubbornness. “You’ve just told her you don’t love her anymore, insinuating that you’d be happier without her – knowing how much she loves you, do you really think she’d let you force yourself to try for her sake? You know how selfless she is!”

“And I’m trying to give her a chance to be selfish for once – this is on me, and I could at least try! I loved her once, who says I couldn’t love her again? I’ll give her all the time she needs and—"

“If you really cared about her, you would let her go!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Keiji has never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. “Don’t you understand it’d be nothing but torture for her? Every day, hanging onto some flimsy hope that everything will go back to the way it used to be? There’s a high chance that you’d never feel that way again, so you’re going to let her waste all that time on you? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Tetsuro knows Keiji’s right. He knows, and he loathes it. His own fear of drastic change caused him to spill all those empty promises to you, simply refusing to acknowledge that his own selfish desires were the demons speaking.

“…I’m glad you’re the one she’s staying with. It’s better than being alone in a hotel for a week.”

“You’re digressing.”

“Let her go, huh?”

“Like I said, if you really cared, then yes. Anything she asks of you, go with it. It’s the least you could do.”

“…I gotta go, my break’s up. Thanks, Akaashi.”

Keiji isn’t doing it for him. “Bye, Kuroo-san.”

Beep.

“You cannot leave your room until I let you!”

“(Y/n), what—”

“I need to get groceries and what I’m making is gonna take a really long time, but I’ve been dying to try it and this is the perfect time! I wanna surprise you though.”

“You don’t need to surprise me—”

Keiji’s feet are planted in the entrance of his bedroom door, heels digging into the hardwood as much as they can. After he came out of his shower and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you were pushing him towards his room, words spilling from your lips a mile a minute.

“Please?” You nearly pout when Keiji turns to get a good look at your face. “You said you need to work anyways, right? I’d be much less of a bother if I was doing something else.”

“You know I don’t mind you being in the same room,” he says gently, hoping that he never said anything that could’ve insinuated your presence wasn’t welcome wherever he was. “Company is nice.”

“We have tomorrow for that, it’s just this one time. Plus, I’m washing the bed and the sheets are still in the dryer.”

“You didn’t have to do that – hey, what if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“You have to promise not to peek!”

“(Y/n)—”

“Pinky promise, right now!” You demand, sticking out a pinky in between the two of you. Keiji pretends to be annoyed at your antics, but he can’t help but smile as your two pinkies link together and thumbs come up for a stamp.

“What if I need to get something to drink?”

“Just let me know and I’ll bring it to you. And no peeking!”

“As I promised, yes.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, and Keiji can only watch a little despondently as you disappear out the front door. He isn’t looking forward to the same sight that’ll occur in three days, though that time you’ll be lugging a suitcase behind you and potentially leaving for good.

Instantly, the apartment feels too empty. Everything is too quiet again, reminding him why he has a difficult relationship with working from home. Part of him is so used to the hustle and bustle of the manga company that the silence in an empty home somehow feels wrong. And now that some liveliness has been thrown into the mix, painting his abode with splashes of gentle hues, the void feels even more foreign.

You’ll be back within an hour. He just has to bear with it for that short time frame – there’s a decent pile of work waiting for him anyways.

It might be a good time to start practicing being alone again as well.

With determination, Keiji throws himself into his work, only stopping every couple of hours to lean back into his chair and rub his eyes. His little energy bursts come in various forms: when you first came back and greeted, “I’m home!” through his bedroom door, whenever you come in to refill his cup of water, when you come in with two plates of sandwiches during lunch time, and when you bring him some tea as a change of pace in the afternoon. Every gesture is strongly appreciated, and he wishes he could help you in the kitchen.

(He tries to ignore how domestic everything feels. It’s a sensation he finds himself getting drunk on, the bliss encasing his nerves with a pleasant numbness.)

Keiji broadcasts a bit of his work to you, talking you through his process and the things he looks out for when editing. With you, he doesn’t have to worry about leaking spoilers – in fact, you look more enraptured with his set-up than anything. He enjoys the awe and childlike wonder that cloud your face. It’s a far cry from the ruminative expression from this morning, and Keiji hopes that he’ll never have to see that face again.

Always a man of his word, he stays in his bedroom while you finish making dinner. Based on the smell and distinct sound of something being seared in a hot pan, Keiji gathers there’s meat involved. Earlier, his food processor had been going as well, though he couldn’t exactly place why it sounded like you were beating something against the counter. You might have been butchering something, meaning there was meat involved. But he knows his curiosity will be pleasantly sated and bides his time with mindless YouTube videos.

There’s a quiet knock on his door before it opens, revealing your slightly exhausted frame. Concern washes over him as his eyes frantically assess your current state, flitting around until he spots where your hand seems to be cradling the other. It could only mean one of two possible scenarios, and without a word, he grabs the medicine box from his closet in search of the burn ointment. You begin to try and explain what happened, but before you can even say that you accidentally touched one of racks in the oven with the back of your wrist, you spot the little tube between Keiji’s fingers and fall silent. His eyebrows furrow as he approaches you, standing no more than a couple of centimeters away from you as he finds the burn and begins to apply the balm.

“You should’ve let me help,” he says quietly, regret laced through the words. His lithe fingers hesitate over the mark, hoping that the salve was applied quickly enough to prevent any potential blistering.

“This is nothing,” you try to soothe him. “I was just lost in thought and didn’t realize that my arm was getting a little too close. What matters most is that I still saved the dinner.”

Keiji shakes his head and releases his hold. “That’s not the most important at all. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”

“You can help me by waiting here for another 15 minutes until I tell you to come out.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Keiji,” you firmly interject. Your hands grasp one of his, clenching around them to let him know it was okay. The small burn was no one’s fault but yours, and there was no need for him to feel guilty. “I’m okay, really. All the hard parts are over now, I just need to let something cool down and set up the table.”

The man before you releases a defeated sigh and you let go of his hand. Instantly, he misses the warmth and subconsciously flexes his hand in some strange attempt to retain the heat running through his fingers. “Call for me if you need any help, okay?”

“Of course.”

Once more, you exit his room and close the door behind you. He takes this time to stand by and stare out his balcony doors, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. A warm, orange glow fills his room as Keiji turns to look at his freshly washed bed, remembering the way you had scuttled in with an armful of linen and batted him away repeatedly from trying to help. He pictures the way you would curl up in sleep, imagining once again just how nice it would be to wake up together with the Tokyo sunrise.

“Dinner’s ready,” your voice calls out from behind him, stealing him away from his daydream. He makes his way around the bed to meet you where you demand him to close his eyes. The skeptical look causes you to laugh as you continue to goad him.

“I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything, promise.”

“If I so much as nudge a table with my big toe, I will kick you out.”

“So dramatic,” you scoff and roll your eyes. “Come on, please?”

Giving in to your requests seems second nature now, he realizes as his eyes slip shut, relying on nothing but the gentle hold you have on his hands and the sound of your voice. You do well in warning him about any possibility he might bump into something and Keiji’s trust in you solidifies – hell, they could be on the outskirts of an exploding volcano and he’d let you drag him around with a blindfold on. He can feel the nervousness rolling off you as you sit him down in his chair, hurriedly taking the seat across from him and adjusting yourself. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Keiji has to blink a few times to refocus his vision and chooses to ignore the way your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip for the plate in front of him. Two slices of beef wellington sit elegantly on the white porcelain, a glass of red wine in the top corner, and a set of a knife and fork on opposite sides. It looks straight out of a cookbook and he loves that you were right – he would be pleasantly surprised, and your hard work would certainly pay off.

But what makes the smile on his face form is the memory of you two discussing different cooking shows on the walk home from school one evening. You had asked him out of the blue if he watched anything cooking-related, and when he had listed some of the channels he watched from time to time, you rattled off a list of things you wanted to try making some day but never could with time constraints. Beef wellington had been one of those items, as well as a croquembouche, Totoro macarons, and others.

“Did you finally get to live out your Great British Bake Off dreams with the puff pastry?” Keiji jokes, lifting his utensils and beginning to cut through the meat. At his question, he realizes you must’ve been pounding out the slab of butter to be used when making puff pastry from scratch.

“That, and try to channel Gordon Ramsay for everything else,” you chuckle and watch him carefully as he chews on his first bite.

“This is really good, holy shit,” he murmurs and relief floods your system. “Are you sure this is your first time making it?”

“Yep!”

“I’m gonna have to get seconds later,” Keiji says, still slightly suspended in disbelief. You’re practically shaking in your seat from how well received the dish is.

“Try to save some room for the dessert wine later.”

“Oh, you bought some?”

“Yeah, they had the brand we like at the supermarket.”

“What’s the occasion?”

You ponder on that for a bit, trying to find the right words for it. What he didn’t know was that you caught the last half of his conversation on the phone with Tetsuro. At first, you felt a flare of anger when you put the pieces together and realized that Keiji had ratted out your location, almost storming out of the bathroom to give him a piece of your mind. But when you heard him defend and stand up for you, you faltered, hand hovering over the doorknob. Once again, he was holding your best interests at heart and risking potentially fraying his friendship with Tetsuro for you. It was exactly the kind of support you needed in that moment.

So you do what you’ve always done to show gratitude when it comes to Keiji: make something edible for him. In middle and high school, you felt that food was the least awkward thing you could give to him if he did something for you, considering that you felt you two weren’t very close. Permanent gifts were a touch too intimate, and you could always hide the fact that you were gifting him something under the pretense of wanting to give it to his mother instead. Any batch of cookies, muffins, palmiers, or pastries were mainly meant for him, saying thanks for walking home with you, driving you home, entertaining you during get-togethers, letting you win in Monopoly for once, and many more. That was something you originally planned to take to your grave since you figured that Keiji would find it weird or disturbing, but now…now seemed okay.

Just not this exact moment.

“To a new beginning,” you decide and lift up your glass, angling it towards him for cheers.

“To a new beginning,” he echoes. Keiji clinks his glass against you and you both take a sip, his eyes glimmering over the rim.

You are very tipsy. Borderline drunk. You honestly can’t remember the last time you got wine drunk, but somehow you just couldn’t stop drinking. If you had to give your best estimate, about 70% of the red wine had been consumed by you. And now that the dessert wine was open, you were nearing 60% of that as well.

Keiji sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, indulging you by letting you watch Ouran High School Host Club through some streaming service on his TV. It had been ages since he last saw anything from it, though he mainly focuses on your how far your inebriation is getting ahead of you. An hour ago, he had placed a cup of water by your side, though there was still half of it left. He wonders if he should be cutting you off soon, but you look too carefree and happy. And from experience, he knows that you could easily walk in a straight line if told to. It was an uncanny ability that you possessed, one that was somewhat showcased when you and Tetsuro showed up at a house party in college he just happened to also attend. Smashed overexaggerated your drunken state at the time, but the glossy look in your eyes now was very similar to that incident all those years ago.

The laugh that erupts from your chest as a result of Haruhi’s deadpan humor is slurred and lasts a little too long to be considered normal. Keiji feels his chest ease up when you reach for the water this time instead of the alcohol and chug it all down. He freezes when you turn towards him with a lazy smile spread across your face, but it turns into a pout when you hand him the now empty mug.

“Keiji-kun,” you mumble. “Please gimme more water?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He taunts, chuckling when your pout intensifies.

“I don’t wanna acci-acc-accid-accidentally break the mug. You brought it from your parents’, right? I used this one all the time back then.”

“Mmm,” he hums, prying the porcelain from your hands and standing to comply with your request.

Not even a minute passes after he returns when you clumsily shift closer to him. He doesn’t even have to time to internally gasp when you lay down on your back and plop your head onto his thighs, his arms now slightly suspended in the air because he honestly has no idea what to do with them. The best he can come up with is resting one arm on the back of the couch, the other tentatively placed on top of your head. He fights the need to run his fingers through your hair, although knowing it would bring you some comfort as the world begins to blur. It takes everything in him to not look down, but he’s not absorbing anything from the anime. The sounds fall short to the pounding in his ears, and the only time he can remember being this nervous was their last volleyball match during Nationals.

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Hm? For what?”

“…sticking up for me to Tetsu.”

“…didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Keiji attempts to digress, pinching the shell of your ear.

“It hurts!” You cry out, overstating the pain you felt. In his defense, he barely put any force behind it. “I just wanted to say thank you, ‘s all.”

“It was nothing, I—”

“You really think we’re friends?”

Keiji frowns. “I said that before, didn’t I? Did you ever think we weren’t?”

“Honestly…no, I didn’t,” you confess. It’ll be a miracle if you remember any of this tomorrow morning. “You always seemed so far away…there were a few times when I thought you maybe hated me, only tolerated me because you’d never hear the end of it from your mom if she ever caught you being mean to me. I mean, if you ever think about it…you never talked about yourself, y’know?”

Keiji pauses the TV, throwing the apartment into complete silence. He only hears your shaky breathing and the AC running.

“Anything I ever heard about you was from your mom because she’d tell my mom, and then my mom would gossip,” you continue, chuckling bitterly at the end. “I knew you, but did I really know you? It felt so weird, walking by you in school and knowing what you were struggling with. But then you’d just smile at me like nothing was wrong and that hurt.”

He’s been staring at the same frame for the last minute or so and feels more and more awful with every word that leaves your lips. Somehow it’s everything he’s wanted to hear for years, but it’s also so bittersweet and tragic. But the more important matter currently at hand is the sound of your sniffles. Oh god, are you crying? Keiji finally has a reason to look at you now, studying how a forearm is strewn across your eyes – but he can see the tear tracks and feel the dampness on his sweatpants as they slide down your face. He attempts to move the limb away but you resist as much as you can, though it doesn’t take much. Keiji reaches over and plucks out a tissue to help clean you up, trying to placate both you and the semblance of a heartbreak.

“I was always worried that you were just – hic – hiding your emotions, bottling them up inside until it’d burst one day. But then I had to – hic -- remind myself that you had other close friends to confide in. With how much you got along with your teammates, I figured they’d keep an eye on you…but I still worried a lot. I hoped that you’d finally open up during our family dinners someday. Instead, it took a break-up and me getting drunk.”

He’s frozen when you lift your hand to his face, the tips of your fingers barely ghosting over his jawline. The anguish in your eyes is palpable; he can’t help but broaden the contact, leaning into your palm until it’s cradling his cheek while maintaining eye contact with you.

“You were okay, right?” You whisper. “You could talk to Koutaro? Or Akinori?”

Keiji’s gaze softens considerably. He analyzes the drooping of your eyelids, how they fight to stay open until you receive a desirable answer from him. It’s incredibly touching how much you wanted to reach out to him during all those years, waiting, wishing, hoping. You were right – he did expose some of his more vulnerable moments to his teammates. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have days where he ached to call you and spill every negative emotion he was feeling.

“I was okay, I promise,” Keiji reassures you, giving in to comb through your hair. “Thank you, (y/n), for caring about me.”

Your arm slowly drops from its hold and curls up against your chest. Even in your drunken state, you feel at peace, like the world has finally been lifted from your shoulders. It’s the answer that you’ve been silently searching for all this time, the unknown stewing and festering in the back of your mind.

“I’m…glad…”

Keiji observes as you fall asleep and your breaths even out. With a heavy sigh, he gathers you into his arms bridal-style, hoping that the jostling doesn’t wake you up. Just like last night, he tucks you into bed, though not without leaving a gentle press of his lips against your temple.

The futon is cold and lonely. He’s really starting to not like it very much.

Wednesday and Thursday fly by so fast that he wonders if he accidentally time-traveled into Friday. Before he knows it, you’re rolling your suitcase out of his bedroom and towards his front door. As you slip on your shoes, your mind rattles off the locations of your important things: phone, wallet, keys, passport, driver’s license, and more. You turn back to look at your gracious host, shooting him your most appreciative smile.

“Thank you for everything this past week, Keiji. You don’t know how much it means to me, and I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“I was happy to have you, and you’ve done more than you needed to in trying to pay me back. Are you sure you don’t need me to drop you off at the airport?”

“I couldn’t impose on you any longer,” you wave off. “An Uber will do just fine.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re there? When you get back to your apartment?”

“Yes, mother,” you poke fun at him, laughing at the way he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll let that one pass for now. Remember, you can call me anytime, okay? About anything, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll remember that. See you around then?”

“See you around. Be safe.”

Neither of you make a move, not until Keiji steps forward to wrap you in a tight embrace. You do your best to return it ounce of ounce, bundling the back of his shirt in your fists. The last seven days have been pivotal to your friendship and you’ll never forget everything he’s done for you. Minutes pass, neither wanting to pull back until you can’t anymore, needing to meet the Uber outside. Keiji doesn’t have the heart to walk you all the way to the main entrance of the apartment complex, and you don’t force him.

Sitting in the airplane back to Sapporo is much less nerve-wracking than you originally predicted. You already have a list in mind of how to clear things out with Tetsuro, what steps you two need to take to make this split as seamless as possible. Various apartment listings had been bookmarked over the last couple of days, units big enough for just one person rather than two. The wound is still somewhat fresh, but scabs have already begun to form. You have Keiji to thank for in this process of healing.

As promised, you update him whenever you can, the final notice sent when you stand outside the door of your and Teturo’s apartment. It’s impossible for the nerves to not strike you now, even more so as you slowly unlock the door. The work shoes to the side of the doorway indicates that he is home, probably passed out in bed after a long shift. You quietly pad around the unit while putting some of your stuff away, though leaving the suitcase in the living room for now. When you step into the bedroom, Tetsuro is curled up on your side of the mattress, breathing deeply and soundly.

Two months ago, you would have peppered his face with kisses, demanding that he give you enough room to cuddle next to him. He would have opened his arms willingly, trapping you effectively in his new cage and you would’ve never thought of wanting to escape from him. So much has changed now, you think as you sit on the edge. You believe your action was subtle, but he stirs from his asleep, addressing the fact that you have returned. There is no screaming or crying, no tears or pleading. Instead, he shifts closer to give you an awkward hug around your waist while still laying on his side. It’s not the kind of hug that says, “Welcome home,” or “I miss you”, though.

It says, “I’m sorry,” and the placement of your hand on his embrace replies, “It’s okay.”

2 years later

Keiji likes this new routine with you.

For the last year and a half, you two schedule a weekly video call to catch up with each other. He likes this because he can watch you pull yourself together, adjust to the new life without Tetsuro. He gets to hear all the work stories that the other stopped bothering to pay attention to, no longer waiting for your next Snapchat or Instagram story update. Keiji’s at the friendship level now where he knows something has happened before you even post the photo. Sometimes you both cook together, finding a recipe that you’ll want to try. Other times you might just want to watch an episode or two of a show that’s caught both of your interests, swearing to each other that you’ll avoid spoilers or watching ahead.

It’s not the kind of relationship he truly wants with you, but it’s close enough and he’d be a fool to not take it.

Last week, you had to miss the video call, saying that your boss dropped a massive project onto your desk. You were going to be pulling overtime, and Keiji reminds you to take the necessary breaks. Texting is sparse and he feels the worry exponentially grow – were you pushing yourself too hard? Were you eating foods other than convenience store bentos and onigiris? Were you getting enough sleep at night?

His phone blares your custom ringtone from his kitchen counter and Keiji practically lunges for it, quickly picking up and holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

What is this feeling of déjà vu? “I was about to start cooking something up just now, why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was so busy, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk last week. What about you?”

“I’m good, everything’s normal. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way home. By the way, I bought you a gift. They said it got delivered not a few minutes ago.”

“Really? That’s weird, the front desk usually notifies me as soon as they get it. But you shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” he hears and relishes in the warmth your words bring. “Why don’t you go downstairs and check?”

“I guess I can. Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you get me?”

“What’s the point in me telling you when you’re about to open it in a few minutes?”

“Well,” Keiji starts and wrenches open the door. “I—”

He stops in his tracks, voice caught in his throat. You stand sheepishly before him, phone still at your ear as you drink in his stunned expression. Keiji doesn’t get taken by surprise very often, and you wish you had a camera for this moment. Koutaro would’ve loved it.

“Hey there,” he hears from you and through the speaker, a slight delay between the two phrases as his mind grasps at the situation.

“Why are you here?” He asks, hanging up and letting you in. Keiji hopes it doesn’t sound as rude as it might’ve come across. Like a gentleman, he takes your jacket and allows you enough space to take off your shoes.

“They’re doing renovations at my new apartment so I can’t really move in yet…I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days?”

Wait, new apartment? “Are you moving back to Tokyo?”

Excitement isn’t enough to describe the pure feeling of joy that runs through his veins when you nod. This is what you must have been so busy dealing with, packing everything up and scheduling a small moving van. All you have is your purse and a large suitcase, meaning that the rest of your belongings must still be en route.

“You can stay for as long as you need to. Take the bed, I can—”

“Actually, I lied. Not about moving to Tokyo,” you quickly defend when he seems to bristle at your words. “There aren’t any renovations and the rest of my stuff is coming tomorrow…but I purposely booked a ticket to get here today. You’re the first person I wanted to see.”

Not your parents, not some of your other friends. Him. You wanted to come and see him first before anyone else. The tone in your confession holds so much weight, a fondness in them that’s too intimate for someone who was just a friend. This was your way of trying to let him know that there was something more going on, but you were afraid that he would reject you. The ball was in his court now, and it was entirely up to him to decide how to proceed.

No one knows you better than him. No one is in tune or in sync with you as much as he is. It’s terrifyingly thrilling, but you want this. You want him.

So he takes one stride forward, cradles your face between his hands, and crashes his lips onto yours with a searing passion that’s been kept under lock and key for far, far too long. It’s perfect, you smile to yourself. But most of all…

It feels like home.

Bonus (a week later):

[Konoha]: hey, kou, is keiji dating anyone????

[Bokuto]: not that I know of??? why???

[Konoha]: apparently he just rsvp’d to my wedding and said he’s bringing a plus one??? i’m so confused, why wouldn’t he tell us??

[Bokuto]: did your fiancée see a name anywhere?

[Konoha]: hang on, she’s checking.

[Konoha]: oh shit.

[Konoha]: OH SHIT.

[Konoha]: HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK

[Bokuto]: WHO IS IT YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT NOW

[Konoha]: HE’S BRINGING FUCKING (Y/N) JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[Bokuto]: ABOUT GODDAMN TIME

[Konoha]: YOU OWE ME 5000 YEN, PAY UP

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dual1pa · 4 years ago

Text

music festival (lasso daddy)

agent whiskey x fem!reader

Warnings: seductive dancing, language, kissing, fluff, light smut, mentions of smut as well, alcohol consumption, daddy kink??

“Good morning, sugar.” Jack whispered softly into your ear. His fingertips lightly run across your bare arms as he attempts to wake you up.

You turn over scratching your eyes, “What time is it?”

“6AM baby!” he says excitedly. Jack was the morning person, you… were not.

Jack was the type to get up way earlier than necessary to either work out or practice some new lasso techniques. You, on the other hand, wanted to take the extra time to sleep. Some days Jack wouldn’t wake you but today wasn’t that day.

You groan, “Babe! It’s so early! Missions we endevor never start this early.” you roll over and stamp a pillow over your head.

He sighs, walking over to your side of the bed to sit down, “What if I told you that we’re going to a music festival today?”

You were intrigued. You did love music festivals.

You lifted the pillow off your head, “Really?”

Jack nodded, “Glastonbury. Real fun event, according to Eggsy. We have to plant a tracking device on one of the ladies that’s attending the concert. Normally, I would be doing a team event but this only takes one of us and Eggsy said that he’ll take care of it. So it’s just you and me, sugar!”

You leaned forward, now more awake, “Oh, this is so exciting!”

Jacked turned on the light on the table as you went over to your suitcase to look for something to wear.

“I knew this mission would get you outta bed.”

You smirked, walking over to him, putting your arms around his neck, “This will be our first concert as a couple. Sure, we’re sort of on a mission but I’m sure Eggsy can figure it out himself. He’s a big boy.”

Jack's hands snaked their way down from your hips to the curves of your ass, which caused you to let out a slight moan most certainly catching his attention. He brought his mouth to yours, instantly turning you on by the way he used his tongue.

You giggle as you pushed him away, “I wanna continue this but now I really have to think about what I’m going to wear because I feel like I have nothing in this big ol’ sack of a suitcase.”

Walking back over to your bag, you continue to look through it casually taking a shirt out and holding it in front of you in the mirror, contemplating if it’s the right one for a festival.

“All you have is sexy stuff, babe. I promise.” he smirked.

“Yeah, but it has to be perfect. There’s gonna be so many people there. Want to fit in.”

“Oh, stop worrying too much, it’ll be fine. No one's gonna care what you wear.” he wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you in close.

You roll your eyes at his statement, “I know but still. I want to look hot.”

“Trust me, that’s not gonna be a problem.” he kisses down your neck.

A couple hours later, you finally reached a decision. A bandana shirt that was cut down the middle, high waisted jean shorts and a pair of cowboy boots. You put on your favorite jewelry and a pair of sunglasses to finish the cute yet comfortable look. Jack was in his usual getup: a pair of jeans, boots, white t-shirt, leather jacket, sunglasses and a cowboy hat.

“You know when you wear that hat and sunglasses do something to me.” you bit down on your lip, eyeing your boyfriend.

“That’s exactly why I wear it, honey. To get you all riled up so I can fuck you good when we complete the mission.”

You slap his arm at the raunchy comment, “Let’s go, stud.”

Jack’s truck only had one row of seats and luckily they were all together. You plant yourself right next to Jack as he speeds out of the hotel entrance. The warm London breeze fills your nostrils as you lean back, fully enjoying the ride.

Jack pulled into the long driveway, both of you shocked at how big Eggsy’s place was.

“Holy fuck.” you laugh.

“Nothing like what we got in Tennessee.” Jack said.

“Damn straight.”

Jack honked the horn, letting Eggsy know that you guys were ready. Now, Jack can get irritated for how long it takes someone to get ready, especially if the car is on and gas is wasting away.

Jack let out a huff, which let you know he was growing impatient. He laid his hand on the horn once again.

“Oh will you relax? He’s probably saying goodbye to his woman. Giving her one last kiss. You’re probably ruining a romantic moment. You wouldn’t like that if it was us.” you laid your head on his shoulder.

Jack sighed in defeat, he knew you were right. He was lucky that he could take you on missions. Eggsy on the other hand, couldn’t. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed the top of your head.

Before he could respond, Eggsy slowly walked out of the mansion and hopped in the car. You greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. Jack tipped his hat forward as a hello. The drive over was an uncomfortable silence since no one knew how to start up a conversation.

As you inched closer and closer to the music festival, you gained more excitement. Jack parked and locked the car behind him, even though the car didn’t have a top. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and yours around his waist. Eggsy eyed the target.

“You know how this works right?” Jack showed him the tracking device.

“Yea. Just finger this woman and it’ll set the tracking device.”

Jack nodded and patted him on the back, “Good luck.”

He took your hand and guided you away, “Wait, he has to fuck that girl?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders, “Not necessarily. He just has to finger her.”

“Damn. I thought he just, like, slipped it in her bag or something.”

“Oh, no darling. God, you’re still a newbie at all this, huh?”

You defended yourself, “I’ve only been doing this for what 6 months? I’m still trying to get down all the training y’all have me doing.”

“You’ll get there. That’s why you’re with me. Learning from the best of the best.”

“Yes, lasso daddy.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you, “Lasso daddy?”

You wrapped your arms around him, “I said what I said.”

“I kinda like that name, I’m gonna need you to call me that more often.” he leaned down to peck your lips with his.

“C’mon, let’s go watch some performers.”

Your hips swayed to the beat of the music. You had a beer in your hands that slightly spilled every so often when you would dance a little too hard. Jack's hands never left your hips, he loved the way you were dancing up on him. After a while, he felt himself become hot and bothered. He leaned down to speak in your ear,

“Why don’t we go back to our tent?”

“You got a tent?”

“Surprise.” he smirked, letting his lips ghost over the skin of your neck.

You turn in his grip, capturing his lips, “Lets go, lasso daddy.”

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #kingsman the golden circle

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fics-for-my-heart · 4 years ago

Text

Newbie (s.s)

Summary: Starting a new school with the ability to see that someone is supernatural takes a crazy turn

Word count:4069

Warning: talk of people dying, typical teen wolf stuff

A/N: I was going to put this all in one part but I think it’s going to be too long. So here’s part one. I might make it a series? There’s not too much romance in this but I definitely plan to make it happen soon. Let me know what you think. Also I’ve been watching Buffy which was why it was included in this.

Part Two

Masterlist

Starting a new school always sucked. But, starting a new school with the knowledge of the supernatural you had seemed to make it worse. Plus, your ability to see when someone was supernatural made things a bit awkward. Each supernatural gave off their own color, like an aura, and that’s what you could see. There was a good amount of supernaturals in your old town, but as you walked the streets of Beacon Hills you realized there were so many more.

“Have a good day sweetie.” Your mom said as you shut the car door. “Don’t let your sight get in your way. Make some friends.”

“I’ll try. Love you.”

“Love you! I’ll be at the shop if you need me.” Then she was gone, leaving you to watch everyone running around to get to friends or to class.

After checking in at the front office, the secretary, Mrs. Elle, took you to your first class. “Mrs. Hopkins is a wonderful English teacher. If you need any help throughout the day come see me.” She knocked on the door, then opened it to a room full of people, the teacher was at the board. A beautiful purple glow surrounded her.

Fairy.

“Mrs. Hopkins, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She just transferred here.”

Mrs. Hopkins gave a bright smile, walking over to shake your hand. “Lovely to meet you. We are just starting on The Great Gatsby. There’s only a few seats left but you can pick wherever you want.” She handed you a copy of the book, then spoke to Mrs. Elle.

When you looked up at the room, only a handful of people were looking at you, others were texting or reading. Your eyes scanned the seats, spotting one before the color around the boy beside it caught your eye.

Your brows furrowed. Since coming here you’d seen many colors you hadn’t categorized yet. But this one was different. It was deep purple, with black and red, and even some blues and greens. Normally there was one color, just different shades. Never this many.

The boy cocked his head to the side and you jumped a bit, realizing you’d been staring. With your head low, you made your way to the seat, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. To distract yourself, you plotted your classes on the little map, and when the bell rang you booked it out of the room.

The rest of the day was as good as any first day. Lots of stuff to catch up on, lots of new colors to try and match with a supernatural. But the boy from English took up most of your mind. Why did he have so many colors?

Your mind was racing as the school day drew to a close. The sun on your face felt so nice, and the calm breeze helped slow everything down. It gave you a moment of peace as you scanned the lot for your moms car. Then you saw him. He was at a table with two baby blues, a teal, and a scarlet. They looked like they were in deep conversation.

There was this weird pull in your gut, and before you could stop yourself you were walking toward them.

“It’s only taking their skin. Why?” The older looking baby blue said, he looked stressed. They all did.

The scarlet was running her fingers down a book, biting her lip.

The teal shrugged. “Maybe it just likes to eat the skin?”

Little baby blue just stared at her like she was nuts before big baby blue spoke up. “If it did we wouldn’t be finding discarded skin near the freshly skinned bodies.”

Your heart stopped. No. There’s no way.

“None of them look eaten, and the skin only has a line down their back. It doesn’t make sense. Stiles, has your dad said anything?”

The boy from English, Stiles, spoke up. “Not really. He said they seemed to have some type of film on them. Like they had been preserved in something.”

“Skincrawler.” You whispered, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N?” Stiles asked. They were all looking at you as your eyes widened.

“I..uh.” You cleared your throat and tried to steady your breath. “Do they have a stab mark at the base of their neck.” They nodded and you were suddenly light headed.

“Shit,” Stiles jumped up, gently pushing you into his seat. “Guys this is Y/N. She’s in my English class.”

“What did you call this thing?” Scarlet asked. They were all still looking at you like you were crazy.

“A skincrawler.” You rubbed your face. “They kill someone and wear their skin.”

“Fuck.” Little baby blue whispered.

You shook your head. “You’re all safe. They don’t go after other supernaturals.” That earned you an even weirder set of looks. “You two are werewolves.” You nodded at the baby blues. “You’re part werewolf, part something else.” You nodded to teal. “And I’m not sure what you two are.” You said to scarlet and Stiles.

None of them spoke for a minute. Then big baby blue extended his hand. “I’m Scott McCall.” His eyes were red, such a contrast to his coloring.

“You’re an alpha.” You shook his hand and he cocked a brow. “I can see your true eyes.”

His hand slipped from yours, replaced with little baby blue, Liam, then teal, Malia. Scarlets name was Lydia. Then Stiles shook your hand, his grip was firm, and he held it while he spoke. “How did you know what they are?”

“Each supernatural has its own aura, my family is what they call True Seers. I can see the auras around you, and your true eyes. I’m the first in almost a decade so I’m pretty much learning on my own. Which is why I’m not able to identify yours.” You glanced at Stiles, Lydia, and Malia.

“I’m a Banshee.” Lydia gave you a soft smile then looked back to the book.

“Werecoyote.” Malia supplied with a shrug. “Both my parents tried to kill me so don’t ask.”

You looked up at Stiles but he shook his head. “Just your average human here. Which doesn’t seem like a good thing with these skin guys walking around.”

It didn’t make sense that he wasn’t a supernatural, but there were more pressing things to address.

“Are these like the skinwalkers? Because I’ve seen them and I don’t think they would do this.” Scott questioned, turning to look at you.

You shook your head. “No. Walkers are non threatening. The crawlers, as you can tell, aren’t. And they are hard to locate. When they stab the person, not only does it kill them, but it seems to transfer all their memories. So even though it’s still the monster inside. It looks and has the same mannerisms as the person it killed.”

“How do we stop it?” Malia asked, she looked ready for a fight.

A shudder ran down your body at the memory of when you last saw this creature. “It’s not easy. First you have to know how many there are. They are stronger packs. Then you have to find out where they are staying. But even harder you have to find out who they are wearing.”

Scott rubbed his face, everyone was looking at him, waiting for his directions. “We need Derick and Argent. Maybe Parish too.”

“I’ll go to the library and see if I can find anything out.” Lydia said, having no luck with the current book. “Where are we meeting?”

“The loft, at seven.” Scott turned to you. “Would you come? You seem to know more about them than we do. We could use your help.”

You glanced around at them. A group of friends who were closer than close. Had clearly been through a lot. “Yeah. Yeah. Just give me the address.”

“I can pick you up.” Stiles said quickly, stumbling over his words when everyone turned to him. “I mean. It’s kinda hard to get to that first time. It would be easier for someone to give you a ride.” His ears turned pink as Lydia and Malia shared a look. Scott was trying to hold his grin. But Liam was flat out laughing at him.

Before you could respond a horn honked, followed by your mom calling your name. “Here.” You tore a piece of paper and quickly wrote your address and number down. “Just let me know when you get there.”

As you walked away you could hear the low voices talking at once followed by Stiles. “You guys suck I’m going home.”

—

You shared everything with your mom on the way home. Even though she wasn’t a true seer, everyone in her family got trained in case it appeared later in life.

“So this true alpha has a mixed pack?” She asked, dropping the box of books on the table.

“Yes. There’s definitely a lot of stuff they have been through. I could feel how strong their connection was.” You started thumbing through the first book, your mom following suit with her own.

“And this Stiles boy, he said he wasn’t supernatural?”

“Yeah. I can’t even begin to explain the way the colors were around him. It was like someone spilled a bunch of paint. Very chaotic.” You closed the book, having no luck. “I don’t think the book is in here. I think it’s with Buffy.”

Your mother examined the books, then nodded. “I think so. I’ll give her a call. But you should probably go get it tonight if she has it.”

“Can I take the car?” You asked, slightly excited about getting to go see someone who was pretty much your Aunt but you get to drive.

Your mom nodded. But before you could say anything your phone vibrated

Maybe Stiles: Y/N? It’s Stiles. I’m outside. I think.

You: Okay, I'll be out in a sec.

"Stiles is here." You told your mom as you slipped into your jacket. "Just have Buffy text me if she has the box." You gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Love you."

She opened another book. "I will. I'll also keep looking and see if I can find anything. I know there was something in one of the books last time, I just have to remember which one. And I love you too. Be safe."

You slipped your bad over your shoulder and headed out where a blue jeep was waiting. Stiles was in the front seat tapping his fingers and singing to whatever was playing. He was wearing a maroon lacrosse hoodie and his hair looked more disheveled than it did at school. His tapping stopped when you opened the door and Should I Stay or Should I Go was playing. His voice died off as he looked at you standing in the door.

"The Clash? Good choice." You said as the song came to an end, and a new one began. "Oh, and Fleetwood Mac?"

Stiles shrugged, taking your bag for you as you climbed in. "Can never go wrong with some classic rock."

"That is very true. I think I might like you a bit now Stiles." His colors were dimmer than they had been at school, which was normal, the sun always made them brighter. They were much less distracting this way too. "So, is there anything I should know before we get to this mystery loft?"

"There's a lot you should know. But the drive isn't long enough for everything, so I'll give you the rundown." He pulled the jeep from the curb and started talking.

He told you who Derek, Argent, and Parrish were and how Scott and Liam turned. But that was about as much as he could get in before pulling into the parking lot of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. So many questions were running through your mind as you looked up at the building. "Funny, a werewolf living in a warehouse."

Stiles laughed, then nodded to the door. "I swear the loft is so much better inside."

He was right. When he pulled open the huge metal door it revealed a beautiful open space full of natural light and people. Four you had already met, three you had names for but not faces.

Scott was quick to introduce you to the other three. Derek was obviously a werewolf with his baby blue coloring that matched his eyes. Jordan Parrish was the first human hellhound you've met, and his color was exactly like fire.

Argent was the only one without a color. "A True Seer?" He asked, shaking your hand. "I've only met one other person with that ability. Welcome to Beacon. Scott said you knew something about these things?"

"We fought a group of them when I lived in Sunnydale. I know we had some literature on them, my mom is looking through our books, but I think I think they might have gotten left at my Aunt's house. Once I know though I’m heading there to get them.”

Argent nodded, then pointed to the map. “We have a rough pattern. And based on the bodies I think we might be dealing with just one.”

“What do you know about the people who have been killed?” You asked, noting the four red circles on the map that seemed to form a shape.

“Not a lot.” Parrish spoke up, opening a file. “All different ages. Different builds. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern here. But we are still searching through their backgrounds. So far the only possibility is they knew each other or went to the local church.”

You nodded. “They liked to go after people who knew each other. How often are bodies turning up?”

“Every two weeks or so. The last one was the day before yesterday.” Stiles answered, your phone buzzed.

Buffy: The books are here. Fill me in on what’s happening.

You: I’m coming to you. Be there soon.

“My Aunt has the books. Is it okay if I take a picture of this? I think I can get some extra help.” You asked nodding to the map.

"Yeah. The more help we can get the better." Argent said, stepping back as you angled your phone for a picture.

"Is there anyone missing from the school?" Derek asked, looking at the others.

Lydia shrugged. "Not sure yet. There were a few people out today, but they could have just been normal reasons. I'm keeping an eye on everything."

"We couldn't get a scent from the body." Malia added, giving a shudder. "I think I might have nightmares for weeks."

“I didn’t see anyone there with the color for them. It’s kind of a deep grey color. Even when they switch skins the color is still there.” You looked at Stiles, his brows were pinched and he was working his thumb with his teeth as he looked at the map. "Hey," you whispered as the others discussed the body. "Could you drive me home. Buffy has the books so I need to get to Sunnydale."

His brown eyes met yours, the concentration making him look adorable. "Huh? Oh, yeah." He looked up at the others. "Guys, I'm going to take Y/N home so she can go get the books."

After some quick goodbyes the two of you made your way back to the jeep.

"If you want, I can take you there?" Stiles said, his hand was rubbing at the back of his neck.

You stopped and looked at him. "To Sunnydale?"

"Yeah. It's late, and well, I'd feel safer away from here." He shrugged. "Plus it's late."

"You said that." You laughed. "If you want to drive me that's alright."

"Awesome." He jumped in the jeep, waited for you to get in and buckled, then looked over at you. "So, how do I get to Sunnydale?"

------

"Okay, wait. Like, a full, legit deadpool?" The two of you were almost there, and Stiles had started filling you in on everything they had experienced.

"Yes. That's how we found out that Parrish was supernatural. He was on the list. Peter, is the one who put the list out. He used another banshee to set it all up."

"So, if I ever meet Peter can I punch him?" Even though you'd just met this group you felt oddly protective of them.

"He is kinda neutral right now, but honestly, go for it." He winked at you. "So is there anything I should know before we get there?"

"Well, yes. Buffy isn't really my aunt, but she feels like one. She's the slayer. Spike might be there, he's a vampire. Willow, she's like my other aunt, she's a witch." Excitement started building as you saw the sign for the exit.

He was silent for a moment, then he said slowly. "Vampire?"

"He won't try anything. He knows I can take him, but also he's fairly harmless."

Stiles rubbed his lips. "Vampire."

"Yes. Turn left up here." You said. He followed your directions, eventually pulling in front of the house you spent much of your childhood. "You okay?"

"Uh. Yeah. I'm still processing I think."

You placed your hand on his arm. "I promise you it'll be fine. But if you want, you can stay in the car."

He shook his head, removing the keys. "Lets go."

All the lights were on as you made your way to the house, Spike was standing in the open door.

"Hello, Little Bit." His British accent was familiar and a sudden wave of homesickness hit you.

You ignored it though, rolling our eyes. "Shut it you loof. The skin crawlers are back, we don't have time for your shit."

He placed a hand on his chest. "Your words wound, missy." His eyes traveled behind you. "Who's the bloke?"

"Spike, Stiles. Stiles, Spike.” You pointed at Spike. "Be nice." You grabbed Stiles' hand and led him into the house, avoiding Spike's attempt to ruffle your hair. The others were already waiting in the dining room.

You quickly introduced Stiles to everyone. Then jumped right into what you knew.

“I went by the crypt.” Spike said after you’d told them the last of the information. “It didn’t look like anything escaped. Place is still rubble.”

“Wait.” Stiles leaned his elbows on the table. “How exactly did you guys kill these things last time?”

“Blew them up.” Willow shrugged, flipping through a book.

Stiles fell back into his chair and looked at you. “Blew them up?”

“Buf has army connections so we were able to… acquire some top grade stuff.” You told him. You could tell he was trying to process all of this, he was really cute.

“Argent might have some connections.” He nodded as if he was coming up with a plan.

You let him be and flipped open a book, your heart immediately stopping. Before saying anything you looked back at one of the pictures you had taken.

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” You dragged your finger down the page as you read. “This is bad.” Everyone was looking at you as you pointed to the diagram in the book. “A resurrection ritual.”

“Bloody hell.” Spike said, jumping from his chair, heading straight to the little bar table.

Willow paled, pulling the book to her and muttered something under her breath.

“Uh. That doesn’t seem like a good thing.” Stiles said.

You turned to him, your heart was pounding. “The skincrawler is doing a resurrection ritual. Basically it’s trying to bring something back from the dead. Probably the ones we killed.”

“Okay that sounds really bad.”

“It says here it has to make five sacrifices around a power source.” Willow said. “But it’s not doing it over the Hellmouth so what’s in Beacon Hills?” She looked over at Stiles. You opened the picture of the map, examining it closer, trying to find the pattern.

“The Nemeton.” He whispered, struggling to get his phone out of his pocket. After pressing around there was the trill of a call.

“Stiles? It’s late.” Argents' gruff voice filled the room.

“I know I know. Listen. I need you to go to that map. I need you to go to it and tell me what’s in the middle of those points.”

“A star!” You shouted. “They need five points. There are four on here. If you trace a star you can find the next dump site and the middle.”

There was rustling on the phone, then, “Shit.”

“It’s The Nemeton isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s The Nemeton.” There was some more noise from the other side of the phone. “I’ve got a rough guess where the next dump site will be. I’ll tell the others.”

“So The Nemeton is a real thing?” Willow asked, amazement all over her face.

You raised your hand. “Excuse me, what is that?”

“Short version? A supernatural ritual site created by Druids. It’s what makes Beacon Hills a beacon for the supernatural.”

“I thought they were a myth.” Willows eyes were dazed as she zoned out.

“So you’re telling me I moved from the demon hotspot Hellmouth to the literal beacon for the supernatural? Unbelievable.”

"It's very real. Sometime I'll tell you the story of how it awoke and got so much power. But right now we need to get back." He looked incredibly worried.

"It's late." Buffy said, she and Spike had been talking in the corner quietly. "You guys should stay here and sleep for a few hours before driving back."

Spike nodded. "I agree, Little Bit. There's still a few days till you should really worry. Sleep a bit and head out at sunrise."

As he spoke, you could feel the exhaustion suddenly weighing on your body. "He's right. Let the others scope out some stuff while we catch some shut eye."

"Your room is still made up. Go sleep and I'll make you guys breakfast in the morning."

You nodded, and silently led Stiles up the steps. He’d been quiet, worry was all over his face. He sat down in the desk chair, lip between his teeth.

“They will be okay.” You said softly, moving the pillows off the bed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. We defeated them once, we can do it again. Really Argent is the only one to worry about there, he’s not a supernatural. Plus they are very time oriented. They stick to the same schedule when it comes to changing.”

After a moment he spoke again. “Uh. Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

There wasn’t much space in the small room so you shook your head. “You can sleep in the bed. You’re driving so better rest is safer.”

The two of you were quiet as you took turns in the bathroom, then getting situated in the bed.

“Ya know,” you said after a few minutes in the dark. “If you had told me that on my first day of another new school I’d meet more supernaturals, find out the skincrawlers are back, and share a bed with a guy I just met that morning. I’d think you were crazy.”

“I’ve learned to just ride out the crazy. Trust me, it’s easier to do that than to try and fight it.” His head turned toward you, voice just above a whisper. “Why did you seem so freaked about the skincrawlers?”

You were suddenly very thankful for the dark. “They got one of my best friends. It was how we found out about them actually. She went missing for a day or so and when she came back she had this Grey color around her that hadn’t been there before. And her eyes seemed empty. Like everything about her was still her. But her eyes.” A shudder ran through you. “It used the knowledge from her to taunt us, me. Things got ugly. The boom.” You wiped the tear off your cheek, turning to see his silhouette in the dark. “If it’s just one, and we get it before it completes the ritual, it’ll be fine.”

“I’m...I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine. I have faith in us. With the information we take back, it’ll help. Let’s get some sleep though.” Even though you said it, you stayed awake long after Stiles' breath evened out. Images of your last run in with these nasty things running through your mind. There was no peaceful sleep.

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #stiles fanfiction #teen wolf #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien

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